Bringing the Italian to Britain’s shores

Developing as a leader,

Saturday, 16th April, 2011.  I am at Manchester’s Bridgewater Hall with fellow members of the London Symphony Chorus to sing Verdi’s Otello with Italian Conductor Gianandrea Noseda.

Whilst it’s not the first time I have sung Otello, it is the first time I have sung under Noseda’s baton.  On Monday he joined us in London for our piano rehearsal.  (This is the first time the choir and conductor come together to rehearse the piece before joining forces with the orchestra and soloists for the tutti rehearsals and then the concert itself).  Noseda’s train from Manchester is delayed and our time with him is brief.  It is, though, enough for us to realise that he is going to take this piece at quite a speed and also to experience his use of humour as a way to illustrate the points he wants to make.  This is a rehearsal which stimulates curiosity and excitement.  On Friday, we travel by train to Manchester – just as the City’s football fans are travelling south for a historic encounter in the FA Cup between Manchester City and Manchester United.  We are in good time for our first tutti at the Bridgewater Hall.

Verdi’s music speaks for itself, addressing both light and shade in the turbulent story of Otello and his wife Desdemona.  The early expressions of love between the two are balanced by the dark scenes that unfold as Otello becomes increasingly convinced of his innocent wife’s unfaithfulness and, ultimately, kills her in his rage.   Throughout the story the audience has access to more information than any one of the characters and experiences the discomfort of knowing of Iago’s treachery, of Desdemona’s purity and innocence and of Otello’s susceptibility.  Those of us who know the piece are looking forward to moments of poetry and drama, including the scene in Act 3 when Otello changes from loving husband to a man filled with rage, Desdemona’s response when her husband flings her to the floor in the same Act and, in Act 4, her expression of her premonition of her death and the famous “Willow Song”.

Even in rehearsal the soloists delight.  Barbara Frittoli is convincing in the role of Desdemona and her voice is exquisite.  Clifton Forbis (in the role of Otello) stimulates just a little jealousy amongst the tenors of the chorus for his fine tenor voice.  Lado Ataneli (in the role of Iago) draws attention for his flamboyant acting and equally flamboyant hair.  Any concert performance of opera has limitations and at the same time many moments are carefully staged to convey the drama of the piece.

There is another aspect to our experience for, whilst Noseda is new to us, he is well known to members of the BBC Philharmonic with whom he has been working since 2002 and tonight is his final concert in the role of Chief Conductor.  You would not know this from the way he conducts for, as much as he brings humour – comedy even – to the process of rehearsal, his performance in the concert is totally committed.  (So much so that his vocal expressions remind me of John McEnroe in his Wimbledon days).  At the same time, at the close of the performance I watch Noseda kiss the score from which he has been conducting and embrace some of the key players of the orchestra, and I listen to the response of the audience as they applaud and cheer.  It seems to me that there is an intimacy in Noseda’s gestures which is rarely seen on the concert platform, let alone more widely amongst leaders.

As much as Otello conveys the drama of our human lives, Noseda reminds us that to lead is to commit – to give ourselves fully to something even whilst knowing that we cannot predict the response of others, and in this way to be vulnerable in our visibility.  This is leadership as an act of faith.  And everything that makes us human is with us in this act of leadership, whether or not we dare to own it and to reveal it, willingly, to others.

PS  If you’d like to hear our performance of Verdi’s Otello, tune into Radio 3 at 3pm on Thursday, 2nd June, 2011.

  

Seizing the initiative

Developing as a leader,

One of the attributes – or competencies – of the highly effective leader is initiative.  This manifests as the ability to spot a problem or an opportunity ahead of time and to take action to address it.  Initiative requires a measure of thinking ability (spotting the problem or opportunity) as well as the dynamism to take action.

I was reminded of this recently when reading Sir Richard Branson’s autobiography Losing My Virginity, which contains many examples of this competency.  Branson started his record business as a mail order business, for example, when he realised that students were spending a good deal of money on records and they didn’t like spending them at dreary and uncool retailers like WH Smith.  When the business was almost ruined, in 1971, by a strike by Post Office workers, Branson did not wait and hope but set about opening the company’s first record shop, cutting a deal with the owner of a shoe shop to set up shop on the first floor.

Sometimes, seizing the initiative was itself what brought Branson close to ruin.  This was true when, by accident, he discovered that he could increase his profit margins by buying records for export and selling them within the UK.  Branson was arrested and taken to prison.  His release on bail took place when his mother put up her home as security and Branson learnt an early lesson.  As he put it in his autobiography:  “I couldn’t believe it:  I had always thought that only criminals were arrested:  it hadn’t occurred to me that I had become one.  I had been stealing money from Customs and Excise”.

Branson’s early initiative also reflected his empathy for others.  At the age of just 17, he set up the Student Advisory Centre after helping a friend of his to have an abortion.  He realised that there were many issues faced by students and wanted to provide support.  Much later, the same empathy for others moved him to offer help to get blankets and supplies to foreign workers who had left Kuwait following its invasion by Saddam Hussein.  Shortly after, he was able to leverage his contacts to make it possible to fly women and children out of Baghdad who were amongst the British nationals detained in Baghdad as part of Hussein’s “human shield”.

From a business perspective, my favourite example of initiative from Branson’s autobiography occurred when, in the depths of recession in 1992, the banks refused to lend Virgin the $10 million needed to install small video screens in the back of the seats of Virgin Airways’ small fleet of aircraft.  With a little lateral thinking, Branson contacted Phil Conduit, CEO of Boeing and Jean Pierson at Airbus to ask if they could supply new aircraft with the seat-back videos already fitted at no additional cost.  Both agreed.  Branson then made some enquiries and found that it was easier to get $4 billion credit to buy eighteen new aircraft than it was to get $10 million credit to add the seat-back videos to their existing fleet of planes.

I wonder, where are you seizing the initiative?  And what are the opportunities that are yours for the taking, if only you could spot them and act on them?

   

Seven tips for learning how to say no

Emotional Intelligence

Saying yes when you mean no can be the thief of time, energy, effectiveness and joy.  Regular readers will know that I wrote about this on Wednesday this week.  But what do you do when you know you find it hard to say no and want to do something about it?  These are a few tips from me:

Tip 1#
Get clear about what you want to do with your time, including everything that’s important to you (from understanding your true calling right through to rest and recreation).  It’s easier to know what to say no to when you know what you want to say yes to.

Tip 2#
Take time to clarify that a request is being made.  Sometimes, requests sneak in through the back door – in the form of an instruction from the boss, for example, or a suggestion from your partner.  E-mails, too, often imply the request to read and respond. Don’t be afraid to ask questions to find out what is being asked of you.  This raises awareness for you and for the other person that a request is, indeed, being made, it raises your awareness of the true scope of what is being asked of you and it gives you time to think.

Tip 3#
When you receive a request, check in with yourself to see how it lands with you.  Notice every aspect of your response, from your instant somatic response (from the sinking of the stomach to the gladdening of the heart) to the voices in your head (including the voice that uses such words as should and ought).  Based on you initial reaction, is your inner response a yes, no or maybe?

Tip 4#
Take time to connect with your needs as well as with the needs of the person making the request.  Your initial reactions (see Tip 3# above) will give you clues to your needs.  I encourage you to notice those needs that you meet by saying yes when you mean no.  These can include a need for acceptance – can you meet this need in other ways?  Taking time to check in with your underlying needs gives you the chance to make the right decision rather than to make the first decision that comes to you and to regret it later.

Tip 5#
Be aware that people can meet their needs in many ways – asking for your help is just one of them.  The more you understand this, the more you will find it easy to meet your own needs by saying no as well as yes.

Tip 6#
Don’t share your decision until you are ready to.  Whether you are CEO of a major corporation, of your own small business or simply of your life, it’s OK to say, “I need some time to think”.  This gives you time to check in with all your needs before you meet your need to contribute (and perhaps some other needs, too).

Tip 7#
Take time after the event to track your progress in learning to say no.  Notice and celebrate the times when you said no and got it right for you – times when you might have said yes before and regretted it afterwards.  Also notice with compassion the times when you said yes and came to regret it.  This is a way of celebrating your progress and understanding what progress you still want to make in learning to say yes and no with ease.

Please leave your comments below.  How do these tips land with you?  Which tip is most helpful?  Would you enjoy reading more tips on this and other subjects? And what tips do you have for others on how to say no?
 

Who’s driving your bus?

Emotional Intelligence

Some years ago a friend of mine, now retired, told me that when he took up a senior role in the head office of his company his colleagues warned him to “watch out, they’ll drown you in paperwork”.  Never a fan of upward delegation, he had a stamp made for use when anything crossed his desk which he deemed inappropriate for someone of his seniority to handle.  Effectively, it said:  “I haven’t looked at this.  Deal with it yourself”.  He applied this to incoming mail before he returned it to sender.

I was reminded of this on Monday when my conversation with a coaching client highlighted the ability to maintain clear boundaries as a critical component in her plans to launch a new business.  I know she is far from alone in this:  our early socialisation combined with our natural desire to contribute positively to others can make it hard to say no to requests from a wide variety of colleagues, clients, friends and family.

This inability (by which I mean a lack of ability at this time, rather than a once and for all inability) to say no can lead to some interesting outcomes.  The time we give to others is not available to pursue our own plans, for example.  Perhaps we try to help others and to pursue our own plans and end up exhausted.  Perhaps we start to feel resentful towards those who make requests of us even though it is our inability to say no that is causing problems.  Over time we may experience a sense of imbalance in our individual relationships and even across all our relationships:  we become a “net exporter” of help, advice and other support.  Perhaps it is those people who make requests of us who determine the contribution we make rather than we ourselves (this can be a sure fire way to limit our contribution and to fail to achieve our true potential).  We may even believe that this is the natural way of things…

It’s not just that we suffer from our inability to say no:  in the end, there are consequences for those to whom we say yes when really we want to say no.  They may well have a lingering sense of our underlying resentment even though they can’t quite name it.  Or they may wonder when we mean yes and when we mean no, yearning for us to say yes when we can do so with a glad heart and hating the moments when they discover that the favour we did back then we did only with a sinking heart.  Or perhaps they are oblivious of our needs, receiving our favours gladly whilst being unaware of their creeping dependence on us or of their lack of self belief.

And let’s be clear, there are plenty of people who will learn to look to us for help.  They include family members.  They include friends.  They include our peers at work.  They include those we lead (who can, indeed, become remarkably adept at delegating upwards).

Recognising that we find it hard to say no is a major step forward.  Recognising that the problem is ours and taking responsibility for addressing it is also a major step forward.  And still, the question of how to reach a point where we can say yes or no from a place of insight rather than as a reflex response remains.  If you’d like some ideas please read my next posting.  Meantime, what is your experience of learning to say no?

Are you loving your work? An invitation to heed your life’s calling

Developing as a leader, ,
Don’t ask what the world needs; ask what makes you come alive then go and do it,
because what the world needs is people who have come alive.
Howard Thurman

Last week I wrote a posting For Love AND Money in response to conversations I have had recently with people who feel torn between doing what they really love and doing what they think will pay the bills.  I wrote it because I recognise that this dilemma is experienced by many people.

More recently, I came across the quote above by Howard Thurman and I thought, this is too good to miss.  I thought I’d share it with you today along with just a few reading recommendations for anyone who wants to explore what it might be like to do the work you love and to get paid – handsomely, even – to do it.

And before I share these books I want to say a few words to those people I mainly coach:   leaders in organisations.  You can spend all your life as a leader doing work you’re good at and which you enjoy – sort of.  You’ll be adding value and you’ll be paying the bills.  Equally, you can seek out the opportunity to lead in an area about which you feel passionate.  You’ll still be adding value and you’ll still be paying the bills.  At the same time, the ease and joy with which you lead will be far greater and the positive impact you’ll have on those you lead long after you have ceased to lead them will make the hours you work worthwhile.  You get to choose.

Here are just a few recommendations from my own bookshelf:

Richard N. Bolles:  What Color Is your Parachute?  A Practical Manual for Job-Hunters and Career-Changers.  Bolles’ book, which he has updated and maintained over many years, is probably the book for anyone who wants to return to the question of calling and seek out the work they are yearning to do.

Gay Hendricks:  The Big Leap.  I’ve mentioned this book on my blog before.  It’s worth reading just to understand the difference between working in your zone of excellence and working in your zone of genius.

Richard J. Leider and David A. Shapiro:  Whistle While You Work:  Heeding Your Life’s Calling.  What do I want to be when I grow up?  What was I born to do?  These are the questions the authors set out to help you answer in this slim volume. 

M. Scott Peck:  The Road Less Travelled:  A New Psychology of Love, Traditional Values and Spiritual Growth.  I include this book in recognition that the journey towards finding the work we love to do is essentially a journey inwards – a journey of the spirit.

David Whyte:  The Heart Aroused:  Poetry and The Preservation of the Soul.  It may be hard to find a new copy of this book, which offers a poet’s view of what it means to work in the corporate world.  If you feel you need to reconnect with yourself or yearn to maintain connection whilst working in the corporate world this book is for you.

Nick Williams:  The Work We Were Born To Do:  Find the Work You Love, Love the Work You Do.  Williams’ book sets out to help people discover purpose, meaning and passion in their work whilst still paying the bills.  Williams offers twelve principles of the work we were born to do as well as exercises to support you in your explorations.  You can also hear Williams speak by signing up at Alternatives where you’ll be able to access recordings of past speakers.

Is this list exhaustive?  By no means.  It does, though, provide a starting point.  I wonder what this posting evokes in you:  what thoughts and feelings come up when you think of doing the work that you were born to do? 

Picture this: on the way to a career that thrills

All articles, Alternative approaches

Hurrah!  Finally, I have got around to having professional photos done for all the places my image appears nowadays – my website, blog, LinkedIn, Twitter – the list seems endless!  I shall be taking time to change my photos in the days and weeks to come, beginning right here on my blog.

I was fascinated by the story Tim Spiers told me about his career history.  Tim was my photographer, thanks to a tip from my friend and colleague in the profession, Anne Smith, who recommended him and with whom I shared a day at Tim’s studio in North London.  From a very young age – just 9 or 10 years old – Tim started cutting people’s hair.  This was something he put aside when he embarked on a course at Eastbourne College of Art and Design in Visual Communications, including photography, where his aim was to prepare himself for a life of doing fashion shoots.

Not everyone supported Tim’s aspirations – as is often the way – so, influenced by the doubts of others, he left his course early.  His father arranged an interview for him, telling him about a guy called Vidal Sassoon.  Tim quickly came to London to work with San Rizz, where he learnt to do people’s hair for photo shoots and also pop videos.  Later he moved into salon management.

Along the way, Tim was also interested in the work of make-up artists so, when he was invited to do a modelling project as part of his studies in NLP, he decided to find out how his colleagues did make up – spending time with the make-up artists he had worked with on modelling shoots and his colleagues in the salons he worked for and studying their approach.  At the same time, his NLP studies helped Tim to clarify his values and revisit some old beliefs, leading to a major shift in his sense of his own capability.  This was, essentially, an experience that empowered him.

When photography went digital, Tim did a photo shoot himself and had one of those “aha!” moments:  “what if I put all these skills together to offer hair, make-up and photography as a service?”  He set up his own business which has been growing at a significant rate.  If you take a look at Tim’s website you’ll see how he caters for a wide variety of clients.  If you’re looking for a good photographer, I can recommend Tim.  It wasn’t just the hair and make-up:  my sense of ease grew over the course of our time together and I was thrilled to come away with a number of options for my signature photo.

I tell Tim’s story (with his permission) for another reason:  it says so much about the journey towards a career that is fulfilling.  The seeds of such a career lie in the things we most love to do – acorns are at their best when they become oaks.  Along the way, we take steps away from as well as towards our most natural career path – often because we are influenced by fear and the doubts of others.  With hindsight, the path looks so clear and obvious and yet, along the way, it can be so messy.  Both the highs and the lows contribute to our ultimate success.  Moving towards our ultimate career takes courage and a willingness to take risks.

That’s enough for now.  As I sign off I leave you with just two photos from my day with Tim.  Please tell me what you think.

When the “guilt trip” strikes

Emotional Intelligence,

I missed the opportunity recently to respond in a timely way to an invitation from a friend and colleague.  She mentioned over lunch one day that she was going to hear Marianne Williamson speak and asked if I would like to join her.  By the time I checked my diary it was too late.  I found it hard not to put myself in the wrong.  Perhaps I was pre-empting the possibility that, by not meeting the needs of my friend (for consideration, perhaps, or clarity) my friend, too, would put me in the wrong.  Sheepishly I dropped her a line and said:


The time has flown since we met and I realise I didn’t get back to you to say I wouldn’t be joining you to hear Marianne Williamson.  I am trying not to give myself a guilt trip – and not quite succeeding!  I do regret that I didn’t let you know sooner – I’d like to have met my needs to show respect and consideration.


She responded promptly and told me:


Absolutely no need for a guilt trip – and I’m now doing giraffe* in to make sure it doesn’t come to me!  The truth is I had forgotten that part of our conversation – sorry – so it didn’t really have an impact at all.


She also took time to share what she did remember – and appreciate – from our conversation.


In our culture, the idea that, at any moment in time, we are “in the right” or “in the wrong” is endemic.  Tucked away beneath it are some positive intentions – though they are not easy to connect with.  (Kelly Bryson, in his book Don’t Be Nice, Be Real:  Balancing Passion for Self with Compassion for Others highlights Piaget’s writing in this area.  Piaget suggests that when we teach children to do things from a sense of duty and obligation, we impede their development, so that it becomes less likely that they will do things because they want to and know they have free choice).  Believing that something is right or wrong can keep us from connecting with our own truth or the truth of others.  So, sharing my feelings of guilt with my friend and hearing her honest response helped me to recalibrate – to recognise that whilst some people would judge me for my action (in this case, for my inaction) to do so is just a choice.


As I write I am reflecting on my own choice to judge myself.  I am getting better over time at letting go of this habit – even whilst having a little way to go.


*In nonviolent communication (or NVC) the giraffe is a metaphor for connecting with needs – our own and others’.  Hearing another’s feelings of guilt, the giraffe seeks to understand what needs are being expressed. 




An evening of Terrible singing

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Reading the programme notes in Prokofiev’s Ivan the Terrible I get lost in questions of this and other composers’ relationship with the regimes of which their music speaks and of just how many versions exist of this piece, which  is fashioned from Prokofiev’s music for the film of the same name.  I think I’ll leave such thoughts with David Gutman, author of the programme notes.

As a member of the choir, I have been grappling in a far more intimate way with the challenges of learning the piece, along with my fellow singers.  I think of the well-trodden phrase “a bad workman always blames his tools” even as I think of the score we worked from, with words and music which were, at best, hard on the eye – and that’s before we even attempted the Russian.  We have been “note bashing” and – come to that – “word bashing”, with the help of Natalie as our chorus master, Alex (“Sacha”), our language coach and Roger on the piano.  We have been through our usual phases along the way, wondering if we’ll ever get there – even as our first tutti rehearsal approached, we were still learning corners of the work and coming to grips with the words.

On Friday, we had our first encounter with Xian Zhang, our conductor for the piece.  She is that rare creature, a female conductor, and, as such, the object of our curiosity.  I creep in late for the piano rehearsal and cannot see her from my place at the edge of our awkwardly shaped room.  Nor can I see just how diminutive she is in size.  At the same time, she is like a ball of energy – her presence is so much larger than her physical size.  Right from the beginning I find myself enjoying her approach.  Her energy and enthusiasm combine with clear instructions to the choir, orchestra and soloists.  Where some conductors would tread discreetly in their dealings with the soloists, she is open in giving her instructions so that I have a sense that we are all equals here.

As our first tutti unfolds so do the joys of the piece and of experiencing the work of my fellow performers.  Early on the men rehearse Feodor Basmanov’s Song with Russian bass Alexei Tanovitsky.  He turns to face the men so that they can hear each other, opening his arms wide.  His is not the energy of one who is trying hard to get things right.  Rather, his is the energy of one who sings and enjoys.  He does.  And so do we.  In the same movement Anthony Stutchbury, a member of our tenor section, is charged with providing a shrill whistle in several places and takes instruction from Xian Zhang.  David Jackson, a member of the percussion section of the London Symphony Orchestra is also charged with providing a shrill whistle in the next movement and I smile as he puts his fingers in his mouth in preparation, thinking of all those years of musical education.

Despite its themes, which include a good measure of violence as the men of the choir commit to a Russia forged on the bones of her enemies, the piece is above all – for me at least – tuneful.  One colleague hears echoes of Chopin and Rimsky Korsakov.  Another highlights a flavour of Orff’s Carmina Burana.  I confess that I finally work out that the rhythm which catches my attention early on is reminding me of the song Love and Marriage (go together like a horse and carriage…). And the broad sweep of the orchestra at the beginning of the Song about the Beaver reminds me of Nancy singing As Long as He Needs Me in the musical Oliver.  Somehow it doesn’t do to leave the concert singing Love and Marriage…

Sometimes, by the time the concert comes, my best moments have already come and gone.  This evening though, I relish every moment of this lively and spirited music.  I enjoy my own singing (including the occasional “extra” as I join the altos – why should they have all the best lines?).  I enjoy the orchestra.  I enjoy my fellow singers.  I enjoy the soloists.  And above all, I enjoy the conducting of Xian Zhang.

As I walk away on my way home I feel fulfilled, alive.  Who could ask for more?

For love AND money

Emotional Intelligence

Every now and then, I come across someone – a friend, client – who is grappling with one of life’s classic dilemmas:  how can I do what I love and meet my needs for security and safety?  I’ve had a little flurry of conversations this week in which some quite diverse people have raised this issue and decided to address this subject here today.

Let’s be clear, if you are nurturing this dilemma, you are far from alone.  As we embark on our careers at least some of us will make choices which favour earning a good living over having fun at work doing those things we most love.  Perhaps we have parents who have programmed us this way.  Perhaps we are already clear that we want to be in a position to marry and have children.  Perhaps, right now, we’re looking out of the window and recognising the economic climate that awaits us with all its challenges.  Later in life, when we have the spouse, the children and the mortgage and who knows what else we may find ourselves sitting in our offices looking out of the window thinking “if only…”, even whilst holding the conviction that we couldn’t possibly leave our well paid job to pursue our heart’s desires.

One of the challenges we face is that, as long as we hold the belief that the joy of work and financial rewards are mutually exclusive, we won’t begin to engage with the question I posed above:  how can I do what I love and meet my needs for security and safety?  Perhaps it will knock on our door every now and again only to be summarily dismissed.  The yearnings won’t go away (perhaps they’ll become louder over time or manifest as some lingering discontent or even as some physical unease) and at the same time, the voice we most sponsor within ourselves will be speaking to another agenda (think of the mortgage, think of your pension, think of your kids…).

There are paradoxes of course.  Richard Branson (as you know, I have recently been reading his autobiography, Losing My Virginity) did not set out to become rich, nor did he worry about his pension.  He set out to have fun and got rich in the process.  Stephen King (author of Carrie and many other best selling books) was not always wealthy.  He pursued a talent for and a love of writing, and he did it in his own way despite feedback from his teachers (in On Writing:  A Memoir of the Craft he describes how he sold a story he’d written to his fellow pupils at school and was summoned to the principal’s office, where he was told he couldn’t turn the school into a marketplace.  ‘What I don’t understand, Stevie’, his teacher said, ‘is why you’d write junk like this in the first place.  You’re talented. Why do you want to waste your abilities?’).  Along the paths to many extraordinary successes lie periods of poverty, feedback that discourages and the sheer surprise of doing something you love and finding, suddenly, you’ve become an ‘overnight’ success.

I could mention some of the resources available for people who are grappling with this dilemma.  Perhaps I will, though not today.  For now, it simply occurs to me to say that one of the reasons we experience it as a dilemma – as an either/or – is that, within ourselves, our yearning to do work we love and our longing for safety are sponsored by different parts of us so that we imagine that what we carry within ourselves is also true out in the world.

Check this out:  is it true for you?  Do you find that the part of you that yearns to get paid to do work you love is at odds with that part of you that is fearful and longs for security?  If it is, you might like to read a posting I wrote a while back, called welcoming your parts to the party.  This, in turn, will lead you to a couple more postings which touch on the subject of our inner dialogue and its effect on our lives.

PS  And to those of you with whom I had conversations this week on this subject:  I dedicate this posting to you.  You know who you are.

On the fear of being “found out” at work

Developing as a leader, Emotional Intelligence, , ,

How many of us fear being “found out” in the workplace?  I am not thinking of our fear that any fraudulent activities might be uncovered.  No.  I’m referring to the fear that many of us have that we are not good enough to be doing the job we are doing.  I have heard some people call this the “imposter syndrome”.

If Dr Laurence J. Peter and Raymond Hull are right, it’s likely that the further we travel up the organisational hierarchy the more likely we are to be poorly equipped to do our jobs.  Peter and Hull are the authors of the book The Peter Principle.  Why Things Always Go Wrong.  Their hypothesis – that people rise to their level of incompetence in organisations – has passed into the vernacular and their book, first published more than thirty years ago, is still widely available.

With or without their hypothesis, the fear exists.  As long as we feel this fear it’s hard for us to be authentic in our dealings with others.  Our energies go into wearing a mask which protects us from being “found out”.  Paradoxically, the mask we wear to secure our personal sense of safety inspires fear in others.  The more senior we are, the more this fear spreads throughout the organisations we lead.

I am reminded of Carl Rogers, whose work has been so influential in the world of learning – especially in the field of therapy and coaching.  Perhaps this extract from an article by Rachel Naomi Remen gives insight into the alternatives available to us:

Years ago, I was invited to a seminar given by Carl Rogers.  I had never read his work, but I knew that the seminar, attended by a group of therapists, was about ‘unconditional positive regard’.  At the time I was highly sceptical about this idea, but I attended the seminar anyway.  I left it transformed.


Roger’s theories arose out of his practice, and his practice was intuitive and natural to him.  In the seminar, he tried to analyse what he was doing for us as he did it.  He wanted to give a demonstration of unconditional positive regard in a therapeutic session.  One of the therapists volunteered to serve as the subject.  As Rogers turned to the volunteer and was about to start the session, he suddenly pulled himself up, turned back to us, and said, ‘I realise there’s something I do before I start a session.  I let myself know that I am enough.  Not perfect.  Perfect wouldn’t be enough.  But I am human, and that is enough.  There is nothing this man can say or do that I can’t feel in myself.  I can be with him.  I am enough’.


I was stunned by this.  It felt as if some old wound in me, some fear of not being good enough, had come to an end.  I knew, inside myself, that what he had said was absolutely true:  I am not perfect, but I am enough.

Rachel Naomi Remen, The Search for Healing
in R. Carlson & B. Shield ed. (1989)
Healers on Healing, Los Angeles:  Tarcher, p. 93

I offer you this thought:  that whether you are a man or woman in therapy or CEO of some international corporation you are, like Rogers, human and enough.
I wonder, how does this thought land with you?