Love, Part 3: “This isn’t for you”

I’ve written about Pat Lencioni’s books before.  Really good stuff.  Weighted heavily towards the so-called soft stuff.  The same stuff, I believe, that creates separation from the pack and great companies.  I bring him up because the last two posts about “love” in the workplace or “love” as a leader remind me of a story he tells.  I think its a good illustration of what I tried to convey in Part 2

Pat’s POV — January 2014
When Meg Whitman Loved Me

No, this is not a tabloid headline. It’s a true story, and not a steamy one.

It was more than twenty years ago, long before Meg Whitman became the CEO of Hewlett–Packard, or candidate for governor of California, or CEO of eBay. I was just out of college in my first job as a research analyst for the management consulting firm, Bain & Company, and she was the lead partner on one of the projects I was working on, which made her something of my boss.
As a senior in college, I had decided that management consulting sounded really interesting. Management had always fascinated me, and being a consultant seemed like a wonderful way to help people. It was a perfect fit. So I applied for one of the most coveted jobs available to me and my classmates, and somehow was hired.

After about eighteen months on the job, Meg invited me to her office for a meeting. She said something pretty close to this: “Pat, I think you’d be a really good partner some day, but I don’t think you’re a great analyst.” Meg wasn’t one for fluffy conversation or saying things she didn’t mean. I knew that she was being sincere about both of her comments, and while I was simultaneously flattered and wounded, I was a lot more wounded. But I had to confront the fact that in the competitive world of big consulting firms, I was not on the fast track, and needed to find a new track.

Looking back and understanding my Myers–Briggs and DiSC profiles, I can see that I was never cut out to be a research analyst (I’m an ENFP and a high I and high D). My attraction to management consulting had to do with the work that partners did, but the only way to rise to that level in a big firm was to be better at quantitative analysis and number crunching than my peers. Meg made clear what I already knew, even if I didn’t want to admit it: I wasn’t ever going to love or be good at that kind of work.

I won’t say that I took the news easily. I certainly didn’t stand up and hug Meg (I don’t remember her being a big hugger). I probably agreed with her assessment a little sheepishly, and slinked back to my cube to begin pondering the future of my career (which would eventually take a new turn that has been a great blessing in my life). As I look back at that moment today, I realize it may have been the kindest thing anyone did for me in my career.

Let me be clear. I’m sure that Meg didn’t particularly enjoy having that conversation with me. But she did it anyway. She was gracious enough, direct, and most important of all, honest. And that’s a form of love. Love is not an emotion; it is a verb. What Meg did is take responsibility for helping me, regardless of whether she felt like it or how it would make me feel about her.

More leaders need to understand the power of honest feedback, because they would better serve their organizations and the people who work there. Keeping people in jobs or situations that are not suited to them is almost never an act of kindness, even when intentions are good. In most cases, it only prolongs suffering and prevents the pursuit of a better life. That’s not an argument for abruptly dismissing people who need to move on, but rather an invitation to have difficult conversations that give them clarity early and help them begin to take responsibility for their own success.

Ultimately, kind but direct feedback reduces the number of painful and expensive surprises that too often result in lawsuits for companies and personal scars for employees. If this seems like a simple message, that’s because it is. Unfortunately, this kind of love is all too rare.

So here’s to loving our people enough not just to hug them, but to tell them the kind truth. And here’s to Meg (I promise not to hug you).

Yours,
Pat Lencioni

You can read/follow Pat on his website here: https://www.tablegroup.com/pat/povs/

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Love, Part 1: “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

 

 

Who knew that Rod Stewart was such a management guru?  He doesn’t look like one.  But let’s judge the man by his words not his appearance, huh?

Rod_Stewart_and_Ron_Wood_-_Faces_-_1975

 

“Have I told you lately that I love you?”

And with that simple question, Rod does more good in the world of “performance management” consulting than most consultants ever could.

Have you ever wondered what you’re boss was thinking about you and/or your performance?  I have.  I’ll get to that in a second.  I was speaking with a colleague the other day whose performance over the course of the last 24 months has been staggering.  As a new leader in the industry he has assembled a team, collaboratively defined its vision, elevated care and customer service, and has achieved fantastic financial, clinical, compliance, and regulatory results.  Can I paint a more successful picture?

And yet, after another record breaking month of results were posted, he was concerned that his boss wasn’t happy with him.  Why?  Because he hadn’t emailed him or called him to comment on his performance.  It had been a few months now.  No thank you.  No Attaboy.  Silence.  So, instead of appropriately celebrating or feeling satisfaction, this top performer’s strongest emotions were concern and doubt.

I experienced something similar several years ago.  My boss was on the road almost all the time.  Not only that but he had the weight of the organization on his shoulders and hundreds of people wanting a piece of his time.  As the weeks, then months went by I tried to just give him (AND MYSELF) the benefit of the doubt …

I’m sure he would call or email me about my performance if he had any concerns.

I know he’s just really busy.

He hired me because I don’t need the supervision or direction.

But, given enough time, its natural to FILL THE VOID with the worst case scenario.

I began to do what my colleague was doing.  I began to not only doubt my boss’ appreciation of my work but I began to doubt if he thought my role was even important to the organization.  After all, if nobody’s talking to you about your work (good or bad), your work must not be that important to people.

The benefit of the doubt turns into the TYRANNY OF THE DOUBT.

Maybe its just me and my colleague, but I don’t think so.  I’ve had people I’ve managed express similar feelings during overdue conversations with me as well.

A few months ago, I kept missing a 1:1 with one of my department heads.  Things kept getting in the way.  One postponement after another.  Sure, we’d talk briefly in our daily department head meeting or in the hallway but we missed quality 1:1, focused time to talk about her department (employees, goals, challenges, etc.)  When we finally met, I told her how impressed I had been by her improvements and resident/patient satisfaction I was seeing.  She was stunned.  She fought back the tears.  You see, she thought I was avoiding her because I was unhappy with her.  I had inadvertently created a void and she filled it with the worst case scenario.  Shame on me.

As leaders, we can way too easily fall victim to the illusion that silence creates.  “All is well.”  We can forget that even (especially) our top performers need regular feedback. Ironically, too often we spend an inordinate amount of time with under-performers at the expense of quality time grooming, coaching, rewarding, and recognizing those whose work we rely on so very much.

Let’s make the time.

–> Let’s set reoccurring appointment reminders on our calendars to reach out and fill the void with true conversation that builds loyalty and reaffirms mission.