My fingers slipped again. Not on a real rock face, not yet, but on the slick, polished surface of another quarterly review document, promising routes to the ‘next level’ that felt less like a path and more like a mirage. I swear, the only thing clear about my career ladder is how many people have fallen off it.

For what feels like the 206th time, I was sitting across from my manager, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and unfulfilled potential. He was doing his best, I suppose, trying to navigate the company’s latest ‘Career Progression Framework’ on a digital whiteboard. It was a beautiful flowchart, a tapestry of neatly boxed titles and elegantly arcing arrows, each one implying a logical, upward trajectory. “See?” he’d said, gesturing with his stylus, “It’s all laid out.”

Then came the inevitable question, the one that hangs heavy in the air every year, like a particularly dense fog before a storm: “What specifically do I need to do to get to the next level? What concrete steps, what measurable achievements, will bridge this gap?” He paused, stylus hovering mid-air, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Then, the classic reply, delivered with all the sincerity of a pre-recorded message: “Just keep doing great work.”

I used to believe if I just worked harder, the path would appear. That was my biggest mistake, probably for about 6 years straight. I genuinely thought the ‘outstanding’ on my review meant a direct ascent, not just a pat on the back before another scramble. It’s a common fallacy, perpetuated by the very systems that benefit from our hopeful striving. The ambiguity of career progression isn’t an accident; it’s a feature. It allows companies to retain talent by dangling the possibility of advancement without making any concrete commitments, keeping employees in a state of perpetual, anxious readiness.

Think about Lucas C., a dyslexia intervention specialist I met a while back. He told me about the traditional educational system’s “reading ladder” – a very prescriptive, step-by-step approach that often leaves students with dyslexia feeling utterly defeated. The steps were too rigid, the ascent too uniform. He explained how he had to essentially dismantle that ladder for his students, replacing it with a more fluid, adaptive “language wall” where they could find their own handholds, use different grips, and even descend temporarily to find a better angle. His frustration was palpable when he described teachers who simply said, “Just keep reading,” to a child who was genuinely struggling, much like my manager’s “just keep doing great work.” The parallel was chillingly precise.

That shattering feeling, the unexpected loss of something once taken for granted, subtly colours my perspective these days. It makes me question the integrity of structures, both physical and metaphorical. Corporate structures often rely on the illusion of stability and predictability, yet their internal mechanisms are anything but. We’re taught from school that A leads to B, and B to C, but in the corporate world, C might be a sidestep, or a diagonal, or simply an entirely new wall you didn’t even know existed. It’s why so many of us feel like we’re constantly searching for a foothold in the dark, grabbing at wisps of advice or vague promises.

This isn’t to say that all companies are malicious. Many HR departments genuinely believe they’re providing clarity. They invest in expensive software and consultants to create these frameworks. But the gap between the beautiful flowchart and the lived experience is enormous. It’s the difference between looking at a blueprint for a house and actually building it, finding out the ground isn’t level, the materials are delayed, and the regulations change mid-project. It’s a fundamental disconnect. Perhaps that’s why some companies are realizing the value of transparency in other areas. For instance, when designing a new space, clients aren’t looking for vague promises of ‘great work.’ They want to understand the process, the materials, the timeline. They want demystification. Just as a client approaches CeraMall looking for clear options and an understandable path to a beautiful bathroom, employees deserve similar transparency about their career trajectory.

Why do we accept this ambiguity when it comes to our professional lives, yet demand clarity for almost everything else? It’s baffling. We might spend 46 hours researching a new television, but accept 6 vague minutes annually on something that dictates years of our professional growth. The underlying problem isn’t a lack of desire to promote people; it’s the lack of clearly defined, universally understood, and consistently applied criteria. When success is subjective, it becomes political. When handholds are invisible, who gets to the top is often less about skill and more about who knows the secret map, or has a better climbing partner.

Companies often promote individuals who have demonstrated a certain level of performance, but crucially, also a certain level of political savviness. It’s not just about doing the work, but about ensuring that work is seen, understood, and championed by the right people. This requires a different set of skills than simply executing tasks. It requires networking, self-advocacy, and an understanding of the unspoken rules of engagement. Many, including myself at various points, have been blindsided by this. I always thought competence would speak for itself. It doesn’t, not entirely, and that’s a hard lesson to learn, especially when you’re pushing past your 36th birthday and still figuring out the basics.

If the handholds are invisible, it’s time to learn to feel for the texture of possibility.