Acknowledging mistakes

When I was a teenager, a high school friend admonished me for saying “sorry” several times throughout the day. Apologizing came naturally to me then, but it was based mostly on my lack of confidence rather than a real need to apologize for everything I did that was a little off. Fast forward to a few months ago, when the scheduler of a virtual meeting was MIA for her own meeting. My teammate and I waited in the cyber room for 20 minutes, then called it quits.

No big deal—managing one’s own calendar can be tricky, especially if participants are spread across the US. I sent her a quick email suggesting that we reschedule for the following week.

I was struck by her response, though—a couple of lines explaining how and why she had lost track of time and missed signing in. She never really owned the mistake.

I can remember numerous instances through the years where mistakes and follow-up communication have varied. A special education director would regularly show up for a scheduled observation several minutes late and would proceed as if she had not missed the first part of the lesson. Someone we contract with to rent out our house responded to a concern where we noted a mishap in a photograph taken of our home. A painting, instead of hanging in its usual spot on the wall, sat on the floor. When we asked what had happened, he said, “it became dislodged.” Both of these instances seemed to lack the basic courtesy of acknowledging a mistake.

During my tenure as a school administrator, staff would come to me to share a mistake they had made, for example, in a communication with a parent or the student himself. Many would apologize profusely, while others would spend the bulk of the meeting sharing copious amounts of details supporting their wrong-doing. Understanding why a mistake was made is important, but it doesn’t constitute an apology: it just feels like justification.

Like most of us, I have mis-stepped many times. I am reasonably comfortable with acknowledging my mistakes and I typically apologize readily. But HOW I apologize matters.

My take-away: In most instances, responding to a mistake requires a two-line answer: the first acknowledging that a mistake has been made and the second apologizing for it. This communication should be voiced rather than written, but in some cases, following up with a written note can be valuable. Our desired end result should be to acknowledge and then move past the error, learn from it, and not repeat it.

Unintended Consequences

In the social sciences, unintended consequences are outcomes that are not the ones foreseen and intended by a purposeful action.

That’s the Wikipedia definition. Let’s look at how unintended consequences play out in the workplace.

I was working with a team of leaders in an organization where some reconfiguration had occurred. In typical workplace fashion, decisions had been made unilaterally by upper management, and information about the changes had not been communicated effectively downstream. We spent the better part of a meeting deliberating about what had happened and I’ll admit, most of the talk was negative.

To bring the conversation around to something more productive, I asked my colleagues to start focusing on what they thought might be the unintended consequences of the decisions that had been made. Shifting our focus, I hoped, would help us generate solutions to the issues we were facing.

There are many examples of unintended consequences in history: eliminating a “pest” animal only to find that it served an important purpose in the ecosystem; positioning one curb cut at the corner of a sidewalk as a cost saver, making positioning for a safe crossing challenging for a person who is blind. We often talk about unintended consequences in relation to government regulations and environmental impact. But what do they have to do with leadership?

There are three potential effects of a decision or action that might be unintended:

·      Unexpected benefits

·      Unexpected drawbacks

·      Perverse results

In special education, I saw unexpected benefits to practices that I had initially deemed problematic. For example, a student who was perfectly capable of finding her way between classes held onto the cart that held her gear as a student pulled it along. At first I admonished her for being dependent on her classmate, until she told me that the opportunity to chat during the exercise was helping her make friends.

Of course there are many examples of unexpected drawbacks. A blindness organization chose black coffee cups as give-aways for their marketing campaign, not considering that pouring black coffee into a black cup was difficult for those with low vision. Another organization created an internal marketing campaign around a “promise” that backfired because they didn’t understand the organization’s skeptical culture.

Perverse results are those that have the opposite effect of the intended action. In the ‘80s when deinstitutionalization was in full swing, a well-meaning colleague suggested that children with multiple disabilities who were moving into public school classrooms should be given beanbag chairs and radios as an effective educational model.  Thankfully, her suggestion was overridden by those who actually understood best practice for these students.

So what do unintended consequences have to do with leadership? A lot.

I have been surprised by how little leaders seem to consider unintended consequences. As I moved into increasingly complex leadership positions, I learned to ask those in the trenches what consequences might occur if a certain change took place. I also learned to list potential consequences when making a decision—both positive and negative, in a balance sheet analysis.

For example, an announcement trumpeting a leader’s promotion is best not made on the heels of one about minimal salary increases for those working frontline. Or this one:  After a company-wide “Trust” survey showed unrest and distrust in the company’s leadership, a communication went out that the executive team had heard the concerns and would be communicating soon about their plans to improve… and then failed to follow up. Intentions were good in both scenarios, but each further eroded the relationship between leadership and staff. 

Think about the results of your actions. Think about the impression you are making. And make the effort to identify and then address anything that will negatively impact others. While you can’t mitigate all unintended consequences, getting ahead of them with respect and communication will make you a better leader and help those around you appreciate their jobs AND you.

Managing Disappointment

I was working on a survey for TVIs and others working with students with visual impairment when I got that call: “The project has been cancelled.” The venture that I had birthed and that was so needed in our field was terminated. The conversation went a lot like these do: It was sugar-coated with explanations and language that skirted the truth. The justification was surrounded with work-place politics and misinformation. And none of it mattered. The project, a dream I held close to my heart, was over.

 I’m sure you can relate to this scenario… and if it hasn’t happened to you, it will. So the question is, what’s your best course of action when something completely out of your control happens that leaves you disappointed or worse, devastated? Not long after this particular instance, I started looking for the leadership stone that would potentially develop from this experience.

 I began looking back at my years as a teacher and administrator and found many instances where a supervisor or person in power has squelched a project, a dream, or an ambition. I’m a barrel-ahead kind of gal who, when she gets an idea, puts her heart and soul into it. In my first teaching position at a rural high school, I managed to take a school newspaper that was printed on the Xerox machine and, through a partnership with the local newspaper, published a periodical that was professionally printed. When I approached administration for monetary support of the project (early issues of the paper were printed pro-bono), I got a nice letter from the board congratulating me on my innovation… and a verbal reminder that there was no money to continue the project.

 Other examples: A proposal that would have implemented career-technology modules for students with visual impairment was turned down by the superintendent without remark. An incredible partnership with an organization that would have vastly increased employment opportunities for school of the blind alumni was canceled in-progress because my supervisor did not understand the details of financial support we had put in place. In both instances, I felt there was not sufficient understanding from the person in charge to make an educated decision about moving forward—and the decision-maker made no effort to gain that understanding.

 Those are great stories--but what is the leadership stone, you ask?

 Communication. The success or failure of implementing a dream often depends on effective communication. As I look back on the times when my ambitions were stalled or squelched entirely, I realize that both the timing and content of my communication were lacking.

Today, I am more careful about the way I communicate my professional dreams to those who have the power to “make or break” their success. I introduce ideas slowly, and I look for champions with similar ideals as I get my thoughts and plans together.

Once a plan is in place, we must communicate the specifics, including financial and human resource needs, timeline, goals and outcomes, to persons in positions of power. Consider how to best present your information to your particular audience: is the person a visual learner? Then provide charts and graphs. Is the person focused on financial issues? Then have your numbers ready. Think about how much detail is enough to communicate your project or dream. Remind the decision-maker of how the project benefits him or her, and the organization.

But the communication doesn’t stop once the project has been authorized. The project that inspired this blog? It died primarily because I did not consistently communicate with the stakeholders along the way. The decision to cancel that project was made based on limited and misinformation. When I look back, I realize I could have done a better job of sharing our progress and asking for their input.

What does one do with a dream or project that has been squelched or canceled? An important first step is to reflect. What went well? What could have gone better? Debriefing not only with your team but also with the person in power who has ended your project can help you gain valuable information you can apply now, and to future projects.  These discussions will help you manage your disappointment, and you will learn from them.

And finally, consider whether you should move your project forward in a different way. It may be that it will find a home in a place and a way you had not imagined. In fact, there are two leadership stones here: how to manage your disappointment when a project is cancelled, and how to better manage a project to ensure its longevity and success.

Pick up the phone.

This blog isn’t about email. Or texting. Or even using the phone. It’s about communication: the real kind, where we listen and talk and learn from each other.

I’ll admit it: I’ve been railing against email for a lot of years. When I was a school principal, I received anywhere from 150 to 250 emails a day. Many were cc’s—a way for teachers and staff to inform me without directly engaging me. Others included long strings of information, comments, and attempts at making decisions, reaching consensus, and moving forward. I remember sitting for hours each day, trying to catch up on goings on and reading impossible threads of writing, trying to connect and learn from them. It was difficult to distinguish the critical from the mildly important, and sometimes it all felt like so much white noise.

The email communication I found most disturbing was the kind where disagreements bubbled up and parties sparred to have the last word. Even when I would call one or the other writer on the phone and ask him or her to set up a meeting or discuss the issue in person or by phone, the email war would continue. Rather than work toward an authentic conversation where viewpoints are shared and decisions are made, my colleagues hid behind their computers and accomplished little.

Now, I am not immune to the tendency to put off meaningful communication. Something happened last week that gave me pause and prompted me to rethink my current communication tendencies. I was doing research for an article I was writing, and one of my to-dos was to call a retired colleague whose work on the project had preceded my own. For whatever reason, I kept putting off the call. With the article deadline fast approaching, I finally reached out by email to set up the call. Then I waited a few more days… but finally dialed.

He answered immediately, enthusiastically tackling the topic at hand. We talked for 30 minutes, sharing stories and catching up on life. He told me about the challenges he had faced when working on the project—motivating people to get on board. He shared the names of specific people and organizations that had been integral to the project’s success and talked about the importance of the information they had gathered. The call was more than successful: I got the information I needed, but more importantly I connected with him on a personal basis.

Toward the end of the phone call, I told him of our plans to recognize his contributions to the project at an annual gathering of professionals a month away. True to his nature, he stated that he was just one of many who had moved the project forward. He thanked me for thinking of him, and we agreed to a follow-up conversation when the presentation date got closer.

The next night, this leader in our field suffered a catastrophic medical event and, a week later, he was dead. During the week he was hospitalized, this phrase played over and over in my head: Pick up the phone.

We live in a time of transition. Those with years of experience are retiring. Those newer to the field are applying their fresh skills in ways that will improve services for all. It is critical to our future that we talk to one another, share our wisdom and unique experiences, make those connections, and capture that information in a place and time where it can be retrieved by others. Young or old, everyone has knowledge, perspectives, and experiences that, when shared, make us better as professionals and people. If you’ve been putting off contacting someone who will enrich your life, listen to the voice in your head. Pick up the phone. Make the call. Connect.

Humor and Leadership: on being yourself, embarrassing yourself, and continuing to lead

I have a pretty good sense of humor. I didn’t start out that way-I remember as a young girl sitting quietly in a movie theater with others who were openly laughing at one scene or another. I would either not laugh at all, or my laughing would be delayed until I eventually got the joke. I took everything seriously and envied those who seemed to walk more lightly through life.

In 1997, I joined a team of teachers who were genuinely funny. I would leave our monthly meetings with a stitch in my side after laughing for what seemed like hours. The group had the ability to combine serious problem-solving with humor that I had never before experienced. For example, a conversation about student confidentiality led to our assigning made-up names to any student we discussed. We rolled out a string of names unlikely in our southwest region—Shaniqua and Shaboodah, for example—to refer to our students by. We were dealing with real challenges and issues, but we kept the tone light by injecting it with just a little bit of silliness.

My understanding of others’ humor hasn’t always been first rate, but I’ve been able to laugh at myself since way back. I’ll be the first to share my most embarrassing moments at informal gatherings, like the time I scooped up a handful of Christmas candies at a party and realized they were decorative wax after tossing them into my mouth. I didn’t miss a beat in the conversation before ducking into the bathroom to spit them out. Or the time I wore a dress with a mid-thigh slit in it to my high school teaching job (I was 22) and faced unending teasing from high school boys. Or when, while rushing to leave a college biology lecture, I tripped and fell—my polyester skirt catching under my knees and causing me to slide down the steps… slowly, one step at a time, until I reached the bottom and picked myself up.

But managing humor as a leader is challenging. Because of one’s position, judgment by others unfortunately accompanies any potentially humorous moment. I learned this the hard way when I was a new school principal, sitting with colleagues at a particularly tedious training refresher on state testing. “I’m so done you could stick a fork in me,” I stated, slumping in my chair and suddenly realizing I’d used an outdoor voice to share this wisdom when all eyes fell upon me. I learned that while I still felt like one of the gang, my behavior was perceived differently in my new position.

But that doesn’t mean a leader stops laughing, saying funny things, or seeing the humor in situations just because she has a serious role. I loved the pranks teachers at my school played on each other—and on me. Perhaps my favorite was the kidnapping of a holiday moose that played tunes every time you passed it in the hall. A series of ransom notes followed, and it was finally located at the top of the flagpole on the school’s grounds.

The ability to have a little fun at work—to see the humorous side of things—has helped me stay positive and truly enjoy waking up every morning, excited to go to work. I cherish light-hearted moments where we take a little break from the seriousness of our work and laugh. Don’t be afraid to have fun, but you might want to consider an “appropriateness filter” to ensure that your leadership role is not unduly compromised. (Duly compromised is another matter, of course.)