The cold mud had seeped through the left seam of my boot, 4 millimeters of freezing reality that no amount of thick wool could ignore. I shoved the spade into the heavy, clay-rich earth, feeling the vibration travel up my forearms and settle in my neck. It was 4 degrees Celsius, the kind of damp cold that makes you question why your ancestors decided to settle in a place where the air tastes like wet granite. I have been the groundskeeper at this cemetery for 14 years, and the earth here doesn’t lie. It doesn’t use metaphors. It doesn’t ‘leverage’ anything. It just is. But last Tuesday, I was invited into the main office-a room with 114 ceiling tiles that I counted while waiting for the Trust meeting to begin-and I realized that the living have a much more complicated way of burying things than I do. They use words.

I sat in the corner of that boardroom, my presence required only because they wanted to discuss the ‘operationalization’ of the new plot mapping system. A senior manager, a man whose hands looked like they had never touched a shovel, leaned forward and adjusted his tie. ‘We need to leverage our core competencies to operationalize the paradigm shift and circle back with key stakeholders,’ he said. Around the table, 14 heads nodded in unison. It was a rhythmic, collective agreement, a performance of understanding that felt as choreographed as a burial service. I looked at the woman sitting next to me; she was gripping her pen so hard her knuckles were white. She didn’t know what he meant. I didn’t know what he meant. But we both nodded. That is the power of jargon. It isn’t a bridge; it is a moat. It is designed to keep people out while making those inside feel like they belong to a priesthood of productivity.

The Moat: Signaling In-Group Status

We often dismiss corporate lingo as a harmless annoyance, a collection of silly phrases that we laugh at over drinks. But after 14 years of watching how people treat the dead and the living, I see it differently. Jargon is a sophisticated social tool used to signal in-group status. When you use a phrase like ‘holistic approach’ or ‘synergistic integration,’ you aren’t just communicating an idea-you are flashing a badge. You are saying, ‘I have been through the corporate fire. I speak the secret language. I am one of you.’ If you are a new employee or someone from a background that doesn’t include an Ivy League degree, that wall of words is a terrifying barrier. It tells you that you are an outsider before you’ve even had a chance to do your job. It creates a culture of bluffing, where people spend 34 percent of their mental energy trying to figure out what is being said instead of actually solving problems.

The Deer in Headlights

I remember a young man we hired to help with the grounds 4 years ago. He was brilliant with machinery and had a way with the 14 types of moss that grow on the north side of the mausoleums. But when he was called into a safety briefing filled with ‘mitigation strategies’ and ‘compliance protocols,’ he looked like a deer in the headlights of a 2004 truck. He thought he was stupid. He wasn’t. He just didn’t have the dictionary for that particular brand of nonsense. We think we are being efficient by using these shorthand terms, but we are actually being exclusionary. We are gatekeeping. And as a woman who spends her days tending to gates and fences, I can tell you that a gate left closed for too long eventually rusts shut. This reliance on jargon stifles clarity and promotes a culture where those who can talk the talk are promoted over those who can actually dig the holes.

The Small Betrayal

I’ve made the mistake myself, once. I was trying to secure a budget for a new drainage system-about 4444 dollars‘ worth of pipe and gravel-and I found myself using the word ‘pedological‘ when ‘soil-based’ would have done just fine. I wanted the board to think I was an expert. I wanted to sound like I belonged in that climate-controlled room instead of the mud. I felt the lie in my mouth as soon as the word left my lips. It was a small betrayal of the work I do. Here, in the quiet rows of the departed, names are carved in stone. They are simple. Father. Mother. Sister. 1894 to 1954. There is no room for ‘actionable insights’ on a headstone. The finality of the cemetery demands a clarity that the corporate world seems desperate to avoid. Why say ‘downsizing’ when you mean ‘firing 24 people‘? Why say ‘low-hanging fruit’ when you mean ‘the easiest task’? Because the truth is often uncomfortable, and jargon is the bubble wrap we use to keep it from breaking.

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The finality of the cemetery demands a clarity that the corporate world seems desperate to avoid.

Quiet Dominance and Lexicon Control

There is a specific kind of intimidation that comes from being the only one in a room who doesn’t understand a sentence. It makes your heart rate spike-I’d guess by about 24 beats per minute-and your palms go damp. It’s a form of intellectual bullying. When a manager says we need to ‘socialize the document,’ they aren’t just asking for feedback; they are exerting a quiet dominance over the conversation. They are framing the world in a way that requires their specific lexicon to navigate. It reminds me of the 14 different names we have for the various types of limestone in the old section of the cemetery. If I use the technical geological terms, I can make a visitor feel small. If I say ‘this stone came from the quarry down the road,’ I invite them in. Corporate culture has forgotten how to invite people in. It is too busy building monuments to its own complexity.

The Contrast in Utility

The Grace of Direct Action

I spent 34 minutes this morning watching a hawk circle the cemetery. It didn’t need to ‘pivot’ its flight path. It just moved. There is a grace in direct action that corporate culture has lost. We have become so obsessed with the ‘narrative’ and the ‘branding’ that we have forgotten the actual substance of the work. We are building a tower of Babel out of LinkedIn posts and PowerPoint decks. And for what? To make ourselves feel important? To ensure that the newcomers spend their first 104 days on the job feeling inadequate because they don’t know what ‘B2B alignment’ looks like in practice? It’s a waste of human potential. It’s a waste of the 24 hours we are given each day to actually make something meaningful.

Dignity in the Truth

There’s a section of the cemetery, the oldest part, where the stones are so weathered you can barely read the dates. But you can still read the names. The names are what matter. When we strip away the jargon, we are left with the names of things. We are left with the reality of our situations. If the company is losing money, say we are losing money. If the project is failing, say it’s failing. Don’t call it a ‘growth opportunity’ or a ‘strategic realignment.’ There is a dignity in the truth that no amount of corporate polish can replicate. I think about those 14 people in the boardroom and I wonder how many of them went home that night and had to explain to their families what they actually did all day. I wonder if they could do it without using a single word that ends in ‘-ize.’

As I finished digging the plot-it was 64 inches deep, exactly as the regulations require-I looked up at the sky. The clouds were a bruised purple, and the wind was picking up. I have 4 more plots to check before I can go home and put my feet up near the fire. My job is physical, exhausting, and often lonely, but it is never confusing. When I tell someone a grave is ready, they know exactly what I mean. There is no ambiguity. No one asks for a ‘debrief on the excavation parameters.’ They just say thank you. We need more of that ‘thank you’ in the world and less of the ‘leveraging.’ We need to realize that every time we use a word to hide behind, we are losing a piece of our connection to the people around us. We are building walls when we should be planting trees.

I’ll go back to that boardroom next month. I’ll wear my clean jacket and I’ll count the 114 tiles again. But this time, I won’t nod when I don’t understand. I’ll ask them to speak like they are standing in the rain, where words have to be heavy enough to stay dry. I’ll ask them to remember that language was meant to reveal, not to conceal. And if they can’t do that, I’ll just go back to my 14 types of moss and my cold mud, where the only thing that is ‘operationalized’ is the change of the seasons, and no one needs a paradigm shift to know that winter is coming. It’s simple. It’s clear. And it’s the only way to truly live before you end up in a place where I’m the one holding the spade.