The reality is quite different: Of the multiple separate elements that make up
what you think of as your "self," many are likely to change over the next five to
ten years -- what you do for a living, how you carry out that career, what you
call yourself professionally, the shape of the organization within which you
work, whom you claim as spouse or mate, the flavor of that relationship, your
financial situation, where you live, your relationships with your parents,
children, and friends, your health, even your beliefs and assumptions about
yourself and the world around you. Some will change drastically, some subtly.
Some will change incrementally, some cataclysmically. Some will be changed
by outside forces, some from within.
This is classic trend analysis. It works over the relatively short term, when
things are relatively stable, when one major variable changes at a time: the
budget will rise by three to five percent, there's a sixty percent chance of
showers by nightfall.
But there are problems with trend analysis. Consider the race car driver, given
to plunging down a narrow, crowded track at heart-stopping speeds. At 220
miles per hour, he is betting his life on an exacting analysis of the short-term
future. What if an accident occurs, a collision, a fireball in the middle of the
track ahead of him? Which way should he steer to avoid the flaming wreckage?
There is, in fact, a rule of thumb for this situation, and it might surprise you.
The rule is: steer directly toward the spot where the accident began. The spot
where the accident happened is the least likely spot for the wreckage to be
when he gets there.
Surprisingly, this rule of thumb maps onto our personal, professional, and
organizational lives. Today's trends have some predictive power over the short
term, when other variables are not changing at the same time. Over any longer
term, when other variables come into play, the target the trends seem to be
headed for today is actually the least likely place for them to end up.
But when a larger number of different variables change over time, and the
changing value of each one becomes the input for another, the resulting
equation is non-linear. Its output becomes not a line but a hairball, steel wool,
a snowstorm. The trend becomes not just very difficult to predict, but
fundamentally impossible.
The more variables there are that are changing and interacting, the more
turbulent our future, and the less we can predict it. So we have to prepare for
it in a different way. In San Francisco, because of the interaction of ocean
currents and winds, the inland heat, and the city's famous hills, the summer
weather can vary wildly from one neighborhood to the next, from wind-blown
fog to balmy sunshine to drizzle. So the experienced San Franciscan makes
little attempt to predict the summer weather, but instead dresses in layers -
shirt, sweater, jacket, with a windbreaker folded into the attaché. He becomes
adaptable, moment to moment.
Six practices will help us prepare for a future that is far less predictable than
what we have encountered in the past:
In this web site we will explore these skills in detail, working through a number
of propositions, observations, and rules of thumb that I call the "Change
Codes." We will talk about change in our personal lives, our professional
careers, and in the organizations that we help shepherd. One of my
fundamental beliefs about change is that it is fractal in nature: that is, its form
remains similar at different scales. There are things we can learn about it from
studying intra-psychic phenomena that can inform our study of organizations,
insights gained from family dynamics that can apply to communities or
corporations.
Some people, and some organizations, fall apart in the face of change. They
seemed well organized -- nice office building, confident CEO, vigorous growth
(or nice spouse, good family, positive outlook) -- until something changes in
their environment. Maybe a major employer pulls out of town, a "golden agers"
retirement development goes in, and the customer base changes suddenly. Or
maybe it's a family change: the last kid has left home, and your spouse decides
to open a business.
And it's Yeats all over again: Things fall apart, The center cannot hold."
And it's Yeats all over again: "Things fall apart, the center cannot hold."
Things go from bad to worse in a spiral: a problem with getting the right mix of
customers problem cuts income, margins fall. The banks see you're in trouble,
and the short-term lending dries up. Your profit margin falls, you try to make it
up on volume, and the service levels fall. Customer satisfaction falls, and those
who can afford it go to some other shop -- and the customer mix problem gets
worse.
What's the real difference between those who thrive on change and those who
fall apart, clawing and scrabbling their way down a slippery slope?
Is it just luck? Could be, if it happened once. But look carefully: people and
organizations seem to have a pattern over their lifetimes. We all know some
people that seem to shoot themselves in the foot every chance they get. Study
companies that know how to survive, and you'll find corporations as much as
700 years old that have survived under monarchies, dictatorships, and
revolutionary councils, through war and depression, plague and natural
disaster. That takes far more than luck.
Five fundamentals
Organisms that thrive in a changing environment share these five necessary
attributes:
Husbanded Resources: Like an army that does not get too far ahead of its
supply train, like a family that stays out of short-term debt and builds up
savings, like a man who reaches his seventies with a body he has never
abused, an organism that does not waste its capital has more options when
it is threatened.
This can mean an array of things, depending on the context. In
individuals, families and corporations, it means financial conservativism.
It means not over-extending yourself. Search as you might among the
oldest corporations, and you won't find any that practice creative
financing. They tend to the fundamentals.
It doesn't mean you have to be rich. A little observation will show that
rich people and organizations over-extend themselves as easily as
anyone else. In many ways, in fact, they have more opportunity, since it
is easier for people and organizations with assets to borrow money. It
means, at whatever financial level you currently exist, keeping debt
down and savings up, so that you have resources on which to draw when
you need them.
In the early 1980s, John Kotter, in his groundbreaking study The General
Manager, looked intensely at the management styles of CEOs and
division directors who were generally acknowledged as excellent
organizational leaders. One of the attributes these leaders had in
common was that they seemed to know everyone -- not only their peers,
subordinates, and superiors, but people in other divisions, clergy in the
town, the union leaders, their counterparts at other organizations, the
janitor who vacuumed their offices. And when the time came, each of
these relationship was useful, often in unpredictable ways.
Distributed Power: Each decision made as far from the center as possible --
that's a mark of an adaptable organism. In an individual, this looks like
"trusting your gut," rather than ignoring your gut to follow a rigid plan. In a
family, it means considerable autonomy for each individual, within the
broad sense of the family's spirit and purpose. In an organization, it means
that each decision is taken as low down in the organization as possible. The
CEO deciding what kind of postage meter to buy is a sign of a flawed, brittle
organization.
In order to harness all the brain power in your organization, you must
give them tasks to work out -- which means giving them the decision-
making power they need to try different solutions. They must have the
ability to fail.
Test yourself
How well are you organization prepared to survive increasing turbulence? Look
over these five attributes:
husbanded resources
abundant relationships
abundant information
distributed power
a common story
How well do they describe you or your organization? What could you do
differently to put yourself or your organization on a firmer, more conservative
financial footing? To strengthen and multiply relationships? To increase the free
flow of information? To distribute decision-making power? To nurture a
common sense of the past, of your present daily purpose, and your vision of the
future?
What's your goal in dealing with change?
If we are to deal productively and powerfully with
change, we have to start by asking: What's the point?
Here comes a train down the track: a manager causing morale problems with
his bad attitude, competition for a major contract, legislation that threatens to
cut your revenue by a third or more, a rival organization trying to entice away
your top-producing customers -- or a child who seems to have discovered drugs,
a spouse who seems to be changing drastically, a nagging uncertainty about
your own future.
Before you react, stop and ask yourself: What's my goal? What am I trying to
accomplish?
Avoidance
For many of us, when faced with an impending change -- whether a new CEO, a
shift in the political structure of the town, or a change in our personal
relationships -- the goal is simple avoidance: "I will not let this change effect
me." The thoughts that go along with such a stance often have to do with
identity: "I am the kind of person who does things this way. I am not the kind of
person who does things that way." As Popeye would say, "I am what I am and
that's all what I am."
This actually works -- but only for matters that turn out to be irrelevant. For
things that make a real difference, it is a foolish stance. When a train is
coming, it's best to get off the track. When opportunity knocks, it's best to go
to the door and open it. Rigidity in a turbulent environment leaves you with
few options.
The trick is to recognize "the difference that makes a difference" (as Gregory
Bateson defined true information), to separate the relevant from the
irrelevant. Often we give too much energy and attention to changes that are
far away and have little potential to effect us -- national political debates,
abstract worries about relationships, the latest technological fads -- and not
enough to the things that are right in front of us, the task that is at hand.
Acceptance
For other people the goal is merely to accept change, to be flexible, to "swing
with it," to say, in the dismissive argot of children, "Whatever." Flexibility can
be a good first step in dealing with change, but it cannot be the last step. And
complete flexibility is usually illusory. If you are saying "Yes" too often and too
easily, you are probably fooling yourself, building up resentments and defenses
outside of your conscious awareness. These are the easy-going,
agreeable people who suddenly walk out on the marriage, chuck the job, sour
on the project. These are the organizations that back out of the too-hasty
merger or joint venture.
Dominance
For some, the goal of dealing with change is to dominate, to win. But this goal
is equally ill-conceived. Winning is about the other: I win if my opponent
suffers. In a garden, the plants compete for the available water, sunlight, and
nutrients. Yet we do not measure the success of one plant by the failure of the
plants around it. We measure it in its own terms: its size, the number, size,
and flavor of its fruit, the lushness of its foliage, the grace of its shape and
color.
In aikido and some other martial arts, there are practices called jiyu waza
andrandori, in which one might be faced with many different attackers at
once, or by a series of attackers all using different techniques -- strikes, kicks,
grabs. Done well, the defense is astonishing, lovely, and never twice the same,
the attackers pin wheeling through space, falling in heaps, or slamming into
the mat. Yet throwing the attacker is not the goal. Some attackers are simply
bypassed, or deftly waltzed into the path of another attacker. The goal -- the
point of the exercise -- is for the defender to stay on her feet, able to move, in
charge of her space. Success is defined not by the defeat of the attacker, but
by the continued freedom and potency of the defender.
The reason that dominance, "winning," does not work is simple: it is aimed at
the wrong target. Whatever the change that is headed our way, whoever the
"attacker," what we truly have to struggle with is ourselves. James Collins and
Jerry Porras of Stanford University, found this to be true in their study of 18
"visionary" companies that were experts in survival (such as Boeing, Disney, and
Sony). Arie de Geus and the Shell Global Planning Group found it to be true in
their studies of the world's longest lived companies:
The organizations that survive and thrive do not ask,” How can I beat the
competition?" They ask, "How can I outdo myself?"
The organizations that survive and thrive over a long period of time do not ask
themselves, "How can I beat the competition?" They ask themselves, "How can I
outdo myself?"
Those who are driven by competition are always in reaction. They are never
ahead of the pack. In martial arts, the defender succeeds by deciding the pace
of the battle, its direction, and who she will take on next. The defender,
paradoxically, has all the freedom, because she is responding to the situation,
while the attackers can only react to her. In healthcare, an organization that
can make swift changes in a turbulent environment sets the pace for others in
their market, forcing them into changes that are reactive, often ill-conceived,
and made without proper foundation.
Success in dealing with change is not about refusing to let it effect you, or
simply accepting it, or defeating it. Success in dealing with change is about
profiting from it, about using the energy that it brings into your life to
challenge yourself, to become larger, deeper, more lush, more fruitful, more
useful to those around you -- as Disney used the Baby Boom, as Boeing used
new technologies, as Columbia/HCA has used increased cost pressures, the
disintegration of other for-profit chains, and the heavy debt load of not-for-
profits. Each of these acted in the midst of powerful, chaotic, shifting forces of
change. But they did not merely react to change, they danced with it.
The key thing to remember when dancing with a gorilla is this: you don't stop
when you get tired. You stop when the gorilla gets tired.
And the gorilla has more energy than you do. Try to run away, and the gorilla
will catch you. Hold on tightly and artfully, and you can make the gorilla do all
the work. On the martial arts mat, after a well-done randori, the attackers are
exhausted, puffing and sweating. The defender is calm and centered. She has
used the manic energy of her attackers, and very little of her own.
So: faced with changes beyond our control (a shifting market for our services,
unprecedented demands for cost reductions, expensive new technologies, a
sudden change in governance -- or a divorce, or the loss of a job) the goal is
not merely to survive, but to thrive, using the very energy that the change
brings to us.
Systems thinking:
Traditionally science has studied objects in isolation, and broken them down
further to study their parts, dissecting a frog, for instance, to discover how it
works. This is called "reductionist thinking," and it can be very powerful.
Starting in the late 1940s, springing from the studies of communications,
computation, and game theory during World War II, and especially from the
work of John von Neumann and Norbert Weiner, some scientists began to look
in the other direction. If we want to understand a frog, they would say, we
need to learn about the world in which it lives -- the pond, with its lily pads,
fish, and flies. This "systems thinking" proved equally powerful, in almost every
field. Gregory Bateson, for instance, pointed out that if we want to understand
a mentally ill person, it helps to look at the web of family communications in
which that person lives. In the biosciences, this spawned the whole idea of an
"ecology." In health and city planning, it led to the "Healthy Cities" movement.
Rather than analyzing the pieces of the whole, systems thinking focuses on the
interaction between the pieces, in terms of control, communication, and
feedback. An understanding of systems thinking has turned out to be
fundamental to any study of change.
Chaos theory:
Science has traditionally made things simple in order to study them. For
instance, a scientist might try to approximate the mass of a mountain by
imagining that it was a pyramid of equal size. But of course, few things in
nature are truly that simple. In recent years, scientists have found ways to
mimic and study the real complexity of natural structures such as ferns,
mountains, and the rings of Saturn, as well as chaotic surges in the power grid
and interactions within families. This body of "chaos theory" has arisen from a
variety of sources, including quantum mechanics, probability, systems thinking,
and the study of communications. It focuses on how complexity is generated,
especially in iterative processes, in which the output of one phase is the input
of the next phase. It tries to discern what is theoretically predictable, and
what is fundamentally unpredictable, no matter how much we know about the
present. It provides a powerful new way of thinking about complex change.
Any system with more than a few variables or inputs can be said to be complex.
A simple system reacts in a "linear" fashion. The outcomes of a complex system
are non-linear, and cannot be predicted with any certainty, no matter how
much information we have about them. They are less like machines and more
like hurricanes, or families, or ant colonies. They are adaptive in that they
interact with their environment. For instance, an ant colony will react to a
hard winter by adding insulation, sealing ventilation holes, abandoning parts of
the ant hill, and even allowing many of its individual members to die of so that
the colony will be preserved in all its functions -- it adapts to its environment.
Complex adaptive systems take in and dissipate energy; they "learn" in one way
or another, in order to preserve themselves. Organizations are complex
adaptive systems. So are you.
Possibility space:
In such a complex, non-linear space, the possibilities of the future are not
predictable -- but they are also not infinite. The future possibilities of an
organization and its campus might include merger, liquidation, growth, and
even transformation of parts of it into, say, office buildings, insurance
organizations or substance abuse clinics. It is far less likely that an organization
will turn into, say, a small tropical country, a brother-in-law, or an ice-cream
bar. The clouds of outcomes that have a greater-than-trivial probability of
happening are the "possibility space" for the future of that system.
Emergence:
No ant knows how to make an anthill. The anthill "emerges" from the much
simpler interactions of the ants. No one decides which way the stock market
will go. Its activity emerges from millions of decisions made by stockholders.
An organization's leaders make the decisions, yet the organization's actual
behavior can surprise its leaders. The organization can seem to resist its
leaders, even when it doesn't seem that anyone in particular is resisting. As
John Holland of the University of Michigan puts it, "the control of a complex
adaptive system tends to be highly dispersed."
Hive mind:
Every organization, community, and family has a hive mind, which makes
decisions and expresses them in action (or inaction) -- often not consciously,
often not overtly expressed, and often opposed to, or at right angles to, the
decisions of the official leadership. Managing this hive mind, speaking to its
needs, fears, and expectations, is a major part of leadership.
Feedback loops:
Feedback loops are the cycles by which we influence each other's actions. They
come in two flavors, positive and negative. The words "positive" and "negative"
have nothing to do with whether the outcome is good or bad. A stock market
crash is a positive feedback loop. A thermostat, which keeps a room at a
pleasant temperature, is a negative feedback loop. A positive feedback loop
re-inforces itself at each turn: a falling market in Tokyo causes London
stockholders to sell, which causes New York stockholders to panic, and so
forth. A negative loop folds back on itself, each turn countering the previous
one: a thermostat responds to a cool room by turning on the heater, the heater
warms the room, the thermostat responds to the warm room by turning off the
heater, the room cools, and so on, around and around. Homeostasis, the body's
way of keeping itself on an even keel, at optimal temperature and chemical
balance, is a complex tangle of negative feedback loops. Shock, on the other
hand, is a positive feedback loop.
Scale:
The fundamental nature of change is fractal: that is, it is the same at different
scales, much like a slice through a small piece of a cauliflower looks identical
to a slice through the whole cauliflower. The observations we are making here
about feedback and chaotic unpredictability, for instance, apply equally well
to families, communities, organizations, industries, and nations.
Taoism:
Of all the world's great spiritual books, the Tao Te Ching ("The Classic of the
Way and its Power") is perhaps the most mysterious, from its first sentence
("The way of which we can speak is not the true way") to its last ("The path of
the wise is to act for others, not to compete"), some 5000 characters later.
This book, attributed to Lao Tzu, along with the works of Chuang Tzu and
others, form the basis of philosophical Taoism, for 2500 years one of the two
poles of Chinese intellectual life: Confucianism (practical, hierarchical,
interested in relationship, rules and duty) and Taoism (evocative, paradoxical,
and interested in the nature of chaos and change).
It will take considerable unpacking to show the relevance of this ancient text
to modern business decisions and personal dilemmas, but its assumptions and
themes show a deep wisdom about the nature of change: the inter-related,
systemic nature of things; the way strength arises from weakness, and vice
versa; how a retreat can be an advance, and an advance a defeat; the
paradoxical nature of knowledge; and the importance of true listening ("The
wise one constantly has no set mind; he takes the mind of the common people
as his mind").
Martial arts:
All martial arts attempt to study human conflict, and the way the human body
moves in the midst of turbulence. When we are dealing with change, the
conflicts we face are rarely physical -- yet the insights of the martial arts can
be very useful. In restructuring an organization, for instance, it's not much use
to know how to knock someone to the floor, but it can be very useful to know
the advantages of being a target, the importance of setting the rhythm of the
action, and the power of discovering and attracting your opponent's ki, their
true inner strength.
Anamnesis:
The goal of medieval Christian mystics was not to discover something new, but
to end their amnesia, to get back to something they had always known, their
oneness with the Divine. They called this "anamnesis," the end of forgetting.
Watch a master martial artist, a champion sprinter, a great soprano. Under
pressure they do not attempt to add something new, something more. Rather
they reach back to what is deep and constant for them -- what the martial
artist would call her "ground" or "base." In dealing with change, we can be
flexible, rapid, and welcoming to new things only when we have the strongest
possible connection to that which is deep and constant -- our values, our place
in the universe, who we are.
Can you do this? Do you have the skills? Are you ready?
They don't teach these skills in school. I haven't seen a real curriculum for them
anywhere. For some people, the skills of dealing with change are difficult, and
do not come easily. I am convinced, though, that they can be learned by
anybody.
What are these skills? If you ask people to name the skills of change, most
would mention certain openness to new ideas and realities, certain flexibility,
a willingness to try something different, to be different in some way. And they
would be right: openness and flexibility are certainly prerequisites. But they
are insufficient. Here we will be looking at what I would call the "deep skills" of
dealing with change. I invite you to ask yourself, "Am I good at this? Can I think
of some recent time when I exhibited this skill? Or a time when I needed this
skill, and didn't have it? How could I get better at this? How could my
organization get better at this?"
The question here is not How soon can I get through this?" The question is
When the best moment to act is?"
introduced the landmark legislation that became the Civil Rights Act of 964.
Similarly, the new mayor of San Francisco, Willie Brown, is known as the
type who can get anything done with amazing speed. He had promised to
convene a summit meeting on homelessness. But as the date for the summit
approached, he found that everyone - business, neighborhood leaders,
homeless activists - expected him to do something about the problem, but
it had to be their way. They had no consensus on their definition of "the
problem." So he canceled the meeting, and told the public why. He was
roundly criticized, yet the tactic will likely succeed - by increasing the
pressure on the various groups involved to come up with creative solutions
that everyone can back. Executives are particularly handicapped in their
sense of timing by a management culture that equates speed with
decisiveness, and delay with increased costs, lost opportunity, and loss of
control. As ex-Apple CEO John Sculley has put it, "When most companies are
confronted with problems, they try simply to fix them." In that climate, a
tremendous advantage accrues to the player who is most willing to just
hang out with the problem. The reality is that there is a right time to move,
and that time is rarely "as soon as possible." Sometimes the right time to
move is "as late as possible." The question here is not "How soon can I get
through this?" The question is, "When is the best moment to act?"
Wholeness: The ability for an organization, an individual, or a community
to move as one. We might call this "integrity." The martial artist might talk
about "uprightness" or "balance." This is not typical. More commonly, when
we move, we move disjointedly. We make decisions without involving the
people affected by the decisions. We leave troublesome people out of the
information loop. We make a decision, then look for a magic wand that will
get people to "buy in" to it. People react to the change out of fear, since
they had no information and no voice. Wholeness allows you to move with
tremendous speed when the time comes to move. The question here is,
"What would this organization look like if it were more whole? What can I do
differently to help that happen? What are the origins of the splits in the
organization - between the suits and the hands-on people, between
different specialties and departments, different levels of training, and so
on? What can we do to heal them?"
Knowledge: The understanding of how change works. Dealing with change
takes training. It takes study, in subjects like chaos theory, family
dynamics, communications theory, systems theory, and psychology. And it
takes experience-based training aimed at cultivating the abilities of the
true change master. You cannot deal with change successfully without
changing yourself. The abilities of the change master are not superficial,
like a better golf stroke. To master change, we must become different at
the deepest level. The question here is, "What can I learn that would make
me better at dealing with change?" The clue is: choose what is hardest for
you - that is your true path.
Aligning the center: The skill of lining up who you are with what you do
every day - the decisions you make, how you spend your time, what you
offer to people. We have heard for years about "aligning incentives," a
phrase that usually means making sure the employees make money, rather
than lose money, doing what the organization wants them to do. But the
alignment you need within the organization, and between yourself and the
organization, goes deeper than money. It goes, in fact, to your deepest
values, to who you are in your essence. Find the interplay between your
agenda and the organization's needs, the intersection, the place where
those goals line up. Look at what you do did today, and what you plan to do
tomorrow: how many of these tasks proceed from your deepest values? How
do they promote what you believe in? Building the tasks of each day from
your deepest values, from there to your long-term goals, then to
intermediate goals, and finally to how you are spending your time today,
allows you to bring all your energies to the task at hand. The question here
is: "How do the things I am doing today express my deepest values? How
does what I am asking my subordinates or team members to do align with
their deepest values?"
Rhythm: The skill of knowing when to move. We might call it, "Picking your
battles." The martial artist will think of it as, for instance, making no
attempt to throw the opponent until his energy has been destabilized. In its
dark phase, this skill is called being opportunistic. As Kenny Rogers' song
"The Gambler" says, "You got to know when to hold, `em, know when to
fold `em, know when to walk away, know when to run." In the midst of
turbulence, we have an agenda, a direction we want to go. For the martial
artist, it might be "to stay safe, upright, and free to move." For you, it
might be "to increase the teamwork of my organization," "to get the people
in my family to really talk to each other," or "to learn how to operate from
desire instead of from fear." Offering a plan for quality improvement and
lower cost will not work if the people in your organization are not feeling
the pinch of competition, and have not yet seen how they could do it. When
they have seen other people do it, they will be eager to try it themselves.
Until then, no amount of jawboning, coercion or "incentivizing" will be
enough. This allows you greater effect for less effort. The question here is:
"Is this the right moment? Have the forces I am struggling with been
destabilized? Am I meeting them head-on, or at the moment when they can
be toppled with a finger?"
Zanshin: the skill of sustaining relationships. To a martial artist, this is
"unbroken focus," being aware of all opponents while throwing one, staying
connected to the opponent in between moments of crisis. A brittle manager
deals with what is in front of her, the disaster of the hour, the urgency
forced on her by outside forces. The change master keeps in touch with
people who have nothing to do with the problem of the moment, just to
stay connected, to spread the net wider, to keep the sensory channels
open. Jeff Katzenberg, in his years as a studio head at Disney, is said to
have often made several hundred phone calls in a day, often only a minute
or two long, just to check in with people and see how things were going.
Sustaining relationships strengthens your network before you need it, gives
you an "early warning system," and generates ideas you could never have
thought up yourself. The question here is, "Who am I talking to these days?
Who could I call?"
Shifting Focus: The skill of rapidly and cleanly shifting focus, being fully
present with what is in front of you, and able to fully set aside what is not
the present task. Whatever you do, even if your job has not changed, in
many ways you are no longer in the same business you were in five years
ago. You may find yourself changing hats from manager to student to
customer to team member to organizer. Your roles and tasks may shift from
one month to the next, or even hour to hour. The flip side of zanshin is the
ability to be totally present with what you are doing, then letting go of it in
order to be completely present for the next task. This allows you to bring
all your energy to what is in front of you. The question here is: "Am I, for
this moment, completely absorbed in this task, this person, this process,
with a settled mind and focused intent?"
Acting in uncertainty: The skill of being able to move with insufficient
data. You never have enough information. That's part of the nature of being
an executive - or a human. Obviously, you want as much data as possible to
confirm your judgment and give you feedback. Yet often you must make a
decision with imperfect information, or you risk losing the moment. This
skill allows you to move when the moment is right, even when the
information is cloudy and incomplete. The question here is: "Which way
would I move if I had to move right now? Is this the time to move?"
High overwhelm quotient: The willingness to take on "too much." The
quote here is from Bokonon, a character in the Kurt Vonnegut novel Cat's
Cradle: "Unusual travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God." Is
keeping things in your comfort range a goal for you? Comfort is the enemy
of skill, alertness, and energy. If you want to get good at handling change,
you need regular practice. Deliberately pushing your envelope (dreaming up
new projects, saying yes to the next change suggestion that comes your
way) allows you to exercise your skills in place and time that you choose,
before you need them on a schedule chosen by the wind and the trickster
devils of change.
Internal Drive: The skill of finding joy in the doing, not just in the result.
Change is a long, bumpy, aggravating road, with a lot of detours, changed
destinations, and stops for repairs. If you don't love the journey itself, you
will not be able to push on. You will burn out waiting for that great moment
of victory, the one that never quite comes. If you are attached to the
outcome, what will you do when you have to change your mind? Are you
bent on the destination, or the journey? Surfers don't do all that work just
to get to the shore. They're interested in the ride. Being driven internally,
by your own joy in the work, by the powerful turbines of your own deepest
values, allows you stay the course when outside incentives - money, praise,
and reputation - would not be enough. The question is: "How does doing this
give me joy?"
Capacity for Paradox: The skill of entertaining two opposing ideas at the
same time, as the raftsman maintains his balance in the midst of the
rushing river - not because of the river or in spite of the river, but with it.
Here as elsewhere, the answer is not in the answer, but in the question.
Confronted with two opposite ideas (for instance, better outcomes and
lower budgets), tradition and training push us to resolve the paradox
immediately. We feel we can't go any further without deciding which idea
will be the guide. Circumstances often force us to hang out in the paradox,
sometimes for years, all the time wondering which side will win out. The
answer is in the question: sometimes the only lasting way to cut costs is to
increase quality. The ability to milk paradox allows us to find solutions that
are "outside the box." The question here is: "What would happen if I did not
try to resolve this, but just let it be a paradox?"
Market sense: The skill of finding the opportunity in the crisis. Every
change creates new markets, new needs. It shifts the status quo and creates
gaps. The brittle manager only sees the change, the crisis. The change
master sees the newly-opened market. What was a looming disaster through
one lens becomes, through another lens, an opportunity. The skill of seeing
opportunity in change allows you to gather energy, resources, and capital
from change as it occurs, rather than wasting them in resisting it. The
question here is: "What need does this change create? How would filling
that need further my agenda?"
These are not easy skills to acquire, if they are not a natural part of your
toolkit already. You can't pick them up in a few hours at a conference, or by
reading a few books. There is no correspondence course. Re-organizing yourself
for change is less like a Berlitz language class and more like a life path. Re-
fitting your organization for change is not a matter of "Get me a new corporate
culture while you are up." It calls for a long-term passionate commitment to
becoming a learning organization, and a willingness on the part of everyone in
management to follow that path even when it gets uncomfortable, difficult,
and surprising. In the end, you do not have a choice. Brittle organizations, and
brittle managers, will not survive these times.
Together, these skills form a way of seeing the world, a way of being, that is
profoundly different from the conventional skills of a manager in a slow-moving
organization in an evolving industry. But they are the same skills that we need
to be good parents, mates, citizens - and good humans - in a fluid world of
dazzling and frustrating change.
Yet for many of us, the need to learn these skills is immediate, sandwiched in
with the need to learn more organizational skills, keep up with new
technologies, build a whole new expertise in information sciences, become
expert in the complexities of compensation, master contracting law -- the list
seems endless.
It's a long path, there is no time, and the need is immediate, so where do you
start? These are a few of my favorite resources that you might find useful in
the struggle to become adept at dealing with change. This is my list, what I
have discovered looking through my particular lens. We all develop, over time,
our own personal strategies for dealing with change. There is a saying: "Many
paths, one mountain." As you move further on your path, as an individual and
as a leader in an organization, you may well find other resources that excite
your passion, teach you something, give you new eyes. I would love to hear
about them.
Until then, here are some of the resources that I have noticed. If you would
like to enter more deeply into this universe of thought with me, try out some
of my favorite sources:
Ourselves
We are our own best teachers. For learning about change, the resources within
ourselves lie in confusion and failure. We all crave clarity, yet our clarity about
what we know can blind us. Until we are willing to be confused about what we
feel we know -- willing to distance ourselves, at least temporarily, from our
certainty -- we have no hope of learning anything further, larger, different,
more.
We all strive for success, and I would not wish failure on anyone. But we all do
fail. If we are honest with ourselves, we fail quite often -- we make a bad
decision, or end up crosswise with our spouse, instead of just listening. These
failures are all about us, and they are exquisite teaching devices equipped with
industrial-strength memory aids.
When I fail, I have a powerful impulse to distance myself from the failure -- tell
myself all the ways it which it was not my fault, mention it to no one, "put it
behind me," as the PR folks say. But it does me no good behind me. It is full of
information, exactly tailored to me, because it is my failure, no one else's. If I
am not to be doomed to committing the same mistake over and over, I must
put my failure beside me, sit it down in a comfortable chair, bring it a cup of
coffee, and pump it for every bit of information that it can bring me about how
I failed, and how I can do better.
Personal practices
One of the earliest and most important parts of any program of personal
change is setting the agenda for your own personal future by bringing to the
table all your hopes for the future, your beliefs and assumptions, your values
and goals -- the rudder you put your hand on when you step back into
anamnesis in the midst of turbulence. Some very useful seminars are built
around this fundamental skill of surfacing your deepest values and changing
your life to pursue them. The best of them include the Franklin Quest seminars
(put on by the people who make the Franklin Planner date books, at 1-800-819-
1776), and the Covey Leadership Center's "First Things First" seminars (1 800
680 6839 or international 001 1 801 377 1888).
Any change is, in part, physical. You can understand it in your head, but until it
lives in your body, it won't change your behavior. If you wish to be different,
you must learn to move differently, to make different physical decisions. What
works for me is a martial art called Aikido, which effectively maps many of the
deepest principles of dealing with change into physical movements dealing with
attackers. Look in the phone book under "Martial Arts" or under "Karate, Judo,
and other martial arts."
Of course, I also have a list of favorite books that you might like as well.
Card One of the Greater Arcanum is the Magus, or Magician, shown traditionally
standing before a table laden with ritual objects, with one hand stretched
upward, the other pointing down. He is the touch point between what is and
what might be, between grounding and dreams, between heaven and earth.
What does this look like in an organization dealing with some change? It means
creating a wide variety of touch points between ourselves and the change we
are facing.
Let's take an organization that has realized at the board and executive level
that it needs greater diversity on its staff. This might be in response to outside
demands, to changes in regulations, as a settlement to a suit, as a response to
changing demographics, or simply by a change in the organization's own
awareness. Organizations often look on such a need as a single demand, such as
a demand for a change in hiring policies. But in fact there are many ways to
approach it -- through neutral hiring policies, through new kinds of outreach in
recruiting programs, through marketing and promotion that creates a stronger
presence in different ethnic communities, through staff training focused on
greater intercultural sensitivity, even through such simple things as the public
celebration of different cultures' holidays, and charity projects that reach into
different ethnic communities. Making a wide array of responses to a problem
gives the organization full contact with it, and draws the organization into full
understanding of the problem. Most importantly, it creates a wide array of
options, giving the organization the possibility of a flexible response that
changes and shifts as conditions change.
You can change the nature of the new technology question by creating a
number of touch points. Invite in other vendors to give presentations and
proffer proposals. Set up study teams to search for and evaluate new
technologies. Study the existing technological system into which these new
technologies have to fit. Begin a board discussion of the capital needed for
technological expansion and renovation, and the implications of those capital
needs in terms of possible partnerships, alliances, mergers, acquisitions, and
other strategic moves. This moves you closer to the center of the change, but
moves the center of gravity of the question back to you. It puts you and your
organization in charge, rather than in reaction to vendors, and creates an array
of options.
Ask
A key tactic in creating a variety of touch points is quite simple: ask a lot of
questions. Ask especially the questions that have difficult answers, or for which
you suspect there is no answer. As leaders of organizations, we often spend
much of our time talking -- instructing, cajoling, giving others our vision, trying
to get others to understand. Asking questions, and listening fully to the
answers, interviewing people, can be a powerful technique of leadership, and a
powerful tactic for bringing change up close where we can grapple with it. We
can learn not only from the answers we discover, but also from what
information is not available. You might learn, for instance, that the vendor has
no consistent upgrade strategy, or no plans for networking the equipment, or is
out of step with the movement toward industry standards.
The flip side of this is also true: sharing information. One of the five
fundamentals of dealing with change is an abundance of information. Asking
questions is designed to get more information. Giving away information is
designed to make it easier for others to work with you on change, and to break
the informational logjam.
It is useful to ask yourself: what is the unsayable truth at the core of this
challenge? In trying to create more diversity, for instance, the unsayable truth
might be that the people already in the organization are afraid of losing power
to newcomers - or even their jobs. Or that embracing different cultures makes
Repeat
Expect repetition. Dealing with change is an iterative process. When you are
effective in bringing the organization close to the change, and creating an
array of touch points, some solutions will arise -- new policies, purchases,
markets -- to make you more effective in that particular area.
Are you done? You are not done. Dealing with that level allows and encourages
the next level to come to the fore. And the next level is likely to be more
complex, deeper, more interesting in ways both good and bad. In fact, we are
never done with any change. We keep working it through until it becomes part
of some other change, as waves on the ocean become part of other waves. The
"new imaging technology" question becomes part of the "new networked
technologies" question, which gets absorbed into the "capital requirements"
question, which re-asserts itself as the "strategic futures" question.
Touching bottom
So if one hand is reaching out toward what is new, toward change and
transformation, drawing it close, making many points of contact with it -- what
of the other hand, the hand that is dropping toward earth?
This is the hand of grounding, of knowing who you are and why you are there,
of the story that the organization holds in common. We speak of "touching
bottom," of coming to what is irreducibly our own. Medieval Christian mystics
spoke of "anamnesis," the end of forgetting, the remembering of all that is
most deep and constant. For each of us personally, anamnesis is about our
deepest values and attachments -- children, a mate, the values of love,
integrity, our connection to the Divine. Professionally, anamnesis means
rediscovering constantly our real reasons for being in the profession we have
chosen -- whatever brought us to this position, with this knowledge and these
skills. As an organization, anamnesis means remembering our true mission,
beyond mere survival, providing jobs, repaying the bondholders, keeping the
share price up. Why did we bother to create this institution in the first place?
Why do we put so much effort into re-creating it day by day?
It is a paradox: embrace change, keep your base. Be rooted in the past, engage
the future. Yet there is another paradox within the paradox. Our values, our
sense of who we are, can act as an anchor holding us back, rather than as a
safety tether. Ideally, having a deep sense of who we are should allow us to
explore deeply and confidently. More often, like the circus elephant's short
ankle chain, linked to a huge stake driven deep in the ground, it prevents us
from exploring: "This is the kind of person I am. I can't change." Or it limits our
exploration; as soon as we have taken a single step we stop to pat ourselves on
the back, take a break, and figure out whether maybe this is far enough: "Look
how far I have gone, aren't I a hero of change?" To truly master change, we
have to master the paradox of changing while staying grounded, of changing
the more deeply and readily the more grounded we are.
It is as if the city refuses to choose between change and staying the same, but
embraces the paradox, changing and growing without losing its sense of what it
is, what land and history and people it has grown from.
The art and science of business management has fads and fashions as seductive
and compelling as children's taste in toys. The cry of the `70s was "diversify."
Harold Geneen's ITT swallowed the Sheraton hotel chain, American cake-maker
Sara Lee bought an Australian sportswear company, Sears bought the Coldwell
Banker real estate company, a tobacco company engorged a food company and
transmogrified into RJR Nabisco, all in search of spreading risk across different
industries and sectors and searching for magical "synergies" that would make
the whole more than its constituent parts.
The underlying assumption was that all businesses are fundamentally alike,
that the skill of running one business is the skill to run any business. It was an
assumption much touted by people who learned their business skills in business
schools.
Sometimes it worked. More often the synergies turned out to be more mythical
than magical, and people expended enormous amounts of energy, and made
huge mistakes, trying to manage businesses that they knew nothing about.
So American business dropped the diversification fad, and a new cry arose:
"Stick to your knitting," that is, put your bets on doing what you really know
how to do better than anyone else. Leave the rest to someone else. In the mid-
1980s, Marriott, for instance, realized that it was very good at running hotels,
but it also owned and managed billions of dollars of real estate around the
world -- so it sold most of its properties and leased them back from the new
owners. It pulled its money out of real estate equity and put it into expanding
its hotel business -- what it does best.
"Stick to your knitting," turns out to be a useful thought for dealing with change
-- don't get seduced by novelty into attempting to do things for which you have
no skill.
And yet . . . and yet. Let's search for the paradoxical insight here. At the core
of every truth is a fallacy, a route to a deeper truth. The fallacy at the core of
"stick to your knitting" is the invitation not to change, to stay satisfied with the
way we are.
On the other hand, if I change with every passing breeze, take up every fad, I
exhaust my energies. I am perpetually the beginner, never the master of
anything. This is the mistake of diversifying for its own sake.
There are many ways to find out the answer to that question: assessing the
marketplace, surveying new technologies, following industry trends, running
competitive scenarios. But let me suggest another way to the answer,
As Palmer explained it, we all have our favorite moves, the ones that really
work for us. The temptation is to play it safe by repeating those moves over
and over, and seeking out the situations where they work best. But to really
develop, we have to do the opposite -- we have to seek out the situations that
are the most difficult for us, work them through, hang out with them long
enough to begin to be at home in the paradoxical, ambiguous, and strange
circumstance.
This is much like the dilemma of the antelope. When lions hunt antelopes, the
pride's dominant male stays where he is, while the female lions -- the real
hunters, swifter than the male -- sneak around to the far side of the herd, fan
out in a wide semi-circle, and lie down in the grass. The dominant male, bigger
but slower, really incapable of catching the antelope by himself, takes on the
job of suddenly leaping up and roaring at the antelope. He's good at it. The
antelope bolt from him -- and run straight into the trap laid by the waiting
females.
For the antelope, salvation would lie in running toward the roar, in deliberately
picking out the thing that is most terrifying, and moving toward the source of
the fear. No antelope has ever been known to do that. Very few humans can,
either -- but they are the only ones who can learn to deal with the change that
they fear.
In this way,
Whom in my family do I fear most? With whom do I fear having the deep
conversation? Whether they know it or not, they will be my most powerful
teachers of change.
If there is any urge that can be called a true "instinct," it is the instinct for
order, for imposing patterns on the sensory chaos that confronts us at every
turn. We have a deep and strong desire to make sense of the world -- indeed,
we have to if we hope to survive.
Logic and mental order are the power tools of conventional decision-making.
But they are less useful in dealing with change. Confronted with new
circumstances, we must do more than narrow the possibilities. We must
generate new thoughts. We must be creative. And we must do that not just
once but repeatedly and continually. We must live in the paradox.
Paradox, it turns out, is the place of insight, of generating new thoughts. The
answer to the question, "If I must change, how do I know in which direction?"
can sometimes be found in paradox: Do what you most fear. Run toward the
roar. The places of weakness are the places of the greatest potential growth.
Maintain your present strength, but pour your energy into whatever you
instinctually avoid.
That was using paradox to look inward. Looking outward, we get another
answer: go toward open space.
But we're not new at this. We've been in this turbulence for years now. Look
back over the last decade and ask yourself: Of all those things that everyone
else was doing that seemed so white-knuckle critical at the time, how many of
them worked out? Total Quality turned out to be extremely valuable -- and
maybe 23 times harder and slower than anybody ever told you it would be.
That partner your organization was slavering after turned out to have a whole
different definition of the market than you did, and amazing resistance to
innovation -- maybe you should have spent a little more time before rushing
into that one. That brilliant marketing plan that took you a year to work out
with three partners ran into a brick wall of consumer resistance -- something
nobody had thought to research beforehand.
It's possible that "Follow The Other Guy" is not the golden road to
transformation.
It's possible that "Follow the Other Guy" is not the golden road to
transformation. In fact, the three questions that are most helpful in deciding
your path, as a person or an organization, lie almost completely in the other
direction:
Heading for the open space means looking for the hole in the market, searching
for what no one else is doing. That roaring you hear may be the voice of the
customer.
Yet others are hanging back. Many leaders understand the potential of the
Internet, yet have done nothing significant to realize this potential. Almost
every organization has email and some kind of web site -- that was the herd
instinct at work -- but only a few have worked out an Internet strategy to take
full advantage of the whole array of technologies. Most actually restrict access
to the net inside the organization.
There are many reasons for this, including security concerns, concerns about
reliability in mission-critical areas, and deep investment in legacy technology
that has no way to connect to the net. But here's the market point: such
techno-bashfulness is rapidly creating a huge open space. Organizations that
step forward into that space by investing fully in Internet solutions are likely to
create a competitive advantage over those that do not. And that advantage is
likely to widen, rather than narrow, as time goes by. Adopting a technology is
not like adopting a new marketing program or building a new building. Even if
much of the actual plumbing is outsourced, making the strategic decisions and
managing their implementation requires building up institutional capacity and
institutional memory. It requires making mistakes and learning from them.
Typically, in a technology race, those who start first tend to stay ahead.
Get out in front of the pack, either as leader or quarry, and you have a
measure of control. How does the quarry control the pack that is hunting it? By
choosing the terrain, choosing the ground on which the chase will take place.
That's why most dogs, most of the time, come back with no rabbit.
If quality and cost run together -- if the high-quality provider is high-cost, and
the low-cost provider is perceived to be low quality -- then perhaps everyone
else in town can find a comfortable spot on the quality/cost continuum. But
often the opposite is true. High cost is sometimes dictated by producing the
highest quality. Just as often it is dictated by sloppy processes -- which also
lead to low quality, which further leads to high costs. In any industry in which
that is true, it is possible for one organization to capture both open spaces --
highest quality and lowest cost -- and simply collapse the marketing continuum
between them. If that isn't you, you're in trouble.
Heading for that open space -- whether it's the end of the cost-quality
continuum, or finding a niche no one else is occupying, or identifying particular
populations to market -- is scary.
When you head for that open space, by definition you are doing something for
which you don't have a lot of examples, something at which you don't have a
lot of practice. You will make some mistakes. I think of a sentence I have heard
three times, with slight variations, on the martial arts mat, from a Wall Street
trader, and from an organizational executive: "If it works every time, you're not
trying hard enough."
If you know exactly what you are doing, if you could do this in your sleep, if
you could mail in your performance, that's great in walking a mail route. It's
not great in running an organization trying to survive in the midst of turbulent
change. In a changing environment you must be protean. You must transform
yourself rapidly, intelligently, purposefully, and constantly. As Bob Dylan put
it. "He not busy being born is busy dying." The true risk lies, in fact, in not
changing. The true risk lies in the middle of the pack, galloping headlong over
the veldt through the hot darkness into the jaws of the waiting lions.
If I was really lucky, that might earn me, like Job, a visitation from the Lord of
Thunder, who asked him a pointed question: "Where were you when I fixed the
foundations of the deep and wrestled with Leviathan?" More likely, it would
earn me a visit from the police.
We make clear distinctions between what we can control and what we cannot.
The rain has ruined my plans for laying on the beach, so I'll stay in and write. I
have made all the proper arrangements to get to the airport on time tomorrow.
Making the arrangements is under my control. But if the weather delays the
plane or closes the airport, I will just call my wife and tell her that I'll be late.
Some changes are under my control, some are not, and I simply adapt. Most of
us can carry that off just fine.
But what about changes other people cause? What if I miss my plane because
the driver was late? Or because the travel agent gave me the wrong
information? Or because the bellman inexplicably impounded my bags? That
would seem to be a completely different matter, cause for some table
pounding, a little therapeutic venting, wouldn't it?
Why?
Do I have any more control over the work habits of a tram driver in Florida I
have never met before than I do over the weather? Yet when a human being
causes us to have to change our plans, maybe in a way that is harder, less fun,
more expensive, or even more dangerous, we tend to direct our basic
emotional response toward that person: They could have done that differently.
They caused this problem. It's their fault.
And too often we hurry right on to the next stage, the assumption that says:
They are doing this to me. Or: This is happening to me because of my
shortcomings.
These emotional reactions get in our way. They color our perceptions and
drastically reduce our ability to notice what the situation really is, and to plan
our best course.
How do we treat weather? We try to find out as much as we can about what's
coming, but we keep its unpredictability in mind. We prepare for its extremes
as wisely as possible. We grieve any losses it causes us, and celebrate the
lovely spring days and quiet summer evenings it gives us. And never once do we
take it personally, think that the weather is out to get us, or that lousy
weather means that somehow we have failed. We just know that it's not
personal.
What if we dealt with change that way? When corporate headquarters decides
to move the department to the other facility across town, when the enthusiasm
level for the new Quality Teams hovers in the single digits, when the vendor for
the new computer system announces a six-month delay?
It's easy to see that these examples are not personal -- they're not aimed at you
-- and to see how, with some practice, we could learn to treat them like
weather, without anger, with clear eyes and full faculties.
What if they really are out to get you? (Remember the saying -- just because
But what if they really are out to get you?
you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you.) What if it really is
because of your personal failings?
Think about Ronald Reagan. Any president automatically becomes the world's
biggest punching bag, and Reagan was no exception. But Reagan was "the
Teflon president." No matter what they threw at him, nothing stuck. Why?
Because of his attitude. He didn't seem to take anything personally. The most
negative response he came up with in election debates was, "Now there you go
again," accompanied by a wry smile and a shake of the head. This gave him
enormous room to maneuver. What a contrast with Richard Nixon, who took
everything personally, dug in, and fought back with everything he had -- and in
the process drew greater attacks and cut off his options. Nixon ended up going
over the lines of legality and resigning in disgrace. Reagan became the first
president since Dwight Eisenhower to serve two full terms.
Reagan did not give power to his enemies by rising to the bait. Don't give your
power to the problems of a changing environment. Treat it like weather:
maybe you need to fill sandbags, maybe you'll have to relocate the town. But
you don't have to waste energy screaming at the river. That's the essential
difference between reacting to a situation and responding to it.
Reaction shuts down true learning. A tiny child knocked over by a large, playful
dog reacts emotionally and imprints the learning: "Dogs are scary and evil." If
the same child approached the dog with his mother, in a calm state, he would
learn something more complex, such as: "Dogs can be big and scary, but
sometimes they're nice and fun to pet."
Horse trainers say that a horse that is quick to learn has a "soft mouth," that is,
it responds to the tugs of the reins easily and quickly. If I am responsive rather
than reactive, if I treat the changes like weather, I will have a "soft mouth,"
learning easily whatever the situation offers me.
There's what happens, and there's the story I tell myself about what happens.
They are not the same.
What happened might be: Andersen has asked for a review of the budget for
the shipping department. The story I tell myself might be: Andersen is looking
for fuel for his campaign to automate the shipping department and lay off half
the shipping staff.
Maybe later I will find out my story was correct. But if I am to treat the
situation like weather, and think it through with all my faculties, I have to
make sure that I know that difference between the facts at hand, and the story
I am constructing about those facts.
Most people, most of the time, live in the story they are telling themselves
about the moment, rather than in the moment itself. -- which means that they
miss (or misinterpret) any detail that doesn't fit the story line.
Think about how someone becomes a doctor - put yourself into that process for
a moment. It isn't just learning the facts, hard as that is. There comes a time
when you realize that being a doctor has become a part of you, through long
and constant practice. You no longer have to think about it. How did you get
there? Through a long period in which you "acted as if" you were a doctor. You
put on the white coat and the stethoscope. Perhaps the first time a patient
addressed you as "Doctor" you looked over your shoulder to see who else was in
the room. Maybe you felt like a bit of a fraud for a while. But over time, the
learning, the professional stance, the physician's set of mind, became habitual.
They came to you automatically whenever you needed them.
I talked to tennis great Arthur Ashe a decade ago. I have always been
fascinated by people who achieve true mastery, in whatever area. So I asked
him: If he could give one piece of advice to young tennis players -- or to anyone
attempting to master something -- what would that advice be?
"Don't try 100 percent. Try 95 percent." The comment was opaque to me, so I
asked him to explain. He said (paraphrasing from memory) that coaches are
always telling their charges to "go all out" or "give 110 percent" in the
tournaments. But by the time you're in a tournament, whatever you are trying
to put out there should be second nature, drilled in by the thousands of hours
of practice. Go all out in practice, to make the moves a part of you. Then in
the tournament, when it really counts, relax so that those habitual moves can
come out.
His comment made me think of that famous scene in Star Wars: The Empire
Strikes Back, in which Yoda, the wise ancient pipsqueak Jedi Knight, is telling
young Luke Skywalker that he can raise his starship from the swamp it has sunk
into by using the Force. Luke says, "I'll try." Yoda says, with his contempt for
Luke's attitude barely veiled, "No try. Do or do not. There is no try."
As long as we are still "trying," exerting ourselves to use new ways of thinking
to deal with change, we will not be effective. Only when we have put them on
daily like a lab coat and stethoscope for a long period of time, will they
become habits, new, strong, and useful parts of ourselves.
But what about thinking about the future itself? Is there a better way?
At the moment, I am writing a book on the future of China with Peter Schwartz
and Jay Ogilvy of the Global Business Network, a think tank with international
reach. Ogilvy and Schwartz were formerly researchers at SRI, and Schwartz was
later head of global planning for Royal Dutch Shell. In the early 1980s it was
Schwartz and two colleagues who caused Shell's top management to ask
themselves, "What if oil prices fell drastically?" When oil prices did fall by more
than half in 1986, Shell was prepared, and fared far better than the other large
oil companies.
Ogilvy and Schwartz do not attempt to tell the future. Instead, they tell stories
about it. They spin scenarios.
One of the most singular successes of the scenarios process was the part it
played in helping to dismantle apartheid. Pierre Wack, the man who brought
Schwartz to Shell, retired in the early 1980s. In retirement, he joined a team
helping Anglo-American, South Africa's largest company; think about the future
-- of South Africa and apartheid. It turned out that one future that few white
South Africans had even considered was one in which black South Africans came
to dominate the government -- but did not exile the white people, kill them, or
confiscate their property. And it turned out that the various black South
African cultures showed certain elements, especially a deep appreciation of
the value of forgiveness, that made such a scenario plausible.
When you spin scenarios, you end up with an array of plausible futures --
usually three to five possible stories of how the future will unfold for you, your
organization, your community, or whatever you are focusing on. The idea is not
to decide which of these tales is right. Rather, the idea is to create an array of
plausible futures, and then 1) examine how prepared you are (and how
prepared you could be) for each of them, and 2) look for markers that will tell
you which of them -- or some other future you had not imagined -- is unfolding.
The point of scenario-spinning is to help us "suspend our disbelief" in all
possible futures, so that we can see the possibilities with clear eyes.
It's a process that works best with other people, especially with other people
who don't share your assumptions.
1) Isolate the decision. Rather than trying to explore the entire future, ask
yourself, "What am I trying to decide?" The decision in question might be:
"Should we merge with the other guy?" Don't worry too much about whether
this is exactly the right question. In the process of exploring whether you
should merge with MegaComm, Inc., you might discover that you really should
be asking whether to merge with AstraMeta, Inc., or TechnoBaffle, Inc. But
narrowing the original decision question gives you much sharper insights.
2) Identify the key forces in the local environment. Forces within your
organization and your environment might include such things as the size of the
market, and whether it is expanding; your level of debt, and that of your
potential partner; your and your partners' reputations; the existence of unfilled
niches, and what the market really wants.
3) Isolate the driving forces. Having researched a number of forces that could
affect your decision, ask yourself and your team: Which are the driving forces
that are critical to this decision? Some driving forces affect everyone the same.
Everyone, for instance, is driven by the need to cut costs, and the need to
incorporate new technologies. But unless one of your potential partners is
markedly better or worse than other people at doing these things, they are not
differences that make a difference.
4) Rank the driving forces by importance and uncertainty. Some forces are
more important than others. Whether the market will grow may not be as
important as whether new players enter the market. And some forces are far
more certain than others. Local housing and population patterns usually change
fairly slowly. The aging of the U.S. population is fairly predictable over the
coming decades -- and will have a similar effect in any scenario. On the other
hand, other questions are highly uncertain. The most critical driving forces will
be those that are both very important and highly uncertain.
5) Select the scenario logics. This is probably the most important step. The
feeling is one of playing with the issues, re-shaping and re-framing them,
drawing out their hidden factors, until you begin to come to a consensus about
which are the two or three most important underlying questions that will make
a difference in your decision. One way to generate scenarios from such
questions is to cross them, in a two-axis matrix, or a three-axis volume.
6) Flesh out the scenarios. Now go back to all the driving forces and trends
that you considered in steps two and three, and see how they affect your
scenarios. For instance, degree of risk, access to capital, ability to control
costs, raise quality, or extend functionality, all might be critical in some
scenarios, and not so important in others. Weave all the trends and driving
forces into the basic logics that you have built, and see how they affect the
story.
7) Play out the implications. Return to your original question and examine it in
the light of the scenarios that you have built. Does the idea of merging with
MegaComm, Inc., seem strong in all the scenarios? Suppose MC is a high-quality
company that has not yet shown a great ability to cut costs -- the decision
looks pretty dicey under the some scenarios. You would be betting the farm on
the hope that people will pay a bit more for quality. If it only looks good in
some scenarios, and in others it seems to lead to crash-and-burn, classify the
decision as a gamble. Remember, you built the scenarios out of factors that
were highly important, highly uncertain, and beyond your control.
8) Search for markers. Finally, look for the leading indicators that would tell
you which of the scenarios -- or which combination of scenarios -- is actually
taking place. How would you know? The questions buyers ask in contract
negotiations? Customer response in questionnaires and focus groups?
Having the right questions in hand and having given thought to how you will
know the answers when they show up will put you a step ahead of the next
guy.
According to Schwartz, "You can tell that you have good scenarios when they
are both plausible and surprising; when they have the power to break old
stereotypes; and when the makers assume ownership of them and put them to
work. Scenario-making is intensely participatory, or it fails."
Coming Out
It's a bracing sight for anyone involved
in health and healthcare -- or for
anyone concerned with the way things
change.
I'm standing in Sharon Meadows, a wide open space among the trees of San
Francisco's Golden Gate Park, looking out over a sea of faces. The stage behind
me overflows with dignitaries, stacks of loudspeakers, and great arches of
colored balloons. Mayor Willie Brown is greeting TV star Don Johnson. Banners
and signs pop from the crowd. Booths at the sides sell lunches, T-shirts, and
drinks. The largest banners identify dozens of big companies: Marriott, the
Gap, United Airlines.
It's the annual San Francisco AIDS Walk. These 25,000 people have come
together to raise $3.5 million in one day to fight AIDS and to support those who
are infected. After a brisk round of short speeches about everything from the
recent progress in therapies to the troubling spread of the disease in Africa, all
25,000 will traipse off for a 10 kilometer walk around the park. But what
catches my eye and sets me thinking on this particular morning is the peculiarly
ironic mix of denial and candor in the message on a T-shirt worn by a man in
the front row. In large black letters, the T-shirt says, "I'm not gay but my
boyfriend is."
One thing AIDS has done is to force many people, gay and straight, into greater
candor about their sexual orientation and practices -- which touch surprisingly
close to the core of who we really are. For many people, owning up to the
realities of their sexual life opens a big door into an overall integrity, into
accepting and living with their real selves. When we maintain a false front for
the world, the first person we have to fool is ourselves.
"Coming out of the closet:" this image has dominated the gay world for the last
quarter of a century. But the image does not serve only gays.
Integrity is not just about not lying. Integrity means "as on the inside, so on the
outside." We speak of a building having structural integrity when its parts are
strongly knit, so that it can withstand shocks. We speak of visual integrity when
what we can see (the building's surfaces, roofs, windows, and walkways)
reflects what we cannot see (its purposes, the community with which it is
connected).
When you look at an organization under stress, are there lots of rumors flying?
That's why: the need for information is increasing faster than the supply. So
people "improvise news" to make up the difference.
Integrity shows up in two of the "skills of change" -- "wholeness" and "aligning
the center." Integrity allows you to move with tremendous speed when the
time comes to move.
The same lack of integrity plagues people, families, organizations -- and even
whole societies. We can see it in the difficulties of former communist states.
"Reforming communism," writes the Polish Marxist philosopher Leszek
Kolakowski, "is like trying to bake a snowball." It turns out that the collection
of behaviors, people, and policies that we called "communism" was not one
thing at all, but a congeries of wildly different elements -- bureaucratic
inertia, nationalism, the will to power, idealism, individual ambition, clique
politics, the hopes of the poor and their bitter memories. When you try to
move the whole mess in a new direction, it comes apart. Each element has its
own agenda, its own forces and dynamism, and you can't get them to turn a
corner together.
We all have had this experience as individuals. Try to change something (go
back to school, marry, move, have a child . . .), and suddenly other things
come apart. Just when you get the alligator's mouth closed the tail comes up
and whaps you on the blind side.
You may have had this experience in an organization as well. Managers trying
to steer an organization through some change find themselves facing
consequences that are not only unintended but seemingly unrelated -- invest in
new printing technology and the delivery drivers stage a sickout. Settle with
the drivers and the state starts a reimbursement investigation. Deal with the
reimbursement problem and the head of public relations quits.
The people in our organizations know vastly more -- and can generate vastly
more knowledge -- than any of us as individuals. For an organization to truly
know itself, it must bring all that knowledge out of the closet.
This is not just a matter of sending a memo around, saying, "Let me know if you
have any good ideas, or any information that I should know." In most
organizations most of the time, information and opinion are part of the
currency of politics. The value of a piece of information depends on who is
saying it, and who their friends are, and what we think they stand to gain by
saying such a thing.
An organization that wants to learn to dance with change must come to know
itself and its environment thoroughly. To do this, it must make use of all the
knowledge of every member -- and all of their learning capability. It must be
built into the culture that new information and different points of view are
powerful, are welcomed.
At the end of his book, The Art of the Long View. Peter Schwartz outlines the
value of "strategic conversations" and tells how to have one. He pictures an
ongoing series of informal meetings within an organization that feed into the
more formal planning process. Narrowly, these meetings bring a richness and
flexibility to planning and decision-making. More broadly, they engage the
entire organization in a long-running conversation about the group's purpose,
goals, prospects, and opportunities -- and turns the whole organization into an
information-gathering organism.
With Schwartz' permission, I'll share with you the six steps that he outlines:
These "strategic conversations" are not weekend exercises. They play out over
months and years. They are not a break in the organization's routine. They are
the organization's routine, an expanded way for the organization to talk to
itself and think about its future.
The psychiatrist turns down the room light. He takes a beautiful pen with an
unusual golden cap from his pocket and begins wagging it back and forth in
front of his client's eyes. He intones: "As you watch the pen, you are feeling
sleepy. Your eyes are becoming heavy . . ." Moments later, in a deep trance,
the client begins exploring traumatic moments of her childhood, guided by the
skilled psychiatrist.
Yet the father of modern hypnotherapy, Milton Erickson, insisted that trance
was a quite common state, one that we drop into many times a day without
any help at all -- a "petting the kitty" trance, a "yelling at the kids" trance, a
"surgeon" trance, a "lovemaking" trance, a "getting dressed down by my
superiors" trance.
How can we call these events "trances" when they are so ordinary? Erickson
pointed out several key ingredients of a trance -- and it is these defining
ingredients that give the trance state its great power. These might be pleasant
or unpleasant experiences, they might be helpful to us or they may be holding
us back, but they have a number of things in common:
The husband says, "I'd love to have one of those new Jaguars," the wife
says, "We can't possibly afford it, you don't make nearly enough money,
Stanford tuition has gone up again . . . " The husband interrupts, "I make
plenty! If you just managed it better . . ." and they are off to the races,
having the same argument they have had over and over. Both of them
have the "money argument" trance ready to hand, with all of its
narrowed focus, age regression, and amnesia -- in fact, he's making more
money than he used to, and she's managing it better, but for the
purposes of the trance, they both forget these realities.
Trances are universal. We can't operate for long without being in a trance of
one kind or another. We often need them to narrow our focus.
Erickson focused at length on ways to induce trance to help clients with the
problems they brought to him. Psychologist Stephen Wolinsky has taken
Erickson's work a step further. He observed that there was no need to induce
any trances in his clients -- they were already in a trance. The problem the
client brought in the door (a damaging shyness, a violent temper, a lack of
emotion) was itself a trance, complete with narrowed focus, the feeling that it
was happening to them, and various Deep Trance Phenomena, from age
regression and sensory distortion to amnesia and dissociation.
Organizations have trances, too. They have autonomous states of mind, ways of
thinking that seem to come from nowhere, that seem impossible to change.
They have automatic behaviors -- ways of meeting, building of bureaucratic
structures, interactions between departments. If organizations had knees, we
might call them "knee-jerk reactions." Or communal habits. Or organizational
trances.
Recently, BART (the San Francisco Bay Area Rapid Transit system) experienced
a strike. The unions wanted to end a two-tier pay system to which they had
agreed in the early 1990s during a financial crisis. The negotiators on both sides
of the table were new -- both the BART management and the union leadership
had come into office since the previous settlement. Yet both sides, as if on
robotic command, acted out the frustrations, posturing, and beliefs about the
other side left over from the previous settlement, or in some cases left over
from the previous strike a generation before in the late 1970s. Despite
mounting public anger, for a week the two sides seemed unable to find any
way out of their impasse -- and in the end, management essentially caved in.
The strike is over, but many of the issues remain.
Individuals often fall into identity trances in which they identify with their
problem: "I am an alcoholic," "I am a loser," "I am the guy who can't control his
anger." Organizations fall into similar identity trances, rarely expressed in
words, such as, "We are the mediocre organization in this market," "This is the
workplace where we stifle creativity and reward political maneuvering," or "We
are the people who work to the rule book, and not one step further, because
we have been wounded so long and deeply by management."
Next ask yourself: What is the shape of that trance? Is it a useful one? In what
way? Is it limiting? How?"
Ask yourself: How do we build this trance? If I wanted to induce this trance in
another organization, what would I have to do?
Listen to the organization's self-talk, for instance ("We don't have the top
engineers they have at LottaBux Inc."), expectations ("Of course Gargantua
Telecomm will get the big MagnaCorp contract. Let's try for the Chamber of
Commerce small business package. We can handle that."), even the jokes
If the trance is a harmful one, how can you loosen its grip? By building up
parallel realities. For instance, if the organization in the mediocrity trance
were to do any one thing unarguably better than anyone else around -- and if
everyone in the organization knew about this success -- the trance would begin
to waver and crumble. If it put together the best customer service program in
the market, in ways that were obvious, with results that were clearly superior,
the trance would lose its automatic nature. Until the trance is broken, you
cannot put together a superior organization no matter how much you spend, no
matter how hard you try. If you have amazed yourself at anything, it becomes
harder for the "We're mediocre" trance to get a grip.
In your organization and your life, when do you drop into a trance? What are
you doing that is "on automatic?" How well does that serve you? Could you
break out of it if you wanted to?
"Yes, it is," said the Guru, who had a flowing white beard and long bushy white
eyebrows that curled up at the tips. He was wearing nothing of any
consequence save for some beads around his neck and a dhoti wrapped
modestly about his loins.
"Yes it is," said the Guru. "There is only one mountain. I am the guardian of the
path."
"I can take you up the path, but can you follow?"
"I can take you up the path, but can you follow? The way is long and arduous,
the difficulties many, the temptations to turn aside are legion. Many attempt
the path, few succeed."
So they set off up the path, the Guru moving with amazing speed for so old a
man, the Seeker puffing to keep up. The path was, indeed, long. Hours became
days, days turned into weeks. The Seeker would have become lost many times
without the Guru. At various points the Guru stopped and made the Seeker
perform some task or learn some skill, often what seemed to the Seeker a
senseless one. The Guru would go no further until the Seeker had learned the
skill. Months went by. Further and further up the mountain they toiled, through
brambles and deep canyons, over rocks and through caves. They never met
anyone else on the path.
After some time (the Seeker had long lost track, but I will tell you that it was,
to be precise, one year, one day, four hours and seven minutes since they had
started), they reached the summit of the Mountain of Wisdom. It was broad
and flat and, to the Seeker's enormous surprise, crowded. The Guru seemed to
know who everyone was and, standing on a small prominence, he pointed them
out for the Seeker -- the milling crowds of Hindus, Jews, Muslims, Buddhist
monks, Catholic nuns and priests, as well as badminton players, rock stars,
stockbrokers, mothers with babies, grandmothers, a woman Prime Minister,
four astronomers and at least one rodeo clown. As they watched, what looked
like a tour bus drove up onto the mountain from the other side.
The Seeker sat down, speechless. Finally he looked at the Guru, struggling to
get out the words.
"No," said the Guru gently. "I said, `One mountain.' There are many paths."
"That was not my way. That was your way. Everyone has their own. That was
the easiest path you could have taken. The path to wisdom is always exactly
hard enough -- that is, it is excruciatingly difficult. You must trust me on this."
So -- how has your path been so far? What have you trained for? How does that
training fit with what you are doing now? Take a look at the path of today's
physicians, and think about your own path.
Every physician goes through a long and grueling process of selection, self-
selection, and training. That training is built on a foundation of learning, by
rote, an enormous amount of information about the human body, about
diseases, symptoms and therapies, about tests and diagnostics. Add to that
base the skills of gathering more information, plus certain physical skills such
as finding a vein with a hypodermic, or entubating an air passage, along with
the mental skills that of coming rapidly to a logical judgment based on that
information -- and you have a basic medical education. The process selects
(and the trainees self-select) for people who find this process congenial. The
process is based on the powers of memory, observation, and logic. Though
doctors are trained to consult, it is at root an individual process. And it is
reactive -- the doctor responds to the presenting situation.
He learns to hide his ignorance, dissemble his fear, and elide his
vulnerability.
physician
learns to hide his ignorance, to dissemble his fear, to elide his vulnerability.
Today, out on the floor, in the clinic, in the executive suite at the healthcare
center, things are changing. Medicine is changing, healthcare is changing, even
the patients are changing. Increasingly, you are being asked to exercise skills
that run against the grain of your training. Patients are demanding more
information and taking more responsibility. Some of them are going on the
Internet and researching their particular condition more deeply than you would
ever have the time to do. Managed care is pushing at the edges of ethical
practice, demanding that physicians operate in ways that may not be in the
best interests of the patient. At the same time, outcomes management and
other new ways of improving quality increasingly demand that physicians
collaborate with each other, with care managers, and with patients.
Medical knowledge is expanding faster than any physician can keep up -- and
the means to search for and process that information are improving almost as
rapidly. Genetic markers, polymerase chain reactors, and other early detection
techniques will increasingly allow physicians to get involved in the disease
process far earlier, often in a preventive rather than reactive mode, turning
some of the practice of medicine into a kind of individualized public health.
And as these techniques become widely available and their cost efficiencies
become obvious, care managers will increasingly insist that they be used.
So where the old medicine was reactive, the new medicine increasingly will be
preventive. Where the old medicine was based on memory, the new medicine
increasingly will be based on an expanded ability to gather information. Where
the old medicine was, at root, a matter of an individual physician's judgment,
the new medicine increasingly will be collaborative, based on care guidelines,
on teamwork, on consultation, on handing over some of the power of
judgment, logic, and information-searching to colleagues, to technological
tools, and even to the patient and the patient's family. Where the old medicine
was authoritative and hierarchical, the new medicine increasingly will be
advisory.
Suddenly the patient, the passive recipient of care, becomes the "customer"
and, as Gail Warden, CEO of Henry Ford in Detroit, puts it, "The customer is the
boss."
Pat Hays, former CEO of Sutter Helath in California and now CEO of Blue
Cross/Blue Shield, echoed Reintertsen almost exactly: "In the earlier part of my
career, I felt that I had to be the center of all answers. Now it is more a matter
of shaping the philosophy and the dialog, setting the basic strategic directions,
and then getting out of their way."
"I was raised to see a leader as the person with all the answers. When I was
Facilitating the vision, eliciting the group decision, shaping the dialogue and
getting out of the way: these don't sound like skills taught in medical school, or
learned in clinical practice.
The physician is used to rapid, relatively clear feedback -- the patient gets
better or worse or dies. The executive is used to feedback from the
marketplace, the industry, her colleagues and her subordinates, that is subtle,
mercurial, and easy to misinterpret. Communicating a sense of vulnerability,
which could be a problem in a physician, is occasionally a necessity in a leader.
The ability to communicate a vision, rarely called for in a physician, is a basic
job skill for a leader. The Olympian aura of authority, knowledge, and
judgment that the physician has so carefully cultivated would be a stone
around the neck of the executive.
If she wants to stop feeling weird and start being more productive as a
hyphenate, she has to take two major steps.
The first major step is to recognize that the traits of the true organizational
leader are, in fact, skills. The skills of the leader who shows up at a meeting
without a pre-made decision, who "facilitates consensus," who helps the group
"look creatively for solutions" may seem so soft and fuzzy as to be invisible to
the medical mind. The physician may find himself saying,
But anyone who has actually run a major healthcare organization for a
significant period of time can attest that these skills are real, that they are
powerful, that you can't run a healthcare organization today without them.
These skills do not represent a better or worse way of thinking and acting.
Rather, they are the right skills for their context. They are a different path up
the Mountain of Wisdom.
The second major step is to learn these skills, to set out deliberately, this far
along in life, on a new kind of training, a new path. It will take time. As these
are significant skills, learning them is a non-trivial task. No one book or
seminar will give them to you, no single class or training course. Executives I
have interviewed consistently talk about many years, even decades, of
experience shaping their style.
The Guru turned to the young Seeker and said, "Well, that's enough rest, Let's
start down."
The Seeker was startled all over again. "Head down? Whatever for?"
"What?" cried the Seeker. "I wanted to stay here. Wasn't that the whole point?"
"Oh, no." The Guru seemed shocked. "No one is allowed to stay here. Do you
see any houses up here? Oh, no no no no. If wisdom is what you seek, it is here,
on this mountain -- and you must ascend the mountain over and over again, by
one path and then by another. That is how we attain wisdom. That's how I
became a guru -- and that's why I scoot up the mountain so easily. Come
along!"
And with that he hopped off the rock and vanished back the way they had
come.
Why it matters
I'm sitting in my four-wheel-drive at the edge of a redwood
grove on a ridge top, looking down across tumbling hills of
grass and forest to the distant sea. An intimacy of clouds boils up
against the tall dark trees, whipping them with clots of windy rain that rock
the truck. In moments they are gone, the sun is shining on Monterey Bay below
me, and a rainbow appears over my right shoulder. The forces of change batter
the mountain, and the mountain does what a mountain does.
Watching the rain and wind, pushed by the power of the storm, I can't get my
mind off a conversation of the night before. At a gathering at a friend's big
white loft, I was talking with a vascular surgeon and a neurosurgeon, both
energetic men with beepers on their belts and little party pastries in hand.
They had asked what I did, and I had mentioned this column.
The vascular surgeon was dismissive: "I'm sure that helps some people, but I
wouldn't read it."
"Why not?"
"It's just not important for me. All this organizational change stuff is just make-
"But that's just the point," said the neurosurgeon. "Surgery takes great skill, and
the patient's life is at stake. I am very proud of what I can do, and happy that I
can make a difference -- yet I know that I can do it, and I know what I am
attempting. Personal change, organizational change, working with people --
now that's really hard. There are no markers, no clear rules, it seems to go on
forever -- and the risks are enormous."
He looked at the ceiling for a long moment, then said, "Look, surgery carries
huge risks -- but mostly for the patient. If I were to make a really big mistake,
my professional standing might be at risk, there might be legal problems,
feelings of guilt. But in dealing with change, working with other people, what's
at stake is who I am, I guess. What I might discover about myself. How I might
have to change."
"What about the risk of not getting involved in change work, not even thinking
about it?"
"I don't know. It feels like that risk is just as great. Since everything around me
changes,
The fear of change -- the fear of the unknown, of things that, deep down,
under the professional veneer, I wonder whether I can handle -- is quite real. It
is immediate and nearly constant.
In some ways the large challenges are easier to handle. Can you remember how
you first decided to go into your field, what your state of mind was when you
made that life-shaping decision? Or when you decided to marry, or divorce, or
move to another state?
The complex answer starts with daily practice, with taking the practice
deeper, taking it wall to wall. If you have been in the military, you know how
Owning up to my true feelings about the situation drives out fear. Here's the
equation: In general, people don't change unless the pain and uncertainty of
changing is less than the pain and difficulty of staying where they are. So what
do we do about the pain, difficulty, aggravation, and stress of our present
situation? Too often, we say, "I can handle it." We grit our teeth, hunker down,
and plow forward. Sometimes we enlist alcohol, or some other chemical, or
sexual adventure, to help with the denial. And the fear just grows. Admitting
to ourselves, and even to others, "I'm scared," or "I'm exhausted, I don't know if
I can keep this up," or whatever we are feeling, frees up energy for the task at
hand. And it allows us to see whether the change might not be so bad after all.
Acknowledging failure -- in fact, studying our own failures with candor and in
detail -- drives out fear. The most popular course at Harvard Business School is
a class on leadership taught by Ronald Heifetz. His students (most of them not
college kids but people in mid-career) say that the most difficult and most
deeply educational part of the curriculum is his requirement that they each
give a presentation to the class detailing their most spectacular failure. Here's
the rule of thumb:
Breaking change down into its smallest components drives out fear. If we are
contemplating some leap into the dark -- merging with another organization,
say, or starting a program of practice guidelines -- the sheer size, complexity,
and uncertainty of the task is daunting. If we imagine it in the smallest possible
pieces, one small step at a time, it is far easier to imagine how we can
complete the task, as well as where we can bail out if we change our minds.
Models of the future -- role models, mentors, benchmark situations that give us
some sense of where we might be going -- drive out fear. To change, we need
models. Organizational change consultants often speak of the "burning
platform," a blazing oil platform as a metaphor for a present situation that we
must abandon. But to leap from a burning platform, we need to see at least
some place to leap to, some place that is not a burning platform.
Learning to let go drives out fear. Call this "treating it like weather." Prepare
for turbulence, but don't take it personally -- even when the turbulence is
personal.
This last, in fact, is one of the four great rules of life. These four rules apply to
all of life. They very nearly guarantee success in everything from love to
career. But they apply with much greater force and clarity in dealing with
change and turbulence. Try them and see. If you apply them diligently for a
long period of time, and they don't make your life any better, write me. I'd like
to hear about it.
They are:
1) Show up.
2) Pay attention.
4) Let go.
Show up: Be there. Don't be on the golf course when the decisions are made,
or when your child needs you, or your spouse. Don't duck out of
responsibilities. Volunteer. Put in the time. Say, "I'd like to be involved in that."
Say, "How can I help?"
Pay attention: Listen. Ask for more. Look for different perspectives. Stay
hungry for understanding.
Speak the truth: Say what is true from where you sit, what looms large in the
lens you are looking through.
Let go: Let it happen. Know what is in your control and what is not. Shrug off
the result, looking only for what you can learn.
Like anything else, if you practice these diligently for just three weeks, they
will become a habit, they will be easy. You will be able to practice them under
the greatest stress, in the most threatening times.
Drive out the fear. The voice of Jelaluddin Rumi, the thirteenth-century Muslim
poet and philosopher, rings across the ages when I read him: "Don't be timid.
Load the ship and set out. No one knows for certain whether the vessel will
sink or reach the harbor. Just don't be one of those merchants who won't risk
the ocean. This is much more important than losing or making money!"
What is strange to American eyes is that the birds are parrots, rosella, lories,
green and gold, blue and red, flashy tropical birds that I have seen before only
in cages, aviaries, and pet stores.
The cars of Australia are jarring in much the same way. Whether home-grown
Holdens (from the down-under branch of General Motors), Ford Falcon Futuras,
or Daewoo Esperos, they all look quite familiar. But on closer inspection, few
of them are quite like any we see in America. Here in this English-speaking,
democratic country, our ally in every war since the country was founded,
everything is so familiar and ordinary, and yet nothing is -- from the flying
foxes careening over Darling Harbor in downtown Sydney, to driving on the left,
to the double-deck subway cars.
As Antoine de Ste. Exupery put it in the great philosophical tome The Little
Prince: "What is essential is invisible to the eye." Which of these differences
are essential?
Yesterday my wife and I drove down to Jervis Bay National Park to explore the
Botanic Gardens and search for kangaroos in the wild. Only it wasn't, as the
map said, Jervis Bay National Park. Now it was Booderee National Park. At the
park gate -- a small surprise -- two teenaged Aborigine girls sold us our permits.
At the park store, two other teenaged Aborigine girls operate the sandwich
shop. I thought these were small, inessential differences, but I discovered that
they mask an essential one: the Wreck Bay Aborigine community, it turns out,
now owns the National Park and Botanic Gardens, leases them back to the
government, and runs them jointly with the government.
A bare generation back, Aborigines were not allowed to own any land at all in
Australia. Their relationship to the land they held sacred was legally null.
Today they have become the stewards of the nation's sacred places here, at
Uluru (Alice Rock), and elsewhere. This is a profound change for them, and for
Australia.
This idea -- what is essential, and what is peripheral -- is basic to all intelligent
management of change. At the core of all our resistance to change is the fear
that we will lose something of ourselves, something unrecoverable. "Touching
ground" -- gaining clarity on what we are truly about, and shaping our
strategies around that core -- is a key skill of the change master.
Two weeks ago, I sat down to dinner in the "old town" of Alexandria, Virginia,
with Roger Fritz, president of Leadership by Design, Inc., a St. Louis consulting
firm. An architect by training, Fritz' work these days parallels mine: he helps
his clients move profitably through major cycles of change. I asked him, in his
experience, what was the most important element in helping clients deal with
change.
"Helping them recognize what's essential," he said. "There are two kinds of
change: technical change and profound change. A technical change asks you to
learn something different. A profound change asks you to be someone
different."
Too often, we confuse the two. An apparently technical change can mask a
profound shift in attitudes, in working relationships, even in purpose. And what
seems a profound shift -- a new mission statement, a team-based re-
organization, a change in ownership -- may turn out to be merely technical,
another set of forms to fill out, a new meeting to attend, while all the real
work is done in "work-arounds" that approximate the old way of doing things.
Many of these changes are, in fact, only technical. They mimic the techniques
we had used previously. They change no relationships, redistribute no power.
Previously, one manager walked down the hall with an chart to show to a
colleague. Today, he attaches it to an email and sends it across the continent.
But he is still a professional consulting a peer and asking for an opinion.
This is why, as Fritz had pointed out, "Every change leads to low competency.
And the more profound the change, the more profound the incompetence." It's
one thing to be incompetent with a new computer program, not knowing the
commands. It's far more unsettling to feel incompetent as a leader, or even as
a human being, not knowing my relationship to the people I work with, what is
expected of me, and what will work.
"Any system has two forms of resilience," Fritz said. "One is identity - all the
ways that it knows what is itself and what is alien. The second is coping
strategies - all the ways that it deals with its own inadequacies in the face of
change and conflict. Both of these are shattered by large-scale change."
So it's a bad idea, according to Fritz, to try to drag an organization through all
kinds of change at the same time. It's far better to "stair step" technical
changes with profound changes, allowing each type to reinforce the other, and
building an organization's competence at the skills of change itself.
The stakes, after all, are quite high. An organization facing change and conflict
is unlikely to come through the experience unaltered. It is likely to change, for
the better or for the worse. "The system can adjust downward until it finds an
acceptable solution," Fritz told me. "Or it can adjust upward to the next level
of elegance."
Cumulative change
Every small technical change carries with it some modicum of profound change.
These tiny shifts can accumulate until suddenly, it seems, the world turns
upside down.
Over the last few years, one of the most profound changes in organizations
ever attempted has arisen -- often hidden among the vines and ferns of
technical change. We can call it the question of ownership.
"Historically," Fritz pointed out, "there have only been two mindsets in the
workplace. One is the 'employee' mindset -- wind me up with the promise of a
paycheck, point me in the right direction, and I'll go do whatever you tell me to
do, no more and no less. The other is the 'employer/entrepreneur/owner'
mindset -- I'm in charge, I have a larger goal, I have to think creatively to meet
those goals as conditions change.
What changes are taking place in your own organization? Are they technical or
profound? Are there profound changes hidden in the technical changes? When
you attempt a small, technical change, and you encounter resistance that
seems out of proportion, look for the profound change buried inside the
technical change -- that's what people are reacting to. The resistance will only
disappear when you have addressed those concerns, one way or another.
We are not vulnerable to changes in the first two quadrants. They have little
power to effect us. How we respond to them depends on how much power we
have over them.
Quadrant I -- Irrelevance: Here we find matters which don't have any true
effect on us, and over which we have little power. I have plenty of opinions
about the Bosnia situation, private militias, and the proper raising of twins, but
unless I make one of these things my business (by joining an advocacy group or
adopting twins), my opinions don't mean much. Yet, like many people, I can
spend a surprising amount of energy on matters that belong in Quadrant I.
The goal for Quadrant I is simply to recognize the matters that properly belongs
here as the energy sinks that they are -- and to scan for matters that could
become newly relevant, such as a technological change that may hit the
market next year, or pending healthcare reform legislation.
Quadrant II -- Stewardship: We have more power over these changes than they
have over us. Changes that deal with children, subordinates and employees, for
instance, often fall in this category. Too often, it feels like we can safely give
changes in these unequal relationships only minimal attention. But here, unlike
in Quadrant I, we do have a relationship, and everything with which we have a
relationship has a reciprocal power over us. The power of unequal relationships
can be deceptive -- and the more unequal they are, the more deceptive they
can be. When they suddenly reveal that we have less power over them than we
thought, as in a strike or an adolescent rebellion, it is easy to respond with
moral outrage, as if the foundations of all that is good and right had been
overturned.
The goal for Quadrant II is two-fold: to honor our responsibility, and to give
away some power. A subordinate who has no options and can make no choices
is dangerously disconnected from the relationship, and can only express
themselves through subversion and rebellion.
Quadrant III -- Engagement: Some changes have enormous power over us, and
we can't do much to effect them -- a hurricane, new tax laws, a shift in
reimbursement rules, changes in the population mix of your service area.
Here again we have twin goals. The first: don't get hurt. Train's coming, get off
the track. Make the organizational changes you need to minimize your
exposure, and make them rapidly, before you feel the full effects, not after.
The second goal: discover what's in it for you. When you're on the track, the
train is a deadly danger. Step a little to one side, it's a passing freight, and
maybe you'd like a free ride across town.
If I want to take that free ride, though, I have to stay close to the train. Simply
running from difficult changes is rarely effective.
Quadrant IV -- Leverage: Finally, there are the changes which can affect us --
and which we can affect equally. This quadrant represents the "key change
area," where we are most vulnerable, yet we also stand to gain the most.
Again, the first goal is: get out of the way. The second: search for the point of
maximum leverage, where you can shift the momentum of the change in a
direction that you would like it to go.