Month: December 2021

The rocket streaked across the battlefield, aimed directly at a soldier.

 

Despite the danger, the soldier didn’t flinch. Instead, he lined up his shot and brought down his target.

 

As the wounded combatant fell, his helmet tumbled down, knocking out another soldier, whose rocket misfired, bringing down an orbiting enemy ship.

 

Since I study how complexity creates failure, you’d be forgiven for thinking that this might be a scene from a military disaster I studied.

 

In fact, it’s from something that my son T drew.

 

It’s pretty fun to see what he (and his brothers) create. They’re prolific.

 

The work is a mix of juvenile and elaborate. A recent comic, for example, featured a drawing of a poop emoji with tiny flies circling it.

 

Their scenes are also action-packed.

 

On Sunday night, we relaxed together, T drawing on his sketch pad while I read a book. When I looked over, I saw T deep into a battle scene.

 

His drawings are never really done. When I asked him to describe a scene, he explains by drawing more and narrating. Here it was: “This rocket is going to blow up this guy [draws rocket streaking across the page], but he’s shooting back, which hits this guy [draws death process] whose helmet falls off and knocks out this guy [draws a helmet falling]…”

 

(BTW, they’re all guys that he draws. But that’s an essay for another day).

 

“These guys are battling here, and this guy throws a bomb [draws a bomb] which explodes here [draws explosion]. And these guys over here….”

 

I mentioned that I have mostly seen him drawing battle scenes recently and wondered what it would be like if he drew a different kind of scene.

 

He nodded thoughtfully and turned to a fresh sheet in his notebook. He drew two people standing next to each other.

 

He considered them for about ten seconds.

 

Then, he drew a sword and had one of the guys stab the other.

 

The battle raged.

 

It was a sweet moment to be a parent—just being with my kiddo, witnessing him, and hanging out.

 

But it also reminded me of my work.

 

Drawing battle scenes comes easily for T.

 

When I pointed that out to him, he got curious about drawing other kinds of things, and he gave it a shot. But—left to his own devices—he quickly returned to his well-trodden, mayhem-filled path.

 

I think this is pretty universal. We all like doing what we’re good at. It’s comfortable, and it often serves us very well, bringing us success, promotion, and accolades.

 

But when we can only be one way—when we can only draw battle scenes, or when we can only ask questions, or when we only attend to the content of our work (and not the relationships), or we focus almost exclusively on planning without ever moving things forward—we can get stuck.

 

That’s true even though that way of being is valuable. For example, a team of engineers I worked with was very good at data-driven decision-making. That served them very well until they were trying to map out a strategy for leading change where there was very little data available.

 

Or consider the leader of a functional team I worked with who was very good at saying yes to her colleagues and enabling their work. This tendency to say yes was critical to her success, but it came at a cost: her team started to burn out because they were overworked and constantly cycling between priorities.

 

And as my experience with T suggests, even if we get curious about being a different way, we often go back to drawing battle scenes, back to that which comes easily to us. To shift, we need support.

 

When I’m coaching a client or a team, we start by exploring what they are good at—whether that’s attending to the content of their work, getting the task in front of them done, or building relationships.

 

Then we’ll get curious about whether they want to try something different.

 

Sometimes the answer is no. And that’s OK!

 

But when the answer is yes, we’re exploring these ideas together. I’m supporting them as they play with the process of their work or ask their teammates questions (instead of constantly responding with statements). By helping them explore a different way of being, they grow into a different part of their range.

 

And that can be delightful.

 

Are you looking to grow your range (or that of your team)? If so, let’s connect and talk about that. Email me at [email protected] and tell me how you feel about your potential and progress. In what ways do you get stuck and retreat to your comfort zone? What about your team?

 

I can’t wait to hear from you.

 

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We don’t like it (many of us hate it). We ignore it. And when that doesn’t work, we spend a lot of time, money and energy trying to get rid of it — making plans, creating documents, and telling others what to do.

It is uncertainty. Even though it’s with us everyday, fundamental to our work, we’re so uncomfortable with it that we go to great lengths to eliminate it. But all these activities just give it power. The more we try to push uncertainty away, the more we’re acting unconsciously, and the more havoc it wreaks. 

One of the ways we deal with uncertainty is, as above, trying to reduce it. We plan, but we also lower our ambition; we prioritize things that are certain (over those that have impact). Almost every email we respond to fits in this category — we take care of a task and, in doing so, we shield ourselves from the ambiguity of the world. 

To sit with uncertainty without reaching for a solution gives us options. It lets possibilities emerge. We can try something without the expectation that it will work, letting us learn and adapt even as we move forward. 

So instead of trying to reduce uncertainty, we can learn to sit with it for longer, growing what the poet Keats called negative capability: the ability to sit with discomfort without seeking resolution. It sounds abstract and wonky, but it’s actually quite practical. Here’s four things we can do to transform our relationship with the big “U.” 

1. Slow down. What’s happening right now is a rich source of data about our work. Paying attention doesn’t give us an answer, but it does give us clues. When something makes us uncomfortable, we can share that and create space in an important discussion. When our heart rate goes up, we might notice that we’ve shifted from exploring to try to provide the right answer. But we don’t get access to any of this wisdom when we move too fast. 

2. Shift your framing. When we’re embedded in the world of work, an important project can start to dominate our thinking. But we can expand our perspective: Everything is full of uncertainty, from what will happen with the next Covid variant to whether we will have a job next month.

   Viewed in this way, your big project isn’t necessarily more uncertain, it’s just the uncertainty that’s got your immediate attention. This shift can help us practice holding on more lightly. 

3. Revel in the journey. Even though you don’t know the answer — even though the outcomes of ambitious work can’t be pinned down — each step can be fulfilling if you show up with curiosity and take real interest.

   This also suggests something fundamental about how we work: it’s very hard to do ambitious projects as a one-off, “fail or succeed” proposition. Ambitious work, especially transformational change, is best thought of as a series of experiments, not a monolithic solution. 

4. Get support. Whether you use a tool (like journaling) to get out of your own head or work with a coach or consultant, you can actively resource yourself to see uncertainty and avoid operating reactively.

   That’s one of my superpowers: helping my clients stay aware of the bigger journey and maintain their sense of possibility. Otherwise it’s too easy to focus, heads down, on the task in front of you and to move toward a solution too quickly. 

How does uncertainty show up for you and how do you work with it? I’d love to hear about your experiences. Email me at [email protected], especially if you need support. Together, we can explore ways to leverage your uncertainty to your benefit at work and in general.

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