leadership

Are Organizations Just Apartments Crammed With Junk?

Watching a show about apartments crammed with junk has made me think about the challenges of sustaining organizational change. The show is "Hoarders" on A&E, a reality series that documents people whose compulsive acquisition of stuff has made their houses uninhabitable and their lives chaotic. One recent episode featured Dale, a man at risk of losing his apartment if he doesn't clear out the clutter and bring his living space up to code.  Dale, an avid dumpster diver and collector of art objects, has so packed his apartment with his finds that he has created a fire hazard -- and yet, he can't stop himself from acquiring more stuff.

The climax of the episode comes during a confrontation between the two professionals enlisted to help Dale: Christina the professional organizer and Dr. Moore the clinical psychologist.  Christina is pushing Dale to make decisions about getting rid of his stuff, and to accept responsibility for the way he has neglected the items he says he cares about so deeply.  Dr. Moore is growing increasingly concerned about Dale's mental state and his willingness to continue with the change process as Christina pushes and pushes.

Dr. Moore confronts Christina and basically says, "Your job is to clean out people's apartments, and my job is support people as they change."  Dr. Moore argues emphatically for "balance" between the two goals if Dale is to see any success at all.

The episode ends as Dale enters his newly clean and uncluttered apartment, ecstatic with the possibility of a new life.  We are also left with Dr. Moore's warning that if Dale doesn't get long-term counseling, the clutter will soon return.   It's a scary thought, knowing where Dale has been.

This made me wonder, as leaders initiating organizational change, how much are we just trying to clean out apartments and how much are we supporting organizations to achieve sustainable change?

Theorist Edgar Schein identifies three components of organizational culture: artifacts (the things we see), espoused values (the things we say we believe) and tacit assumptions (the often unexamined beliefs we take for granted).

Like Dale, many of our organizations are existing in spaces crammed with broken "stuff" we feel very attached to:  our lopsided org chart, our outdated diversity policy, or our serpentine process for ordering supplies.  These are the artifacts of our cluttered organizational lives.  Relatively speaking, it is not that hard for a focused leader or change consultant to sweep these away.

After the organization is swept clean, it is also relatively easy to take up a new mantra associated with the changes -- at least for a little while.  As we saw Dale exuberantly embracing his newly clean apartment, many organizations will at first luxuriate in the feeling of spaciousness that follows a change process.  Like Dale, organizations will espouse -- often quite publicly -- the values associated with their new way of being.

Much harder to change are the tacit assumptions that facilitated our need for change in the first place. This is Dr. Moore's plea to Christina: "Don't be so committed to emptying the apartment that you forget the person who created this mess in the first place."  This is where change leaders must ask the tough questions to uncover what the people in an organization really believe.  That is the place from which sustainable organizational change can occur.

The truth is, most organizational change efforts -- and I would guess most de-hoarding interventions -- ultimately fail.  Volumes of organizational literature have been written on why this is so.  The story of Dale presents a powerful metaphor for what we are up against when we seek to change organizations, and why simply cleaning house is not enough.

What Matters Now

Seth Godin asked 70 "big thinkers" from business, social innovation, and technology to answer the question, "What Matters Now?"  Their answers - one page essays on topics like fear, generosity, gumption, sleep, and willpower - are available in a free e-book. You can get the free e-book here.

To Manage Workload, Right-Size Your Goals

A great takeaway from the Selah/Rockwood refresher training I attended yesterday: Workload = Goals / (Timeframe x Resources x Efficiency)

If your workload is unmanageable, the best way to tinker with this equation is to right-size your goals.

Why?

  • The timeframe available for our work is often externally mandated.  We have to get the report done by the date of the board meeting, or the RFP is due on a certain date.
  • Resources are something we also often have limited control over.  We only have $100,0oo in our budget, one part-time staffer to help with the event, etc.
  • Efficiency is a place where many of us love to tinker but actual gains are modest.  Our ability to be more productive or efficient certainly helps move work along (and can greatly improve one's mental state), but doesn't really reduce workload if we have taken on too many commitments.

Our goals are where the biggest shifts are possible. How much are we committing ourselves to do?  Do we have three strategic goals for the year or seventeen? If our goals are unrealistically ambitious from the get, it is unlikely we will be able to make sufficient alterations to our timeframe, resources, or efficiency to regulate our workload.

Right-sizing goals can be hard -- especially for us social change folks, who have such big and long-term goals.  But we all know the alternative: burnout, disillusionment, and reduced effectiveness.  To be able to sustain ourselves as change agents over time, we need to make sure we are regulating our workload, and that means being more realistic about the goals we set for ourselves and our organizations.

Your Brain on Feedback

Last month I praised Yahoo CEO Carol Bartz's head-on approach to giving and receiving feedback.  I never said that what she did was easy. A commenter, M., responded to the post by articulating just how hard it has been for him to open himself up to feedback.  M. wrote:

For a long time, it was enough for me just to be able to hear criticism without getting incredibly defensive and shutting it down – actually soliciting feedback where there was a risk it wouldn’t be entirely positive was tantamount to masochism for me.

M. is not alone.  Who among us wants to invite criticism that makes us feel bad?  In fact, there are both psychological and physiological reasons why asking for feedback is so hard. Organizational theorist Chris Argyris says that our aversion to negative feedback is why it is so hard to teach smart people how to learn.  Smart people are accustomed to getting positive feedback for their behavior, and lack practice in dealing with their own failures. As a result, Argyris says, smart people "become defensive, screen out criticism, and put 'blame' on anyone and everyone except themselves.  In short, their ability to learn shuts down precisely at the moment they need it most." Sound familiar? (Argyris quote from this book.)

Meanwhile, a little part of our brains called the amygdala is taking over at the first sign of threatening feedback.  The amygdala is the walnut sized area of the brain that produces that fight/flight/freeze response that makes our palms sweat, our breath quicken, or our feet want to run out the door at the first sign of criticism.  A leadership training I did likened the triggered amygdala to a fire alarm.  Imagine trying to hold a conversation -- and graciously take in feedback -- with an alarm blaring in your ear. Not the best conditions for a thoughtful response, much less learning.

Consciously avoiding feedback, though, can be even worse.  Commenter M. writes,

What I realized was that in the absence of feedback, I was already filling in the blanks with my very worst fears – that I wasn’t doing a good job, that I was a crappy friend, that I was unfit, incompetent, and so on down the line.  If I don’t ask for feedback, I am assuring that the haters in my head will be the only voices I hear.

Oh, those voices in our heads!  Prolific business book guy Seth Godin says those voices are our overactive "lizard brain" speaking up to intervene whenever we get too close to completing something that could garner criticism or ridicule. (The amygdala is the soul of the lizard brain.) If you have ever asked yourself if you should really submit that article, make that speech, or show that painting for fear of negative feedback, that is your lizard brain talking. A life lived at the mercy of the lizard brain is a life of self sabotage and never-ending self doubt.

So how do we overcome our aversion to learning from failure, our hyper-sensitive amygdalas, and our annoying lizard brains?  That's a topic for another post.  For now, here is how commenter M. finally came around to see inviting feedback as a good thing:

I [think] about it from the perspective of “what would my best self want?” If I’m firing on all cylinders, if I’m being the premium me, as it were – that means that I am someone who is strong enough to hear feedback and make necessary changes, and to have that be a positive and productive experience. Every time I choose to put myself on the line and ask for it, I’m choosing to be the better me and to invest in my own growth.

Pretty smart for a lizard.

On Being an Effective White Anti-Racist Ally

I've been thinking a lot this week about what it means to be a white, anti-racist ally to people of color.  Though I try to live everyday in a way that reflects my values about ending racism, as is the case for most whites, on a typical day I do not have to leave my comfort zone around race.  Every once in a while my mettle as a white ally is tested, and I have to reflect on how well I am really doing.  I have done some training, read some, and thought a lot about what it means to be a white anti-racist ally, but it is something different to have to put those values into practice in real time.  Here are some ideas that feel alive to me right now around this topic: It's Easy and It's Hard It's easy because often it is just as simple as reaching out and connecting with another person in a human way.  Checking in with a colleague or friend of color, showing support and acknowledging what feels challenging.

It's hard because it requires that we stand up in a public way that feels uncomfortable.  Racism is perpetuated, in large part, by the silence of whites.  Saying something that calls attention to our whiteness, and acknowledges our connection to the legacy of white racism in this country can feel risky.  It can also alienate us from other whites, which can feel painful.

It's Not About Being the Good White Person One thing that many whites feel is the need to be viewed as "The Good White Person."  Especially prevalent among liberals, this syndrome is driven by an extreme fear of being perceived as "racist."  The Good White Person couldn't possibly have any racism in her heart because she is so enlightened and anti-racist.  The Good White Person really gets it and wants to make sure people of color and other whites know that.  The Good White Person often ends up making every race conversation about himself.  This stance is not only unhelpful, it is dishonest.  None of us is without racism in our hearts. We cannot be so tied to appearing innocent or evolved that we make the conversation all about us.

It's About Making the First Move and Not Having the Last Word A common white person behavior is to sit back and not talk about race until a person of color brings it up.   Then, we expect the person of color to educate us about racism and tolerance.  This puts all of the burden and risk on people of color, allowing white folks to disengage until we are presented with the subject in a way we cannot ignore.   To be an effective white ally, we must be willing to take on the risk of talking about race in a real way and not always leave it up to others.

White allies must also learn that we cannot always have the last word.  When it comes to race, most white people wish that the issue would just resolve itself and go away.  In heated dialogues, often we try to have the last word in an attempt to "solve the problem" so that we feel better.  One way we do this is by focusing on trying to resolve the individual conflict ("If the two of them could just talk and resolve their issues, everything would be fine") rather than addressing the messier underlying issue ("My colleague is feeling the pain of racism and I can't solve that").  Being an effective white anti-racist ally means listening to, and sitting with, the uncomfortable realities of racism and realizing that no amount of our talking is going to tie everything up in a neat little bow.

Interested in your feedback in the comments.  Thanks.