Susan Cramm asks in a post today 'Why Do We Ignore "Best Practices"?.' She cites a CIO who has rejected using a proven project methodology on a high-risk project -- a decision that has now jeopardized his project. Cramm is interested in understanding why people who know better put their projects or even their jobs at risk by failing to use known best practices. The post suggests that the CIO engendered risk on his project because he ignored best practice. I suspect the dynamic is rather different: since the project was high-risk, he ignored best practice... because he knew better.
I wrote on this just about a year ago, when I was reading Ori and Ram Brafman's insightful book "Sway: The Irresistible Pull of Irrational Behavior." Particularly when the risks are high, educated well-seasoned professionals abdicate the normal rules (rational but unnatural practices) for emotionally-based instinctive responses -- not what one thinks one ought to do, but what one feels should be done. At the moment the professional reverts to 'common sense' in a life-or-death moment, you might as well place your destiny in the hands of the evolutionary ancestor for whom this worked often enough to pass along his genes. He may have been a veteran airline pilot when your plane took off; in an emergency, you hope he doesn't turn into a Cro-Magnon mid-flight.
There's probably a biological reason why this happens, but our culture certainly reinforces it powerfully. The American culture deifies the action hero for whom normal rules do not apply. Interestingly, these heroes often have a skill set that is only acquired through much professional, rigorous training -- Rambo, Dirty Harry, Gordon Gecko. Because they are at the apex of their professions, we willingly grant them license to discard all of that and play by their own rules. We revere their irreverence for rules that lesser mortals (like us) have to live by. Maybe their Hollywood-style outcomes justify what we really believe is the 'best' practice - acting on instinct.
My older post reminded me of the project that inspired it. At the time, I needed to make a decision on how best to help the team get back on track. We shared the same goals, so alignment was not a problem. No one disputed the metrics; the team understood they were not hitting them despite being highly focused on them. We had a clear difference of opinion on what process changes should be made -- and since I'm corporate, it was easy to assume that I just didn't understand. The team really wanted to achieve their goals, and their confidence in meeting them was based on their belief in their solutions. It felt like an impasse.
So it's a year later: how did it turn out? The team achieved a break-through, and this year has consistently far exceeded what we previously thought would be high-performance results, based on prior benchmarks. Their results are inspirational, and I am awed by their achievements. Yes, we got back to 'best practices' in process improvement, but not by forcing it on them. Instead, I realized that I was working with a team that was highly focused on results. The team thought the goal was the metric, which felt high-risk because they didn't know how to move it. So, they brought their emotions to solving the problem. I simply changed their immediate goal: they would demonstrate to me their competency in process improvement. I agreed that they could implement whatever changes they could support with data from their process analysis.
In the end, they made only a slight change to the process. And yet - they are achieving far more out of their process than they did before. Why? Well, it turns out that during their process analysis the team started to understand why some steps were best practice even though they seemed counter-intuitive. All of the team came to embrace the process as written, and once it was no longer subverted by well-meaning team members who thought they knew better, the process started working for them. After their break-through, I asked one employee how they were so successful. He responded: "It's the process. Don't take my process away from me." It's now their process, not corporate's. I wouldn't dream of touching it now.
Cramm's CIO will never be convinced to change his course by rational argument, nor by increasingly dire metrics from his project. Because he cares deeply, and because he is professionally trained, he is all the more likely to continue with his decision, to which he's by now irrevocably committed. If his board were to take the risk off the table, and re-frame the task in a way that enabled him to bring his professional judgment back online, it's possible he could make a fundamental shift that would engender success.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
"And you may ask yourself..."
The rise of the agrarian culture. Health-care reform. Jared Diamond's book Collapse. Public dialogue about governmental and international policy. Talking Heads. Businesses that awaken too late to impending demise. Fear of failure. These are all on my mind today.
It all started innocently enough, as my husband and I, enjoying a lovely late-summer bike ride this morning, discussed our hypotheses on the establishment of agriculture by formerly migratory human populations. (I guess some people exercise to exercise -- that is, to become more fit or achieve athletic goals. I exercise to think; it's a marvelous way to give the brain what it needs to think creatively, and what great fortune that the rest of the body benefits as well!) So anyway, as we talked, I started imagining what it may have been like to live in a culture that started the transition from opportunistically gathering food from the surrounding environment, to creating sources of nutrition that could sustain a settled population.
I'd never really thought about this much. In school I was told that once people started farming, they weren't so mobile and they settled down and started creating social mechanisms to support and defend their settlement. I must have assumed that (1) this was the sequence of events (farming then settlement then defense and other infrastructure) and (2) this was a life style choice - like city dwellers leaving to start up farms in the countryside. But someone who has lived after the establishment of agriculture has the advantage of accumulated human knowledge: even if the individual knows nothing about farming, he or she can easily find out from people who know, and has access to markets that will supply the raw materials and tools that are required. What if there is no human knowledge to be had, and farming tools are nonexistent?
The first humans to engage in farming must have failed a lot before they succeeded. Creating knowledge is like that: you start from ignorance, and try things out. You learn what works and what doesn't from the mistakes you make. Risk of failure must be quite high: a lot of effort with poor yield in the beginning, and long lead times (a growing season) before you know whether your efforts were successful or not. Meanwhile, you're caring for yourself and others who need nutrition every day, and your movement is limited, since you have to remain close to the plants you're trying to grow. Chances are, the area where you've settled is not overly rich in naturally-occurring food, or why would you be putting so much effort into farming your own? The risk of failure is quite high -- starting from ignorance, it's probable that initially, failure is certain. People die if crops fail and they aren't able to supplement their diet sufficiently with nutrition from the immediate environment. How is it that people stayed with this endeavor long enough to accrue the necessary knowledge to become successful?
I can only imagine that the immediate risks of not doing it were much higher than the risks of doing it. Groups of people do not assume any risk, much less one that could only have resulted in death amongst their own population, unless they are compelled to do so by a much more extreme and inescapable risk. As a species, we are extremely unimaginative. Risks that could eventuate next year - much less in your child's lifetime -- are just not compelling enough. It could happen -- and the optimistic, here-and-now human brain thinks "Yeah, but it's also possible it won't happen, so let's not rock the boat." It's not enough that the status quo produces hardship and loss; if we've become accustomed to these, they are less fearsome than the fear of the unknown. Diamond's book explains eloquently how one civilization after another faced imminent collapse because of the choices they made, and how many of them clung to the catastrophic choices that ultimately destroyed them. So whatever was happening in these proto-agrarian societies must have been fearsome indeed. Some populations probably decided they could not change their practices, and they perished. Some did, and generations have been sustained by their decision.
There's a lesson here, regardless your viewpoint on how to tackle the many issues facing this nation and those around the world. You can take your pick of disasters: the status quo is unacceptable in any of them. We have to make different choices. We have to do things differently than we've ever done them before, and because we will be novices, we will fail as we seek to learn how to be successful. It could be that, as in the apocryphal Thanksgiving parable, we can metaphorically learn from others how to plant corn and stave off the impending starvation of the colony. It can also be the case that we face some things (how to maintain peace in an increasingly volatile nuclear world; how to sustain the environment as the atmosphere starts to boil) as a species for which we have no collective wisdom.
On a smaller scale, businesses need to do the same: both Wall St and Main St businesses have failed to see disaster looming, and even after this recession's corporate body blows, so few businesses have actually taken on the equivalent of the migratory tribe's foray into agriculture. Too many businesses are just waiting for the bubble to return; that's their plan. Unfortunately, some will stick with the plan until they are no longer around -- wiping out the livelihood of their employees and adding to the continued rise of unemployment. And if the business is considered too big to fail -- well, we'll all pay for that, won't we?
It helps me to realize that what I see around me is the same as it ever was; not that this is comforting, but at least it it helps me understand why so many are clutching desperately to fictions rather than face what is blindingly apparent. And yet, there's a part of the human psyche also that can be thrilled by the adventure of going 'where no man has gone before.' Leaders need to do a much better job of tapping into the uplifting aspect of adventure and opportunity in the face of adversity, while steadfastly loosening the population's terrified grip on the deadly status quo.
It all started innocently enough, as my husband and I, enjoying a lovely late-summer bike ride this morning, discussed our hypotheses on the establishment of agriculture by formerly migratory human populations. (I guess some people exercise to exercise -- that is, to become more fit or achieve athletic goals. I exercise to think; it's a marvelous way to give the brain what it needs to think creatively, and what great fortune that the rest of the body benefits as well!) So anyway, as we talked, I started imagining what it may have been like to live in a culture that started the transition from opportunistically gathering food from the surrounding environment, to creating sources of nutrition that could sustain a settled population.
I'd never really thought about this much. In school I was told that once people started farming, they weren't so mobile and they settled down and started creating social mechanisms to support and defend their settlement. I must have assumed that (1) this was the sequence of events (farming then settlement then defense and other infrastructure) and (2) this was a life style choice - like city dwellers leaving to start up farms in the countryside. But someone who has lived after the establishment of agriculture has the advantage of accumulated human knowledge: even if the individual knows nothing about farming, he or she can easily find out from people who know, and has access to markets that will supply the raw materials and tools that are required. What if there is no human knowledge to be had, and farming tools are nonexistent?
The first humans to engage in farming must have failed a lot before they succeeded. Creating knowledge is like that: you start from ignorance, and try things out. You learn what works and what doesn't from the mistakes you make. Risk of failure must be quite high: a lot of effort with poor yield in the beginning, and long lead times (a growing season) before you know whether your efforts were successful or not. Meanwhile, you're caring for yourself and others who need nutrition every day, and your movement is limited, since you have to remain close to the plants you're trying to grow. Chances are, the area where you've settled is not overly rich in naturally-occurring food, or why would you be putting so much effort into farming your own? The risk of failure is quite high -- starting from ignorance, it's probable that initially, failure is certain. People die if crops fail and they aren't able to supplement their diet sufficiently with nutrition from the immediate environment. How is it that people stayed with this endeavor long enough to accrue the necessary knowledge to become successful?
I can only imagine that the immediate risks of not doing it were much higher than the risks of doing it. Groups of people do not assume any risk, much less one that could only have resulted in death amongst their own population, unless they are compelled to do so by a much more extreme and inescapable risk. As a species, we are extremely unimaginative. Risks that could eventuate next year - much less in your child's lifetime -- are just not compelling enough. It could happen -- and the optimistic, here-and-now human brain thinks "Yeah, but it's also possible it won't happen, so let's not rock the boat." It's not enough that the status quo produces hardship and loss; if we've become accustomed to these, they are less fearsome than the fear of the unknown. Diamond's book explains eloquently how one civilization after another faced imminent collapse because of the choices they made, and how many of them clung to the catastrophic choices that ultimately destroyed them. So whatever was happening in these proto-agrarian societies must have been fearsome indeed. Some populations probably decided they could not change their practices, and they perished. Some did, and generations have been sustained by their decision.
There's a lesson here, regardless your viewpoint on how to tackle the many issues facing this nation and those around the world. You can take your pick of disasters: the status quo is unacceptable in any of them. We have to make different choices. We have to do things differently than we've ever done them before, and because we will be novices, we will fail as we seek to learn how to be successful. It could be that, as in the apocryphal Thanksgiving parable, we can metaphorically learn from others how to plant corn and stave off the impending starvation of the colony. It can also be the case that we face some things (how to maintain peace in an increasingly volatile nuclear world; how to sustain the environment as the atmosphere starts to boil) as a species for which we have no collective wisdom.
On a smaller scale, businesses need to do the same: both Wall St and Main St businesses have failed to see disaster looming, and even after this recession's corporate body blows, so few businesses have actually taken on the equivalent of the migratory tribe's foray into agriculture. Too many businesses are just waiting for the bubble to return; that's their plan. Unfortunately, some will stick with the plan until they are no longer around -- wiping out the livelihood of their employees and adding to the continued rise of unemployment. And if the business is considered too big to fail -- well, we'll all pay for that, won't we?
It helps me to realize that what I see around me is the same as it ever was; not that this is comforting, but at least it it helps me understand why so many are clutching desperately to fictions rather than face what is blindingly apparent. And yet, there's a part of the human psyche also that can be thrilled by the adventure of going 'where no man has gone before.' Leaders need to do a much better job of tapping into the uplifting aspect of adventure and opportunity in the face of adversity, while steadfastly loosening the population's terrified grip on the deadly status quo.
Monday, August 17, 2009
How not to enroll others in your process
My daughter's music school recently sent me a letter stating they were eliminating paper statements and required that we set up an online account. After too much effort and frustration, I now have set up the account. It only took about 10 failed attempts on their website, a trip to their business office, four e-mails, and a 20-minute phone call to finish this task. And my benefit is ... oh yeah, I get to receive electronic statements instead of mailed statements, twice a year. Lucky me.
Now that my gall has (mostly) subsided, I can see where this went off the rails. Whoever directed their process was focused on one outcome (security of student data) to the point of being unmindful of the larger outcome: successful enrollment of customers into their new paperless process. This is an all too-easy mistake. Here are the traps:
1. Not explaining the benefits of enrollment to customers. Academic institutions are not historically customer-focused, even when they are funded by their academic customers. In academia, enrollment just means getting on the class rolls. Customer enrollment requires selling an idea or process to others so that they want to sign up for it. After reading the school's two-page letter, I still didn't really understand why I should care or even participate. I understood that they wanted to eliminate their costs of printing and posting statements, and reduce their delays in receiving payment. But why should I care about that? Not considering the customer's perspective resulted in my starting the process with a grudging attitude. It went downhill from there. This is something to keep top of mind whenever you roll out a process, whether within your company or with your customers. Whatever your project's objectives, when you seek participation from others you have an obligation to enroll them. It isn't enough to direct them, even if they work for you.
2. Not providing all of the information required by the process. Their account set-up process required two pieces of data: an ID and an activation key. I understand they don't want to put both pieces of data in the same piece of mail for security reasons, and the letter contained the activation key. OK - then that's a problem to be solved, which they could have phrased this way: how can we make sure our customers have everything they need before they start the process? Had they sought to enroll customers in the process, this question would have come naturally; since that wasn't their stated outcome, it simply would not have occurred to them. In the end, this customer had to solve the problem: my husband drove to their business office to ask for the ID#. If the school were thinking about the customer's outcomes, they could have solved it easily and saved us a trip and the increasing aggravation. I could have been successful on the first attempt. They'd have me on their side.
3. Providing security keys in a font featuring ambiguous letters. After multiple unsuccessful attempts to validate the activation key, I began e-mailing their support desk. We tried to work out (unsuccessfully, in the end) whether one character was the number 1, the capital letter I, or the lowercase letter L. This issue is unfortunately all too common. Apple's iTunes gift cards suffer from the same issue: I almost never enter the ID codes correctly the first time because the typeface has ambiguous letters. Number 0 or letter O? It's just trial and error, since they have not considered the design of the type face from a usability perspective. I have to believe that for Apple, a company that is extremely design conscious, this is a manifestation of how much (or little) care is given to the customer's experience. I assume someone chose the font because they thought it looked cool. I now have an aversion to buying iTunes gift cards: it's not just the annoyance with having to retype a long random key multiple times; it's the resentment that I'm giving money to a corporation that really doesn't care about how annoying they can be to customers. You don't have to be Apple to make this mistake, and if your stated outcomes don't embrace the customer experience, you're likely to stumble too.
The fact that I dutifully worked through my issues in setting up the music school account will just reinforce with them the 'success' of their project. I have no doubt the project's metrics are aligned with their desired outcomes and not with their customers' experience, and I was aware of this all the way through the dreary experience. I just decided not to sweat it since my desired outcome is that my daughter continues her musical development. The experience just taught me that although I know her teacher also shares this outcome, the school probably does not. I now have an online account with them, but I'm not enrolled.
Now that my gall has (mostly) subsided, I can see where this went off the rails. Whoever directed their process was focused on one outcome (security of student data) to the point of being unmindful of the larger outcome: successful enrollment of customers into their new paperless process. This is an all too-easy mistake. Here are the traps:
1. Not explaining the benefits of enrollment to customers. Academic institutions are not historically customer-focused, even when they are funded by their academic customers. In academia, enrollment just means getting on the class rolls. Customer enrollment requires selling an idea or process to others so that they want to sign up for it. After reading the school's two-page letter, I still didn't really understand why I should care or even participate. I understood that they wanted to eliminate their costs of printing and posting statements, and reduce their delays in receiving payment. But why should I care about that? Not considering the customer's perspective resulted in my starting the process with a grudging attitude. It went downhill from there. This is something to keep top of mind whenever you roll out a process, whether within your company or with your customers. Whatever your project's objectives, when you seek participation from others you have an obligation to enroll them. It isn't enough to direct them, even if they work for you.
2. Not providing all of the information required by the process. Their account set-up process required two pieces of data: an ID and an activation key. I understand they don't want to put both pieces of data in the same piece of mail for security reasons, and the letter contained the activation key. OK - then that's a problem to be solved, which they could have phrased this way: how can we make sure our customers have everything they need before they start the process? Had they sought to enroll customers in the process, this question would have come naturally; since that wasn't their stated outcome, it simply would not have occurred to them. In the end, this customer had to solve the problem: my husband drove to their business office to ask for the ID#. If the school were thinking about the customer's outcomes, they could have solved it easily and saved us a trip and the increasing aggravation. I could have been successful on the first attempt. They'd have me on their side.
3. Providing security keys in a font featuring ambiguous letters. After multiple unsuccessful attempts to validate the activation key, I began e-mailing their support desk. We tried to work out (unsuccessfully, in the end) whether one character was the number 1, the capital letter I, or the lowercase letter L. This issue is unfortunately all too common. Apple's iTunes gift cards suffer from the same issue: I almost never enter the ID codes correctly the first time because the typeface has ambiguous letters. Number 0 or letter O? It's just trial and error, since they have not considered the design of the type face from a usability perspective. I have to believe that for Apple, a company that is extremely design conscious, this is a manifestation of how much (or little) care is given to the customer's experience. I assume someone chose the font because they thought it looked cool. I now have an aversion to buying iTunes gift cards: it's not just the annoyance with having to retype a long random key multiple times; it's the resentment that I'm giving money to a corporation that really doesn't care about how annoying they can be to customers. You don't have to be Apple to make this mistake, and if your stated outcomes don't embrace the customer experience, you're likely to stumble too.
The fact that I dutifully worked through my issues in setting up the music school account will just reinforce with them the 'success' of their project. I have no doubt the project's metrics are aligned with their desired outcomes and not with their customers' experience, and I was aware of this all the way through the dreary experience. I just decided not to sweat it since my desired outcome is that my daughter continues her musical development. The experience just taught me that although I know her teacher also shares this outcome, the school probably does not. I now have an online account with them, but I'm not enrolled.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Just Great Movies - and more
The Traverse City Film Festival (TCFF) this summer was an amazing film-goer experience creatively, intellectually, emotionally. This weekend, as I read through the list of films that won awards at the festival, my appreciation deepened as I realized that my husband and I had seen only a small subset of all the films exhibited. Despite what I felt as a relatively aggressive film-viewing schedule (for someone not in the industry), we had obviously seen a very small pool of the total films, and almost none of those presented with awards. Of the eleven films we saw, only one was average; the remaining ten were each, in its own way, extraordinary and deeply provocative. I have a profound appreciation right now for the many intensely committed, insightful and outrageously imaginative people around the world who make these small films, many of which only find an audience through small film festivals such as TCFF. I need to keep this in mind as pundits criticize the thin gruel that is the fare of the multiplex cinema industry: let's just not call it 'the film industry' but rather 'the corporate multinational film industry.' There is an entire world of film outside the realm of comic book sources, silly chick flicks and crude adolescent male comedy -- all of which patronize and minimize the audience. Most of us just have limited access to this other unenfranchised world. Hence, we are witnessing a rapid rise of small film festivals that are meeting in a limited way a demand that the corporate film industry is unwilling to supply.
If your only film festival experience is from reading accounts in newspapers about Cannes or Sundance, it's important to note a critical difference between those festivals dominated by corporations and the small festivals such as TCFF. Those high-profile festivals are all about big: big names, big cash, big deals, lavish swag and parties. The only things big at TCFF are ideas, choice of films, passion -- you know, all of those things that aren't easily commercialized. Although TCFF does have sponsors who help fund the festival, most if not all of them are small local businesses. Looking at the event as an operation (which, sadly, I cannot prevent myself from doing), its most significant engine is volunteerism. The people responsible for running the festival take leaves of absence from their real jobs and volunteer their time and skills. All of the operations staff are volunteer -- and the size of this temporary work force is staggering. But what is truly amazing is how well they did their jobs, and how committed each of them was to make the experience delightful for every film-goer . Just the logistics of putting together this temporary organization (creating the org charts, hiring, shift scheduling, communication, training, managing resources, problem-solving) is mind-boggling; but additionally they are able to create a culture and mission and enroll every volunteer in it, so that the festival can rely on every part-time volunteer to communicate these behaviorally in every customer interaction. That's not only amazing, it's inspiring.
Think about what it takes in your organization to align hundreds of employees culturally and operationally. Now consider the environment in which this alignment takes place: there's a corporate office, with full time, permanent management. There's company e-mail for communications. The company uses newsletters and meetings held at the employees' workplace, on the employees' work time, to communicate significant messages. The company invests in infrastructure that is permanent and maintained every day of the year. The company has 52 weeks every year to respond to issues and correct them.
The festival does have some advantages not enjoyed by most organizations. The festival only has to get it right for one week - the commitment of its volunteers is passionate but very short-lived, and people can put up with just about anything if they know it will end soon (as I'm reminded with the latest crop of Woodstock anniversary accounts - if it lasted much longer than three days, it might have been disastrous). And, as with the small subset of the films that I saw, similarly I encountered a relatively small number of volunteers, and have no insight into whatever problems the festival organizers and managers handled during the week. But the point is that to this customer, it appeared to be all good, and in my experience this only happens when an organization is getting most things right.
Looking from the outside in, I can only say that I have no idea how this worked operationally. I wish I did. I'm simply inspired.
If your only film festival experience is from reading accounts in newspapers about Cannes or Sundance, it's important to note a critical difference between those festivals dominated by corporations and the small festivals such as TCFF. Those high-profile festivals are all about big: big names, big cash, big deals, lavish swag and parties. The only things big at TCFF are ideas, choice of films, passion -- you know, all of those things that aren't easily commercialized. Although TCFF does have sponsors who help fund the festival, most if not all of them are small local businesses. Looking at the event as an operation (which, sadly, I cannot prevent myself from doing), its most significant engine is volunteerism. The people responsible for running the festival take leaves of absence from their real jobs and volunteer their time and skills. All of the operations staff are volunteer -- and the size of this temporary work force is staggering. But what is truly amazing is how well they did their jobs, and how committed each of them was to make the experience delightful for every film-goer . Just the logistics of putting together this temporary organization (creating the org charts, hiring, shift scheduling, communication, training, managing resources, problem-solving) is mind-boggling; but additionally they are able to create a culture and mission and enroll every volunteer in it, so that the festival can rely on every part-time volunteer to communicate these behaviorally in every customer interaction. That's not only amazing, it's inspiring.
Think about what it takes in your organization to align hundreds of employees culturally and operationally. Now consider the environment in which this alignment takes place: there's a corporate office, with full time, permanent management. There's company e-mail for communications. The company uses newsletters and meetings held at the employees' workplace, on the employees' work time, to communicate significant messages. The company invests in infrastructure that is permanent and maintained every day of the year. The company has 52 weeks every year to respond to issues and correct them.
The festival does have some advantages not enjoyed by most organizations. The festival only has to get it right for one week - the commitment of its volunteers is passionate but very short-lived, and people can put up with just about anything if they know it will end soon (as I'm reminded with the latest crop of Woodstock anniversary accounts - if it lasted much longer than three days, it might have been disastrous). And, as with the small subset of the films that I saw, similarly I encountered a relatively small number of volunteers, and have no insight into whatever problems the festival organizers and managers handled during the week. But the point is that to this customer, it appeared to be all good, and in my experience this only happens when an organization is getting most things right.
Looking from the outside in, I can only say that I have no idea how this worked operationally. I wish I did. I'm simply inspired.
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