Grounded optimism, pragmatic pessimism

I read a blog-post today extolling the power of adopting a positive attitude and I felt my hackles begin to rise. That simple switch seems to be the panacea for every ill, no matter how challenging.

At its worst, the emphasis on ‘attitude’ dangerously misrepresents our relation to the world, implying that our attitude creates events and determines outcomes.

It's not that simple.

It’s not that a positive attitude is unhelpful. Indeed, I find that many of my coaching clients underestimate their power and their ability to control or influence a situation that challenges them. So often I find myself helping them find clarity and perspective simply by asking “what do you want?” and “how might you get it?” 

As coaches, we often challenge our clients’ assumptions about their power. We also help them recognise that the attitude they take to a challenge is a choice. And that choice either opens up or closes down options for action. All part of the coach’s armory.

But our armory also needs a model of power rooted in the reality of organisational life – whatever the type of organisation our clients operate within. Individuals have power but it is not unlimited. And success in meeting a challenge is not just a matter of attitude: it often takes hard realism, analysis and planning. We can borrow from best practice in organisational change where strategic analysis, option appraisal and risk management are all part of the kit bag. And so they should be when the change is personal or interpersonal, even if we don't use those dry labels.

Good analytic tools complement the resourcefulness that comes from a positive mind-set. Indeed, they ground that optimism, make it real and enable the client to have a hard look at their emotional state and readiness for action. They also show how it’s not your negative or positive mind-set that brings greater control, it’s more your orientation towards action.

Passive optimism is often delusional. Passive pessimism brings swift defeat. Both active optimism and active pessimism have strengths. With clients, I challenge the first to bring rigour to their thinking. And challenge the second to promote openness and creativity in finding solutions to the risks they see. 

So if you are facing a challenge at work, by all means adopt a positive attitude. But more important than that: get real, get serious and, when you’re ready, get moving.

Cloistered calmness

Wandering in the cloisters of the Mosterio dos Jeronimos in Lisbon trying (with difficultly) to 'channel my inner monk', I noticed how much the architect, builders and funders of this magnificent building invested in creating a place of calm. They seemed to think it was important.
 

For Lisbon's monks, contemplation and calmness were part of withdrawing from the world. In our time, finding a place of calm creates a platform for returning to the world.

Increasingly, that is what I see my clients find in coaching. Intractable problems have a frenetic quality, complex and inscrutable. Coaching brings clarity, simplicity and calm. Clarity about the issue and action are important takeaways. But the experience of being calm, of relaxed control, is just as important, and more enduring because it helps my clients feel how they want to be,  not just know what they want to do.

Becoming calm helps the mind do its work. Particularly if it removes the urge to force a solution to appear. I wrote the first two paragraphs of this piece and was not sure where to take it next. So I put it to one side and my last morning in Lisbon took me to the tropical garden in the Edward VII park. I was not trying to decide how to continue this piece, not even thinking about it consciously, but the germ of an idea found me as I enjoyed the greenery.

That's why patience matters so much in coaching. And why becoming a coach requires us to unlearn so much of what we think we know about problem solving. It does not mean that we give up on looking for solutions. Sometimes they pop right out and moving into action is simply a matter of deciding. But sometimes stuckness goes deep and it's only when we sit calmly and curiously  with it that clarity and simplicity emerge.

Learning from my Children

My partner and I have the pleasure this week of two of my adult children returning from university for the Easter break (the eldest had a better offer: three weeks in Shanghai). So the house is a hive of essay and play writing, requests for food they can't usually afford and conversation topics that I am not usually exposed to. So it's a place of learning for all of us.

We get insights into a parallel world, where different knowledge is assumed and traded. I didn't know about the Bechdel test until I was party to a debate about which blockbusters passed (apparently "Die Hard" passes but the whole of the first Star Wars trilogy fails). We hear from our daughters about the cutting edge of feminism and learn that, despite the best efforts of our younger selves, there is still work to do. And a great take on teamwork from my son, born in the experience of a successful show at the last Edinburgh fringe: "if everyone does more than their job, then you get more than the job done."

And I am taken to task when I disparage recent graduates whose consultancy style involves fitting their client's problem to the latest faddish solution. That is, of course, poor practice but it's not about the consultants being young. Some of my children's peers have had experiences I'll never share. They have freshness, energy and curiosity. They will have their own blind-spots and frailties but you won't hear them discard an idea because "we tried that in 1985 and it didn't work". But it does seem that many organisations are poor at harnessing this resource.

We also seem to have a problem at other end of the career path. I meet many people with track-records of successful leadership who have reached the stage where they want to do less but still share and apply their hard-won wisdom. But few jobs or organisations are geared up for that: keep on putting in the hours or (if you don't have 3 children in higher education) plan for your retirement.

And in the middle, there are the thirty and forty-somethings: often the powerhouse of the organisation, young enough to have some energy, openness and creative ideas, experienced enough to know which ideas to back. But often my clients in this age group struggle to get the balance right. They have growing families, with children soon to hit the mumbling, grunting, door-slamming years. They risk burn-out out just when they are starting to ask existential questions that seemed irrelevant when they were younger. They shoulder a burden at work and at home.

But of course, we mostly deal with all this. And do our best to get a decent balance and ensure that our enthusiasm and our wisdom get heard.

I do wonder though whether we could do better and make our organisations more productive places where the changing needs of individuals are recognized.

Perhaps we need something simple, like the Bechdel test, to assess how well organisations take account of the shifting priorities, gifts and perspectives of their employees. I think I'll ask my children to devise one.

Top Teams are Different

If you work with teams on their effectiveness and
performance then there are some standard tools in
your tool box. MBTI gets you into decision-making
preferences. Belbin's great on roles and contribution.
Simple models - like Bolton and Bolton's - help with
communication style and influencing. But top teams
are different. They need something more.

Top teams have to lead the organisation, not just
deliver a project or fulfill a function. They're full of
strong, successful, often competitive characters who
have personal responsibility for the delivery and
quality of a major chunk of the business. Teamwork
may not come naturally to them nor seem that high a
priority. But unless there is unified leadership,
turn-arounds, cultural change, or strategic shifts don't happen.

When the pressure  is on, teams can fragment. A top team that I am working with is
reeling from delivery pressure and a sharp staff engagement survey, looking to make
a strategic shift and instill new behaviours to support that shift. What do they need?
Four things have emerged as vital: trust, courage, skill and belief.

Trust in the integrity, competence, value and intentions of their fellow team members.
This means that, even if others' priorities and preferences are different to yours, and
their actions perverse (to you), you can look beyond the behaviour and find common
cause.

Courage, because this stuff can be personally challenging. Conflict is inevitable
(desirable even). It will get emotional (even if some like to pretend it isn't). And it
might feel easier to let things go and hope they'll improve. They won't, so stepping
up is necessary.

Skill, because becoming a top top team depends on the quality of the conversations
you have: harnessing your trust and courage to listen and speak well. These are the
top skills for top teams: insightful listening, fueled by a spirit of inquiry; and powerful
advocacy, driven by the desire to be properly understood.

And belief, because this stuff is hard and the outcome has to justify and inspire the
investment. So you have to believe in the prize, in what you can achieve and create
together. It takes full commitment to take on corporate leadership, grounding your
vision and values by modelling the behaviours they imply.

A heady cocktail: trust, courage, skill and belief.
And trust is the spirit that gives it its power.

The Wandering Coach

There's something about walking alongside a tumbling winter river, listening to Stairway to Heaven, that brings a smile to my face.

On Monday I found the old Cockermouth to Penrith railway line that skirts the Greta river out of Keswick. Unlike most lakeland walks, it's hard to make a worthwhile circular route. So I set off with the simple intention to walk along it until I felt like turning around and heading back. I knew that it was five miles to Threlkeld and there is a cafe there - so a possible goal, an incentive and a way to replenish my energy.

I passed various people with the telescopic walking poles that mark the serious hiker. The performance hiker. And I saw groups of people with dogs that mostly ran in circles around their owners and sniffed out long forgotten items from the undergrowth. The amblers and the anarchic explorers.


I like the performance focus. Success is clear. You can mark off your progress. All involved know how they're doing. But I did enjoy the liberation of just walking the path I'd chosen. Of stopping to enjoy an unexpected vantage point. Of resting when I wanted. Of sitting in  silence in an old railway workers' hut (until the dogs arrived). And it made me aware that when I focus unduly on where I am going or how much progress I've made, it's easy to stop noticing what's happening around me. There's so much to see when I do.

As I went, I focussed on what was appearing around bends, from within tunnels, across arch-spanned iron bridges, and decided whether it drew my interest enough to continue. And a little bit of my performance focus crept in: I wanted to be able to say I got to Threlkeld (after all, five miles is not far). So I continued
until I hit a major roadway and found a sign saying: Threlkeld 1/4 mile. Easy. But I couldn't immediately find the cafe so I adapted, waited 10 minutes by the unexpected bus stop, got the bus back and had tea by the fire at home.

And my future approach to walking? Sometimes from A to B, with B a stretch goal, stopping at key way stations, ideally with a pub at the end. Sometimes, wandering with intent, noticing what I notice, stopping when I stop, with the goal to savour where the path takes me. Just like my coaching really, walking alongside my client, with them setting the direction and me as the guide.

Blog like an artist

I went to see the Late Turner exhibition at the Tate Britain last week.
Remarkable work. It covers the period from when Turner was 60. A
highly productive, startling phase characterised by his use of light, simple
lines and looking beyond form to the essence of things. He seemed to be
seeing through his accumulated wisdom. And, in his time, many critics
dismissed this work as a descent into senility.

In the Tate shop I bought Austin Kleon's second book called "Show your
work". It complements his first, "Steal like an artist". Kleon's credo is:
build sharing into your routine.


I spent the next evening with a group of close colleagues and two of them
(Vik and Jo) gently challenged me: "So Stephen, what happened to
November's blog post?" I muttered the odd excuse that added up to not
quite getting around to it. Austin Kleon's book helped me recognise that
I had made the mistake of making 'blog' just another item on my to do list.
It became a task rather than part of my process. And sharing your process
is what it is all about.

So what? Well, blogging is an essential part of how I do reflective learning.
Writing stuff down means that I have to focus and achieve some clarity. It
also plays to some strongly held beliefs about the value of what
experienced coaches, teachers and leaders do.  We have insights and
through working at a high level of expertise, we create new ones as we
work. It's important to share what we learn. If we don't, the only voices
will be those of academics, with their clear, clean and tidy models rather
than the messy, contingent and emergent sound of real work. Practitioners
have a unique contribution to make. If they do, it can change the nature
of theory from observation to dialogue. Theorising becomes pragmatic
sense-making.

That prompts a challenge - one that I reflected back to Vik and Jo: what stops
you blogging? Here's what I have found helps:

1. be like Turner, always carry a notebook. (It will save you getting out of
bed as I had to when I had some ideas for this piece.)
2. be an observer. Collect fragments - your own and others' - and make
connections.
3. share your first attempts with trusted friends and colleagues. Ask: "what
was the impact?  Did it interest you?" But don't let them edit - speak with
your voice not theirs.
4. post when it's fresh. By all means take a day to read it back and check
it says what you want. But if an idea or theme goes off the boil, save it and
wait for something to refresh it.
5. embrace the ephemeral nature of the form. What you say does not have
to be right. It just has to be true for you now (and, ideally, interesting).
6. write for provocation not agreement. The point is to share, to be read
and stimulate others' thought and action.
7. let go of needing to be expert.

Blogging is, of course, about visibility, about speaking out and being heard.
But it can also be an act of generosity. So be like Turner and trust your
wisdom. Share your learning, your insights, your wisdom - you never know,
you might find a new collaborator, or save someone a decade.

So coach, how do you feed yourself?

At my first session with my new coach - Aboodi Shabi - he asked:
"So Stephen, how do you feed yourself?" He meant: how do I relax?
How do I replenish what I need for my work and for all other
aspects of my life?

A good question and I stuggled a bit to answer it. I said that I played
tennis - but I am pretty competitive and always looking to do better.
I added that I play music - but that can be hard work and performing
can be highly demanding.

Aboodi said that he used to go to have a Turkish spa and massage. 
I was about to go on holiday to Turkey so that seemed like a great
opportunity to feed myself and notice what worked.

And my short list? Sit by a river with a beer on a sunny day. Read
good detective stories in a hammock. Leave the Blackberry
somewhere else. Listen to mellow music. Spend time on water.
Laugh with someone you love. And the Turkish massage? Quite an
experience but only relaxing once it stopped.


A great holiday but why does this matter? It matters for perspective:
if you're inside the vortex it's hard to notice that you're going round
and round. It matters for presence - being able to just be where you
are and do what what you're doing. It's about not feeling responsible -
not feeling you have to do anything. This is something that many of
my clients need to do more and so I had better engage with it for
myself if I am to work with them.

Aboodi's question helped me realise that things like tennis and music
do feed me. Also, I get a deep satisfaction from my work that is in
itself energising. But that's not enough and reading 'The Musician's
Way" by Gerald Klickstein while I was away showed me why. He
distinguishes three types of break during musical practice: the active
break (which I am good at), the diverting break (which I am ok at) and
the restorative break (which I - like most people - need to do more). I
was struck by the parallel with being a coach.


This helped me see that the perspective, presence and relaxed
attention that I bring to my coaching takes a special type of energy that
has to be fed. So if you see me in a hammock, or having a beer by the
river, I am working, honestly.