Ed Batista

Skin in the Game

 

Work that's truly rewarding requires that we that we commit ourselves fully to the endeavor. We have "skin in the game," you might say, like an investor who's putting his own capital on the line. In this sense, coaching my clients and students isn't just (or even) a job, it's a highly personal experience in which I take real risks in the service of meaningful gains. And I suspect the same is true for you and your work, in one way or another.

But while having skin in the game allows us to do our best work, it also exposes us to risk. When we succeed it's all the more gratifying, and when we struggle, it's all the more disheartening. And I've had some challenges over the past week that have led me to reflect both on how I manage my response in the moment and on how I recover from setbacks over time. While I've written before about learning from mistakes and continue to apply those lessons, I've also found myself relying on the following simple guidelines:

1) Own Up To It

I'm not afraid of making mistakes; I've learned that perfection is damning evidence that I'm playing it safe, aiming too low and doing a disservice to my clients and students. But I still feel the sting of embarrassment and shame when I do make a mistake, and my first impulse in response to those emotions is to reject them and distract attention from their source. And yet I've also learned that I need to resist that impulse, not only to walk my talk as a coach, but also simply to grow as a person.

I've seen and experienced this dynamic over and over again: When we screw up as leaders (or in any differentiated authority role), the most important step we can take is to acknowledge reality, to admit our mistake, to own up to it. No matter what else we want to say, no matter what other factors influenced our actions, everything starts with that acknowledgment--and no real progress will be made until it occurs.

This week I became impatient during a group exercise and forcefully interrupted a student, who felt angry and hurt as a result. Thankfully, she felt enough trust in me to express those emotions, and I was able to hear her and express my embarrassment, which allowed her to hear why I had become impatient in the first place. It wasn't my most skillful moment as a coach, but it was a successful repair that allowed the two of us to move forward.

2) Ask For What You Need

I'm used to being a source of support and guidance for other people--it's probably the fundamental quality that led me into coaching. But while that role is deeply fulfilling to me, it's also a potential trap. Getting stuck in a support role can make it hard to understand internally and to communicate to others just what I need when I'm struggling myself. But this makes it all the more important to slow down, look inside, and articulate what I need.

I know I'm no exception in this regard. The best leaders and mentors I've known are people who put others' needs before their own, who make sure their troops are fed before they sit down to eat. But the very best of them are also able to step out of that pattern and to ask for help. I'm not particuarly good at this, but I'm learning.

Tonight Amy asked me if there was anything she could do to help me cope with the dark mood that had descended upon me, and initially my mind was blank. "No," I said, "I can't think of anything." But I kept at it and realized that I didn't want her to do anything--I didn't want encouragement or problem-solving. I just wanted empathy--I just wanted her to say, "I'm sorry; that sounds really shitty." I don't need to hear that often, or for long--but when I need it, I really need it, and it's really helpful.

3) Take Care of Yourself

This is deceptively easy in principle, and damn hard in practice--by definition people with skin in the game thrive on challenges, and when things get tough we get excited.  That attitude helps me overcome obstacles, but it also leads me down some blind alleys. The paradox with coaching--and, I believe, with any meaningful work that's intellectually and emotionally challenging--is that it doesn't necessarily yield to sheer effort. When I'm struggling as a professional I can't just muscle through it, and sometimes I need to do just the opposite--ease up, lower my stress levels, take care of myself.

I've learned from people like Bill George, who's "meditated regularly for thirty years, not as a religious or spiritual practice, but as a personal discipline to relieve stress." I've also learned from hard experience that when I let work push exercise off the my daily schedule--once a regular response in times of struggle--I condemn myself to a cycle of overstress and underperformance. I'm also (finally) listening to recent research on the importance of sleep, not only for effective performance but also for long-term health.

The past few days I've been unusually tired, and rather than push myself beyond that limit, I've listened to my body and have gone for walks rather than hitting the gym, or have simply meditated instead. I've also prioritized sleep over work--like leaving this post undone last night and coming back to it this morning. Finally, I have allowed work to push regular sessions with my own coach off the calendar, a situation that'll be rectified this week.

4) Keep Calm and Carry On

I'm only half-joking--I deeply believe in the power of mindset to shape our reality and, subsequently, our performance. Having skin in the game means that we're subject to high highs and low lows, and it's important to keep those experiences in perspective. In part that ability is a function of life experience--I first read this quote from David Bradford 6 years ago, and it's stuck with me:

If you live long enough, you realize that you can fall off the horse and get back on again... Failure is inevitable, and what's important is how you handle it, not how you avoid it.

But "life experience" is in a way just shorthand for mindset--having failed, and struggled, and simply made mistakes for many years now, I'm no longer up-ended when this occurs. I may be responsible for these events, and I expect to hold myself accountable for them, but I don't view them as intrinsic character flaws.

This isn't to say I'm not subject to grey moods and feelings of frustration or even despair, and when those feelings strike I think it's healthy to acknowledge them. But where I once might have gotten stuck in those moods for longer than was useful, I now find it possible to feel them and let them go, a process that's supported by all the steps mentioned above and also by writing posts like this.

Photo by gingerpig2000. Yay Flickr and Creative Commons.

Measuring the Infinite

In the spirit of those kindred souls Voltaire and George S. Patton, here's one way to measure the infinite:

An infinite distance lies between nothing--the unsaid comment, the unwritten letter, the undone act--and something, no matter how much room for improvement remains.  In comparison, the distance between that something and perfection is barely noticeable at all.

Photo by Ben Husmann. Yay Flickr and Creative Commons.

Adult Thumb-Sucking

Lately I've been paying closer attention to the steady, low-level urge I often feel to check my phone for emails, texts, tweets and other notifications. I can justify this urge with any number of "good" reasons: I keep my phone on silent so it won't interrupt a coaching session, and I might have missed something important. A client or student may need to reach me, and I want to be responsive to them. Amy may have texted me about something pressing, and... Etc.

Those reasons are all true, and yet they don't fully explain my behavior. I've realized that this urge--and my almost automatic response to obey it--has a more emotional, less cognitive explanation: When I feel a little anxious or bored, I can check my phone, and if something new is there, my anxiety is eased and my boredom is relieved. It's a form of adult thumb-sucking.

There are times when this urge disappears, such as when I'm in a coaching session with a client or student, or when I'm in a meaningful conversation with Amy or a friend.  And there are times when this urge is almost overpowering, such as when I'm in a dull meeting or making awkward small talk, or when I'm struggling with a difficult piece of writing.

All behavior is adaptive, so it's unhelpful to simply characterize this urge as "bad" and strive to quash it without understanding 1) what I'm adapting to, 2) how that adaptation serves me (and how it leads me off course), and 3) when I should follow it (and when I should resist it).

I'm clearly adapting to a set of inner drives that are important parts of my makeup. I'm usually highly attuned to my social environment, particularly signals that suggest another person's need for support or engagement, and this allows me to be an effective coach (and husband and friend) but can also generate anxiety when I want to connect but am unable to.  I'm also typically a quick thinker who needs a lot of stimulation to avoid boredom--which is one reason why I find it difficult to meditate and yet keep trying.

Checking my phone obviously helps me adapt to these drives, and this adaptation serves me in many ways. Clients and students often express appreciation for my responsiveness, and note that they feel respected and cared for as a result. At times I can get a lot of work done on multiple fronts simultaneously. And I stay connected with a number of people who are important to me as a result.

But compulsively checking my phone leads me off course in a number of ways as well. In the moment, it tells the people in my physical presence that I'm less interested in them than I am in my virtual network, which can undermine my relationships. It contributes to unrealistic expectations regarding my availability and responsiveness. It  disrupts my concentration when I'm struggling to think through difficult work, requiring me to switch contexts and rapidly adjust from one mode of working to another. And perhaps most importantly, I suspect that there's a neurological impact, resulting in diminished impulse control in general.

As noted above, when I'm fully engaged in a coaching session or conversation I don't feel this urge at all and have no need to resist it. But I believe there are a number of situations in which I'd be well served to do so, both interpersonally and in my writing and other reflective work. It's not difficult to manage this urge when I'm coaching--my dedication to my craft helps me focus on the people in front of me and keep any conceptual distractions at bay. The real challenge is when I'm writing, reading or doing other work alone--it's always tempting to set aside any conceptual challenges I face in order to deal with the "real" issues posed by a client or friend (or Twitter follower.)

Photo by syauqee. Yay Flickr and Creative Commons.

Make It Better

Yesterday Tom Peters tweeted this mantra from former NFL coach Bill Parcells:

Blame no one. Expect nothing. Do something.

It struck me as an concise, powerful expression of an attitude I try to bring to my work as a coach and maintain in my own life (although I fail all the time.) It's a mindset that I find very motivating.

But it occurred to me that this message can also be interpreted and delivered in a powerfully DEmotivating way. At times when we're encouraged to hold ourselves accountable and take action, the underlying message is "Stop whining. Don't be such a wuss. Suck it up."

And while on occasion there's value in such a confrontational approach, in my experience it always extracts a huge cost in the form of loss of trust and disconnection, and the damage to the relationship in the long run isn't worth it.

So why does Parcell's mantra work for me? Because when I hear it, the underlying message isn't "Suck it up" but "Make it better." And I know that if I want others to find it as motivating as I do, I need to insure that I'm communicating that same underlying message to them.

Thanks again to Tom Peters for the inspiration and the encouragement.

Photo by Eric Schmuttenmaer. Yay Flickr and Creative Commons.

Setbacks, Mindset and the Fundamental Attribution Error

Thinking about some recent personal and professional setbacks--both mine and others'--has led me to reflect on the intersection of two topics that often come up in my coaching practice: mindset and the fundamental attribution error.

By "mindset" I'm referring to the tremendous power exerted by our beliefs, assumptions and mental models.  What we think--and particularly what we think about ourselves--exerts tremendous influence over how we perceive the world around us and how we experience that world.  To take just one example, recent research on the placebo effect has shown that "A particular mind-set or belief about one's body or health may lead to improvements in disease symptoms as well as changes in appetite, brain chemicals and even vision..."  (Of particular importance is the ability of positive expectations and conditioning to create an openness to change.)

The concept of a "fixed mindset" vs. a "growth mindset" is at the heart of the work of Stanford psychologist Carol Dweck:

In a fixed mindset, people believe their basic qualities, like their intelligence or talent, are simply fixed traits. They spend their time documenting their intelligence or talent instead of developing them. They also believe that talent alone creates success—without effort. They're wrong.

In a growth mindset, people believe that their most basic abilities can be developed through dedication and hard work—brains and talent are just the starting point. This view creates a love of learning and a resilience that is essential for great accomplishment.

Having a fixed mindset rather than a growth mindset can have a profound impact on how we cope with setbacks and mistakes.  In a recent post on Learning from Mistakes I cited a reference by science writer Jonah Lehrer to Dweck's research:

[P]eople with a fixed mindset see mistakes as a dismal failure--a sign that we aren't talented enough for the task in question--[while] those with a growth mindset see mistakes as an essential precursor of knowledge, the engine of education...

But while I believe firmly in this research and can attest to the power of mindset both in my own life and in the lives of my clients and students, I'm not suggesting that the biggest challenges we face can be resolved merely by adopting a "positive attitude," or that our mindsets are at fault when we struggle.

And this is where the second concept I've been reflecting on comes in--the "fundamental attribution error" is a common cognitive bias originally named by Stanford psychologist Lee Ross.  It was taught to me in business school (by the outstanding Roberto Fernandez) as:

Ascribing causality to personal characteristics when causality actually lies with the situation.

As I've written before, "We see it at work most clearly with high-profile, archetypal leaders--presidents, CEOs, coaches, quarterbacks--who are hailed as geniuses when their organizations accomplish their goals and derided as bums when their organizations stumble."  But it's at play in our own daily lives as well.  While we surely bear some responsibility for our failure in almost all cases, it's inaccurate to put the blame solely on our shoulders while ignoring the context (interpersonal, organizational, cultural) in which it occurred.

I think the intersection of mindset and the fundamental attribution error is critical when it comes to how we deal with setbacks.  The same cognitive bias that leads us to ignore our good fortune and take more credit than we should when we succeed also leads us to ignore those situational factors that contribute to our failures.  Our ignorance of the fundamental attribution error (or our reluctance to apply it to our own lives) can cause us to see setbacks as solely our responsibility, feeding into a negative mindset and making it more difficult to recover.

I realize there's a slippery slope here that could easily be abused by the unscrupulous and irresponsible.  By no means am I suggesting that we avoid holding ourselves accountable.  But it's significant to me that the research by Michigan State's Jason Moser on learning from mistakes cited by Lehrer suggests that those who learn best from mistakes spend a substantially higher amount of time and energy focusing on and reviewing what they did wrong in order to learn from it.  They don't shirk responsibility or fail to hold themselves accountable--just the opposite.

I believe that the judicious application of the fundamental attribution error can give us a fuller, more accurate perspective on our setbacks, which can have a meaningful impact on our mindset.  If we're able to clearly distinguish between those factors that are truly our responsibility and within our control to change, and any situational factors--or even just bad luck--that we have no control over, we'll be able to focus our energies where they'll be most useful and to maintain a mindset that will support recovery, learning and growth.

Photo by dfinnecy.  Yay Flickr and Creative Commons.

Learning from Mistakes

What is a mistake?  When we make a mistake, what do we think that says about us?  How do we feel about ourselves?  And how does that framing affect what we learn from the experience?

In a recent article for Wired Jonah Lehrer discussed a soon-to-be-published study by Michigan State's Jason Moser that provides a neurological basis for understanding why some of us learn from mistakes more effectively than others:

[T]here are two distinct [neurological] reactions to mistakes… The first reaction is called error-related negativity (ERN). It appears about 50 milliseconds after a screw-up and is…mostly involuntary, the inevitable response to any [mistake].

The second signal, which is known as error positivity (Pe), arrives anywhere between 100-500 milliseconds after the mistake and is associated with awareness. It occurs when we pay attention to the error, dwelling on the disappointing result. In recent years, numerous studies have shown that subjects learn more effectively when their brains demonstrate two properties: 1) a larger ERN signal, suggesting a bigger initial response to the mistake and 2) a more consistent Pe signal, which means that they are probably paying attention to the error, and thus trying to learn from it.

[The Moser study] applied a dichotomy first proposed by Carol Dweck, a psychologist at Stanford. …Dweck distinguishes between people with a fixed mindset--they tend to agree with statements such as "You have a certain amount of intelligence and cannot do much to change it"--and those with a growth mindset, who believe that we can get better at almost anything, provided we invest the necessary time and energy. While people with a fixed mindset see mistakes as a dismal failure--a sign that we aren't talented enough for the task in question--those with a growth mindset see mistakes as an essential precursor of knowledge, the engine of education...

It turned out that those subjects with a growth mindset were significantly better at learning from their mistakes… Most interesting, though, was the EEG data, which demonstrated that those with a growth mindset generated a much larger Pe signal, indicating increased attention to their mistakes… What’s more, this increased Pe signal was nicely correlated with improvement after error, implying that the extra awareness was paying dividends in performance. Because the subjects were thinking about what they got wrong, they learned how to get it right...

...[U]nless we experience the unpleasant symptoms of being wrong--that surge of Pe activity a few hundred milliseconds after the error, directing our attention to the very thing we’d like to ignore--the mind will never revise its models. We’ll keep on making the same mistakes, forsaking self-improvement for the sake of self-confidence.

What I find most interesting and useful about Lehrer's analysis of this research is the connection it allows me to make between (on the one hand) the neurological evidence that people who devote more attention to their mistakes learn from them more effectively and (on the other hand) my own empirical experience as a coach that fixating on mistakes can be demotivating and lead to feelings of worthlessness, while focusing on successes can stimulate feelings of optimism and resilience, even (especially) in light of recent struggles.

Carol Dweck's research provides me with the missing link; the essential factor isn't the relative amounts of attention we devote to our mistakes and successes, but whether we're holding a fixed mindset or a growth mindset about ourselves and our capabilities.  In the former case, we view mistakes as manifestations of our intrinsic character, as de facto evidence of our unworthiness--and so focusing on our mistakes generates feelings of shame and embarrassment and undermines our self-confidence.  We go to great lengths to avoid these feelings under the best of circumstances, so it's no surprise that when we make a mistake while holding a fixed mindset, the very last thing we want to do is devote more attention to it--and so we lose the opportunity to learn from it.

But in the latter case, we view mistakes as external events, as unfortunate things that have happened.  This isn't to say that we're avoiding responsibility for our mistakes, or that we don't feel bad as a result.  As Lehrer notes, those of us who learn best from our mistakes actually have a bigger neurological response to a mistake.  But we don't view mistakes as personal defects, and they don't carry such a negative emotional charge.  I'd suggest that those of us who hold a growth mindset are able to forgive ourselves for mistakes and let go of (or at least mitigate) any feelings of shame or humiliation.  This forgiveness allows us to continue to focus on the mistake that much more intently, without losing confidence in ourselves, and as a result to learn from it more effectively.

The underlying question then becomes: What can we do to cultivate a growth mindset that will allow us to focus on our mistakes without feeling shame or losing confidence?  Many of my experiences with clients and students (and myself!) suggest that the first step is simply acknowledging any shame and embarrassment we do feel in the aftermath of a mistake, both to ourselves and to those around us.  At the very least, getting those uncomfortable feelings out in the open tends to diminish their power and allows us to choose what to do with them, rather than feeling driven in some way to escape their covert influence.

I know that particularly when I'm in a leadership role two of the most important things I can do are 1) quickly admit a mistake once I've made one, and 2) own up to my resulting feelings of shame or  embarrassment.  This makes it much safer for those around me to do the same, and the group's potential to support learning increases dramatically.  (And it's one reason why I encourage leaders to embrace mistakes, failure and surprises.)  That's not to say I find this easy, even though I get plenty of opportunities to practice--but it is a value I try to uphold.

For a discussion of specific steps that support the process of learning from mistakes, see my 2009 post on the same topic, based on Robert Brooks and Sam Goldstein's The Power of Resilience.

Thanks to @DanielCoyle for the initial reference to Lehrer's article.

Photo by Alex E. Proimos.  Yay Flickr and Creative Commons.

The Air Mask Principle

We've heard it over and over (and over) again:

In the event of an emergency, secure your own air mask first before helping others.

This applies on the ground as well, and the greater our desire to be of service, the more important it is to take care of ourselves in order to be able help others most effectively.

It's a simple principle to grasp, but the challenge is knowing just what this looks like in practice, both over time and at  any given moment.

So what's your equivalent of an air mask?  What activities and practices are essential to your health, well-being and effectiveness?  What steps are you taking to insure that they get on your calendar and stay there?  And how do you create and maintain boundaries that insulate these activities from the demands made on your time by other pressing tasks?  (A job made harder by the fact that these activities are usually important but not urgent.)

For example, I've learned that daily physical activity helps me reduce stress, clear my head, and stay mentally sharp.  When I'm active on a regular basis I'm a much better coach and a much happier person, and the two are related.  I use Don't Break the Chain to track how often I'm active, and here's what my exercise calendar looks from July 1st through October 14th:

That's about 65% over a 100-day period--not bad.  But that long blank stretch from September 21st through October 9th jumps out at me--what happened?  Initially I was just knocked out of my routine for a few days--no big deal.  But that carried over into the beginning of Fall Quarter at Stanford, which was a particularly busy time for me this year.  And then I caught a cold that was going around campus--always a sure sign that I'm working too hard and not taking care of myself.

While I believe I've done some good work with my students and clients over the last four weeks, I've also done some work that could have been better--and some of it was more stressful and less enjoyable than usual.  Knowing what I need to do to take care of myself and tracking my efforts on that front via Don't Break the Chain ultimately helped me get back on track, but I still needed to make some difficult in-the-moment decisions to prioritize my personal needs over other responsibilities.

And it's at those moments that I find the air mask principle useful.  There's always more work to do, there are always people I'd like to support in some way, and I can always find a reason to put others' needs ahead of my own.  But if I do that indefinitely, I'll burn out--or pass out.  No air mask, no oxygen.  Bearing in mind that I can't help others effectively unless I'm taking care of myself helps me choose to put my needs first when necessary without feeling that I'm letting others down or failing to honor my commitments.

 

Six Leadership Lessons from Dan Might

Even among the extremely talented, dedicated and service-oriented people I've had the privilege of working with in Stanford's Leadership Fellows program, Dan Might stands out as someone who would go the extra mile...or ten.  So it was gratifying--and not surprising--to learn that my recent post on Five Leadership Lessons prompted this insightful response from Dan, who added an extremely important sixth lesson of his own:

1. Initial Conditions Matter

I couldn't agree more--especially that you must be aware past the first hello.  Human systems are dynamic and we always have a lot of "firsts" with people.  The first time you commit to something people will notice if you follow through or not.  And the first time you face a stressful situation people will watch your reaction.

I agree when first meeting any group, whether you're the leader or not, remembering names will always help make a favorable impression.

Second, connecting with people on any level is critical.  Psychology shows commonality is important in relationships.  I figured this out by luck during my first leadership position.  I had 60 direct reports on a manufacturing line, and when I first met each employee I would point out when we had something in common as I asked questions about themselves.  I'm fortunate my parents had exposed me to a lot growing up from riding motorcycles to traveling all over that seemed to fit with something I could talk to someone about.  However, beyond even a common experience, just similar things about your personality I found work to connect and begin a relationship of understanding.  It was critical I do that because I was a 22-year-old newly-minted engineer leading a group of high-school educated adults who had worked with the company 25 years on average.  I had to bridge a gap with each individual.  Whatever it takes, connecting at some level is possible, and early on it is key.

I would also extend your last remark and stress always being aware beyond first encounters.  I try to live by that.  If I ever walk away and realize I might have been misunderstood or something would have been misinterpreted I go back and talk to the person and make sure we have the same understanding.  I literally did that before writing this post.  I emailed a co-worker I felt I might have upset today by pushing hard and asking tough questions to in order to spur some new thoughts around a strategy.  I was fortunate he responded right away and said he appreciated my passion for trying to motivate the leadership team and his motivation was something he had begun to lose and needed the wake up call.  It was important I followed up though in case he had been burying some resentment that would have grown.

2. Embrace Mistakes, Failures and Surprises

Yes!  I can identify with this, especially, early on in my career when I legitimately didn't have a lot of experience.  I figured controlling situations or defining tasks for people that I could do competently would avoid exposing where I might not be competent.  However, to your point, that limits the team and everyone’s experiences.  It also led to more micromanagement on my part because to ensure that nothing got beyond what I felt comfortable doing, I needed to control the situation more.  I slowly realized we could learn as a team, and I saw the value in saying, "I don’t know but I’ll find out."  If things went past what I knew, I admitted it confidently and said we’d figure it out.  I realized no one can do everything, and I had plenty of other skills that gained others' trust and respect.  Making mistakes was okay if I admitted it and was willing to correct and learn in the team's eyes.

I'm currently in a situation where I’m trying to help a struggling company and we need a better sales strategy.  I've had a lot of great experiences but sales is not one of them.  I needed to still maintain the leadership team's confidence that overall I can help the company but also let them know we’re going on a journey together and need to work as a team to find resources that will help us.  The great thing is we’re enjoying it and growing as a team.  We’re all experimenting, and we will make mistakes.  We’ve learned we need to be okay with that and use them as our most valuable lessons.  Remember, there are few mistakes you can make that will completely dismantle a company to the point of no return; it’s possible, but unlikely, so you need to be okay with going beyond your comfort zone.

3. Growth May Look Like Struggle

Yes!  People who are "Fs" on the MBTI or very high on empathy need to watch out for this.   I am right on the center of F and T, but I’ve always been rated high on empathy.  I constantly sense the unease of my employees when they’re struggling and I want to jump in and alleviate it.  I even had this problem as a Leadership Fellow.  It's a hard instinct to suppress.

What I need to tell myself is my best learning experiences have come from when I've struggled or made a mistake.  You can learn when things go well, but it’s harder to because we often assume we did everything right.  When things fail you have to look for a root cause.

I've helped manage this feeling by debriefing after someone struggles or coaching them and turning it into a positive after the fact that often leads to an "ah-ha" moment which provides a lot of satisfaction for both parties.  I focus on that satisfaction and know it will be worth it for the individual.  I think people are uncomfortable when they're struggling with something because they feel like they are being judged or considered a failure.  Instead, you can begin to shape their behavior with positive reinforcement after the fact by expressing you're happy they tried and now you both can begin examining what could have been done differently.

I did this with my employees on my production line.  They used to be trained that every decision had to go through the manager even if it was 2 AM and the line was broken down and the manager was at home asleep.  They were uncomfortable when I asked them to start making decisions and often times those decisions varied with their impact to cost, quality, or productivity metrics, so it was hard to say there was always one rule to go by.  I began to coach them that I was more proud of a decision and listening to them explain their well-intentioned logic (you should almost always be able to assume positive intent) that went into the decision than the actual outcome while they were still learning.  I stood by that belief and modeled it.  Even if they didn’t take the best route we debriefed the next day and I reiterated even if things didn’t go as best they could have I was proud of them and glad we had come up with lessons learned to fix it the next time.  Within a year we were setting production, cost, and quality records because we had a team that was learning, growing, and not afraid to try new things.

4. Feedback is a Gift

Right on all accounts.  Feedback does take time for us all to get used to giving and receiving.  Going back to something I said earlier about learning to admit when I was wrong, that went a long way to getting me better at accepting critical feedback and getting it.  When I started showing that I had no problem admitting my comfort with my own mistakes it opened others up to be more honest giving me feedback or accepting of my critical feedback because they know I also was willing to hold myself accountable and could find places to improve.

As a leader when giving feedback I always find it important to say that "Perception is reality."  I allude to the point that you're making about subjective versus objective truth.  They may feel they know objectively what they are feeling or doing, but they need to remember the perception of how they are coming across to others or myself might be different based on my subjective analysis and view of the situation and outcomes.

Acting on feedback is critical because it shows people you’re listening and care about what they have to say.

Bottom line: Feedback is critical, both giving and receiving, if you want to grow as a leader and improve your teams.

5. Safety, Trust, and Intimacy

Yes, patience and focus on what's important for the long run are critical.  I remember when I was turning around my production line I told my manager I needed time.  I told her not to look at the day-to-day metrics because they weren’t changing until I got the people engaged and feeling empowered which could be months...or years.  I was fortunate to have one of my best leaders at the time and she took a leap of faith and trusted me.  I realize looking back how big of a leap I was taking at 22 years old with little leadership experience and not knowing if what I was doing would even remotely work.  It gave me the room to take my time with the team and really focus on the intangibles.  Once we were a well-functioning team the metrics came and my manager was rewarded for her patience by record-setting numbers for the department at a time when the company needed all the production it could get.

I would also offer up a fourth factor that I’ve found critical: consistency.  I’ve noticed leaders that have a hard time developing the first three don’t have consistency in their reactions to certain stimuli.  They haven’t become self-aware enough to recognize when certain other factors may be influencing their mood.  I strive to make sure my reactions are consistent to a given type of stimulus.  If something is stressful I strive to remain calm even if I’m having a bad day or stressed in my personal life.  When someone brings me bad news I strive to listen carefully and make sure not to place blame on them and work to figure out what we need to do to correct it.  If I'm exhausted and someone brings me good news I muster all the energy I can show to my excitement with them.  For instance, even if you're a person who gets visibly stressed when things go wrong the consistency in your reactions allows your team to know that has nothing to do with them if you get upset due to something stressful.  They feel more comfortable delivering critical feedback and tough news or taking risks because they at least know how you’ll react.  To build safety, trust, and intimacy you need consistent behaviors.  I observed a peer of mine, who was also a production line manger, constantly react in different ways to good and bad news.  Happy sometimes, no reaction others, stressed at others, and even angry.  It makes people walk on eggshells when they don’t know who they’re going to get and what you may do with information.  That prevents building bonds between employees, peers, and the whole team in general.

6.  SAY THANK YOU!!

Also, this sounds funny, but say "THANK YOU!"  I can’t believe how far that simple phrase will go when honestly used to reinforce someone’s good actions.  Time and again I see managers don't take the time to acknowledge good work--something I’m not shy about giving people feedback on!  Money and other forms of recognition are always in limited supply, but honest "thank-yous" are always free and go a long way to improving morale, building relationships, and reinforcing simple but important things people do to help you or your team.

Five Leadership Lessons

Two weeks ago I began working with my fifth class of Leadership Fellows at the Stanford Graduate School of Business, and this coming week the Fellows meet the groups of first-year MBA students with whom they'll be working this Fall in the school's Leadership Labs.  It's prompted some reflections on what I've learned over the last five years about leading groups, with an emphasis on leader as coach and guide rather than as directive authority figure.  (Although note that I continue to re-learn these lessons regularly--while I recognize their fundamental importance and try to integrate them into my own practice, I can't say I've mastered any of them.)

1. Initial Conditions Matter

And much more than we realize.  I don't mean "Make a good first impression," because that connotes phony, superficial positivity--a pasted-on smile and a hearty backslap.  I do mean that in any leadership position or differentiated role we need to pay close attention to our first interactions with the people we're serving and to all of the factors that might affect our initial meetings.  Because human systems are so dynamic, with so many variables shaping their outcome, even the smallest things at the outset can have a big impact on the initial course of the relationship.  And in any differentiated role, the smallest things we do will be noticed and parsed for meaning.  There are some simple guidelines to follow here--take a moment to get centered and present before getting started, connect on some level with everyone in the group, remember everyone's name--but my overarching advice is simply to raise our level of awareness: Notice everything we can, reflect on the experience afterward, and test our assumptions as the system evolves.

2. Embrace Mistakes, Failure and Surprises

As leaders and coaches and teachers, we typically design experiences for the people we're serving with the expectation that certain things will (or won't) happen.  We define a set of parameters for the experience, and we work to insure that things stay within that boundary.  These structures and plans are sincerely intended to support others' learning and grow out of our legitimate expertise--but while those good intentions and that expertise provide us with some structure and safety, they also serve to limit the possibilities before us.  And our need for structure and safety can be driven less by a concern for the people we're serving and more by our desire to appear competent and avoid embarrassment.  So don't flinch when things go wrong, because that's when the richest learning is possible, and that's when we become learners right alongside the people we're serving.  I'm not saying it won't be scary--it will be--but perhaps the most important lesson, for us and for others, will come from how we respond to that fear; lean into it.

3. Growth May Look Like Struggle

Even when things aren't going entirely wrong, they may not be going well.  Groups cycle in and out of periods of struggle, and particularly early on in their development they may look to a leader for resolution.  But before we leap to rescue the people we're serving from what looks like struggle, it's important to recognize that most growth actually looks exactly like struggle from one perspective or another, and if we're took quick to jump in we may be depriving the group of its most valuable experiences.  The first step is recognizing what we're thinking and feeling as leaders when the group is struggling--we tend to view it as an indictment of our leadership and feel anxious to push the group past the difficulty.  The next step is to use this awareness not as a spur to action, but as a signal to pause, do nothing, and start asking questions instead: What growth might result if I hold back?  What opportunity might be lost if I intervene?  And am I worried about the group...or about myself? 

4. Feedback Is A Gift

We say this a lot at Stanford--so much so that it runs the risk of sounding like a cliche.  But it's never more true than when we're getting candid, meaningful praise or criticism from someone who's experienced our leadership.  And yet to make it possible for others to give us this gift, there are so many steps we must take to establish the necessary conditions.  Ask for feedback and act upon it--and be aware that how we respond to praise is as important as how we respond to criticism.  Give feedback, and do so honestly and candidly, and yet be aware of the influence we wield in our differentiated role--own our feedback as our subjective, personal response, and insure we're not being viewed as the source of objective truth.  And note that the more of this we can do in public with our team--particularly when it comes to people giving us feedback--the more everyone will learn, not only because they'll absorb the content of what's being shared, but also because it will normalize the process and make it safer for them to do it on their own.

5. Safety, Trust and Intimacy

I've previously described these three factors as the foundation of any group that aspires to help its members learn and grow.  I define safety as "A belief that we won't get hurt," trust as "We mean what we say and we say what we mean," and intimacy as "A willingness to make the private public."  The presence of these characteristics in a group supports the experimentation, risk-taking and vulnerability that are essential steps toward meaningful learning and growth--and the safer, more trusting and more intimate the group, the greater its potential value to its members.  But a challenge is that the steps  required to establish this foundation can appear to take time away from more pressing tasks--and as leaders we can easily get distracted by short-term deadlines and obligations and neglect the group's longer-term development.  In my experience group members themselves sense the need for these factors to be established in the group, and they express that need quite clearly, although often indirectly.  The key for a leader is to listen for and respond to any signals related to members' needs in these areas, while noting that it may be particularly difficult for members to articulate them in the face of our (perceived) indifference if we seem too focused on deliverables and results.  This aspect of group development is a true test of a leader's ability to focus on what we know to be important rather than what appears to be urgent.

UPDATE: Be sure to check out Dan Might's very thoughtful response to this post, Six Leadership Lessons.

Photo by Nicolas Vigier.  Yay Flickr and Creative Commons.

Taming My Perfectionism

In my work at Stanford my colleagues and I often demonstrate various coaching skills by coaching each other in short (10-20 minute) sessions in front of a class of students.  We determine ahead of time who'll be coaching and who'll be getting coached, but nothing else is pre-prepared or scripted.  It's all live--the "coachee" comes in with a real issue, and the coach does whatever they think will be useful for the coachee.

Last week I was coached in front of our new Leadership Fellows by my (brilliant) colleague Yifat Sharabi-Levine, and even though I expected something valuable to come from the experience, I was surprised by how provocative it turned out to be.

First, some background: Over the past few years I've become increasingly interested in the implications of neuroscience research for the practice of coaching and interpersonal effectiveness more generally.  This summer I lined up a series of books on neuroscience and cognitive psychology that I planned to read, reflect upon and write about.  I started with William James' Psychology: Briefer Course to provide a historical foundation and then jumped ahead 100 years to Antonio Damasio's Descartes' Error.  So far, so good.

But then I hit Joseph LeDoux's The Emotional Brain, and the intense intellectual stimulation I experienced as a result was a double-edged sword.  I took pages and pages (and pages) of notes, but ultimately stalled while trying to distill what I learned into a post I could publish here.  (I'd come dangerously close to the same fate while writing my post on Damasio's book--and I finished it only by giving up on trying to edit it down to a reasonable length.)

Life's kept me plenty busy the past few months, but I certainly could have found the time to finish this essay--and yet I didn't.  One might say the perfect had become the enemy of the good.  But even this formulation, which I've found useful in getting "unstuck" many times, failed to help.  And then the Fall Quarter started at Stanford, and I knew that any meaningful treatment of this material was going to have to wait.  And that just pushed me past mild irritation into full-fledged anger at my failure to get this damn thing done.  And then two useful things happened:

1) I realized that my perfectionism was not only crippling me as a writer but was also starting to affect me as a coach.  As a writer, my perfectionism was preventing me from tackling a project because I didn't think it would be good enough--but who's going to miss one unwritten essay from me?  I could let that slide for a long time.  But as a coach, my perfectionism was taking me to task at a deeper level because I couldn't resolve the sort of issue I help clients and students with all the time, i.e. perfectionism.  The irony doesn't escape me, but my perfectionism was telling me, "Coach, heal thyself!" and then judging me harshly for failing--and that bothered me.

2) And then I had this mini-coaching session with Yifat, which I went into knowing I wanted help on this issue but with no specific outcomes in mind.  In a lovely and creative move, Yifat had me talk to my perfectionism, literally speaking to her hand, which she held out in front of me.  I wanted to tell it "Back the fuck off!" and I did, speaking louder and louder as Yifat literally stepped away.  And then I realized that I didn't want my perfectionism to leave--I just wanted to be in a different relationship with it.  In our conversation I had metaphorically envisioned my perfectionism as a snarling dog, threatening me, keeping me cowering in the corner, practically paralyzed.  And that's not sustainable--it's stressful and boring.  But my perfectionism has also served me well in many ways over the years, and I don't want to part with it.  I want to maintain it as an aspect of myself, but with a different relationship to the rest of me.  I want it to be a partner who'll support me, who'll challenge me, who'll help me achieve great things.  And I began to envision it transformed from a snarling dog into a happy companion.

This is hardly the first time I've wrestled with this issue--it's one of my perpetual challenges, and I've made progress on it in many areas of life.  But this was an particularly important chapter in that story, and I'm eager to see what happens as a result.  Thanks, Yifat--I'm very grateful.

 Photos: Happy Dog by Meagan, Snarling Dog by Sini Merikallio.  Yay Flickr and Creative Commons