“Where do you want em boss? Some pretty ones here, not just those plain old white ones we seem to have hundreds of them”. Harry, the facilities manager, added the plates to the pile by the door of the CEO’s office, smiled at what he saw, felt slightly confused about it all, then picked up the old boxes and headed back to the warehouse. Caroline heard him, waved but hadn’t time to stop, too much going on. Life had been manic since the promotion, a whirlwind of meetings, decisions, financial information. She grabbed another plate and with one flick of her wrist positioned the crockery on the stick and neatly organised it, along with the others spinning around her.
Some in the office thought it was an art installation, others thought it was a new keep fit regime, some thought Caroline had shares in a homeware factory. It was though, they all agreed, an amazing sight. Endless plates spun in the sunlight, the canes supporting them wiggling and bending as they held the centre of gravity. And better still, was the skill and grace that Caroline had, in moving quickly and confidently between them, giving some an additional twist to keep the plates spinning. She hummed to herself, occasionally doing a light jig, as she went about her work.
The plates spun in her office, out in the open plan office and now in service centre too. She had to pay special attention there, as phone calls to customers were key and any plates crashing to the floor would have been disastrous. Roger the service manager had taken to giving the most wobbly plates a spin. He knew what spinning plates was like, he’d had years of experience himself and now when he thought Caroline wasn’t looking, he lifted one or two plates from their poles and hid them in a cupboard.
“A head office plate has just arrived” called Jane the PA, through the maze of sticks around her. Caroline turned her head and sure enough Jane was just taking a large hand painted plate from a jiffy bag and holding it out to her.
“Okay, wait, wait, let’s just clear a space and we’ll get it going” and between them they shifted the other plates around a little. Then with one huge throw of her arm and with Debbie, the FD who’d just arrived holding the stick, the plate began to spin. Everyone held their breath, the plate twisted , slipped on the pole with a screech, but with the combined energy of Jane, Debbie and Caroline working together and wiggling the stick, they got it centred and it began to spin and whirr in the air.
Even though she said it herself, not bad and provided she didn’t take a lunch break, stayed late and came in at weekends, it seemed to be working. Which was why, as she sipped quickly at her cold coffee, she didn’t appreciate Geoff the HR Director’s quiet reflective comment.
“Have you noticed how some of the plates seem more interesting than others”.
She muttered under her breath at the interruption but made herself stop and look around. He was right, some did seem more colourful and almost cried out for more space to spin in. Caroline walked about under the plates looking up at them carefully, finding herself attracted to certain designs, shapes and sizes. Not all were huge by any means. Of course the head office one was, they all knew it had to be there and needed constant spinning. Jane brought her another coffee as she studied the plates and as she sipped and munched her favourite chocolate biscuit, she considered each one. Then she made a decision and sometimes alone, sometimes in consultation with her executive team (who had been summoned to look at the plates), she began to pull some out, neatly taking each unwanted plate and pole and putting it aside. First the small side plates, then the white ordinary dinner plates and as they went, her heart lifted a little. Harry was hastily summoned and he repacked boxes and placed them on his trolley. She ignored the coughs, the taps on the office door, the muttered comments “that was my plate, it’s very important in my department you know”, “wrong call you’ll regret that” and went about her work. Soon there were a just a few beautiful plates spinning and beside each one a director stood, occasionally wiggling the stick. Caroline walked around them all, checking they had the right ones, moving at the right speed, adding a twist to a pole now and then and watching as each plate seemed to change and grow in the sunlight. To her amazement one or two slowly turned into a golden colour, with beautiful embossing appearing around the edges and now these plates almost seemed to spin by themselves.
“Well would you look at that” said Geoff and pointed to the head office plate. It still spun rapidly but now it was smaller, not quite such a bright colour, seeming almost to draw less attention. The executive team laughed together, as they watched the FD niftily reposition this plate near the golden ones and there, they continued to spin very happily together.
The white plates were later used on the ‘smash the crockery’ stall at the next family fun day. Roger owned up to the plates stored in his cupboard and his judgement was shown to be pretty good, apart from one small plate which had some interesting swirls of colour in the design. This one, some senior managers kept spinning and they found it was a potential winner for the budget next year. Caroline got home early some days, leaving others spinning plates, but knowing when to intervene, using her energy and her skills wisely. And it made her smile when visitors to the business asked to see the plates, particularly the golden ones. Sometimes she showed them, at other times she just talked about confidentiality and went about her business with a spring in her step. Head office seemed pretty satisfied too.
Grahame Pitts
October 2015
Postscript:
From previous newsletters, I have been given feedback to ‘please anchor the fable with some practical challenge, to take it back to my business’ So, in the spirit of this, a couple of questions below. However, knowing we all see different reflections in stories, from ‘ah ah’ to ‘bah what nonsense’ (keep telling me Nigel), your own thoughts and reactions are fundamental, so trust them ahead of my prompts. Enjoy your leadership thinking and analysis, then follow your energy to go and deliver the results you want.
1. How many plates are you spinning? Are there a few high value ones which require more attention than others?
2. Who in your team needs to be attending to which plate? Where and how do you need to delegate and what do you need to do to ensure those plates become rich in colour, or even gold?
3. Where do you need show courage? Is there one plate that needs your particular attention?
4. Where else in the organisation are there plates, perhaps hidden, which need finding and spinning?
Category: Change
The Power of Ambition²
The Ambition twins sat side by side on the floor, leaning against the wall in meeting room two. The overflowing waste bin next them reflected the recent lunch meeting, sandwich wrappers, napkins and used coffee cups escaping onto the carpet.
Professional Ambition took a deep breath and pulled his jacket around him, leant his head back against the wall and sighed. “I’m tired, really tired, meetings endless bloody meetings, why are we doing this, day after day? Most people are covering two jobs and haven’t had a pay rise for two years”. He shut his eyes and sighed again, then in frustration flung his arm out sending the bin across the room, the contents spilling out under the table onto the grey patterned carpet.
Personal ambition reached over and took his hand gently in her own, squeezing softly. “Hey, don’t forget those dreams, don’t give up, we came here to do great work and we still can. Today’s just a bad day, you’ll be back on form tomorrow, you see”. He looked over to her and she smiled her warmest smile. He saw her strength, it hadn’t diminished over time, if anything it had matured and become more focused and disciplined. He remembered their past results with satisfaction.
Their work took place around the world. Whispering, cajoling, encouraging people to line up personal hopes and goals and professional aspirations and work goals. Sometimes this happened very obviously, was clearly articulated and easily understood. Sometimes it just happened through an ‘ah ah’ moment, a dream or more gently in a quieter thinking moment. Sometimes in a rush, sometimes over time. The twins loved their work and had seen some great results over the years, some great innovations, some much happier and fulfilled people and often both.
Now Professional Ambition got to his knees, grabbed the waste bin and pushed the rubbish back in , then with a flourish jumped up and rammed his foot down on top. His foot stuck inside and he shook it vigorously but to no avail. Personal ambition stood up laughing, straightened her jumper, slid her arm through his and marched him from the room. Down the corridor they went, her humming softly, him stumping his foot up and down clanking in rhythm.
The CEO and the FD felt them pass as they chatted by the coffee machine in the kitchen, sensed movement in the air and the hint of hope and possibility in the atmosphere. Personal & Professional ambition intended just to leave early for the day, they were nearly at the door, clanking and humming when they both stopped turned and looked backward to John the CEO, stirring sugar into his coffee, looking wistful and a little sad. Both knew there was work left undone, so back they noisily came and joined the pair.
“The problem is the lack of ambition, I keep saying it, nothing changes though” exclaimed John as he washed his spoon under the tap.
“It’s been tough, very tough” said the FD, his head in the fridge, searching for fresh milk, his voice muffled and echoing, “Everyone is trying their best but you’re right we have lost something”. Professional Ambition, now sitting on the counter gently tapping his waste bin against the cupboard door, nodded his head in agreement. “Perhaps we’ve pushed too hard, maybe our lean is too lean”.
Personal ambition leaning against the door frame smiled at the three of them in the tiny kitchen together. Geoff, the FD, coming out of the fridge, neatly avoided the swinging bin and poured milk into his cup. “Lets focus on this at the management conference next week, who knows they might surprise us”. Everyone nodded their heads in agreement. John grabbed his files off the counter, took his coffee “Any idea how to do it?”
“Smart seats these” exclaimed Professional Ambition, as he whizzed round in his smart black leather conference chair. Each spin took in a view of the group coming back in from a gentle stroll. Fresh air after lunch the facilitator described it as and they certainly seemed happy and chatty as they arrived back in the room in pairs. Jane from Marketing seemed particularly vibrant and upbeat and sat down immediately and made some notes on her pad.
Personal & Professional Ambition took up position either side of the CEO, a hand on each shoulder, giving him plenty of support. He felt strong, tired yes, in need of a good holiday, but positive and upbeat too.
“Okay who wants to speak first” asked the facilitator. Everyone looked at each other, the floor, their note pads or anywhere but at John. The silence yawned in front of everyone, the blinds shading the sunlight at the windows clicked quietly in the background. Sitting at table 3, Jane tapped her pencil on her pad and waited, it was her first conference after all, need to be respectful, but no one spoke. Even the usual extroverts had gone quiet. Why she wondered. The walk had been great, her partner on the walk had come up with a great vision and her own ideas, now more fully articulated, were interesting and giving her a real buzz when she thought about them.
She didn’t see Personal Ambition walk up to her and whisper in her ear. What she did feel though was a tingle down her spine and an impulse to stand. Her chair screeched as she pushed it backwards, everyone turned to look at her. The words stuck in her throat, her face reddened. Then after a deep breath and a desire to sit back down which didn’t seem possible – something seemed to hold her there – with a rush the sentences were out, spilling one over each other, as she rushed to share her ideas and vision for her function and the business.
John’ s eyes widened, his shoulders relaxed, he smiled. The FD lent forward asked a couple of questions, then lent back in his chair. Jane sat down with a bump, listened to her heart beating and felt strong, if a bit worried. Had she gone too far? Then the dam burst, now one after another people spoke, ideas poured out from around the room. Even the cynics got swept along. The facilitator raced to record the key detail on the flip charts. One idea built and reinforced another and the shape of the company began to change as the afternoon conversations wove together a new future.
Personal and Professional Ambition listened intently too, feeling fulfilled as the pride and personal expectation rose in the room. As the last person came to the end of their story, they moved in front of John and gave a bow and curtsy respectedly and left the room, high fiving each other at the doorway. John just continued to smile. The future, it was here in this room, tomorrow would be a great day.
This story is based on an actual strategic planning meeting which took place on an autumn day last year, involving 40 people across a business coming together to develop strategy and style. There may have been 42 people but we can’t be sure.
Grahame Pitts. July 2012
Hot, Cold, or Just Watch the Meter
Joanne watched the meter on the wall ticking, the numbers clicking over slowly as she studied and compared them to those on her plan in the folder in front of her, which by now was covered in red marks everywhere. “Come on, come turn over faster’ she muttered willing the numbers to roll forward, knowing though really, if anything, the clicks were even now a little further apart. In frustration, Jo grabbed her chair, climbed up and on to her desk getting to eye level with the meter which blinked happily back at her, making one more click as another sale came in “Move dam you, move’ she said quietly and lent her head against the warm glass surface willing the meter to rotate, which it did to her command and made yet one more shift. She sighed and shut her eyes.
“Ugh um, hello, um, what are you doing up there” said a voice below her and the new Finance Director standing in the doorway, smiled a professional concerned face up to her.
“Something wrong with this machine I think, it might need a service. We worked it too hard last year, now its on a go slow” the CEO replied. Brian liked Jo’s style, it was one of the reasons he’d joined the business, so he wasn’t surprised to see her slumped against the meter, but he was surprised when she ripped it from wall and hurled it down onto the floor where it smashed and parts shot everywhere.
“I’ll come back later shall I” said Brian breathing deeply, wondering if he’d be the next one thrown across the room. It wasn’t so good to know your boss worked out in the gym every morning, lifting weights and had a regular one to one judo class with a black belt teacher.
“No I’m fine” retorted Jo, kicking the plastic case across the room toward him, which he trapped neatly under his foot as it tried to escape from the room. The heat behind him wafted into the office. The both knew the business was working in overdrive to get the sales, you could feel the tension out there, the stickiness of the temperature really too high to be either efficient or effective. Being successful was one thing, maintaining success completely another. Brian closed the door and as they sat on the soft chairs he put the remains of the box onto the coffee table.
“Never did like that thing anyway, glad it’s gone. Could see it blinking away from my office, so it must have driven you nuts”. Jo smiled, it did sometimes, but mostly she loved seeing the sales coming in and the margins holding up. Still now she’d have to do it by hand for a while, but the numbers were interesting so why not, pencil and paper, or computer, they’d do just as well. The air conditioning kicked in cooling the room and the two of them sat in silence, enjoying the quietness now the ticking was dead. The circulating air calmed them and the buzz of the business outside fell away.
Jo sniffed the cold air. “We need this ourselves you know, we each need some personal air conditioning don’t we”? she mulled, before pouring them both a glass of water. “I love being out there in the heat of the battle, working our way ahead through difficult terrain, finding the next solution. All the regular day to day business stuff, it gives me a real buzz. But you know, maybe our job is different now, we need to be able to manage the two worlds, the heat of the daily battle and the coolness required to think about the future, the market, the changes to our business model”.
“Surely we just balance both” suggested Brian and he got up and opened the door. They both stood in the doorway and felt the blast of heat on one side and the cold on the other. It made logical sense to be right there but it felt confusing, like being on the edge of a weather front. Jo pulled Brian back in the room and shut the door.
“Actually that’s worse, neither one thing nor the other, more a confusing muddle. We need the coolness, the reflective thinking and then we need to be out there driving, pushing, motivating everyone, setting the example”.
“But surely we just have to make the numbers, that’s the important thing and that’s what head office are looking for. You know the score, no if but’s, sorry’s, excuses, make the numbers every quarter, deliver”.
“Agreed, but they don’t dictate how we get there and that’s our role, our choice. Maybe its doing more of what we know works, driving things harder. Or, maybe its about doing things differently because its time to change. That’s our job Brian, to sit in that middle ground, to think well, to think coolly and then to apply it back into the heat of the day. Its hard for anyone to think when the temperatures in the 90’s and you’re being bitten to death by the mosquitos. I do know though, that just waiting for the meter to turn isn’t our job”.
“Okay so let’s agree some cool time for people, not off site navel gazing, but real good clear thinking, creativity, matched with hard sharp analytics, done on a regular basis” mused back Brian “And it’ll be great if we can avoid some of those weather fronts that sweep into our exec meetings sometimes”.
“Yup and what I need to do is to talk about why this it might help and how we’ll do it. Give a good context, get people used to the idea of hot and cold – good, fast paced delivery, with a lot of movement and agility – and also – reflection, planning and challenging the way we do things, whether our plans are right, checking assumptions and mind sets”.
“Right boss, lets start with us, I’ll round the executive team up for an air conditioned moment together at the end of the day. Meanwhile, I’ve some work to do and you know most of these sales figures anyway”. He left another folder on the table, stood for a moment under the central fan, the adjusted his white linen suit and left the room.
Jo smiled and turned to her desk and picked up the phone, it was time to set up a visit to a major customer and then make them the focus for the team meeting at 5.00. As she punched the number in, a beautiful tortoiseshell butterfly fluttered in through the office door on a draft of warm air.
Grahame Pitts
May 2015
Postscript
This short story comes from being with a number of leaders who have felt the pressure to constantly maintain success year after year, particularly from a number one position, even though the market has changed dramatically. There is a need to change, but moving from the original source of success is difficult and indeed may be wrong, so clear, cool thinking is important. Some leaders naturally have the gift of ‘cool thinking’ , managing themselves and others well in order to handle these pressures, others find this much harder.
A well known and critical competence for senior leaders, is the ability to move confidently along the spectrum of ‘operations’ to ‘strategy’ and I have noticed over years, the most successful manage this movement well, whether in meetings, in 1.1 conversations, or at planning sessions. Those leaders move from detail to concepts easily and are also able take others on that journey.
Now I notice, the most successful leaders, also have the ability to move between cool, clear reflection and the ability to lead in the heat of battle, inspiring others to deliver more. They are not taken hostage by circumstances and instead use all the skills and leadership in the business to find the right way and the right style to go forward.
References:
Thinking Fast & Slow Thinking – Daniel Kathneman
Hostage at The Table – George Kohlrieser
Who Moved My Cheese – Spencer Johnson
Good to Great – Jim Collins
The Other 90% – Robert Cooper
Efficiencies don’t Rule the Waves
The Dark Prince whispered in The Butchers ear, as they listened to the rhythmic creaking of the oars in the galleon, his warm management accent sing songing into the first mate’s brain, alerting it to potential savings deep inside the ship.
“There, hear it? The slap of an extra blade in the water, I reckon we can do without that oar, third back from the left, unnecessary I’d say, what do you think?”
The Butcher tilted his head to one side, his shining bald palette glistening in the full sun high overhead. He concentrated hard, the furrows on his brow crinkled together, his left eye squeezed shut as he pushed his nose forward to sniff the air.
“You might be right there, maybe we can double up on two and four, although we need to take car: we’ve been running regularly on 24 hour rotating work patterns for months now, so the guys will be tired, mistakes happen.”
The Dark Prince ran his fingers through his beautifully brylcreamed moustache, expertly twitching up the two ends into elegant points.
“You’re right, of course, but the Admiral will have our guts for garters (and he loves his garters they both knew) when we next come into harbour. He said we were over crewed, wouldn’t listen when we talked about the size of the jobs we were doing; always available to head out anytime; needing a full crew ready to go”.
The Butcher nodded, glancing at the map then easing the tiller slightly to the west. His mind slipped back over their years of their working together, coming into the service as apprentices; believing back then in the purpose of what they were doing; transporting messages across the empire; feeling they were part of something important. Those were great times: the great voyages; the different people they’d encountered, friendly and unfriendly; the open cheque book; fun times on expense accounts. Now those good times were all a distant memory. Although it was difficult to pinpoint a moment of change, it just seemed to have somehow sneaked up on them bit by bit without them knowing. Now the old camaraderie had gone, the crew were with them just about, but there were mutterings, complaints being passed up, nothing extra given when the shifts changed over, none of the old bantering. Certainly no fun across the ranks.
“Decision taken, bring up Oarsman 3,” snapped The Dark Prince, as he flicked dust from his uniform jacket, buttoned up his shirt and straightened his tie, ready to deliver the bad news.
Oarsman 3 down in the belly of the ship was exhausted, he knew his timing was out, all down the line he could hear grumbling as others tried to keep a regular rhythm. No one wanted to blame him, they tried to cover but when the normal steady beat stammered, they knew they lost power and each time it took more energy to recover.
“Go and get 3B out of bed he’ll have to take over early today,” shouted Oarsman 6, always the natural leader of the rowers on this shift. The cabin boy grabbed back his water can that he’d been passing along the line of sweating rowers and turned to head down the stairs to the ranks of sleeping men, tossing and turning on hammocks on the floor below. He crashed straight into the stomach of The Butcher coming along the narrow passageway and was tossed lightly aside, into the ranks of the rowers, as he struggled down the dark enclosed deck toward the front of the boat.
The Butcher grabbed Oarsman 3 and attempted to haul him out of his seat, but he just shrieked with pain as his feet still under the straining bar refused to follow his body.
“Out you, out!” Screamed the Butcher, whacking 3 around the head as he struggled to free himself, and together they crashed back down the narrow gap between the rowers to the hatchway and upwards to the sunlight.
On deck, the boat had almost come to a halt; the oars on the left side of the ship now out of line with some pointing skywards where The Butcher had knocked into the rowers. Those on the right hand side were still moving but slower now, keeping a rhythm, the combined movement making the boat move slowly in a wide circle. Stumbling up through the hatches came the off-duty crew, complaining, swearing, yawning as they marshaled in ragged lines on the deck. Then came the on-duty crew, sweaty, blinking in the fierce sunlight, shaking stiffened legs and stretching arms and backs.
“Attention!” shouted The Butcher, attempting to bring them all into disciplined lines ready to witness the yet another efficiency saving. The Black Prince snapped his feet together, put his arms behind his back and smiled his slightly masochistic smile as Oarsman 3 was brought in front of him. They all knew the routine – a quiet word from management then over the side you went, an old oar followed, you were given a little help after all, company policy. Some made it back to shore, some didn’t, but they all knew the routine and the management speech: “it was necessary for the benefit of the whole ship, for the whole crew, for the rest of us to keep our jobs; it’s nothing personal, men.”
Except this time, the plan didn’t work. Just as The Black Prince lent forward to begin his well rehearsed speech, pulling his jacket sleeves up to reveal his new gold cufflinks bought with a recent quarterly efficiency bonus, a murmur began to swell across the massed lines of the crew. The Butcher screwed his face up, shutting an eye in his usual style, sweeping the decks to see who was talking. It seemed to be somewhere at the back. No the front. Or was it the new recruits? The women? (Who accepted them on board anyway, he’d never agreed with that policy although they could pull an oar as good as any of the men and better technically too. So, he kept his mouth shut), the section heads? The freelancers? Where was the ring leader? Now all the lips were moving, all softly chanting together, “No, No, No”, and then, as The Dark Prince raised his hand to silence them, (and of course with every expectation of beginning his own management speech) the chant rose to a thunderous roar, now accompanied by stamping feet (all in time of course, the whole crew had learnt the skill of efficiency and good use of effort).
Number 3 oarsman squashed between the roar of his buddies behind him and the ever increasing irritation and concern of management in front of him, stared at The Dark Prince as his eyes bulged, his face went bright red with rage and he roared his anger at the crew. His spittle rained over Number 3 who was frozen to the spot, stunned by the deafening noise bounding in on him from all sides. The Butcher, meanwhile, sensing the situation was spiraling out of control pulled his dog whip from its holster. This was largely ceremonial and he hadn’t used it professionally in years but its appearance enraged the crew, who at seeing it surged forward causing the Dark Prince, The Butcher and the other managers to back up against the foredeck then onto the rear gunwale. The angry “no, no, no” now turned to a gleeful “jump, jump, jump” and to add insult to injury the crew began a well rehearsed dance throwing their hands in the air and pointing at their leaders. Now old oars were passed forward out of the storage lockers, hand over hand over the heads of the crew and tossed one after another into the sea.
Without a command the crew pressed forward. Oarsman 3 found himself pressed up against the shiny buttons on the jacket of the Dark Prince and he smelt the mixture of expensive after shave lotion mixed with brylcream. The Dark Prince in return was the closest he’d ever been to a crew member and he didn’t like the sweat and slightly unpleasant smell tickling his nose.
All this was a side issue though, because the crew had the momentum and still shouting “jump, jump, jump” pushed forward. The junior managers went first, tipped over the side, more oars following them into the water. Oarsman 3 felt a hand grasp the back of his tunic, pulling him back as the pressure from the crowd behind grew. The Dark Prince teetered on the edge of the deck alarm now showing on his face, along with a thin trickle of perspiration running down his left cheek. Oarsman 3 reached out, getting hold of one shiny brass button on the Captains blazer, and for a moment this held them together. They both watched, eyes transfixed, as the cotton stretched out between them seeming to hold for an instance and then, with a pop, the button and jacket parted. Accompanied by one last roar and a manic swiveling of his arms, the Dark Prince toppled from the deck, spiraling through the air, his dark blue uniform and brylcreamed moustache appearing and disappearing in the sunlight, before he hit the sea with a splash.
The Butcher, smarter by far, had leapt for the mast and now dangled mid ship above the stamping crew. Oarsman 6 held up his hand and the crowd went silent. The anger had gone out of them and now their eyes moved between the Butcher on his perch, looking rather like a giant parrot, bull whip hanging loosely in his hand, and the Dark Prince and the management team in the sea below, splashing and swimming as they organised the oars into a raft.
“Hey Butcher, what’s up, not about to take flight are you?” the crew laughed and jeered. Again, Number 6 held his hand aloft, and the crew softened.
“Tell you what, we’ll do you a deal Butcher boy, how about you become the Captain, we reckon we could work with you. But you go back to how you used to be, using all our skills, involve us in the decision making. And, you face up to the Admiral and sort this efficiency nonsense out. Do that and we won’t make you swim for it. What do you think?”
“Yea come on!” shouted some of the crew, mostly the older ones who knew Butcher from other times, and had been part of some great offshore and onshore exploits with him in his younger days. “We know you’re a good guy really, come on, step up and show us.”
The Butcher looking down at them felt a sense of relief waft over him, and then, a second later a feeling of hope, which was helped by seeing the Dark Prince who was shaking his fist up at them and cursing up at them all. Maybe, he thought, they could do it differently, he’d always wanted to captain his own boat. They’d have to concoct a good story, but it might just work. Ultimately he knew the Admiral believed in the right things, even if he went about them in completely the wrong way. He’d listen he felt sure. He wanted smart bright things at the top running the boats now and he craved success that was for sure. And, perhaps Number 6 would make a good first mate, the crew would respect that decision and he’d seen his leadership skills at work often enough. He drew the old bull whip up, curling it into loops, and flung it out to sea, just missing the Dark Prince who let out an expletive toward the Butcher which completely confirmed his decision. Seconds later he was on the deck, ready to negotiate a new way forward, although he knew there was a lot of listening to do first.
Later, in years to come at the officer training school, they would talk about this moment and how it changed the style of the navy forever. How crews were motivated and developed and led differently from that moment on. They would also talk in the bar at night of how successful the boat had been and how the brutal Butcher returned to being a great leader, leading endless campaigns and delivering the Admiral great success (and a top navy award at the end of his career). They also mentioned that Oarsman 6 got his own boat two years later and men and women queued up to work with him. Oarsman 3, who never was much good at rowing, became a galley cook, eventually retiring and setting up a fish restaurant. Occasionally he was visited by a man who looked remarkably like the Dark Prince, or may it was just a similar blue jacket with a missing button that stirred a memory for ex-Oarsman 3.
Grahame Pitts
December 2014
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The Cynical Brothers
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Groundless Ground
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The Crucible
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The Power of Ambition²
The Ambition twins sat side by side on the floor, leaning against the wall in meeting room two. The overflowing waste bin next them reflected the recent lunch meeting, sandwich wrappers, napkins and used coffee cups escaping onto the carpet.
Professional Ambition took a deep breath and pulled his jacket around him, leant his head back against the wall and sighed. “I’m tired, really tired, meetings endless bloody meetings, why are we doing this, day after day? Most people are covering two jobs and haven’t had a pay rise for two years”. He shut his eyes and sighed again, then in frustration flung his arm out sending the bin across the room, the contents spilling out under the table onto the grey patterned carpet.
Personal ambition reached over and took his hand gently in her own, squeezing softly. “Hey, don’t forget those dreams, don’t give up, we came here to do great work and we still can. Today’s just a bad day, you’ll be back on form tomorrow, you see”. He looked over to her and she smiled her warmest smile. He saw her strength, it hadn’t diminished over time, if anything it had matured and become more focused and disciplined. He remembered their past results with satisfaction.
Their work took place around the world. Whispering, cajoling, encouraging people to line up personal hopes and goals and professional aspirations and work goals. Sometimes this happened very obviously, was clearly articulated and easily understood. Sometimes it just happened through an ‘ah ah’ moment, a dream or more gently in a quieter thinking moment. Sometimes in a rush, sometimes over time. The twins loved their work and had seen some great results over the years, some great innovations, some much happier and fulfilled people and often both.
Now Professional Ambition got to his knees, grabbed the waste bin and pushed the rubbish back in , then with a flourish jumped up and rammed his foot down on top. His foot stuck inside and he shook it vigorously but to no avail. Personal ambition stood up laughing, straightened her jumper, slid her arm through his and marched him from the room. Down the corridor they went, her humming softly, him stumping his foot up and down clanking in rhythm.
The CEO and the FD felt them pass as they chatted by the coffee machine in the kitchen, sensed movement in the air and the hint of hope and possibility in the atmosphere. Personal & Professional ambition intended just to leave early for the day, they were nearly at the door, clanking and humming when they both stopped turned and looked backward to John the CEO, stirring sugar into his coffee, looking wistful and a little sad. Both knew there was work left undone, so back they noisily came and joined the pair.
“The problem is the lack of ambition, I keep saying it, nothing changes though” exclaimed John as he washed his spoon under the tap.
“It’s been tough, very tough” said the FD, his head in the fridge, searching for fresh milk, his voice muffled and echoing, “Everyone is trying their best but you’re right we have lost something”. Professional Ambition, now sitting on the counter gently tapping his waste bin against the cupboard door, nodded his head in agreement. “Perhaps we’ve pushed too hard, maybe our lean is too lean”.
Personal ambition leaning against the door frame smiled at the three of them in the tiny kitchen together. Geoff, the FD, coming out of the fridge, neatly avoided the swinging bin and poured milk into his cup. “Lets focus on this at the management conference next week, who knows they might surprise us”. Everyone nodded their heads in agreement. John grabbed his files off the counter, took his coffee “Any idea how to do it?”
“Smart seats these” exclaimed Professional Ambition, as he whizzed round in his smart black leather conference chair. Each spin took in a view of the group coming back in from a gentle stroll. Fresh air after lunch the facilitator described it as and they certainly seemed happy and chatty as they arrived back in the room in pairs. Jane from Marketing seemed particularly vibrant and upbeat and sat down immediately and made some notes on her pad.
Personal & Professional Ambition took up position either side of the CEO, a hand on each shoulder, giving him plenty of support. He felt strong, tired yes, in need of a good holiday, but positive and upbeat too.
“Okay who wants to speak first” asked the facilitator. Everyone looked at each other, the floor, their note pads or anywhere but at John. The silence yawned in front of everyone, the blinds shading the sunlight at the windows clicked quietly in the background. Sitting at table 3, Jane tapped her pencil on her pad and waited, it was her first conference after all, need to be respectful, but no one spoke. Even the usual extroverts had gone quiet. Why she wondered. The walk had been great, her partner on the walk had come up with a great vision and her own ideas, now more fully articulated, were interesting and giving her a real buzz when she thought about them.
She didn’t see Personal Ambition walk up to her and whisper in her ear. What she did feel though was a tingle down her spine and an impulse to stand. Her chair screeched as she pushed it backwards, everyone turned to look at her. The words stuck in her throat, her face reddened. Then after a deep breath and a desire to sit back down which didn’t seem possible – something seemed to hold her there – with a rush the sentences were out, spilling one over each other, as she rushed to share her ideas and vision for her function and the business.
John’ s eyes widened, his shoulders relaxed, he smiled. The FD lent forward asked a couple of questions, then lent back in his chair. Jane sat down with a bump, listened to her heart beating and felt strong, if a bit worried. Had she gone too far? Then the dam burst, now one after another people spoke, ideas poured out from around the room. Even the cynics got swept along. The facilitator raced to record the key detail on the flip charts. One idea built and reinforced another and the shape of the company began to change as the afternoon conversations wove together a new future.
Personal and Professional Ambition listened intently too, feeling fulfilled as the pride and personal expectation rose in the room. As the last person came to the end of their story, they moved in front of John and gave a bow and curtsy respectedly and left the room, high fiving each other at the doorway. John just continued to smile. The future, it was here in this room, tomorrow would be a great day.
This story is based on an actual strategic planning meeting which took place on an autumn day last year, involving 40 people across a business coming together to develop strategy and style. There may have been 42 people but we can’t be sure.
Grahame Pitts. July 2012
The Canoe Trip
The warm evening air cooled as it met the surface of the river, the rings made by the fish rising barely disturbing the water as the sun started to slip beneath the horizon. The three young men stood on the bank looking at the current flowing by. Two were slightly bored, one happy. “No problem here ” said Clive “Straight forward until you get to that point down there. “Where” I asked already feeling the fear begin to well up inside of me. “Just a dink left then right, keep your canoe steady and you are through” said Chris leaning back on the tree, relaxed and as usual eloquent and clear.
Here we were a free day tomorrow, no work at the outdoor pursuits centre, so the three of us off canoeing together. Clive, Chief Instructor, strong muscular, losing hair on top already. A diamond shaped body, all shoulders, slips away in the bottom half, just as well or he wouldn’t fit into that sleek canoe of his. Chris, Assistant Chief Instructor, large afro hair spilling over his shoulders, London accent, down to earth, very capable. And of course me, how did I end up teaching outdoor pursuits, who knows. I loved climbing myself and caving, but had an ambivalence to canoeing, well probably water in general. Not much of a swimmer, can survive I think, I hope. We climb back into the rusty van. I’m thinking I can handle this, only one tricky bit on the route we’ve chosen, and I’m guessing their thinking, not much excitement here, routine practice drill. Oh well. I settle back on the grubby plastic seat as Chris drives us to the pub as the rain begins to spatter on the windscreen.
The driving rain wakes me up, its already seeping through the rotten window, pooling on the shelf. I move my three books to a safer spot and look out. Yesterdays beautiful day is a memory as the rain shoots up the valley and batters into the house. Huge puddles have already forming in the field and the vehicles in the car park have a running stream through the middle. I relax, breath, make a deep sigh and pull the bedclothes over my head. I know it’s off, too much rain. As I relax, just thinking about chapter of the new novel bought in Swansea last week, they both bang on the door together. A triumphant wallop which rattles the already loose door. “Come on let’s go, its looking great out there”. Can’t I just duck out, I think, let them have their moment. But it doesn’t work like that here, we test ourselves, train ourselves, even on days off. So an hour later we’re loading canoes up onto the roof of the bus, the rain sliding down my forearms and running right down to my shoulders before soaking into my shirt.
Brian’s here now, our chef and sort of centre organiser. He’s a good cook but also has cook mood swings. Last week he spent over the budget on some new plants to put around the centre. For twenty four hours we admired our new greenery, then someone left the door open and in came the two goats. They ate each plant down to a stork, then made their way into the office and ate all the papers on the notice board, leaving a tide line of ragged paper where they could just reach. Brian hit a rage, at the goats, at us for someone leaving the door open and went on the booze for twenty four hours. We’re family so its fine and there’s no group in, so we cobble meals together for a day or so.
Brian’s our driver for the day, he’s on a high. Well he would be, all he’s doing is driving. He’s in the van now, while we struggle with tying notes in the rain. We climb aboard, the rain thunders on the roof, there’s one fine singing chef, two smiling Chris and Clive cheshire cats rubbing at windows and pointing out changes the rain is making to the landscape and me, crumbled down in the plastic seat feeling sorry for myself.
It’s no better after half an hour when we arrive at the drop off point. Except what is different is the river. It’s gone from a clear, slow moving, gentle gliding pool to a raging, brown, frothy, rushing malestream. The chef looks frightened, I am frightened and Clive and Chris’s eyes light up. “Let’s go” they shout and almost fall out of the doors in their hurry to be on the water. My heart is beating, breathe I say to myself, it’s only water, you’re with the two best canoeists you know, it’ll be fine. I push myself off my safe plastic seat, squeeze Brian’s shoulder, he gives me the thumbs up and I’m out in the rain.
On the river we go, its moving fast. We know the drill though and Clive’s shouting through the rain “usual stuff, follow me, Chris bring up the rear”. We’re swept along, touching paddles in the water to maintain direction. I’m wondering how long it would take to get us down to the estuary at this speed. We’re only doing two miles though, so it’ll be a quick trip at this rate. I see Brian speeding along the road, the van flashing occasionally through the trees, he’s getting ahead to the pull out point. I’m okay, I might even be enjoying myself, the slap of the paddles on the water, watching the occasional log outpace us, a wave to the morose heron perched on the stump.
We sweep round the corner heading to the only difficult bit. Where is it? We see only waves, big waves, the dink right dink left has disappeared, there is no dink at all. I hear Clive mutter ahead of me, then turn his head and shout “paddle, paddle, paddle like fuck”. I do, we all do, the blades drive into the water, we’re pacing into the waves now, no way back, already the waves are building. Bang as the boats rise on the up, bang on the waves as we crash on the down side. My arms are aching already, I glance to my left, Chris is hit by a rogue wave and he’s over. Roll Chris roll, can he do it in this water, he’s a master at it normally. I look ahead, where’s Clive, he’s over too, I see his canoe upside down, the end of his blade swishing out of the water as he fights to get upright. “Fuck, Fuck, paddle, paddle, fuck, fuck, paddle, paddle” I shout as I hit the now defunct double dink. Up the wave, there’s no top it must be 10 feet tall, down “paddle, paddle, fuck fuck”. The nose of the canoe dives into the water, my shoulders heave, the muscles screaming as I haul forward through the next wave. Water everywhere, can’t see, it’s brown it’s in my mouth, poring over me. The paddle stops working, there’s no air to lift in, I try anyway. Then I’m out, still swirling my paddle like crazy, still shouting my mantra “paddle, paddle, fuck, fuck”.
I hear the cheering before I see him. Brian is up on the swing bridge ahead, right in the middle, leaning over whooping “that a boy, yea man, whoo, whoo, whoo” . I want to raise my hand, do a clenged fist or something, but my hands are clamped to the grips on the paddle, white, my knuckles locked in place. I sweep down towards him, he’s hopping on one foot doing a jig still whooping and clapping and then I’m under the bridge and gone “cool he shouts, “cool”
Clive found me fifteen minutes later, my arms wrapped around a tree at the side of the river. He was white, I was white, I was shaking, everything shaking, wanting to be sick, wanting out of the boat. “I thought you’d drowned” he said quietly as Chris swept in behind him, doing a smart stop at the river bank. I shook my head, hugged my tree and smiled, we all smiled.
How Secure Are You To Lead Change?
Do you know anyone in business who is not involved with change? I certainly don’t in my work. There are no longer times to settle between intense periods of change. Everybody I work with is continuously pushing ahead with new initiatives, goals projects – both those self driven and those imposed by external circumstances. What makes the difference between those who continually drive success and those who don’t? Those who stay energetic and passionate, rather than becoming worn down and discouraged? A number of factors seem to prevail – those who are successful have good teams, strong visions, well executed plans and, beneath all that, a very strong belief, mind set and intense personal drive.
There seems to be no right or wrong way to manage in today’s organisations and there are many methodologies to help us. However, at some point in many change projects there comes a critical moment when someone makes a stand on a key issue. This brings about either a moment of substantial shift forward, or a slip back into rigid, old patterns of working, a reversion to ‘blame and complain’ and anxious behavior. What helps a team through the confusion and distress of a difficult situation to a new possibility? It is often to do with the stance of the leader: their approach to resolving conflict and working through issues models much more for the team than simply how to solve the immediate problem.
What really makes the difference here? Just a few critical things including the ability to recognise and mark the path to a strong, carefully considered vision of the future while simultaneously acknowledging and articulating the often brutal truth of current reality. Some leaders are better at one than the other. Many find it difficult to exclude personal agendas and old scores. But underneath all this a more critical dimension is at play: the ability to remain personally secure regardless of circumstances. ‘Sounds easy.’ I hear you say, ‘We all do it. It’s what being a good leader is about’. Except that at a material level we all have mortgages to pay. We feel we need the safety of the business we joined, where we have made friends and created a community, and are validated in our work. So, in the crucible of vital discussions, the moment when the seeds of significant change often occur, we habitually resort to well established mental patterns and behaviors that we know have worked before and will see us through.
Put yourself into a challenging situation. Perhaps you’ve worked hard on a presentation. The logic all
stands up, yet here you are being publicly challenged. What’s your first reaction? It should be to use all your rational thinking and well evolved EQ …. but often it isn’t. Under challenge we return to basic animal instinct, to ‘flight, fight, freeze’. You won’t see many people running down the office corridors to get away from the threat, but you will see them instead, withdrawing from discussions, or being unusually abrupt, arguing, scoring points, or in a ‘freeze’ situation being tongue tied or babbling incoherently.
The connections go back to our forebears. ‘Fight flight’ has a rich pedigree … don’t knock it next time you face real physical danger. It kicks in fast with a magnificent intuitive overdrive! Plus, on top of this, we are programmed with our family dynamic – our first team, our first ‘organisation culture’ – which can have a dramatic impact on how we react to challenge. Much of our mental and emotional hardwiring was laid down in childhood.
Now in comes a missile, aimed dead centre at your best thinking, hours of preparation and (to you) blindingly obvious logic. The enemy is probably already in ‘fight flight’ (incidentally, these are the two normal positions for senior managers). Your proposal has challenged their mind set, their control on the world. But what happens to you? Are you automatically flicked into ‘fight, flight, freeze’? Or can you ‘hold onto yourself’, not get lost in the emotional conflict, stand out there when the rest of the team (who promised their full support around the coffee machine earlier!) retreat into the distance leaving you alone in a distinctly chilly situation?
Crucial in your defences, underneath all the external dynamics lies the concept of self value and self validation. How able are you to generate your own self value – when everyone has withdrawn their support and approval, when there is no external validation. This I think is one of the core aspects of leadership – the willingness to be out there, perhaps alone (it can take time for others’ logic and emotional position to match yours), knowing you probably are completely right but open to being completely wrong. Many people do not want to go there. Who can blame them? But that is the ambiguity of change. Are you as a leader ready for that challenge?