Friday, November 26, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Learning to play with others
One day in the 7th grade, I lost all of my friends. We had no argument; there was no scene. I simply found myself one day shunned by the girls whom I had considered close friends. I found myself eating lunch alone, walking to class alone. No phone calls after school. No eye contact or recognition that I existed from this group of girls. My time alone probably lasted just a couple of months, but it felt like a lifetime. In the end, a girl who was previously my closest friend called and said she wanted to be friends with me, even if the other girls disapproved. I asked the question that had been my constant companion through the time of my blacklisting: Why? What had I done to deserve this? The answer astounded me: “One day you went to the front of the algebra class and wrote the answer on the board.” Apparently, the way I did this had angered one of the group, who then persuaded the rest of them to drop me.
I’ve known these facts about myself since I was 12: it’s not enough for me to get an A; I am driven to be at the top of the class. Another fact I learned: basing achievement on competition harms relationships. Differentiating yourself by achievement can provide the kind of distance that is hurtful. I have tried to remain mindful of this difficult lesson. It’s one I have a hard time learning once and for all.
These memories came back to me as I was thinking about a book by Mary Catherine Bateson called “Composing a Life.” Bateson explores the concept of complementarity in personal and working relationships. Complementarity recognizes that people are different in many ways, without placing those differences in the context of value -- higher/lower, better/worse, more/less. It also incorporates interdependence -- the necessity of the complement to complete the whole.
Complementarity is therefore the antithesis of the two most widely-held models of thought in American business or culture: competition and teamwork. In the American ethos, competition must be fair, which means no competitor can be naturally disadvantaged -- that is, the competitors must have symmetry, what we call a level playing ground. Teamwork similarly demands that everyone on the team is either equal or made equal within the context of the team. Any differences due to authority outside the team are artificially stripped whenever the team convenes.
These concepts fail to account for the fact that people are different, and different in many ways. Airbrushing out all of the differences to create fair competition or teamwork takes out of the picture the differences that could make a difference. Finding common ground is important to enable people to work together, but if they limit themselves to the common ground they limit their collective possibilities. Rather than benignly ignoring each other’s differences, why not recognize them and see if those differences could help collaboration?
We are restrained from embracing those differences when we place a higher value on our own attributes. Recognizing a difference in another person, and welcoming that difference because you lack it, would require that you accept that you don’t have it all. You’re not at the head of the class; if you perceive you are then perhaps you have defined the class too narrowly.
I’ve witnessed this struggle in many manager-employee relationships. The manager, whose position of authority frames this relationship, can feel compelled to be the expert, the guide and the monitor, enhancing the one-dimensional asymmetry of the relationship. Because a manager is expected to achieve through employees, any failure of an employee therefore reflects on the manager. When a failure does inevitably occur, the manager has to find some way to reconcile his/her rightness in the face of another’s failure. This is nearly always destructive, both to the manager’s ego and to the relationship between the employee and the manager.
What if instead we conceived of a manager achieving with employees rather than through them? The differences between the manager and employee -- not only position and authority, but also life experiences, perceptions, and skills -- could be included rather than excluded in their working relationship. If someone fails in a task, the focus could be on learning from the experience rather than (self-) recrimination. This could be freeing in some ways, but the manager would also have to accept that the position doesn’t make a person better, or more special. It just makes you different, in some ways, from some people.
Undoubtedly, my 12 year old nemesis was as stunted by her math insecurity as I was by my need to write the answer on the board. Had we the wisdom then that age confers, we might have seen in our differences a way for her to improve her grade and for me to learn humility.
I’ve known these facts about myself since I was 12: it’s not enough for me to get an A; I am driven to be at the top of the class. Another fact I learned: basing achievement on competition harms relationships. Differentiating yourself by achievement can provide the kind of distance that is hurtful. I have tried to remain mindful of this difficult lesson. It’s one I have a hard time learning once and for all.
These memories came back to me as I was thinking about a book by Mary Catherine Bateson called “Composing a Life.” Bateson explores the concept of complementarity in personal and working relationships. Complementarity recognizes that people are different in many ways, without placing those differences in the context of value -- higher/lower, better/worse, more/less. It also incorporates interdependence -- the necessity of the complement to complete the whole.
Complementarity is therefore the antithesis of the two most widely-held models of thought in American business or culture: competition and teamwork. In the American ethos, competition must be fair, which means no competitor can be naturally disadvantaged -- that is, the competitors must have symmetry, what we call a level playing ground. Teamwork similarly demands that everyone on the team is either equal or made equal within the context of the team. Any differences due to authority outside the team are artificially stripped whenever the team convenes.
These concepts fail to account for the fact that people are different, and different in many ways. Airbrushing out all of the differences to create fair competition or teamwork takes out of the picture the differences that could make a difference. Finding common ground is important to enable people to work together, but if they limit themselves to the common ground they limit their collective possibilities. Rather than benignly ignoring each other’s differences, why not recognize them and see if those differences could help collaboration?
We are restrained from embracing those differences when we place a higher value on our own attributes. Recognizing a difference in another person, and welcoming that difference because you lack it, would require that you accept that you don’t have it all. You’re not at the head of the class; if you perceive you are then perhaps you have defined the class too narrowly.
I’ve witnessed this struggle in many manager-employee relationships. The manager, whose position of authority frames this relationship, can feel compelled to be the expert, the guide and the monitor, enhancing the one-dimensional asymmetry of the relationship. Because a manager is expected to achieve through employees, any failure of an employee therefore reflects on the manager. When a failure does inevitably occur, the manager has to find some way to reconcile his/her rightness in the face of another’s failure. This is nearly always destructive, both to the manager’s ego and to the relationship between the employee and the manager.
What if instead we conceived of a manager achieving with employees rather than through them? The differences between the manager and employee -- not only position and authority, but also life experiences, perceptions, and skills -- could be included rather than excluded in their working relationship. If someone fails in a task, the focus could be on learning from the experience rather than (self-) recrimination. This could be freeing in some ways, but the manager would also have to accept that the position doesn’t make a person better, or more special. It just makes you different, in some ways, from some people.
Undoubtedly, my 12 year old nemesis was as stunted by her math insecurity as I was by my need to write the answer on the board. Had we the wisdom then that age confers, we might have seen in our differences a way for her to improve her grade and for me to learn humility.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Making Tracks
My previous post challenged two assumptions: that career progression equals (management) promotion, and the division between labor and management. I wondered: What could be possible if we changed the existing paradigms?
Every group of people trying to achieve something together needs leaders who have the interest, talent and skills that are not readily found in a single individual: the abilities to think strategically and tactically; the skill to communicate to a wide range of people; the talent to solve problems analytically and creatively; the skills to coach and develop others; the ability to shape work, communicate it, and monitor it; the skill to hold others accountable and celebrate their successes with sincerity; the ability to be self-critical and the humility to own up to failures and learn from them; a sincere and passionate interest in the needs of others. Additionally, managers must also possess credible technical knowledge in the areas in which they work.. Although none of these abilities are rare in themselves, they are not commonly found altogether in a single person – and yet, these are surely the minimum requirements of managers.
That’s a tall order. Now think of how many of these super-talented people a business needs. Using the typical division of labor thinking, every work group (departmental shift) needs a manager. This could be 10% - 20% of the workforce, even if this set of skills weren’t resident in, for instance, 10% of a given population.
This is the point at which businesses begin to loosen standards, and promote into management roles some people who should not be managers, due to their lack of interest in the required work, misapplied talents, or undeveloped skills. This is the path taken to the Peter Principle, even though we know it’s a path we don’t want to tread.
What if we didn’t have a category of workers called ‘managers?’ If we were making a completely new organizational design, we could unbundle all of those attributes listed above, and add in all of the attributes and responsibilities that the business requires in order to function and thrive. It could look something like this:
If we removed the limitations imposed by the organizational chart and its salary structures, we could then consider what skills could be bundled into individual jobs, and how we could group those jobs into meaningful work groups and structural relationships. Roles that require the scarcest talents and skills, and those that make the most significant contributions would be most highly compensated.
In the end, we may still have some manager roles, and some leadership roles – the point is not to get rid of these roles but to loosen our thinking from traditional assumptions. We may also discover a way to create non-management roles that are equal to management track roles in their potential to fulfill and reward. The exercise could enable us to adopt something of an artisan model, in which individuals hone craftsman-like skills within a business context.
A more incremental approach is to consider alternatives to management when you think of the exceptional employees who work for you. If you manage people because of your interest in helping others achieve their goals, you probably give a lot of thought to those outstanding employees who make your department and your company great. If the employee is clearly interested in and has the native talents to move into a management role, your task is a familiar one: give the employee the training and opportunity to develop necessary skills, and select for management progression those who prove proficiency. If the employee is a terrific performer but lacks the interest or talents necessary for management, challenge yourself to consider how you can provide financial rewards and skill development within the context of that individual’s interests and passions.
In the traditional corporate mindset, management is highly valued because managers define value. In an artistic or artisan mindset, craft rather than management is valued (hence the natural tension in the business of the arts). Placing a value on the individual’s talents and skills, and discovering ways the individual can best make use of them, could open up untold possibility for individual and corporate fulfillment.
Every group of people trying to achieve something together needs leaders who have the interest, talent and skills that are not readily found in a single individual: the abilities to think strategically and tactically; the skill to communicate to a wide range of people; the talent to solve problems analytically and creatively; the skills to coach and develop others; the ability to shape work, communicate it, and monitor it; the skill to hold others accountable and celebrate their successes with sincerity; the ability to be self-critical and the humility to own up to failures and learn from them; a sincere and passionate interest in the needs of others. Additionally, managers must also possess credible technical knowledge in the areas in which they work.. Although none of these abilities are rare in themselves, they are not commonly found altogether in a single person – and yet, these are surely the minimum requirements of managers.
That’s a tall order. Now think of how many of these super-talented people a business needs. Using the typical division of labor thinking, every work group (departmental shift) needs a manager. This could be 10% - 20% of the workforce, even if this set of skills weren’t resident in, for instance, 10% of a given population.
This is the point at which businesses begin to loosen standards, and promote into management roles some people who should not be managers, due to their lack of interest in the required work, misapplied talents, or undeveloped skills. This is the path taken to the Peter Principle, even though we know it’s a path we don’t want to tread.
What if we didn’t have a category of workers called ‘managers?’ If we were making a completely new organizational design, we could unbundle all of those attributes listed above, and add in all of the attributes and responsibilities that the business requires in order to function and thrive. It could look something like this:
| Supplier relationships | Customer relationships | Order processing | After-sales service | Product selection |
| Product analysis | Sales analysis | Process analysis | Work design | Scheduling |
| Process monitoring | Internal communications | Internal feedback | Coaching | Strategic design |
If we removed the limitations imposed by the organizational chart and its salary structures, we could then consider what skills could be bundled into individual jobs, and how we could group those jobs into meaningful work groups and structural relationships. Roles that require the scarcest talents and skills, and those that make the most significant contributions would be most highly compensated.
In the end, we may still have some manager roles, and some leadership roles – the point is not to get rid of these roles but to loosen our thinking from traditional assumptions. We may also discover a way to create non-management roles that are equal to management track roles in their potential to fulfill and reward. The exercise could enable us to adopt something of an artisan model, in which individuals hone craftsman-like skills within a business context.
A more incremental approach is to consider alternatives to management when you think of the exceptional employees who work for you. If you manage people because of your interest in helping others achieve their goals, you probably give a lot of thought to those outstanding employees who make your department and your company great. If the employee is clearly interested in and has the native talents to move into a management role, your task is a familiar one: give the employee the training and opportunity to develop necessary skills, and select for management progression those who prove proficiency. If the employee is a terrific performer but lacks the interest or talents necessary for management, challenge yourself to consider how you can provide financial rewards and skill development within the context of that individual’s interests and passions.
In the traditional corporate mindset, management is highly valued because managers define value. In an artistic or artisan mindset, craft rather than management is valued (hence the natural tension in the business of the arts). Placing a value on the individual’s talents and skills, and discovering ways the individual can best make use of them, could open up untold possibility for individual and corporate fulfillment.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Getting off the management track
Why should career growth imply management progression?
Over time I’ve asked many job candidates and employees what they want from their careers. Almost inevitably the talk turns to the management track. The perception that career growth is only achievable on the management track is so hardened in our thinking that I’m never entirely sure whether the desire is sincere, or if this is just considered the right thing to say.
To prepare for a recent talent review session, I asked a group of managers to submit names of employees who could be candidates for management development. During the discussion, the managers admitted that several of the names belonged to employees who were either indifferent about or uninterested in a management role. So, why did the managers want to consider these employees for management development? The answer was that these are great employees, and their managers want to recognize them and retain them.
I left the meeting puzzled by the managers’ logic. But then came my Eureka moment: the managers were using the only tool they have for recognizing, rewarding and investing in their employees. Although I had initially thought the managers limited in their thinking, it was actually I (… and the company and culture I represent…) limiting them.
Our culture largely defines business success in terms of where you are on the corporate organization chart, which is itself defined by management and executive hierarchies. Your success is positively correlated to the number of direct and indirect reports you have.
The interest, skills and talents required to manage and lead others are not distributed equally amongst the population. Sadly, there are far more managers than great managers. Consider all of the managers you’ve known in your career: how many have been truly skilled and talented in the role? If your experience is anything like mine, excellent managers are a small fraction of the total. This may be something of an anomaly: I can’t easily think of any other job that is often held by people who lack the necessary interest, skills and talent to do their job really well. This is partly because standards are very high for managers; a merely good manager really has to be exceptional. A role that impacts others' livelihoods must require the highest possible standards.
I think this is an outcome of an assumption within the business culture that progression means promotion. It is also a holdover from a much older cultural assumption that divides the work environment into labor and management: people who do the work, and the people who direct and supervise them. This division of labor is based on any number of assumptions: that people who perform work are incapable of shaping, directing and monitoring their own work, that formal leadership is preferable to informal leadership amongst work groups, that the direction of work is more highly valued than the work itself.
In all of these assumptions, some things are useful and some things are not, and each business works out for itself what is and isn’t. For instance, most businesses find that designating a small group of leaders with shared goals enables the alignment necessary for the business to achieve its goals. Although it is probably not impossible to align a large population of self-directed employees, it’s surely much more difficult.
I’m not interested in discarding these assumptions, or even trying to disprove them. I do want to point out, though, that these are decisions that people have made or unconsciously accepted. If there are consequences we don’t like, it is within our power to make other decisions.
Like any assumptions, these can be challenged. What would be possible if we did?
Over time I’ve asked many job candidates and employees what they want from their careers. Almost inevitably the talk turns to the management track. The perception that career growth is only achievable on the management track is so hardened in our thinking that I’m never entirely sure whether the desire is sincere, or if this is just considered the right thing to say.
To prepare for a recent talent review session, I asked a group of managers to submit names of employees who could be candidates for management development. During the discussion, the managers admitted that several of the names belonged to employees who were either indifferent about or uninterested in a management role. So, why did the managers want to consider these employees for management development? The answer was that these are great employees, and their managers want to recognize them and retain them.
I left the meeting puzzled by the managers’ logic. But then came my Eureka moment: the managers were using the only tool they have for recognizing, rewarding and investing in their employees. Although I had initially thought the managers limited in their thinking, it was actually I (… and the company and culture I represent…) limiting them.
Our culture largely defines business success in terms of where you are on the corporate organization chart, which is itself defined by management and executive hierarchies. Your success is positively correlated to the number of direct and indirect reports you have.
The interest, skills and talents required to manage and lead others are not distributed equally amongst the population. Sadly, there are far more managers than great managers. Consider all of the managers you’ve known in your career: how many have been truly skilled and talented in the role? If your experience is anything like mine, excellent managers are a small fraction of the total. This may be something of an anomaly: I can’t easily think of any other job that is often held by people who lack the necessary interest, skills and talent to do their job really well. This is partly because standards are very high for managers; a merely good manager really has to be exceptional. A role that impacts others' livelihoods must require the highest possible standards.
I think this is an outcome of an assumption within the business culture that progression means promotion. It is also a holdover from a much older cultural assumption that divides the work environment into labor and management: people who do the work, and the people who direct and supervise them. This division of labor is based on any number of assumptions: that people who perform work are incapable of shaping, directing and monitoring their own work, that formal leadership is preferable to informal leadership amongst work groups, that the direction of work is more highly valued than the work itself.
In all of these assumptions, some things are useful and some things are not, and each business works out for itself what is and isn’t. For instance, most businesses find that designating a small group of leaders with shared goals enables the alignment necessary for the business to achieve its goals. Although it is probably not impossible to align a large population of self-directed employees, it’s surely much more difficult.
I’m not interested in discarding these assumptions, or even trying to disprove them. I do want to point out, though, that these are decisions that people have made or unconsciously accepted. If there are consequences we don’t like, it is within our power to make other decisions.
Like any assumptions, these can be challenged. What would be possible if we did?
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Learn Baby Learn
This seems to be the year for training, at work. The company's on a growth curve, and old tactics that just got us by (on-the-job-training that was really just 'watch me while I do my job') when the company was younger are clearly not up to the task now. I find myself most days thinking about, collaborating on, developing, and giving training classes. Thankfully, this is a joy for me and not a chore. I've always felt fortunate that I have such a natural love of learning, and it is a gift to have the opportunity to share that experience with others.
Coincidentally (or not), I happen to be reading David Rock's fascinating book, "Your Brain at Work." One of the book's insights is that the human brain is wired to enjoy learning. Here I was, thinking I was special. But no. Brains love novelty. Learning embraces the 'new,' which lights up the brain. True, the discipline that learning requires is maybe not so fun for the brain: focus requires suppressing a lot of other brain activity, and focus uses up the brain's resources, which feels draining. All of which is just to say that learning is also work, not just fun and games. But does that resource drain (the work) overpower the jolt of excitement from learning?
I've always marveled at how we humans start our lives as learning animals. That's the life of a baby: eating, sleeping, and learning. This experience is not always fun: mom gets irritated when you pull her hair; there's a lot of falling down before you can walk; there's a lot of crying that happens too (but the crying generally results in being comforted -- not much to complain about there). And yet, the 'not fun' doesn't get in the way of the fun. Babies and small children just love to learn - and they happily spend most hours of the day actively learning, and it's considered 'play.' No parents would think to limit the number of hours per day their children spend learning.
As we grow up, humans slowly become accustomed to seeing learning as work. We limit the number of hours our children should spend on learning (which generally is bounded by class time and homework). It is seen as a burden, an obligation. And I must admit, there's little joyful about grades, or studying for exams, or writing essays on a deadline. Rock's book suggests to me that perhaps this is not an attribute of maturity, but rather of the way we are expected to learn as we mature. Learning becomes more about getting it right -- the grade -- rather than about learning, which by definition is about getting it wrong a lot of times first. As we get older, we realize that proficiency is valued; being a novice (a learner) is a low-status position. If you expected your baby to walk without error after having seen it demonstrated a couple of times, perhaps most of the human population would be crawling on all fours.
At the risk of over-simplifying, I suggest: Your brain loves to learn. Your mind isn't entirely convinced. It's the job of a teacher to get your mind to be quiet and step aside, so that your brain can have some fun.
If the entire human population were able to hold onto the joy of learning that we experienced as infants... if expertise were not valued more than curiosity... if failure to try was penalized more than failure to succeed... what kind of world would we pass to the next generation?
Coincidentally (or not), I happen to be reading David Rock's fascinating book, "Your Brain at Work." One of the book's insights is that the human brain is wired to enjoy learning. Here I was, thinking I was special. But no. Brains love novelty. Learning embraces the 'new,' which lights up the brain. True, the discipline that learning requires is maybe not so fun for the brain: focus requires suppressing a lot of other brain activity, and focus uses up the brain's resources, which feels draining. All of which is just to say that learning is also work, not just fun and games. But does that resource drain (the work) overpower the jolt of excitement from learning?
I've always marveled at how we humans start our lives as learning animals. That's the life of a baby: eating, sleeping, and learning. This experience is not always fun: mom gets irritated when you pull her hair; there's a lot of falling down before you can walk; there's a lot of crying that happens too (but the crying generally results in being comforted -- not much to complain about there). And yet, the 'not fun' doesn't get in the way of the fun. Babies and small children just love to learn - and they happily spend most hours of the day actively learning, and it's considered 'play.' No parents would think to limit the number of hours per day their children spend learning.
As we grow up, humans slowly become accustomed to seeing learning as work. We limit the number of hours our children should spend on learning (which generally is bounded by class time and homework). It is seen as a burden, an obligation. And I must admit, there's little joyful about grades, or studying for exams, or writing essays on a deadline. Rock's book suggests to me that perhaps this is not an attribute of maturity, but rather of the way we are expected to learn as we mature. Learning becomes more about getting it right -- the grade -- rather than about learning, which by definition is about getting it wrong a lot of times first. As we get older, we realize that proficiency is valued; being a novice (a learner) is a low-status position. If you expected your baby to walk without error after having seen it demonstrated a couple of times, perhaps most of the human population would be crawling on all fours.
At the risk of over-simplifying, I suggest: Your brain loves to learn. Your mind isn't entirely convinced. It's the job of a teacher to get your mind to be quiet and step aside, so that your brain can have some fun.
If the entire human population were able to hold onto the joy of learning that we experienced as infants... if expertise were not valued more than curiosity... if failure to try was penalized more than failure to succeed... what kind of world would we pass to the next generation?
Sunday, April 25, 2010
A Matter of Supply
Nicholas Kristof's column in the New York Times today reports on the school in Sudan founded by Valentino Achak Deng (whose story was told by Dave Eggers in "What is the What" - I can't do that book justice bracketed by parentheses but I highly recommend it). Thanks to a best-seller that distributed Valentino's story across the world, the school is being generously supported by donors around the world. The school is starting its second year, and it is taking on an awesome task. Kristof reports that last year, only 11 girls in all of southern Sudan sat for high school graduation exams, and chillingly:
The school can accommodate only 150 students in its incoming ninth grade class. Thousands have applied, many of them adults; the actual need is surely more than that. And yet, even to supply the educational needs of its relatively few students, the school is stretched not only because of its limited resources, but also due to the paucity of infrastructure. Lacking the power grid that we in the US take for granted, the school relies on generators and solar panels to power its computers. And then there is the question of books:
John Sviokla recently wrote "If one looks throughout history, workers' productivity has always been proportional to the quality of the tools they use." This is an important aspect, but equally important to economic development is the quality of distribution or infrastructure access. A person without access to infrastructure is by definition living off the land. Without access to tools for preparing the soil, planting, irrigation, and harvesting, that person (and that person's family) must by definition live hand to mouth.
Education requires very sophisticated infrastructure, which if you have it, is simply invisible. Basic literacy can be taught one to one, with few tools: as Kristof points out, Valentino learned his letters by drawing them in the sand. That's a necessary foundation, but not what it takes to articulate within the world as we know it today, from Seattle to Sudan. That requires tapping into an immense network of information, and having the tools and access to do so.
This is necessary even for very modest education efforts. I'm currently collaborating on a problem solving course. Without a second thought, I availed myself of the following tools that any corporate worker in the US today expects is readily on hand: computer, high speed Internet connection, projector, training rooms, software to create presentations and manuals, reference materials (books, articles, videos), books for students purchased on-line and delivered within a week for the class, copying and binding services, on-demand electricity, subject matter experts and colleagues who can review and advise. Because of this wealth of infrastructure, tools and knowledge that I could access with little effort or delay, my co-workers and I are able to produce a series of training classes in very little time, just in the normal course of our work lives.
Humans have solved the problems of distribution in many parts of the world; the technical answers are not elusive. Investment is not necessarily the constraint - there are a lot of investors who see the value of the untapped potential of communities around the world. The bigger problems to solve are -- as always in the human condition -- politics and exclusion. These too can be changed: even modest prosperity can empower transformative change. Distribution can promote prosperity.
Based on official data, a girl there is far more likely to end up dying in childbirth than she is to gain a primary education.
The school can accommodate only 150 students in its incoming ninth grade class. Thousands have applied, many of them adults; the actual need is surely more than that. And yet, even to supply the educational needs of its relatively few students, the school is stretched not only because of its limited resources, but also due to the paucity of infrastructure. Lacking the power grid that we in the US take for granted, the school relies on generators and solar panels to power its computers. And then there is the question of books:
Recent donations have enabled the school to build a library, which is starved of books, but there is no local postal service for American friends to send books. Valentino looked into the possibility of having books mailed to Kenya and then trucked in, but found he would have to pay prohibitive import duties.
John Sviokla recently wrote "If one looks throughout history, workers' productivity has always been proportional to the quality of the tools they use." This is an important aspect, but equally important to economic development is the quality of distribution or infrastructure access. A person without access to infrastructure is by definition living off the land. Without access to tools for preparing the soil, planting, irrigation, and harvesting, that person (and that person's family) must by definition live hand to mouth.
Education requires very sophisticated infrastructure, which if you have it, is simply invisible. Basic literacy can be taught one to one, with few tools: as Kristof points out, Valentino learned his letters by drawing them in the sand. That's a necessary foundation, but not what it takes to articulate within the world as we know it today, from Seattle to Sudan. That requires tapping into an immense network of information, and having the tools and access to do so.
This is necessary even for very modest education efforts. I'm currently collaborating on a problem solving course. Without a second thought, I availed myself of the following tools that any corporate worker in the US today expects is readily on hand: computer, high speed Internet connection, projector, training rooms, software to create presentations and manuals, reference materials (books, articles, videos), books for students purchased on-line and delivered within a week for the class, copying and binding services, on-demand electricity, subject matter experts and colleagues who can review and advise. Because of this wealth of infrastructure, tools and knowledge that I could access with little effort or delay, my co-workers and I are able to produce a series of training classes in very little time, just in the normal course of our work lives.
Humans have solved the problems of distribution in many parts of the world; the technical answers are not elusive. Investment is not necessarily the constraint - there are a lot of investors who see the value of the untapped potential of communities around the world. The bigger problems to solve are -- as always in the human condition -- politics and exclusion. These too can be changed: even modest prosperity can empower transformative change. Distribution can promote prosperity.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
A Beef with Unregulated Business
As I mentioned in my last post, I'm reading Fast Food Nation (Eric Schlosser). Last night I finished the chapter that effectively updates Upton Sinclair's The Jungle to document the meatpacking workplace in the late twentieth century. This chapter ends with the story of Kenny Dobbins, a man of incredible strength and company loyalty who worked in Monfort meat processing plants for almost 16 years. After surviving many horrific injuries on the job, saving another employee from being crushed by a pulverizing machine, and supporting the company in its stand against unionization, he was fired without notification and without a pension.
"They used me to the point where I had no body parts left to give," Kenny said, struggling to maintain his composure. "Then they just tossed me into the trash can." Once strong and powerfully built, he now walks with difficulty, tires easily, and feels useless, as though his life were over. He is forty-five years old." (Fast Food Nation, 2001, p. 190)
Monfort may not have broken any laws in their employment practices; their industry has influenced the dilution of workplace safety regulation over the past twenty years.
This weekend, the front page headlines are dominated by the SEC civil suit charging Goldman Sachs of fraud. Were Goldman Sachs's actions in fact legal as they claim, it would be a condemnation of the shabby state of our regulatory system rather than a defense of their integrity. Predatory business practices across industries integral to our economy (food, health, finance, real estate) cause incalculable real, ongoing harm to employees, customers, other businesses and the overall economy -- affecting not just our nation's stability but that of the broader global community as well. The far-reaching impact of these practices should not, however, imply a far-reaching use of these practices.
In my experience, businesses large and small are run with an emphasis on ethics, making decisions based not on what they can get away with, but rather on what is the right thing to do. They require their employees to use safety equipment and procedures not just because the business doesn't want to be caught by OSHA, or in fear of a large worker's comp claim, but because they don't want their employees to suffer the pain and loss of an injury. Having a strong agency overseeing workplace safety is, however, important to not only the nation's workers but also to the nation's businesses. OSHA and insurance companies provide the valuable service of educating businesses about potential workplace safety risks and how to avoid them. The regulatory system also functions to level the playing field: if company A incurs expenses in training and equipment to protect their workers (because it's the right thing to do), but their competitor company B does not, company A and the market as a whole have to bear the costs resulting from B's irresponsible behaviors. A regulatory system, therefore, is not an enemy of business: it functions to reduce and eliminate negative outcomes and therefore supports a vibrant and competitive marketplace.
And yet, it seems that many ethically-run, good companies sometimes fail to recognize that their interests and values are not aligned with those businesses with predatory practices that seek to influence the market, business journals, and policy makers. I am sometimes perplexed these days by the term 'pro-business,' when it is used in the context of protecting corporations that have abused the public trust. We hear a lot of talk of free markets from many who have demonstrated a willingness to act without regard to basic ethical constraints that the rest of us find binding even in the absence of a regulatory scheme. Markets without ethical boundaries become dominated by a few reckless, unethical actors. Totally unregulated markets are anything but free and competitive.
Most business people I've had the good fortune to work with want to make a positive impact on the world they inhabit. They enjoy fair competition, and like to win. But they want to win knowing that the game wasn't rigged, and that success is a function of their company's efforts, creativity, and hard work. They like to give back to the community. They take pride in and feel humbled by the success stories of their employees. I suspect that this description of business owners and managers is a portrait of legions, and depicts the majority of people who run companies not only here but around the world. Those legions must oppose the practices and influence of businesses who use the profit imperative to rationalize any unethical action.
It is vital that we understand the divisive intent behind the use of the term 'pro-business' when it is used to imply government meddling in business affairs. The real antagonism is not government against business, but between businesses whose predatory tactics destroy value and those businesses that create value. We must acknowledge that some who have been touted as business leaders are not representative of the business community when their profits are the result of taking advantage of lax regulation rather than creating advantage through ethical and humane business practices. We, as business people, must call these others out when they seek to tilt the game in their own favor by instilling fear and outrage over what they characterize as regulatory burdens. And we must point out at every opportunity that predatory business practices create even more burdens for other businesses, communities, and markets at large.
If you run your business responsibly, and trust that other businesses do the same, you must take a stand against those businesses that abuse that trust.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Of Good and Evil
Umair Haque argues in a blog post today "The Case for Being Disruptively Good." Haque poses the question: how is it in the self-interest of a business to act in ways that are socially responsible? It's an interesting argument, although I think his reference to Wall Street in support of his theory actually dismantles it. But it is intriguing to contemplate whether hyper-connectivity and its resulting transparency challenge the ethical models of corporations. I'm not so optimistic. Haque notes: "Yesterday, the global economy was built on debtors' prisons, usury, expropriation, colonialism, and slavery. Today, it isn't. " I'm reading Eric Schlosser's Fast Food Nation right now. I can't see the case for progress quite so clearly.
I think most people, whether they work in entry-level jobs or the corner executive suite, want their work to mean something. A person fully employed spends more waking time at work than doing those things that bring emotional enrichment to their lives. We really don't want just a paycheck in return for our individual production. We want to make a contribution, and to make a positive difference in the lives of customers and co-workers.
And yet, people at all levels of any company routinely make decisions that harm customers and co-workers. I don't think most people are evil. I think we can all be unmindful of the power we have in our relationships to harm others, and are too uninterested to understand the context before making a decision. When Wal-Mart's HR policies are criticized in the press for being socially irresponsible, I tend to think that the people who set those policies weren't so much evil as disconnected from the employees who were affected negatively by the policies and perhaps too connected (exclusively) to the people in the boardroom. When a customer relates an incident where she felt wronged by an employee's comments or behaviors, I likewise tend to see the failing as a result of disconnect rather than personal morality. But the employees harmed by their employer or the customer harmed by an employee could both, rightfully, judge those actions evil.
I think most people, whether they work in entry-level jobs or the corner executive suite, want their work to mean something. A person fully employed spends more waking time at work than doing those things that bring emotional enrichment to their lives. We really don't want just a paycheck in return for our individual production. We want to make a contribution, and to make a positive difference in the lives of customers and co-workers.
And yet, people at all levels of any company routinely make decisions that harm customers and co-workers. I don't think most people are evil. I think we can all be unmindful of the power we have in our relationships to harm others, and are too uninterested to understand the context before making a decision. When Wal-Mart's HR policies are criticized in the press for being socially irresponsible, I tend to think that the people who set those policies weren't so much evil as disconnected from the employees who were affected negatively by the policies and perhaps too connected (exclusively) to the people in the boardroom. When a customer relates an incident where she felt wronged by an employee's comments or behaviors, I likewise tend to see the failing as a result of disconnect rather than personal morality. But the employees harmed by their employer or the customer harmed by an employee could both, rightfully, judge those actions evil.
Whether intentional or not, the actions were wrongful because of the power the decision-maker held over the other party. In a traditional corporation and in a typical retail environment, the corporation has the power in the relationship. If the power an executive held derived from his or her employees, not shareholders or other executives, the executive would be much more mindful of the context within which boardroom decisions affecting employees are made. If the retail store understands its power derives from its customers, not from the corporation that owns it, behaviors would be different.
It's true that people act differently when their actions are transparent. However, it matters who is observing. Fellow motorists will happily exceed speed limits well beyond acceptable tolerances, until a car with the authority to ticket them appears. Wall Street will continue practices that are self-serving, even if they are clearly not sustainable, until a body with the authority to hold them accountable makes it matter to them. I can't imagine how the financial products companies (I can't in good conscience call them banks anymore) who wrecked the economy would have learned anything from the last couple of years other than: "We have the power." What else could they have learned from the consequences of their actions?
But you don't have to be too big to fail to consider the impact you have -- for the good, or for evil -- on the relationships around you. That is the hyper-connectedness that I think is at the heart of substantive change for the good. First you must be aware, and then seek to understand your responsibility to that relationship.
I'm also reading now The Lemon Tree (Sandy Tolan). It narrates the history of the relationships between Israel and Palestine, on both state and human levels. It is a story of how truly evil people can be to each other (reminiscent of Caligula's line in I, Claudius, which John Hurt so deliciously rendered: "Aren't people awful?" was his comment in response to a litany of particularly sadistic and horrifying acts). But the people in Tolan's book aren't awful at all, in fact they have marvelous and sometimes heroic qualities... within the context of the relationships that matter to them.
We cannot be connected more than superficially to more than a small number of people, those that really matter. Beyond a couple degrees of separation, the relationship has a diminishing power to influence us. But in the workplace, our co-workers, employees and customers should be only one degree away, and they matter.
It's true that people act differently when their actions are transparent. However, it matters who is observing. Fellow motorists will happily exceed speed limits well beyond acceptable tolerances, until a car with the authority to ticket them appears. Wall Street will continue practices that are self-serving, even if they are clearly not sustainable, until a body with the authority to hold them accountable makes it matter to them. I can't imagine how the financial products companies (I can't in good conscience call them banks anymore) who wrecked the economy would have learned anything from the last couple of years other than: "We have the power." What else could they have learned from the consequences of their actions?
But you don't have to be too big to fail to consider the impact you have -- for the good, or for evil -- on the relationships around you. That is the hyper-connectedness that I think is at the heart of substantive change for the good. First you must be aware, and then seek to understand your responsibility to that relationship.
I'm also reading now The Lemon Tree (Sandy Tolan). It narrates the history of the relationships between Israel and Palestine, on both state and human levels. It is a story of how truly evil people can be to each other (reminiscent of Caligula's line in I, Claudius, which John Hurt so deliciously rendered: "Aren't people awful?" was his comment in response to a litany of particularly sadistic and horrifying acts). But the people in Tolan's book aren't awful at all, in fact they have marvelous and sometimes heroic qualities... within the context of the relationships that matter to them.
We cannot be connected more than superficially to more than a small number of people, those that really matter. Beyond a couple degrees of separation, the relationship has a diminishing power to influence us. But in the workplace, our co-workers, employees and customers should be only one degree away, and they matter.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Now, what is it that you do?
In my last post I pondered briefly whether mentoring can be effective, if the mentor does not consciously articulate how he or she is effective.
Recently, a professional said to me that he 'leads by example.' I asked what that meant: "Well, I act professionally, so that employees know what it looks like." Was he ever disappointed because some people didn't pick up on his cues? 'Sure. Some people just don't learn.'
Now, here I have to hit the [PAUSE] button. Before anyone criticizes, think about it, and ask yourself to be candid: haven't you done this very thing? Maybe you've coached an employee on a performance issue, and you've taken care to do all the right things in your coaching session: you make it safe for the individual to listen and learn; you describe the gap; you explain why it's important to close the gap; you gain a commitment. The employee responds well to the coaching, and even turns around his or her performance. Then you witness the same employee holding someone else accountable -- and he's doing ALL the wrong things -- it's a complete disaster. How did he not understand what you expected him to do when he was coaching his staff? You demonstrated it, right? He's a manager; he shouldn't have to be told everything!
Well, maybe your employee thought your behaviors were just a stylistic difference (you're 'touchy-feely'; he's 'direct'). Or maybe he thought that your approach works well with people on his professional level, but hourly employees need to be handled differently. There could be dozens of different assumptions that your employee holds. Thing is, you don't know what they are, because you didn't talk about it. At the end of your coaching session, it would be oh so easy to segue to asking what your employee experienced and learned in the session. Then, ask, "Is this what you would want for your own employees? Let's discuss how I led this discussion, to understand what I did that was helpful for you. It's important to me that you are able to benefit not only as an employee, but also in your professional development. It will also help me understand how I can better support you, as your manager."
I can readily admit that I have never gone to that next step, and explained how I manage to the managers who work for me. Yet almost everyone who works for me has expressed an interest in moving forward in his career to the next management or professional level. And yet, I focus my development coaching on what they are doing, and never what skills I have that I could share. Actually, it feels a little self-important to articulate my own behaviors -- who would be interested in that, right? Well, your employees who aspire to your role (or your level) would be absolutely interested. Employees would probably be fascinated to understand what you do every day, what you find challenging and what you learn. They definitely want to know what you're thinking. And they would be so grateful to hear about your mistakes, and what you learned from them.
I hear there's a television show that places CEOs in front-line positions, I assume to demonstrate just how clueless executives are. I agree that executives need to be present at all levels of the company, to understand employee and customer engagement. But equally important to employees is what the executive does. It's the same sort of curiosity that underpins Inside the Actors Studio (or the film Being John Malkovich?) or reading the autobiographies of famous business leaders. But you don't have to be John Malkovich or Jack Welch to be interesting to people in your company. And perhaps just reflecting on your own behaviors will help you become more aware -- which may even make you more effective than you already are.
Recently, a professional said to me that he 'leads by example.' I asked what that meant: "Well, I act professionally, so that employees know what it looks like." Was he ever disappointed because some people didn't pick up on his cues? 'Sure. Some people just don't learn.'
Now, here I have to hit the [PAUSE] button. Before anyone criticizes, think about it, and ask yourself to be candid: haven't you done this very thing? Maybe you've coached an employee on a performance issue, and you've taken care to do all the right things in your coaching session: you make it safe for the individual to listen and learn; you describe the gap; you explain why it's important to close the gap; you gain a commitment. The employee responds well to the coaching, and even turns around his or her performance. Then you witness the same employee holding someone else accountable -- and he's doing ALL the wrong things -- it's a complete disaster. How did he not understand what you expected him to do when he was coaching his staff? You demonstrated it, right? He's a manager; he shouldn't have to be told everything!
Well, maybe your employee thought your behaviors were just a stylistic difference (you're 'touchy-feely'; he's 'direct'). Or maybe he thought that your approach works well with people on his professional level, but hourly employees need to be handled differently. There could be dozens of different assumptions that your employee holds. Thing is, you don't know what they are, because you didn't talk about it. At the end of your coaching session, it would be oh so easy to segue to asking what your employee experienced and learned in the session. Then, ask, "Is this what you would want for your own employees? Let's discuss how I led this discussion, to understand what I did that was helpful for you. It's important to me that you are able to benefit not only as an employee, but also in your professional development. It will also help me understand how I can better support you, as your manager."
I can readily admit that I have never gone to that next step, and explained how I manage to the managers who work for me. Yet almost everyone who works for me has expressed an interest in moving forward in his career to the next management or professional level. And yet, I focus my development coaching on what they are doing, and never what skills I have that I could share. Actually, it feels a little self-important to articulate my own behaviors -- who would be interested in that, right? Well, your employees who aspire to your role (or your level) would be absolutely interested. Employees would probably be fascinated to understand what you do every day, what you find challenging and what you learn. They definitely want to know what you're thinking. And they would be so grateful to hear about your mistakes, and what you learned from them.
I hear there's a television show that places CEOs in front-line positions, I assume to demonstrate just how clueless executives are. I agree that executives need to be present at all levels of the company, to understand employee and customer engagement. But equally important to employees is what the executive does. It's the same sort of curiosity that underpins Inside the Actors Studio (or the film Being John Malkovich?) or reading the autobiographies of famous business leaders. But you don't have to be John Malkovich or Jack Welch to be interesting to people in your company. And perhaps just reflecting on your own behaviors will help you become more aware -- which may even make you more effective than you already are.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Build or Buy?
The cover story in this weekend's NY Times Magazine, "Building a Better Teacher," intrigued me. I'm interested in the country's educational system from any number of perspectives: as a parent, as an employer, as a citizen, I am a stakeholder. Recent studies have illuminated the significance that the quality of the teacher has on the educational outcomes, far outweighing other factors such as curriculum (teaching to the test), class size, race, class, or ability.
"Eric Hanushek, a Stanford economist, found that while the top 5 percent of teachers were able to impart a year and a half’s worth of learning to students in one school year, as judged by standardized tests, the weakest 5 percent advanced their students only half a year of material each year."
One popular response to this data is to create strategies for employing more of the 'good' teachers: raising salary offers to attract the best and the brightest from industry, making it easier to remove the ineffective teachers. The downside is that this is not scalable. The country has 3.7 million teachers. If you only select those who are naturally talented and skilled in teaching, how do you staff this many positions?
Doug Lemov, featured in the article, advocates a different strategy, to build rather than buy teaching skills. His extensive observation-based research indicates that excellent teachers -- those who have measurably superior student results -- all employ specific behaviors that enable them to engage students in learning. (If you're interested, I suggest visiting the article online so that you can watch the short videos of teachers employing some of these behaviors. I can't say that I've ever witnessed classroom experiences like these.) His book Teach Like a Champion will be published in April, and I can't wait to read it.
I think it's possible that there is something to learn from this to inform management development programs in industry. To achieve consistently high performance requires not just great processes but also great managers and leaders. A high performance company can only afford managers capable of achieving high performance through others -- just like, I would think, a school could only employ highly effective teachers to enable their students to achieve high scores in standardized tests. One way to get there is to buy the talent, and performance manage out any manager who is not a great manager. This isn't an easily scalable strategy, and it limits how much the company can promote internally, which increases employee turnover, which further limits the company. The other strategy of course is to build great managers. Lots of companies, including the one where I work, have waded deep into this strategy. The challenge remains how to do it effectively.
I've read my fair share of business books that attempt to teach management skills, but in reading this article I was struck by the thought that there could be a taxonomy of behaviors that differentiate effective teachers (managers). Teachers need to hear not just 'get control of the class' but how to do this with reproducible behaviors such as hand signals, timing of transitions, cold calling (asking for student responses). I'm not suggesting that managers treat their employees like children; I am suggesting that adult human beings probably respond to body cues and verbal communication no differently than they did when they were younger. I don't think that people become different in kind as they age. If as children we need positive feedback, clear instruction, physical engagement, and context in order to learn, why should we not need the same as we mature?
Although mentoring is thought to be a highly impactful means to develop managers, I am now questioning that assumption. A person who is naturally talented may have little awareness of his own behaviors that enable his success. Talent allows a person to remain unconscious of the skills that increase effectiveness. If the mentored student is not highly observant himself, and the mentor isn't conscious of his skills, the only lesson learned may be to emulate the mentor. The effective manager undoubtedly demonstrates consistently behaviors that support others to succeed with his management; with awareness, he could help other managers learn how to do the same.
To make something reproducible, you must be able to define and describe its process. A taxonomy of management development would provide that nuts and bolts description: how to write an e-mail, how to communicate direction, how to conduct a performance review. If this seems too reductive, perhaps you're holding onto a hope that management is an art. Leadership may well be. Management, however, should be reproducible and scalable, and very definitely not driven by personality or unpredictability. When I watched the videos of effective teachers in action, I realized that these were undoubtedly people of great talent and expertise in their subjects, but what differentiated them from other teachers was the level of engagement between them and their students, and how attuned they were to each other. When we in business speak of alignment and employee engagement, surely these images impart the essence of those meanings. "Joy and Structure" - what could a company achieve that melded both of these seamlessly into its daily work?
Monday, March 1, 2010
First, Move the Ficus
Last month I reorganized my office. I should have done it long ago. It's a big change, and I was looking for a big change. Actually, I needed a change inside my head, but of course I wasn't thinking that at the time.
The new office look has brought lots of curious peeks, surprised approvals, and flat out questions. 'Why'd you....' (everyone has a decorating opinion in a furniture retail company, but, thankfully, always diplomatically phrased). The most persistent question has been "What made you do it?"
It all started with the ficus in the corner that was uncomfortably close to the meeting table. I can become easily distracted in meetings when people are mildly discomforted by the physical environment: dodging the slatted sunlight coming from open blinds late in the late afternoon; brushing off the wayward leaves of an office plant that is only inches away. When the environment is my office, I'm more than distracted -- I'm responsible. One day, I finally acted. I moved the ficus across the room. Easy fix.
But then, the ficus was clearly in the wrong place. For a week I walked out of my way, around the ficus, to reach my desk. I also realized the room was unbalanced with the tree sticking out like a hitchhiker's thumb. So for a week I suffered it, and contemplated that even though I had hated my office layout since I'd moved in, now I'd made it even worse. And then the second shoe dropped: this is something I can change. So one Saturday I dug in and dug out. I even organized my pencil drawer, uncovering relics and antiquities, which soon made their way to recycle bins.
This was a few weeks ago, and I'm still surprised by how organized my thinking has been. I've been more effective in staying on top of projects. I've been more receptive to coworkers who drop in. I'm thinking more consciously about producing stuff to put in paper files. It's a wonderful feeling. Metaphors are wonderful for change. I needed to clear out, open up, and organize my physical environment so that I make the same changes in my thinking.
But why did it take me so long to figure this out? I realized as I was moving my desk and cabinets just how much I loathed the old arrangement. Before the move, I sighed internally every morning as I switched on the lights and approached my desk. How is it possible that I didn't recognize my own reactions, and do something about it?
Well that's simple - it seemed like so much work, and as evidenced by the piles of stuff around me, I was already buried in work. Making a change for me was just in the too-hard basket. It would take a day out of my life. I didn't have that to give. I would just have to make do.
Instead, I did one small thing that was easy. I moved the ficus. I thought I was creating a more comfortable space for my colleagues. Actually, I was creating more discomfort for myself. Necessary discomfort, it turns out -- necessary to commit to the more unwieldy task of actually fixing the real problem. I had to make it worse to release the inertia.
I'm now thinking of ways to move the ficus metaphorically in other areas of the business. We're surrounded by operational status quo, some of which clearly doesn't work for us or our customers, but which we tolerate, with a sigh. Is there a ficus to be moved?
The new office look has brought lots of curious peeks, surprised approvals, and flat out questions. 'Why'd you....' (everyone has a decorating opinion in a furniture retail company, but, thankfully, always diplomatically phrased). The most persistent question has been "What made you do it?"
It all started with the ficus in the corner that was uncomfortably close to the meeting table. I can become easily distracted in meetings when people are mildly discomforted by the physical environment: dodging the slatted sunlight coming from open blinds late in the late afternoon; brushing off the wayward leaves of an office plant that is only inches away. When the environment is my office, I'm more than distracted -- I'm responsible. One day, I finally acted. I moved the ficus across the room. Easy fix.
But then, the ficus was clearly in the wrong place. For a week I walked out of my way, around the ficus, to reach my desk. I also realized the room was unbalanced with the tree sticking out like a hitchhiker's thumb. So for a week I suffered it, and contemplated that even though I had hated my office layout since I'd moved in, now I'd made it even worse. And then the second shoe dropped: this is something I can change. So one Saturday I dug in and dug out. I even organized my pencil drawer, uncovering relics and antiquities, which soon made their way to recycle bins.
This was a few weeks ago, and I'm still surprised by how organized my thinking has been. I've been more effective in staying on top of projects. I've been more receptive to coworkers who drop in. I'm thinking more consciously about producing stuff to put in paper files. It's a wonderful feeling. Metaphors are wonderful for change. I needed to clear out, open up, and organize my physical environment so that I make the same changes in my thinking.
But why did it take me so long to figure this out? I realized as I was moving my desk and cabinets just how much I loathed the old arrangement. Before the move, I sighed internally every morning as I switched on the lights and approached my desk. How is it possible that I didn't recognize my own reactions, and do something about it?
Well that's simple - it seemed like so much work, and as evidenced by the piles of stuff around me, I was already buried in work. Making a change for me was just in the too-hard basket. It would take a day out of my life. I didn't have that to give. I would just have to make do.
Instead, I did one small thing that was easy. I moved the ficus. I thought I was creating a more comfortable space for my colleagues. Actually, I was creating more discomfort for myself. Necessary discomfort, it turns out -- necessary to commit to the more unwieldy task of actually fixing the real problem. I had to make it worse to release the inertia.
I'm now thinking of ways to move the ficus metaphorically in other areas of the business. We're surrounded by operational status quo, some of which clearly doesn't work for us or our customers, but which we tolerate, with a sigh. Is there a ficus to be moved?
Monday, February 8, 2010
Re-launch
In several posts late last year I started engaging with an idea that felt both confronting and yet inevitable: that we should not expect our career paths to follow an unnatural linear progression, but rather to follow the natural rise and fall that we witness in business life cycles. We should expect that the skills and experiences that brought us to our current position will eventually not be enough to continue professional growth. Witnessing a career start to flag should not be cause for alarm or dismay; we should anticipate the necessity of this natural progression and be grateful for it.
That last statement may sound too far fetched: wouldn't it be great if you never experienced a downturn and every year you were increasingly more successful? The popular notion of what our careers should look like on a resume reinforce this idea: with every job change, a promotion with more responsibility and higher income to prove your increasing value. Well yeah - that's the popular idea. But it's a fiction: either the resume writer is skimming over the actual career challenges, or -- worse -- the writer believes that the job title confers enhanced qualities that people lower on the org chart don't have. I have learned to be grateful for feedback that signals where my current abilities are wearing thin. Without this signal, I have no incentive to acknowledge my current limitations. If I can't acknowledge them, I will still be limited, but incapable of progressing.
Sadly, the popular notion of career progression leads people to conclude that they should never make career moves that are anything but up the career ladder. In this way of thinking, lateral or backward moves are considered career killers. I think we should change this rigid mindset both in our own careers, and when evaluating others' careers. This idea is very much on my mind right now, as I read resumes for a management position for which I'm hiring. Of course I'm looking for a specific set of skills and experience that are required for basic competency in the role. But, this is a role in which I want the successful candidate to develop into a director level position, and even further, to a C-level executive over time. It won't be good enough to just be a competent manager. I am looking for someone who has gained an awareness of his or her limitations, and seeks to develop beyond those limitations.
If you're fortunate, you work for a manager who gives you honest feedback on your limitations and coaches you on your development. Those less fortunate receive superficial feedback -- insincere cheer leading, tepid performance reviews, or generic appraisals -- that leave them stranded. If you're receiving development feedback, good for you. If not, where do you start?
Here's something to try: Draw two large circles on a piece of paper. Label one of them 'S-1' and the other one "S-2." On another sheet of paper list the projects you worked on over the last year. Now, assign each of these to one of the circles, based on whether you considered the outcome successful ("S-1") or not ("S-2"). Once your outcomes are sorted, consider each one in turn: what were the common attributes when you were successful? when you were not? Be completely honest with yourself: no one but you will see this paper, and you can destroy it later.
Once you've finished, consider that the "S-1" circle describes the sphere in which you can be successful today, with the skills and experience and knowledge you already own. The "S-2" circle describes the sphere that is just beyond the reach of your current skills, experience, and knowledge. This is a sphere you can occupy successfully, but only by extending your knowledge and gaining the practice necessary to become skilled. I don't know what's in your S-2 sphere, but I feel fairly confident that changes outside of you will not bring their success to you. Re-launching your development will, however, bring you closer to their success.
That last statement may sound too far fetched: wouldn't it be great if you never experienced a downturn and every year you were increasingly more successful? The popular notion of what our careers should look like on a resume reinforce this idea: with every job change, a promotion with more responsibility and higher income to prove your increasing value. Well yeah - that's the popular idea. But it's a fiction: either the resume writer is skimming over the actual career challenges, or -- worse -- the writer believes that the job title confers enhanced qualities that people lower on the org chart don't have. I have learned to be grateful for feedback that signals where my current abilities are wearing thin. Without this signal, I have no incentive to acknowledge my current limitations. If I can't acknowledge them, I will still be limited, but incapable of progressing.
Sadly, the popular notion of career progression leads people to conclude that they should never make career moves that are anything but up the career ladder. In this way of thinking, lateral or backward moves are considered career killers. I think we should change this rigid mindset both in our own careers, and when evaluating others' careers. This idea is very much on my mind right now, as I read resumes for a management position for which I'm hiring. Of course I'm looking for a specific set of skills and experience that are required for basic competency in the role. But, this is a role in which I want the successful candidate to develop into a director level position, and even further, to a C-level executive over time. It won't be good enough to just be a competent manager. I am looking for someone who has gained an awareness of his or her limitations, and seeks to develop beyond those limitations.
If you're fortunate, you work for a manager who gives you honest feedback on your limitations and coaches you on your development. Those less fortunate receive superficial feedback -- insincere cheer leading, tepid performance reviews, or generic appraisals -- that leave them stranded. If you're receiving development feedback, good for you. If not, where do you start?
Here's something to try: Draw two large circles on a piece of paper. Label one of them 'S-1' and the other one "S-2." On another sheet of paper list the projects you worked on over the last year. Now, assign each of these to one of the circles, based on whether you considered the outcome successful ("S-1") or not ("S-2"). Once your outcomes are sorted, consider each one in turn: what were the common attributes when you were successful? when you were not? Be completely honest with yourself: no one but you will see this paper, and you can destroy it later.
Once you've finished, consider that the "S-1" circle describes the sphere in which you can be successful today, with the skills and experience and knowledge you already own. The "S-2" circle describes the sphere that is just beyond the reach of your current skills, experience, and knowledge. This is a sphere you can occupy successfully, but only by extending your knowledge and gaining the practice necessary to become skilled. I don't know what's in your S-2 sphere, but I feel fairly confident that changes outside of you will not bring their success to you. Re-launching your development will, however, bring you closer to their success.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Yet again...
I was just finishing up my next post on the career development series when my mom passed away.I hope to return to topic soon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
