Tenor

He tells the story of an angry man, fresh from a tongue lashing from a client, assembling the team to pass along in the same fashion he received it, dissatisfaction and blame for an extremely expensive mistake.  As he finishes his tirade, sucking every bit of collaborative, problem-solving energy out of the room, a cooler head asks if he’s finished, and then proceeds to inform this man of his misdirected fury:  This group of individuals is only the messenger, reporting bad information. Breaches in operational protocol and a lack of communication mean no one has eyes on the big picture; the right questions sure to catch mistakes go unasked.

There are a couple of things wrong with this story.  First and foremost is the fury.  This man’s shaming approach does nothing but shut everyone down.  Sure, I get that he’s angry.  His head is on the chopping block; he’s not a “doer” on this team, he’s responsible for oversight, and as such he’s the one with the burden of communicating the implications of this error to his superiors.  But the reality is he’s responsible for much more; he’s responsible for modeling and supporting an environment where hard questions are routinely asked, with the goal to uncover risk before disaster strikes.  Small mistakes happen every day. Left unchecked, they can become monumental.  I believe we can prevent some of them, mitigate many of them, and solve for all them when we create environments where we welcome constructive conversation about them.

Secondly, is the finger-pointing behavior this fury unleashed triggers.  People automatically shift the blame; it’s a natural defense mechanism.  It’s pretty certain this team played some part in the outcome, but few are willing to make themselves vulnerable in that admission amid public flogging.

Core to the culture of safety we are developing in my organization is the concept of “near miss” reporting.  A near miss is defined as a situation with potential to cause an accident, identified and corrected before the accident ever happens.  Things like addressing improper ladder set-up before the technician climbs it, or stopping someone without safety glasses before she walks into the lab.  We track our near misses, broadcast them; reward even, the individuals who call out these seemingly small infractions before they cause a serious problem.  I love this behavior.  It is at a very basic level an exercise in vulnerability; one that is sorely needed in the workplace, and evidence of an ever-so-slight shift in culture to one of constructive collaboration through a willingness to speak openly of failures.

 

We could easily go the other way.  We could track these same near-misses negatively, dock pay, or invoke performance plans, but instead we choose to look at them as learning opportunities, as evidence that safety is so important to us we speak openly about these mistakes to draw continuous attention to risk mitigation, stressing prevention and raising awareness with humanity top of mind. We empower people to learn from a position where corrections can be made before consequences become dire; their ability to make a difference becomes visible to the team.

  

I can’t help but think back to the angry monologue. What if instead this man had pulled the entire team into the room, not just the group he views as the offenders, and explained calmly the mistake and its deep financial implications?  What if he had asked this group of experts in the field to help him unravel and understand how this all happened?  I like to believe he’d walk away from this conversation with more ideas then he’ll ever be able to implement to solve this problem, and a loyal team willing to help solve any problem.

The executive oversight role can be a struggle in business and in life. As parents, some of us wake up one day to realize we’ve received an unwanted promotion into this position.  Our young adults are making their own decisions now, and we feel a bit powerless, no longer calling all the shots. Do we breeze in periodically to take them to lunch, or hold the perfunctory check-ins so we can walk away reassured we’re all good?  Or do we roll up our sleeves, teaching them how to assess and manage the risks inherent in life by asking the tough questions lurking below the surface, and listening without interjection to the answers these intelligent and vulnerable individuals so desperately want to share?

We can make a difference no matter where we are in the food chain.  At the top we set the tone. Are you yelling? 

Brief

They arrive in a cardboard box: Fifty 3-1/2” X 5” notebooks lined up in a row, each containing thirty-two blank white pages pinned to their chipboard covers with shiny silver staples, drenched in possibility.  The most daunting of all is the lone copy offering a clue: “This book contains all the answers” is artist Dallas Clayton’s proclamation across the cover; however, he’s left the insides decidedly void for another artist (me) to fill.

   

And so I wonder about “all the answers”. If I’m bound by these pocket-sized limits, I’ve got some serious contemplating, culling and distilling to do. What words or pictures do I deem important enough, so essential to the human condition and getting through this life that they earn tenancy within this coveted real estate? 

Here are a few to get started:

Stop comparing yourself to others.  This includes your siblings, your thinner/prettier/younger friends, your parents, colleagues who outrank or threaten to outrank you, those women in yoga class who dare to wear the short shorts, and anyone and everyone on the internet.  You bring a unique and wonderful set of skills, intention, drive, humanity and perspective to every situation.  If what you have looks exactly like what someone else has, you’re doing it wrong.

It just might take a while. We’re all in a hurry for everything.  And the speed of life only seems to accelerate as we age. Everyone around us seems to demand instant results, and so we demand them of ourselves.  We can’t lose weight fast enough, get promoted soon enough, find a good man before the alarm of our biological clocks is blaring.  But life happens on its own time.  One day you look in the mirror and realize your commitment to diet and exercise is paying off; careers, reputations and bodies of work build slowly over time; we cry over many Mr. Wrongs before we recognize Mr. Right. Practice patience, and try to be kind to yourself in the process.

You’re right.  Wow! Is this one hard?  And I’m always blown away by the lengths we go to, the tactics we resort to in an attempt to bury these words deep in our throats. The other person in the conversation is often right. In fact, if you’re with a reasonably intelligent individual, they’re probably right, like, 50% of the time. There is no shame in being wrong.  We gain so much respect and credibility in every relationship when we’re able to concede the other person is right.  Just say it and learn something from it.  It will make you better.  Really.

No. We think the answer needs to be yes.  But honestly, aren’t you sometimes doing yourself or others a disservice with yes?   Today I declined to participate in a voluntary project I am quite passionate about.  I was the last to reply to the request (uncharacteristic for someone with her trigger finger perpetually poised over the “send” button). But when I thought about the time commitment and everything else going on at the office, I didn’t feel I could fit it in and get it right.  And guess what?  The earth is still revolving on its axis.  I am still employed. Someone else may get a chance to shine.

 

Why not?  I know it’s a question, but for those of us always throwing roadblocks in our own paths, or finding a million reasons why we shouldn’t take a risk and try something new, what if we interrupted our usual diatribe of excuses with some measured thought around what’s preventing us from going for it?  I wonder what we might find.

I don’t know.  In our googilicious world this may seem like a cop out.  Don’t we have the resources at our fingertips to research anything and come up with the answer freaky fast?  Yes, for a lot of things, but not for everything.  The reality is some things are beyond our purview. Some of life’s most challenging questions are rhetorical or for the seeker to look within herself to find.  It’s okay to admit you don’t have all of them.  The answers, that is.  Few of us do.  And fewer still are willing to sit peacefully in the unknown and just listen. It’s amazing what we hear in the silence.