When Kafka joins your team and Dostoevsky is your manager

Franz Kafka and Fyodor Dostoevsky are both world famous writers, both lonely, but for very different reasons. Kafka thought he wasn’t good enough for the world. Dostoevsky thought the world wasn’t good enough for him.

Now, imagine them in the same office.

When Kafka joins your team, you might not even notice. He keeps to himself. He replies to emails in lowercase and always uses full stops. He never speaks in town halls. He says “sorry” when he asks a question. He never asks twice.

He’s always busy, but half the time he’s just overthinking. Thinking about whether his “good morning” sounded cold. Whether that one message came across too eager. Whether he should stop talking altogether.

He’s brilliant, but he’ll never believe it. He’s scared to ask for a raise. Scared to take up space. Scared that the team already thinks he’s too much.

His manager, Dostoevsky, is the opposite.

He enters rooms like he owns them. He speaks in paragraphs, quotes philosophy in meetings. Says things like “we must reflect on the human condition” when someone asks for half-day leave.

He thinks no one understands life the way he does. He writes long emails with bold words and metaphors, but hasn’t listened to anyone in six months. Thinks emotions are inefficient. Says, “We’re all a family here,” then forgets your name during appraisals.

Conversations between them are hard. Kafka starts with an apology. Dostoevsky starts with a monologue.

Kafka leaves the room with a headache. Dostoevsky leaves thinking he just mentored someone.

And I wonder how many teams look like this. How many people are managing their own anxiety and their manager’s ego. How many are slowly fading in workplaces that only reward volume. How many are silently brilliant and completely overlooked.

If we built workplaces that understood silence, maybe Kafka wouldn’t feel like an imposter every time he opened his mouth.

Maybe Dostoevsky would finally pause. Not to reflect. But to listen.

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