All posts by Dorothy Nesbit

Coaching, therapy and the outstanding leader

Coaching, Developing as a leader, ,

Autumn is meeting time for many as people return from holidays and begin to shape an agenda for the year ahead. Coaches are no exception. On the one hand, coaching clients return to coaching after their summer break. On the other hand, commissioning clients often ask to explore what role coaching can play in supporting the corporate agenda.

As I prepare for one such meeting, I am invited to share information in response to a range of questions. How do you work with clients? What are your aims and objectives? What is your coach training, knowledge and background? What arrangements do you have in place for your continuing professional development? What types of coaching intervention do you offer and to whom? How do you measure results? Can you share a typical coaching programme, including details of any questionnaires or tools you might use? Can you share your CV?

As I prepare my responses to these questions, I notice that I pause – only for a moment – before I share information about my personal development. What if I am judged on the basis of sharing this information? Still, I go ahead and write:

Alongside my professional formation I have also invested extensively in my own personal development throughout my career. As well as working with professional coaches I have also chosen at times to invest in therapeutic interventions including cognitive behavioural therapy and the physical therapy known as rolfing. My trainings in NLP and NVC have brought both personal growth and insights which inform my work as a professional coach, consultant and trainer.

I recognise the part of me that fears judgement. It is an old, old fear. I remember a period before I began to invest in my own learning in this way. This was a period in which I yearned to make this investment and yet was so fearful – what if I make this investment only to learn that I really am as flawed as others seem to be telling me I am? This was my greatest fear. This is the fear that still sits behind my fear of being judged by the people I have not yet met and who may become clients.

And yet I know how valuable these experiences have been to me and just how important they are to my work as an Executive Coach. For they give me something that the most effective leaders have in spades – the ability to stand back and observe myself, to notice my thoughts, feelings and emotions, to connect with my motivations in a given moment and to choose to respond to them in ways which serve me and those around me. For how can our leaders respond effectively in a given moment if they lack awareness of the choices they are already making, let alone of the wide range of choices available to them?

There’s more. For I draw on the depth of my own learning and experience when I ask questions of clients and make observations that open up new pathways for them. In the same way, the leader who has a deep self awareness is uniquely placed to coach those he or she leads. Though I am not a therapist, it comes as no surprise to me that some of the most effective coaches have a background as a therapist or experience of therapy as clients.

Perhaps, though, the most fundamental benefit I can offer to my clients based on my own experiences is this. For sometimes clients struggle in their current way of thinking, yearning to make changes and wondering if they will ever find a way to free themselves from the thrall of their habitual ways of thinking. Sometimes clients soar to reach new heights that they could not have believed possible and for which role models are few and wonder if they can make the journey. Sometimes they both struggle and soar. On these occasions I can come to coaching with a confidence that the journey they are setting out to make is possible for them. I can bring compassion for the journey. I can support them as they slow down to take just one step at a time.

For there is nothing to fear in supporting clients in their journey when your own journey has taught you that, yes, you can.

Joseph Campbell and the hero’s journey

Coaching, Developing as a leader, ,

In April 2005 I wrote a brief introduction to the hero’s journey as described by Joseph Campbell, author of The Hero With A Thousand Faces and (with co-author Bill Moyers) The Power of Myth. Of all the articles I have written in my regular newsletter this is the article to which I return most often. Why? Because Campbell’s description of the hero’s journey captures something universal, something about the human experience. And, what’s more, because as a coach, I am often a witness to the first steps people take on their own hero’s journey.

Whether or not people choose to commission coaching or to take some other step, their first contact with me and our early discussions often represent a crossing of a threshold. This threshold will be unique to the individual concerned and often comprises bearing witness to a challenge they face which they have, up until now, chosen to down-play or even ignore. This is the time they say “I recognise this is a problem for which I would like to find a solution” or “I am allowing myself to share the dream which – until now – I have barely dared to voice to myself”.

In our lives we are likely to face many such thresholds, for with the crossing of a threshold a new journey opens up. Just as when we reach the top of one hill we see another before us, so also when we cross a threshold we have already made our first steps towards the next threshold. Of course, we need not cross the threshold that faces us and may choose to stay eternally in one place – be it a physical location or a single mindset or way of being. The consequences of our choices (either way) are captured in Harold Ramis’ witty and compassionate film Groundhog Day.

What are the steps in the hero’s journey? This is how I described them in 1995, drawing on the work of Joseph Campbell and of others such as Robert Dilts in the field of neurolinguistic programming (or NLP):

1. The Call to Adventure: this is the first sign of the hero’s journey and may come in many forms. The hero hears it – and may choose to accept or refuse this calling.

2. Crossing the Threshold: On accepting the calling the hero steps into new territories outside his or her past experience and ‘comfort zone’. In this new arena the hero is forced to grow and to seek assistance on the journey.

3. Finding a Guardian: “When the student is ready, the teacher appears”. Only when the hero has crossed the threshold will the guardian or mentor appear.

4. Facing a Challenge (or ‘demon’): often the demon is within. The hero has to face the challenge or demon in order to progress.

5. Transforming the Demon: By facing his or her demon the hero acquires a resource which is needed to complete the journey.

6. Finding the Way: Building on the work of Campbell, Robert Dilts highlights that Finding the Way to fulfil the calling is achieved by creating a new set of beliefs that incorporates the growth and discoveries brought about by the journey.

7. Returning Home: Finally, the hero completes the journey by Returning Home as a transformed or evolved person.

A conductor’s duty is to cross the line

About Dorothy, Developing as a leader,
“A conductor’s duty is to cross the line, take risks.
If you want to please the critics, you shouldn’t conduct“

Valery Gergiev
Conductor

Saturday morning. It’s been a punishing week and I savour a leisurely start to the day. Six days after I bought my Sunday paper I open the review section of the Observer to read an article I know is there: about Valery Gergiev, Principal Conductor of the London Symphony Orchestra.

The fact that it has taken me so long before reading this article reflects the very reasons I have to be interested to read it. As a member of the London Symphony Chorus I have been balancing my work commitments this week (and somewhat precariously) with the commitments I made to the chorus when I signed up to sing in three concerts in a single week. It all looked so easy – so tidy – on paper! Gergiev has been our conductor for these concerts: two performances of Ravel’s Daphnis and Chloe and one of Berlioz’ Damnation of Faust.

As I read, I recognise so much of journalist Ed Vulliamy’s description of Gergiev the conductor. In our rehearsals Gergiev has paid close attention to particular phrases, passionate about the phrasing or volume or speed. At the same time, other parts of the pieces have barely been touched. It did not go unnoticed, for example, that the time we spent on the final movement of Damnation of Faust gave Kate, member of the chorus, only a little time to acclimatise to singing her solo role.

I am also curious to read Vulliamy’s account of Gergiev’s choice to abandon the baton: “So many batons have flown from Gergiev’s hands into audiences and orchestras over the years that he now conducts with a toothpick, or with an inimitable flutter of the fingers“.

Of course, in response to what we see and how we experience what we see, we all form our own story. Reading Vulliamy’s account it is easy to conclude that the orchestra’s members enjoy the precarious fairground ride which is performing under Gergiev’s leadership. In the chorus, responses vary. Some respond with wry amusement to his “inimitable” (should it be “unfathomable”?) “flutter of the fingers“. Some weave tales of a man for whom the chorus simply does not matter and fall prey to anger or despair. Others are excited by the very qualities Vulliamy describes.

The critics, too, form their own story. I heard of Geoff Brown’s account in the Times of our Damnation from outraged colleagues: “Gergiev’s fingers fluttered busily, but his grasp was intermittent. He ignited Berlioz’s orchestral explosions nicely enough, and graded speeds winningly during Act I. Recklessness elsewhere, though, and a bland Dance of the Sylphs“.

Perhaps my own choices reflect a wider choice to be “at choice”. For it is by choice that I sing with the chorus and it is by choice that I sing under Gergiev’s – toothpick. I want to recognise and own that choice and I don’t want to wallow in self-pity or anger when I yearn for a signal that doesn’t come when our time comes to enter. As an observer of leadership, I also want to approach my experience with curiosity – what does Gergiev’s approach and our various responses tell me about what it means to lead?

Above all, though, it is my choice to enjoy the music. Ravel’s exquisite writing never fails to seduce me and I can hear the flute’s evocative solo even as I write. In the Berlioz the cor anglais was perfectly poised and hauntingly beautiful at the beginning of the fourth act and Joyce DiDonato’s Marguerite left me wide-eyed with admiration.

Coaches in dialogue

Coaching,

Regular readers of my blog know that I am a member of the Training Journal Daily Digest and get many benefits from my participation in this daily discussion forum. Sometimes though, I do feel a little lonely – a coach amongst trainers. I have yet to find a forum for coaches that is as active and informative as the TJDD.

Recently I signed up for a LinkedIn group for coaches set up by the CIPD publication Coaching At Work. As well as giving me the opportunity to dialogue with colleagues this is also helping me to raise my visibility with colleagues in the profession. It’s early days and still, I’d like to think this group could become the coaches’ equivalent of the TJDD.

I’m wondering, what else is out there? I’d love to hear how other coaches. How do you connect with your colleagues in the profession? And how do you maintain dialogue?

English food? One for Saint Delia

About Dorothy

It’s been a mad week! So mad that I start the new week as if I’m running to catch up with the week just gone – dealing with last week’s e-mails before I take a look at those that have arrived today, tired from the week just gone and looking forward to a good night’s sleep tonight… you get the picture.

As I prepare my supper I find myself savouring the visit that Lisa made, daughter of my treasured friend Cora Hartmeier. Lisa spent her first (ever) five days in England with me last week. There’s a reason why making supper stimulates my sense of fun and laughter. For the reputation – justified or otherwise – that English (or is it British?) food has around the world is not always a good one. Only yesterday, as we ate lunch in a very traditional English pub before Lisa caught her train to Oxford, she described this strange thing her brother had told her about following his own first visit to the UK and which I recognised as Yorkshire pudding. Do people really choose to eat (enjoy eating even) this thing made of flour and egg and water – with beef?

When it came to cooking Lisa a traditional English supper the first (and only) thing that came to mind was bangers and mash. Before I knew it I’d committed to making bangers and mash whilst also dispelling a few myths about English food. Thank heavens for Saint Delia! (Lisa, that’s Delia Smith). I know from experience that the recipe for venison sausages in her winter cookbook is divine. And even though I couldn’t find any venison suasages in my local supermarket (and never did find any juniper berries) I decide that this is the way to go.

As for the mash, it didn’t escape my attention recently when David, my nephew, told me that my mother makes the best mash in the world. Of course, when I shared this with my mother she deftly batted away the compliment, though not before she’d shared that she uses only butter (no milk!) So that was my mash – with a few peas and leeks stirred in.

Did Lisa enjoy her supper? That’s a question for Lisa and only Lisa to answer. (And I wonder – what culinary delights would you offer a first-time visitor to the UK?) I know I did – and also Lisa’s visit. To watch a friend embark on the journey of parenthood and to watch her children grow into young adults – such delightful young adults – is a treat indeed.

Giving up on coffee – one year down the line

Your personal and professional well-being, ,

Sometimes readers of my blog have long memories and sometimes they find something that goes back a while simply by browsing. So I don’t know why it surprised me when a colleague recently reminded me of my pledge, made in August last year, to stop drinking coffee for at least a year. How did I get on?

It’s worth saying that, even though I was only drinking a mug a day (OK, a single small cafetiere’s worth of high quality, strong coffee) giving up included some unpleasant withdrawal symptoms. In particular, though I rarely suffer from headaches, I experienced a few in the days and weeks immediately following my decision to stop drinking coffee.

Then there were more subtle forms of addiction. These were the moments when I thought – as a matter of habit – “ooh! I’d enjoy a cup of coffee right now!” Setting a target to give up for a year worked well for me in relation to these habitual responses. I found that saying no in the moment whilst knowing it might not be for ever was easier than saying no for ever.

Over time, these bonds of habit have loosened so that I rarely have those “ooh! Wouldn’t it be nice…” moments. I’ve been happy to keep coffee in the house for visitors and I now know that’s what it’s there for. Meantime, I have discovered that all those herbal teas that used to smell divine and taste like cardboard now smell and taste divine.

August was an interesting month as the year’s anniversary approached. Let’s be clear, I knew I want to continue to live my life without coffee. Still, the thought that I might celebrate the year anniversary by enjoying a cup of coffee before giving it up – well, it did cross my mind. In the end though, I realised both that I didn’t want to risk rediscovering my love of coffee and that I am enjoying myself just as much without.

On a path to living an enjoyable and healthy life, giving up coffee has been just one small step. Still, it’s a step I celebrate.

Coaching Groups: Action Learning Sets by another name?

Alternative approaches, Coaching

Whenever I share my thoughts with others, they ask questions I haven’t yet thought of. This is true no matter how long I’ve spent brainstorming the questions I think others might have.

I am grateful for a question I hadn’t considered in relation to Coaching Groups: in what ways are they similar to or different from Action Learning Sets? This question came from Ben Sheath, Training and Development Manager at British Gas and my colleague on the Training Journal Daily Digest. Since I’ve never been a member of an Action Learning Set – at least, not one that has gone by that name – I was not in a strong position to answer the question. Thankfully Ben was able to share a link to an introduction to Action Learning Sets at ActionLearningSets.com and willing to share his own experiences. As I write I am still teasing out the similarities and differences between the two.

The introduction to Action Learning Sets begins by saying “Action Learning is an accelerated learning tool which can be applied to any number of different workplace (and personal) issues and challenges”. So far so similar – a Coaching Group also addresses an agenda set by members of the group. This agenda can be as wide and as deep as members choose. Still, I have a suspicion as I read this first sentence which is confirmed by the article’s second question: “What sort of problems do Set members discuss?” This for me, sets an Action Learning Set apart from a Coaching Group. For whilst an Action Learning Set appears to be problem-focused a Coaching Group is clearly outcome-oriented. That is, members of a Coaching Group come together to establish what goals they would like to pursue and members work with their coach and with each other to pursue their chosen goals. Insofar as the members of a Coaching Group address problems, it is in service of these goals.

What are the implications of this difference? I suspect, though I don’t know for sure, that Coaching Groups hold a bigger picture in their sights than do Action Learning Sets. And when group members are working in pursuit of a goal (rather than seeking to solve a problem) the questions they need to answer are, to a greater degree, about themselves. Whilst the Action Learning Set member may focus on how to re-design a process or to establish dialogue with colleagues in another department, the coaching client is more likely to be asking what beliefs are holding him back or what new way of thinking about a goal is likely to open up new and accelerated progress.

It seems to me that this is a matter of degree. At one end of the spectrum you might have a group that is looking at processes and systems and in which limited introspection is needed. This group is more likely to be called an Action Learning Set (or Quality Circle) than a Coaching Group. At the other end of the spectrum a group might be looking at how to improve behavioural effectiveness (as a leader or coach, for example) and this, to me, implies a willingness to reflect, to build self awareness and to share one’s self with the group. This is the Coaching Group.

One statement jumps out at me from the introduction to Action Learning Sets. This is the statement that Research has found that if a skilled facilitator is present, the Set is more likely to be successful. This is the statement that, for me, unites both approaches. For no matter the name or stated purpose of a group, the facilitator or coach needs to be sensitive to the readiness of group members to engage in learning at varying depths – from the surface “how tos” to deeper exploration of personal needs, values, behaviours and even identity. For me, this implies both clarity at the outset about the purpose and processes of the group and an ongoing dialogue with group members about their readiness to move forward.

My thanks to you, Ben, for helping me to tease out these similarities and differences.

Tracking back

Coaching

Well, that’s a new one on me. Claire Chapman, a colleague in the coaching profession who has recently started to supervise coaches, has introduced me to the term “trackbacking”.

Claire was taken by my recent post on coaching supervision (Coaching supervision: when anticlimax is the key measure of success). This in turn led her to write a post of her own (Coaching supervision – coaching assured) in which she included a link to my posting.

So what’s it called when I trackback her trackback? As you might be able to tell, I’m still learning.

On the day that became known as 9/11

About Dorothy

One of the great perks that comes with singing with the London Symphony Chorus is the opportunity to travel widely, both within the UK and around the world. Over the years the choir has travelled extensively (from Cardiff to Kuala Lumpur, from Newbury to New York) and sung in a variety of stunning and not-so-stunning venues. I remember singing Britten’s War Requiem in the open air in Athens, for example, and singing the first choral concert in the concert hall in Kuala Lumpur’s new Petronas Towers. I also remember singing in Italy in a “converted” sports hall where you could still see the lines of the basketball courts on the floor.

In September 2001 I joined the choir in a modest trip (out one day, back the next) to Ghent in Belgium, where we were due to sing Verdi’s Requiem as part of the Flanders Festival. On the afternoon of 11th September we gathered in the city’s majestic Gothic Cathedral to rehearse with the orchestra and soloists ahead of the evening’s concert.

Verdi’s Requiem is a piece we have often sung and which never loses its depth and grandeur, perhaps because we have been so well trained over the years (by our good friend Sir Colin Davis) to be fully aware of piece’s invocation of death and – worse still – of the fear of death. It is a piece that never fails to move me.

Our rehearsal started well enough as far as I remember. The memory that stands out most begins with the moment when I began to be aware of an unusual level of extra-curricular activity amongst members of the orchestra, who were handing round mobile phones, sharing I-knew-not-what information. By the time we reached our mid-rehearsal break we were all aware that something was happening in the world beyond the cathedrals walls.

I remember the buzz and rumour that broke out as we left the cathedral in search of drinks – and of television screens. I remember watching live images of smoke pouring out from the upper floors of New York’s Twin Towers. It was hard to believe that this was real and not some futuristic horror film.

With the benefit of hindsight, I wonder how these images affected the many Westerners who viewed them and how this compares with the impact of images of disasters from many other parts of the world, especially of what we have come to know as the “third world”. For surely the impact of these images lay, in part, in the way we recognised the Twin Towers as a symbol of our Western lives. These questions were not in my mind at the time, however, as we watched the events unfolding in mute disbelief.

I’d like to say that I vividly remember the concert with the music’s powerful invocation of death. The truth is that my memories are overlaid with the impenetrable veneer of the shock and disbelief we were all experiencing on that evening of 11th September, 2001.

This was the day that became known as 9/11.

Nonviolent communication and the Buddha

All articles,

Since I first read Marshall Rosenberg’s Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life in 2003 (thanks, Aled) I have – via the trainings I have attended and other events – met more followers of Buddhism than in the 40 years that preceded my first encounter with this (my “Desert Island”) book.

When I mention this to a colleague – and share my intention to understand more about Buddhism – he recommends a book which I am quick to order: The Heart of The Buddha’s Teaching, by Thich Nhat Hanh.

This is quickly followed by a number of links to websites on Deep Ecology, another way to understand Buddhist thinking and philosophy. These include links to Joanna Macey’s website, to Chris Johnstone’s website, to the Great Turning Times newsletter and to the Network of Engaged Buddhists.

Even the most cursory glance at these websites resonates strongly with my own philosophy and experience – making the link between our own inner ecology and our wider impact on the planet. This is in turn linked to an article I wrote recently and for which I am currently seeking a publisher. I have strong encouragement from my niece who is a committed ecologist. Whilst recognising the ongoing devastation of our planet and highlighting the role of industry in accelerating this trend, these sites speak of the possibility of a reversal of this trend, which they call The Great Turning. I am curious to explore more.

Oh! And I follow my colleague’s hint and sign up for daily tweets by the Dalai Lama – and quickly receive an e-mail entitled Dalai Lama is now following you on Twitter. How cool is that?!