I’ve worked with people who can:
- Develop a schedule from a template or given inputs
- Maintain logic links and run schedule calculations
- Update progress regularly
- Generate reports and short-term look-aheads
- Track planned versus actual progress
- Assign durations without fully understanding the underlying resources or productivity
These are schedulers. They are highly capable in operating the schedule, but largely depend on inputs defined by others.
Then I’ve worked with others who can do all of that, and more. They can:
- Develop construction methodologies aligned with the programme
- Define the sequence of work based on engineering understanding
- Resource-load activities with the right equipment and manpower
- Read drawings and perform quantity take-offs
- Build durations based on quantities, productivity, and resources
- Forecast completion dates based on progress and performance
- Assess the impact of delays and changes to the programme
- Perform delay analysis and support extension of time claims
- Identify risks and propose mitigation strategies
- Defend the schedule when presenting to management
- Clearly explain the logic and strategy behind the programme
These are planning engineers. They don’t just operate the schedule, they define it, test it, and defend it.
But this article is not just about roles and definitions. It’s also about the person who asked that question.
I’ll refer to him as AM (initials only, as I haven’t asked permission to mention his name here).
He was an unassuming individual, quiet, low-key, and not someone who tried to draw attention to himself. Before the interview, I tried to look him up, but there wasn’t much online. What I did find was that he had been recognised by Construction Week. After working with him, I understood why.
He was highly skilled and sharp, but what stood out most was his humility. Despite being in a senior position, he was approachable and grounded. He listened more than he spoke, and when he did speak, it carried weight.
Working with him, I picked up a lot just by observing how he approached problems, discussions, and decisions. He had a way of explaining things clearly, and when challenged, he would walk through his reasoning with patience and structure.
One phrase I picked up from him was “full of air.” I remember sitting in meetings where I was probably the youngest in the room, surrounded by professionals with “MBA” proudly annexed to their names on their calling cards. He would listen intently throughout the discussion, rarely interrupting, almost as if he was quietly assessing the room.
He didn’t say much during those meetings. But after one of them, as we stepped out, he casually remarked that one of the participants was “full of air.” Curious, I asked what he meant.
He explained that some people talk a lot, but lack substance.
That lesson stayed with me. It wasn’t about criticising others, but about being honest with what you know. In any room, someone may be learning from you, and it’s important to speak with clarity and substance, not just confidence.
More than a decade later, and now oceans apart, I still think about that question and the person who asked it.
I remain grateful for what I learned from him. Those lessons have shaped how I think about planning, how I approach my work, and how I continue to grow in this profession.
