A Lesson from the Tabbed Binder

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I recently found myself deep in the pages of an audit, flipping through documentation at one of our locations. As I worked my way through the binder—a thick, sturdy one with those classic alphabetical tabs—I noticed something that stopped me mid-flip.

They had placed the documents in front of the tabs.

Not behind. In front.

Now, if you're anything like me, you were taught (formally or not) that documents go behind the tab. A for Audits? Slide it behind A. M for Maintenance? Yep, right behind M. That’s the “correct” way, right?

But as I scanned through the binder, I realized... it worked. Everything was clearly labeled, easy to follow, and completely functional. The documents were filed. The system was consistent. I had all the necessary information.

So why did I pause? Why did I internally flinch?

That moment sparked a broader reflection: How many times have we as business professionals gotten frustrated—not because a task wasn’t done—but because it wasn’t done our way or the way it has always been done?

We all have our own mental operating manuals—ways we learned to do things that make sense to us. Perhaps it originated from a manager, a mentor, or simply a habit. But those mental manuals aren’t universal. People bring their own methods, shaped by different experiences, systems, and perspectives.

Sometimes we equate “different” with “wrong,” especially when we’re leading teams or trying to maintain consistency. We might correct someone who isn’t actually incorrect. We might “fix” something that was never broken. And if we’re not careful, we can stifle creativity, autonomy, or even productivity—all in the name of doing it the “right” way.

But here’s the thing: If the result is the same—or better—does the process really matter?

That question took me back to something oddly specific: the old holiday song, “Over the River and Through the Woods, to Grandmother’s House We Go.” As a kid, I remember thinking, “If we’ve got to go through all that—a river, some woods, possibly snowdrifts and a horse-drawn sleigh—do we even want to see Grandma that badly?”

Now, I loved my Grandma dearly (God rest her soul), but let’s be honest—too many unnecessary steps can make even the most meaningful goal feel like a burden.

It’s the same in the workplace. Sometimes, we unintentionally add “rivers and woods” to people’s workflows, such as redundant reports, excessive checklists, or extra approvals that don’t add value. I’ve seen people asked to maintain entirely separate reports for information that already exists in a system, simply because the person requesting it doesn’t know how to retrieve the data themselves or prefers it in a specific way.

That’s not a process. That’s busywork.

And that kind of inefficiency doesn’t just kill time—it kills motivation and momentum.

Yes, there are times when precision and standardization are critical. But there are just as many situations where we can benefit from stepping back and asking, “Is this just different, or is this truly a problem?”

Disrupting this rigid mindset starts with self-awareness. Instead of reacting, ask yourself:

What is the actual outcome I needed?

Did their process get us there?

Is this a teachable moment, or a moment for me to be teachable?

So, the next time you catch yourself mid-eye twitch because someone did something a little outside of your comfort zone, pause. Breathe. Flip your metaphorical binder and ask, “Does it work?” If it does, maybe that’s all that matters.

Final Thought

The real magic happens not when everyone follows the same steps, but when we create space for different routes to lead to shared success. Don’t let your preference for the process overshadow someone else’s progress.

After all, tabs are just guides, not gospel.