In the beginning, every company is messy. People are improvising, stepping on each other’s toes, inventing as they go. It feels chaotic, but it works, because everyone is close to the problem.
Then growth happens. Coordination gets harder. So you add process. Stand-ups, reviews, templates, approvals. The process feels like relief. Finally, some order.
But over time, process takes on a life of its own. Meetings exist because they’re on the calendar. Approvals happen because they’re required, not because they add judgment. Stand-ups turn into people reciting tasks they’ve already written in Jira.
The strange thing is how comforting this becomes. Process feels like progress. Following the steps gives the illusion of control, even when the steps no longer solve the original problem.
This is why companies keep process long after it’s useful. It’s not about efficiency anymore; it’s about safety. Process protects people from blame. If something goes wrong, you can say: we followed the process. No one gets fired for running the playbook, even if the playbook is outdated.
The danger is that process, once comforting, becomes a trap. It slows decisions, hides responsibility, and creates the illusion of alignment where none exists. The organization spends more energy moving tickets through a board than solving the problem the board was meant to track.
The best companies I’ve seen treat process like code. You write it, use it, and then refactor or delete it when it no longer serves. The worst companies treat process like scripture. Immutable, unquestionable, endlessly recited.
The hard truth is that there’s no such thing as a “process-free” company. Chaos is its own process. The question is whether your process is alive — adapting, flexible — or dead.
The comfort of process is real. But if you want growth, you have to be willing to give up that comfort.