How Can They Not Understand That? Making the Implicit, Explicit

Megan Gerhardt • May 19, 2025

I've always loved invisible ink.

There's something there, but it's not there. Workplace expectations and practices are sometimes like that. For some, they are as clear as can be. Often, that's because they helped create them, or they represent a way of doing things that has existed for so long no one can remember who decided it to begin with.  This article isn't about eliminating existing practices. I've written other articles to help you decide which walls in your organization are load-bearing and which may now need to be torn down. This article is about the ways of doing things — big or small — that we assume others will see and understand as clearly as we do, and our frustration when they cannot.


A few weeks ago, I spent the day doing a Gentelligence® workshop with some outstanding physicians at a medical school. Much of the time was spent focusing on the challenges they encountered with residents, and how many of the long-standing best practices in the field (not medical ones per se, but rather those related to aspects such as professionalism and communication) seemed to be eroding. Whether it was responding to emails in a timely way or understanding that "optional" social gatherings weren't actually optional, but important for building culture, "they just don't seem to get it" was a common refrain.


As I listened, a question occurred to me. Gentelligence® is always about uncovering the why behind generational differences and understanding the root problem so we can have smarter intergenerational conversations. So I asked: "Why do we think the younger generation would know or understand this? Have you explicitly told them this is the expectation?"


I bet you can guess what the answer was: "We shouldn't have to tell them, they should just know." But why would they? I frequently discuss in my work how norms evolve over time and why, as well as how we should refrain from judging norms that don't align with our own as wrong, regardless of whether we are older or younger members of the workplace. However, there are some norms we need to align on to maintain a strong organizational culture and work together effectively. Some norms don't belong to a particular generation, but are essential to a profession. When it comes to those norms (what I would call those load-bearing walls), we often assume that they will make as much sense to those walking in the door as they did to us, or that through magic means (telepathy? osmosis?) the next generation will seamlessly absorb them and act accordingly. How's that working?


We need to make the implicit, explicit. If we implicitly just know or understand something as a member of a culture or organization, we need to resist assumptions (Gentelligence® Practice #1!) that those who are significantly older or younger will find that obvious as well.  Instead, we need to explicitly set the standard again and again. And beyond this, when we are explicit about that standard, we need to explain why. Why does this practice matter here? Why is it so important to our profession? What have you seen happen when it didn't occur, or what are you concerned the result will be if it disappears?


Let's take communication norms, which do evolve for logical reasons. Let's say we have a norm that we have pressure tested and are confident is still relevant and mission-critical, such as responding to an email from a supervisor or client within a reasonable time.  (If you've been paying attention, you might have caught what I just did there. The word "reasonable" is subjective, and we need to make that explicit as well).


I have actually lived this example. I direct our Center for Business Leadership at my university, and in the last few years, more time was being spent chasing down responses to emails and invitations than I care to admit. I was incredibly frustrated, especially because our students are on the whole quite responsible. I was assuming they implicitly understood something that no one ever had to tell me explicitly: when someone in charge sends you an email, you respond as soon as possible.  When they weren't exhibiting this same practice, it was easy to jump to all kinds of judgments and conclusions, none of which were helpful or made it more likely they would magically respond. I heard this same concern during my medical school visit: physicians concerned their residents would be perceived by others as rude because of their non-responsive tendencies.


Instead, we took the leap and decided to set the standard explicitly. We waited and announced the standard independent of any specific message or any recent frustration; rather, we rolled it out as a best practice we expected everyone in the organization to embrace: emails from leadership denoted "action required" were expected to have a response within 24 hours. We made sure to explain why it was important (remember, our youngest generation in the workplace has grown up with unlimited access to explanations thanks to Siri, Alexa, and Google, so context is essential).


In our case, we simply said, "As a center devoted to developing future business leaders, we wanted to implement a standard we believe will serve you well: a 24-hour response rule. When you receive an email from leadership with an "action-required" subject line, we expect that you will respond within 24 hours, and we will do the same. While individuals differ in their communication habits, this practice balances respect for our own time and that of others, while also helping to build your reputation as someone who is both reliable and professional. We look forward to how this shared standard will help improve our work and our culture. Please let us know if you have any questions."


It's been about a year since we implemented this standard. While I won't pretend we have perfect adherence, I have noticed a definite shift. Those who are committed to the organization now definitely respond much more quickly, as the expectation has been made explicit. Some do not, but we have found that this is often a symptom of a deeper problem, typically overall disengagement or a lack of interest. The standard has enabled us to identify those issues more quickly than we did previously.


Where do you need to make the ink visible so other generations can see it?  What practices or expectations in your organization need to move from implicit to explicit?








By Megan Gerhardt February 13, 2026
It has been said that everything old becomes new again on a long enough timeline. There's a fascinating generational trend I've been seeing among younger Gen Zs and the oldest of Gen A (Note: I am not calling that generation Gen Alpha, because that name is nonsensical and outdated already, and that generation is barely in their teens. More on that soon)--a craving for low-tech, no-tech, screen-free experiences. Gentelligence focuses primarily on generational dynamics in the workplace, and I do predict this will have implications for where and how these generations want to work. Despite the chaos surrounding back-to-office policies and experiments, our youngest members of the workplace (and our soon-to-be newest employees) are showing signs that they value time away from screens. I first noticed this last year among my own students, who were overwhelmingly setting change goals in my change management class focused on reducing screen time. Versions included "cleaning up my sleep routine" (putting the phone away at least 30 minutes before bed, eliminating blue light before bed, reading physical books), "reduce my weekly screentime", "stop doomscrolling", and "impose limits on TikTok and Instagram time". It was a sign that it was no longer just their parents or older generations who wanted them off their phones; they wanted themselves off their phones, too. For a wave of young people raised in an era of tech overload, it seems we have reached the point of maximum saturation, and they are pushing back. As one of my students astutely mentioned to me last year, "There are no boundaries now...our generation is just trying to figure out how to put some of them back." I've doubled down on the need for this in my teaching, having conversations with students about how to ethically use AI as a thought-partner while balancing protected time for our most scarce resource these days: deep thinking and connection. It was this need, coupled with the overwhelming research showing the improved retention and learning that occurs when students handwrite their notes and put away their laptops in class, that led me to declare our classroom a laptop and phone-free zone. We still use slides to guide conversations, but there are no longer 30 laptop screens popped up in front of them, distracting even those who are trying hard to focus. Surprisingly, I've had very little pushback. I was concerned they would feel like I was forcing them backwards, but collectively we seem to be exhaling. The discussions have never been better. As our younger Gen Zs reach young adulthood and our oldest Gen As become teenagers, they are emerging from a kind of social experiment they entered unwittingly — a life that has never known a world without constant screens. They are realizing how different they feel when they unplug. Gen Z and Gen A even have a term for this: touching grass. That's right, when the default is constant tech immersion, they had to come up with a phrase to represent the intentional effort it takes to step away. Whenever possible, I try to engage in some real-time generational anthropology, just to explore my hunches and (when possible) debunk stereotypes. Gentelligence is all about being curious rather than judgmental, and I am most definitely curious about these early signs that our younger generations are seeking a better balance between their tech and non-tech worlds. Last month, I was in Chicago for a keynote and found myself in a trendy food hall over lunch. There were little shops surrounding the food hall, including one of my all-time weaknesses, a stationery store . Pens! Journals! Paper! Notebooks! (I, too, love the analog. After indulging myself in a number of vital paper goods, I was tucking into a sandwich in the food hall and saw a (literally) noteworthy sight: a table of early 20-somethings, gathering on their lunch hour and...writing in their journals. Multi-colored pens, stamps, and conversation were plentiful. There was not a phone in sight. That in and of itself was remarkable. It turns out that stationary stores are experiencing a resurgence . Knitting, crocheting, embroidery, and sourdough baking are also all having a moment. Physical books ( and bookstores! ) are making a comeback. A few weeks later, I was at another event, this time a very trendy commercial interior design conference, where we were discussing ways to design spaces that promote intergenerational interactions (yes, it was as cool as you might be thinking). I saw a young designer at the cocktail hour and walked over to introduce myself. I asked if I could pick her brain on something, as I figured it was part of her JOB to be up on the latest trends. I asked her whether she was feeling a personal pull to use less tech, or if this was something she had seen among her peers. That's when she told me about Analog Bags . (I won't go down that rabbit hole here, but feel free to explore the link and know that I am absolutely creating my own Analog Bag as we speak). At that same design conference, a book was recommended to me: Megatrends by John Naisbett. The gentleman who suggested it said it changed his life. He thought I would find it interesting, given my interest in generational trends, behavioral cycles, and, of course, my classes in change management. I ordered it as soon as I got back to my hotel room (fun fact: it was published in 1982, so you'll have to find a vintage copy!). I've been devouring it, and among the many eye-opening insights was the observation that " the more 'High Tech' we become, the more we need 'High Touch.” Now, Naisbett was referring to the high-tech era of the early 1980s, when personal computers were entering the scene, but the relevance of the comment almost 45 years later, in the age of AI, was not lost on me. Those who have lived their entire lives as products of high-tech are now blazing the trail to meet their need for high touch. Let this be my formal declaration (for whatever it's worth) that I predict our youngest generations will lead us back to a balance between tech and high-touch: they are the proverbial canaries in the coal mine, and their message is clear. They are living, breathing embodiments of a life flooded with endless tech, fake news, constant connectivity, dopamine hits, and input dictated by algorithms, and it appears they may have had enough.
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