Tag Archives: Books

Developing your strategic thinking: broadening your view

In recent days I have been exploring the theme of strategic thinking and what it takes to develop your strategic thinking.

In practice, leaders who think strategically combine strong cognitive capability (or at least, strong enough) with a good dose of curiosity.  They also apply their curiosity to the right canvas for their role – looking sufficiently broadly and far ahead to be able to make sound decisions and taking into account a range of factors:  thinking, for example, about which other parts of the organisation will be affected, about the future implications of a decision and about the impact on a decision of future events.  Strong strategic thinkers are always curious – they don’t wait until they have a task to do before seeking out new information.  Instead, they are constantly and systematically seeking out information relevant to their job.

So if you are thinking about how to develop your own ability to think strategically, you might want to ask yourself:  how curious am I?  And what are the things I’m curious about?

In case you’re wondering how you might develop this broader view, I offer just a few suggestions and resources below:

  • Understanding your current context:  This is about understanding the context of your current job and implies seeking answers to some key questions:  What’s the external context in which your organisation sits right now?  What is the overall strategy and aspirations of your organisation?  How does your role fit into the wider organisation?  How does it contribute to the wider organisation?  Who are your key customers?  Which parts of the organisation do you need to collaborate with and how?  What other considerations (e.g. organisational culture and politics) have an impact on your role and with what implications?
  • Looking at the bigger picture:  The question “what’s the external context in which your organisation sits right now?” is one that merits further exploration.  Some of the strongest strategic ideas come from people who have insights that others miss because they are constantly scanning the broader environment to see what’s changing and thinking about the implications of those changes.  Making regular time to explore wider social and economic developments is one way to do this.  How?  You might start by asking senior leaders in your organisation (and beyond) what publications they read on a regular basis – the Financial Times, Economist and Harvard Business Review are just a few old favourites.  One way to find out what some of the world’s leading thinkers are thinking about is to dip into the library of 20-minute talks available on line at www.TED.com – this is just one way to broaden your thinking.  Engaging with other people can also be a great way to broaden your thinking – for example, by joining your trade federation or other external body;
  • Developing a strategic mindset:  Perhaps you enjoy reading books.  If you do, books to stimulate your ability to think strategically include The McKinsey Mind:  Understanding and Implementing the Problem Solving Tools and Management Techniques of the World’s Top Strategic Consulting Firm (by Ethan M. Rasiel and Paul N. Friga), Competitive Strategy and Competitive Advantage (by Michael E. Porter) and The Pyramid Principle:  Logic in Writing and Thinking (by Barbara Minto).  Equally, if you prefer to step into an environment that stimulates your thinking, one colleague recommended the work of Richard Olivier under the Mythodrama brand (see http://www.oliviermythodrama.com);
  • Exploring an alternative world:  In the corporate world, it’s easy to imagine a world of people who are also working in corporations.  In practice, many are not.  Recently I heard a statistic that in my own country, Great Britain, 50% of the population are working at any one time, whilst 50% are not.  The percentage of people who actually work in our major corporations is small.  Looking outside the corporate world to stimulate a broader awareness is one way of developing your ability to think strategically.  One colleague, for example, responded to my request for ideas by writing:  “It doesn’t get more strategic than the North American Indian practice of considering all decisions they make based on the impact decisions are likely to have on the following seven generations…. clearly they didn’t have analysts and a stock market”.  If you want to explore this further, check out www.g7sp.com/php.  In my own City of London, St. James’s Church, Picadilly has a long tradition of sponsoring speakers from many different traditions under the name Alternatives, many of which are available on line.  This is just one way to broaden your thinking beyond the confines of your own organisation.

I’d love to hear from you.  If you have followed up on any of this suggestions, which did you find most helpful and why?  And if you’ve found other ways to develop your capacity to think strategically, would you be willing to share them here?

Strategic thinking: more insights into what it looks like in practice

I was struck this week by two comments on a discussion thread I initiated as I prepared to write about strategic thinking, and how to develop it.

One came from Alan Wingrove, on the discussion group Human Resources UK on LinkedIn.  Alan’s comments serve to illustrate just why strategic thinking is so important at senior levels, as well as hinting at what it takes to develop it.  He also makes a couple of reading recommendations:


I currently coach owners and senior managers around their vision and strategy and in my previous ‘life’ I delivered leadership development at a ‘strategic level’.


One continual challenge is to move them from the immediate (day job) to the future (the more holistic view). As John [another contributor] says, learning the theory is different to being able to do it, which is a change of mindset. As I became more and more senior I found myself having to take a more and more external view, to evaluate the impact these external events would or could have on my organisation. For example, I still hear owners of businesses tell me that they have little interest in the current Eurozone crisis, as they cannot see how it effects them. The truth is, it may not immediately, but the longer term effects definitely will.


This necessitated a change in perspective, which I find people grasp best through case studies and the power of stories. I do tend to agree with you about books like ‘Good to Great‘ and I have just finished reading ‘Good Strategy Bad Strategy‘ by Richard Rumelt. In this, he gives excellent examples of how some organisations have flourished through good strategy and other household names have ‘bombed’ through bad strategy, where people have not considered what is coming over the horizon – and he looks at the thinking of those creating the strategy.


A second posting by Fiona Pearson on the same thread also points to the realities of developing strategic thinking:


For managers in new roles the shift from operational responsibility to a wider remit is not always easy especially when day-to-day issues still demand attention. In the current climate people are often bridging two roles while reshaping is progressing. A common complaint I hear about newly promoted managers is a sense of frustration that they are not “thinking strategically” enough and are overinvolved in operational priorities and detail. New reporting relationships, perhaps into the senior team can highlight a surprising lack of awareness of strategic issues. Managers now charged with developing a vision for their service can flounder, unsure where to start, not daring to ask because everyone else seems to do it with ease. Previous experience of contributing to strategic planning often only exposes people to snapshots of the process rather than the full map. The underlying complexities described in an earlier comment can seem impenetrable.


I wonder, do these comments ring true for you?  And what have you found useful in developing your ability to think strategically?



On shame and guilt

It’s a few days since I wrote about Milton Rokeach’s book The Three Christs of Ypsilanti and something is lingering with me still.  It takes a while to trace it back to Rokeach’s book and then, in turn, to its final pages.  Nor do I find it all in one place with a neat quote to share.  It is the difference between the feelings of shame and guilt.

Rokeach, sharing conclusions towards the end of the book, highlights the difference between two (whom he names Clyde and Joseph) whose feelings of shame seem to be linked to a sense of incompetence.  The third (whom he names Leon) has feelings of guilt which seem to be linked to forbidden impulses and the striving for goodness.  Something about this distinction is sitting with me.

Perhaps the quote I seek is contained in the final paragraph of Rokeach’s Afterword.  He says:

“I found out from my “teachers”, the three Christs of Ypsilanti, exactly in what sense they were trying to be God-like.  They were striving for goodness and greatness, and such strivings, I came to understand, are really the strivings of all human beings.  The main difference between the three of them and the rest of us who are also striving to be God-like is that whereas the rest of us can bring ourselves to admit the impossibility of our ever becoming absolute or infinitely moral or competent, the three Christs found it difficult to admit such an impossibility.  Nonetheless I learned that what all of us have in common with the three Christs is that we all strive to maintain and enhance our self-conceptions and self-presentations as competent and moral.  This is one of the major ways in which humans who would be Christ or Christ-like are distinctively different from other human beings”.

As I write I reflect on the implications of what Rokeach says.  It seems to me, for example, that having made this distinction, our feelings of guilt and shame can guide us to our deepest yearnings towards goodness and greatness.  And when the emotional charge is high, there is scope for us to understand the underlying beliefs we impose on ourselves and perhaps the disproportionately high expectations.

Equally, as leaders, observing such feelings in others, we are able to make finer distinctions for understanding that feelings of guilt reflect yearnings to do good, whilst feelings of shame reflect yearnings to be competent.  If we know what our staff may be telling themselves, including those things of which they may not be consciously aware, we know better how we might respond.

More deeply still, I notice that reflecting on this distinction stimulates compassion in me for self and others.  For surely such feelings reflect not only our yearnings and strivings, but also a lack of acceptance of – and compassion for – our fundamental human nature.

I wonder, what does this posting stimulate in you?

Great expectations

Yesterday I wrote about beliefs in a posting about Milton Rokeach’s wonderful, touching and thought-provoking book The Three Christs of Ypsilanti.  This book raises an issue which is present in all our lives – the seemingly intractable nature of some of beliefs.  I am thinking especially of those beliefs formed in childhood which continue to have a strong emotional resonance and often to hold us back, even when our thinking brain knows they are irrational and has every proof that it’s time to let them go.  Thinkers in the field of neurolinguistic programming (or NLP) have coined the term “limiting beliefs” to describe such beliefs and offer techniques for changing or out-framing them.  These are the beliefs that, quite simply, hold us back.

Recently, the issue of limiting beliefs turned up for a client in one of our coaching sessions.  Positioned in a new and senior job she reported significant progress across a number of areas.  Everything was on track.  Why then, I wondered, did she not seem more happy and optimistic?  When I explored this with her up came a stonking great limiting belief: roughly, if I celebrate my successes and expect too much (hence “great expectations”) it will all go wrong.  As part of our discussion, she recognised that if only she could celebrate her successes more she would feel less anxiety about the future and be more relaxed.  Still, knowing this was not enough to allow her simply to let go of her old belief.  (It rarely is).

There are all sorts of ways to respond to a limiting belief.  One way, for example, is to act as if it isn’t true – in the words of Susan Jeffers to feel the fear and do it anyway.  Using this approach implies, in this case, taking small steps to notice and celebrate each success as it comes.  The benefit of this approach is that, over time, we have real experiences that demonstrate our old belief is not true.  This is about beginning to walk new neural pathways.  Another way is to demonise the part of us that holds the belief, calling it our “gremlin” for example, subjecting it to ridicule and, in this way (or so the theory goes) laughing our limiting belief right out of town.  Perhaps you can guess that I’m not a great fan of this approach, both because I prefer a more compassionate approach and because I’ve seen how often the limiting belief, banished in this way, continues to exercise a powerful force in the lives of the very person who has dismissed it as rubbish.

At the same time, part of making changes is to recognise that you don’t have to have all the steps to your end goal mapped out in advance.  Sometimes it’s enough to know that you don’t want your life to be circumscribed by the power of a limiting belief and to ask yourself, if this is my end goal, what might be my next step?  This question draws on the wisdom of the person who is going to make the change.  For me, a useful first step when it comes to limiting beliefs is simply to get curious – not with the aim of changing or suppressing your limiting belief, but simply to understand the territory you’re in.  To this end, I offer some questions to ponder next time you find yourself bumping up against your own limiting beliefs:

  • What is the belief you’re holding?
  • What is the impact in your life of holding this belief?
  • What more might be possible if you didn’t hold this belief?
  • What part of you is holding this belief?
  • What does it want for you?
  • What relationship do you have with the part of you that’s holding the belief?
  • What relationship do you have with the belief itself?
  • Was there ever a time in your life when you remember not holding this belief?  When?
  • Does anyone else in your life (especially but not only family) hold this belief?
  • What is it you’re really wanting in relation to this belief?
  • What else do you know about this belief?
  • What more does this belief want to tell you?
If you’re willing to share, please use the comments section to tell us about your limiting beliefs – from your experiences of successfully moving beyond the limitations of an old belief to your experiences as you play (yes, play) with the questions above.

 

Reflecting on the nature of human beliefs

“Every man would like to be God,
if it were possible;  some few find
it difficult to admit the impossibility”

Bertrand Russell
Power

Some things have to be done.  So for me, no good holiday is complete without seeking out the best book store in town and having a root around.  This is one of the things I did in New York recently when I visited the wonderful Strand book store, which boasts 18 miles of new, second hand and rare books and the tag line where books are loved.

Often I come away from my book shopping experience with books I have been hankering after for a while and this was no exception.  In addition, I also came away with a book which was new to me – though by an author known to me – Milton Rokeach’s The Three Christs of Ypsilanti.

Rokeach was a social psychologist practising in the US in the middle of the twentieth century and with a particular interest in beliefs and values.  In July 1959, Rokeach brought together three men at the Ypsilanti State Hospital in Michigan, who had all been diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic and each one of whom believed himself to be Christ.  Rokeach’s interest in the nature of beliefs and values was such that he wanted to study the impact on the three men’s beliefs about their identity of meeting with other men who also purported to have the same unique identity.  Rokeach and his colleagues worked with the three men for a period of two years, organising regular meetings between the men and observing the men’s responses.

Many years later, writing an Afterword in 1981 to the book he had written in 1964, Rokeach had cause to reflect on the nature of his experiments, recognising that he, too, had played God in the way that he imagined he could change the men by “omnipotently and omnisciently” arranging and rearranging the men’s daily lives, expressing some regret that he had not seen this at the time he first wrote the book and sharing his growing discomfort about the ethics of the experiment he had conducted all those years before.  It does, indeed, seem unlikely that such an experiment would be conducted today by Western scientists.  It seems to me that this fact serves to highlight rather than to diminish the book’s value.

Rokeach approaches his task from the point of view of the theoretical scientist, beginning, for example, by making some theoretical distinctions about different kinds of beliefs and ending – even in his afterword – by sharing key learnings.  His aim in conducting his experiment was to test some of those beliefs, which he did.  Even so, it’s striking to me that his book serves to bring the reader into close contact with the three men he studied.  It is by no means easy to understand the way they view the world and still, I found myself responding to them with compassion – that is, a fellow feeling with three men seeking to make their way in the world.

Throughout the book, Rokeach underlines how the delusions adopted by the three men serve a purpose even though we may not know what that purpose is.  As it happens, their beliefs are sufficiently far from reality that it’s easy to dissociate ourselves from these men.  At the same time, for me, Rokeach’s study serves to illustrate how we form certain beliefs in response to our early circumstances and how we continue to maintain those beliefs long after our original circumstances have changed.  It also highlights to me how a belief does not sit in splendid isolation in the human psyche.  Rather, it is part of a system of beliefs which are inter-connected.  To change one belief is to open up the need to change other beliefs that are connected.  This issue affects not only the three Christs of Ypsilanti.  Rather, it is one with which we all grapple.

I write more about the nature of beliefs elsewhere.  For now though, as I write, I am sitting with the experience of reading a book which is, in some ways, the most intimate of books.  It is a study about three (perhaps four) real men.  And as we read about those men we get to see glimpses of ourselves.

If you don’t play your music, who will else will?

Amongst life’s many pleasures is lunch with friends, sometimes professional friends.  And sometimes one thing leads to another as it did last Friday.

Let me tell you first of a series of synchronicities that have taken place over time.  In 2008 I found myself sitting next to a man at a seminar.  He didn’t stay for the full duration but we spoke briefly and exchanged cards.  I had no idea at the time that this man, Len Williamson, would go on to become a trusted and valued friend.  Via Len I went on to meet some of his trusted friends, including Emma Chilvers (look out for mention of Emma in the coming days) and Cees Kramer.

Over time I have come to realise that Cees’ work with an organisation called Dialogos in many ways chimes with my own interest in aspects of communication.  On my recent trip to New York I finally bought William Isaacs’ book Dialogue and The Art of Thinking Together:  A Pioneering Approach To Communication in Business And In Life and I’m looking forward to reading it soon.  Meantime, I was curious about Cees’ invitation to an evening on Friday with long-time contributor in the field of leadership, Canadian Michael Jones.  I accepted the invitation gladly.

Let me confess that I had not heard of Michael Jones (at least, not of the Michael Jones in question!) until I received Cees’ invitation.  I was intrigued to hear of someone who combines his own particular style of piano playing with talking about leadership.  Listening to Michael speak on Friday evening I was also struck by his gift for telling stories and in this way revealing some of the deeper truths of our lives.

One story had particular resonance for me.  Michael, a pianist from a young age, nonetheless found himself working in the field of leadership.  Playing the piano had taken second place.  At a business event when the hotel he was staying in was quiet Michael spotted a piano and spent some time playing – a mix of classical repertoire and his own creations.  After a while he became aware of an elderly man emerging from the not-as-empty-as-he-thought lounge, shuffling slowly towards him.

The man asked Michael what he had been playing and Michael listed the names of the composers whose music he had played.  “No, not that – the other stuff”.  It became apparent to Michael that the old man was asking him about his own music.  The old man quizzed him about his own music and, learning that this was something Michael played only for his own pleasure, encouraged him to share it with a wider audience.  “If you don’t play your music”, he asked, “who else will?”  This question stands as an invitation to us all and implies another invitation, too:  to recognise the music in our lives that only we can play.  If you don’t play your music, who else will?

As I write I am enjoying the feelings of gratitude to Cees for extending an invitation to join him in the intimate setting of Bridewell Hall to enjoy Michael’s talking and playing.  I wonder, what does this brief glimpse of Michael’s work evoke for you?

And in case you’d like to find out about Michael’s work you can learn more at www.pianoscapes.com.

Embracing my inner diva

Hurrah!  I’m here.  Today I have my first rehearsal in New York for two concerts.

In recent days I have been sharing a joke or two with clients about coming to New York to indulge my inner diva.  I recognise that it’s only relatively recently that I have felt comfortable to own the diva within, because of the negative associations I have with the word.  I remember, for example, singing a number of years ago in a concert with Jessye Norman.  The choir and orchestra members were banished from our normal backstage areas in order to keep our humble germs out of Ms Norman’s breathing space.  This, surely, was the behaviour of a diva.

Today I take a moment to reflect.  What does it mean to be a diva?  I turn to Caroline Myss, whose book Sacred Contracts highlights the presence of archetypes in our lives and explores their implications for our learning.  One of the key messages I took from Myss’s book is that each archetype has a light attribute and a shadow attribute – if you like, the power to do good or the power to do harm in our own lives and to the lives of others.  I was sufficiently intrigued by Myss’s theory that I bought her Archetype Cards and I take a moment to look for the card which relates to the diva.  I am disappointed when I find none.

I turn next to Roger Hamilton’s book Your Life Your Legacy, in which he explores what you might also term archetypes in relation to generating wealth.  I know that one of these archetypes is the first cousin of the diva – the star.  And I also know – because I have completed Hamilton’s on-line diagnostic – that my own star energy is high, second only to my creator energy.  Turning to the brief initial descriptions of each archetype, I read The Creators set the stage, the Stars steal the show.  This, I think, begins to tell me something about my inner diva.

Applying Myss’s concept of the light attribute and the shadow attribute to Hamilton’s description of the wealth profiles I begin to explore the two sides of the diva.  The origins of the word diva are, of course, in the Italian word for a female deity – a goddess.  More recently the word has come to be applied to – as Wikipedia currently has it – a celebrated female singer.  Hamilton says of the star:  Stars get their most valuable feedback in the limelight, and find their flow while on their feet.  As a result, they are able to evolve their attraction on the fly, and it is their personal magnetism that is their greatest value.  The essence of the star is to create a unique brand which attracts others and in this way to touch the lives of many.  For the diva this unique brand centres around singing and performance.  Building on Hamilton and Myss, I recognise the role the diva plays in stepping into the limelight and shining a light out into the world.  She is there to express herself through her singing and in this way to inspire others.

What then, of the shadow attributes of the diva?  The diva in her shadow side can seek to eclipse others for personal gain.  Or she may compromise herself in some way, failing to express her unique brand and in this way eclipsing herself and depriving others of her own kind of leadership.  Perhaps the heart of the shadow attributes of the diva is, by failing fully to embrace her inner diva, to keep herself or others small.

I think back to that backstage experience of Jessye Norman and recognise that it’s not always comfortable to be around a diva, even when she’s doing what she needs to do in order to perform.  Perhaps my own inner diva was challenged in the presence of someone who was so fully embracing and living out her diva identity.

If my own fate includes a strong dose of the inner diva, I wonder, what about yours?

   

As a leader are you “judge and jury”?

On Monday, after spending four years in jail, the young American Amanda Knox was dramatically cleared of the murder of British student Meredith Kercher after her initial conviction was over-turned.

Knox’s original conviction was based on DNA evidence which was later found to be unreliable.  As I write, an article in the New Scientist has highlighted that even before the trial that led to the conviction of Knox and her then boyfriend, Raffaele Sollecito, there were questions about the strength of the DNA evidence on which the case against the pair rested.

It’s hard to imagine the experience of Meredith Kercher’s family members following her death.  We can barely understand the depth of grief and loss, the yearning for answers (Who killed her?  Why?), the desire for justice for their daughter.  It’s a little easier to understand the pressures that members of the police face to get to the answers to those questions.

There is a risk that, for all sorts of reasons, the police respond to the pressures they face by seeking not so much to uncover the truth as to construct some credible “truth” that will lead to a conviction.  A point comes when evidence is met not so much with open curiosity (what is this telling us?) as with a clear intention to convict (can we use this to support our case?).  After a while, the detective is blind to the very truths he has uncovered because they no longer support him in his aim to convict.  Perhaps the original case against Amanda Knox and Raffaele Sollecito was built in this way.  Perhaps it was not.

All this is a long way from the workplace of my readers and still, I wonder if there is some message here for you as a leader.  I wonder if, at times, it seems easier to you to make a case against a member of your team or a colleague in the board room, in order to meet some needs of your own.  Perhaps, for example, it’s easier for you to judge your team member as “lazy” or “incompetent” than it is to see how much s/he is struggling in a new job and to recognise how much you, as manager, have failed to provide the guidance and developmental support s/he needs.  Perhaps, in the Boardroom, it’s easier to dismiss your colleague with a few swift judgements than it is to wonder, “what are his real concerns?” and to explore together what needs you both have that need to be met if you are to come to an agreement that works for your department as well as hers or his.

The signs that you are doing this are easy to spot.  Maybe you are looking for the evidence that supports your case, for example, and dismissing any evidence that might tell another story.  Perhaps you are more concerned with being “right” (and proving that the other person is “wrong”) than you are in building mutual understanding.  Perhaps you are rooted in a single truth rather than open to new information and the possibility that you may, in time, come to a new perspective.

As a leader are you “judge and jury”?  Do you want to be?  If you do, I recommend you ask yourself why and explore your answers fully.  Maybe, in time, you’ll come to a new perspective.

Is it “accountability” when senior heads roll?

24 September 2011.  Just days after the shock announcement that UBS has identified and arranged the arrest of “rogue trader”, Kweku Adoboli, the news came through that UBS CEO Oswald Gruebel has stood down from his post.  The Bank’s chairman, Kaspar Villiger, said that Gruebel “feels it is his duty to assume responsibility for the recent unauthorised trading incident”.

I notice that my heart sinks when the response to failures in the public domain (in politics, or amongst public servants, or in highly visible senior roles in the commercial sector) is to let some senior head roll.  What does it mean to assume responsibility in this context – and others like it?  There are, clearly, two ways in which someone takes responsibility.  The first is to acknowledge some error that has enabled failures to happen.  This is taking responsibility for what has happened in the past.  There is also the question of who will address the underlying causes of an issue that has happened in the past or the systemic weaknesses that allowed it to occur.  This is taking responsibility for sorting out what happens in future.

It seems to me that when heads roll the people concerned perform a rather strange double face.  On the one hand, by falling on their swords, they appear to say “mea culpa” and others have the option to say “quite right, too!”  At the same time, they tend to say nothing about what it is, precisely, that they take responsibility for so that even as they say “mea culpa” they walk away from any real responsibility they may have.  Equally, even as they say “mea culpa” they may be walking away from holding others to account by whose acts an error occurred.  And of course the man – or woman – who leaves their job in this way does nothing to address the underlying issue, leaving this to a successor who comes in unsullied to the role.

There is, of course, the question of appearances.  Who knows what conversations UBS Chairman Kaspar Villiger may have had with CEO Oswald Gruebel about the need to appease shareholders with decisive action.  I wonder, are shareholders, journalists and other interested parties really so naive?

For my part, I’d like to see a more robust form of accountability in the public domain.  At the very least, public statements would say more about what it means to “take responsibility” in cases such as these.  Perhaps Kaspar’s statement would say “Gruebel was concerned that such a thing could happen on his watch and realised he had not been doing all he needed to to ensure robust risk management in the bank” or “whilst Gruebel is proud of the work he has done for the bank he realised it needs somebody else to get to the bottom of what happened and to make sure it can’t happen in future”.  Then, at least, we would have some insight into what “responsibility” means in this context.  Personally, I find that responsibility – accountability – comes when there is a level of detail in the public statement which makes meaning transparent.

I realise that I am standing on my soapbox right now and I am ready to step down from it – for now.  I wonder how you respond to the rolling of Oswald Gruebel’s head?

Handling objections

It’s price negotiations time.  The prospect of handling sensitive discussions is looming and so is the question:  how do I handle objections from my clients?  In truth, your current and long-standing clients can be the ones who are getting the best deal as a result of your long history of agreeing an increase that doesn’t quite work for you.  So where do you go from here?

It’s easy to come to these discussions seeking to dismiss your clients’ objections – even seeing your clients’ concerns as “objections” stimulates a certain way of thinking.  I wonder, how are you viewing the possibility that your client might express concerns?  What does the word “objection” evoke in you?  And then there’s the question of your underlying philosophy as you approach your discussions.  I particularly raise this question because for many people, this lies outside their conscious awareness:  what beliefs are your bringing to your discussions of which you are not even aware?

Personally, I favour approaches which come from the desire for everyone to come away a winner – this will come as no surprise to regular readers of my blog, who know how much I favour Marshall Rosenberg’s Nonviolent Communication and Roger Schwarz’s Skilled Facilitator Approach.  You can find out more about Rosenberg’s approach by browsing the website for the Center for Nonviolent Communication or reading his book Nonviolent Communication:  A Language for Life.  Equally, you can root around on Roger Schwarz’s website, sign up for his newsletter, buy articles, or his book The Skilled Facilitator Approach.

But what about handling objections?  Amongst my fellow students of Schwarz’s Skilled Facilitator Approach some point to the books that spring from what’s known as the Harvard Project:  William Ury’s Getting Past No:  Negotiating Your Way from Confrontation to Cooperation, Roger Fisher and William Ury’s Getting To Yes:  Negotiating An Agreement Without Giving In and Bruce Patton, Douglas Stone and Sheila Heen’s Difficult Conversations:  How To Discuss What Matters Most.

Others recommend the VitalSmarts series which includes Kerry Patterson, Joseph Grenny, Ron McMillan and Al Switzler’s Crucial Conversations:  Tools for Talking When Stakes Are High, and by the same authors Crucial Confrontations:  Tools for Talking About Broken Promises, Violated Expectations, and Bad Behaviour and Influencer:  The Power to Change Anything.

I also wonder about Neil Rackham’s SPIN Selling, recognising that this gives an overall framework in which to view objections – and recognising that many other authors and thinkers have tackled this same subject.

I wonder, in what situations do you handle objections and what resources (books, ways of thinking etc.) have you found most helpful?