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Wood's Unsought Advice 5 of 5: Write Your Own Story

Terry Pratchett once wrote, "Wisdom comes from experience. Experience is often a result of lack of wisdom." Inspired by that aphorism (and hoping one day to be wise) I'm sharing some draft comments for a project I might develop in a few years: tips for my students who face a complex and changing workplace. 

Who's writing your life story? 

You are the author of your personal story. You wake up, put on your clothes, and plan your workday, writing your story with each word and action. That's the idea, right? But unless you're careful, your story may end up competing with other tales about you, stories you can hardly hope to edit. 

Thus while you imagine yourself as a tireless advocate for important causes, you may be dogged by another script, something like, "There goes Gripey McFighterson, always complaining about something!" Before long, you may be unable to write your story at all. What's worse, you might start living up (or down) to the persona other folks have built for you.

If you don't like that idea, you need to think carefully about how you can exercise more influence over your life story. The first step: consider how that story fits into a larger narrative. 

Think about the typical workplace. Just about any organization hopes to tell a story, branding itself according to some vision ("We produce increasingly efficient widgets at ever more competitive prices for an ever more satisfied clientele"). How does your story contribute to that broader vision? It should, you know. You may not personally care about widgets, but someone at your workplace does. And if that person has the power to produce widgets, she or he can help you tell your own story too. 

A story is a narrative composed of deeds. Sure, the narrative may contain words. But deeds accomplished over time make a story real. In your story you are the main character; you are the do-er of deeds that matter. Those deeds evoke a past (training, exploits, accomplishments, and lessons). Those deeds produce a present (your skills, your interests, your roles, and your personality). And those deeds presume a future (your innermost goals, your organizational trajectory, your potential to grow in fascinating and useful ways). Put past, present, and future together and you've got a narrative.

An internally consistent, externally true, and practically meaningful narrative makes organizational sense -- it's not just a dramatic concept --  especially when your narrative helps other people tell stories of their own. The problem is, not everyone knows your narrative. Actually many of your colleagues couldn't care less about your narrative; that's a fact of life. Still, it's important to find ways to integrate your narrative into the lives of others, and into the larger organizational culture. Not obnoxiously, not at every meeting, not by disregarding the narratives of others, but by contributing to a shared vision in which you play an essential role. 

How do you create that narrative? Well, first you begin by uncreating any troubling narratives that others may have of you. Here's an example, one of many: Are you fresh out of school, starting your first "real" job? That's good. And yet many folks interpret that narrative in a pre-scripted way, perhaps labeling you as a "newbie" who lacks useful understanding of the "real world" they've taken years to grasp. That's a hard narrative to revise.

How can you edit that powerful but damning narrative? By taking an inventory of how you perform your personal narrative: your attire, your language, even how you talk. Assess whether that performance advances a narrative that helps or hinders you [Remember: Look more, judge less]. In this case, you may prefer to unmake a troubling narrative by demonstrating (again, through deeds, not just words) your maturity, your wisdom, and your awareness of the big picture. 

One especially successful narrative stems from becoming a "go-to" person, the one without whom the organization cannot function. Adopting the narrative of the "indispensable insider" demands more than the facade of impenetrable confidence, though. You must cultivate an ability to listen, to observe, and to ask questions. Mostly you must demonstrate your personal dedication to the larger workplace vision. 

For others to catch your vision, you must first catch the vision of others. 

Thereafter, you should implement your ideal narrative through a mixture of consistency and innovation. Search for opportunities to "do" who you are. A little artful self-promotion can be helpful, but the best positive stories are the ones told about you. And when you are called to speak about your positive actions, convey your story as part of the broader shared vision. Find ways to bolster and celebrate the success of others when telling your own story. Think of success as a multiplier rather than a divider. When you do, others will see your successful story as part of their own personal narrative. They'll want to tell that story, and to help it grow, because it's their story too. 

Still, even the best stories grow stale after a while. Look back on times when you've suffered from a coworker who consistently floats the same platitudes or celebrates the same accomplishments. Isn't it mind-numbing? Even when the news is good, you tire of hearing that story repeatedly. Avoid being known for the same story, even if it's a good one. 

Replenish your personal story with new deeds, new challenges. Forge new ways to contribute to the larger workplace vision. Do what you'll say you do, and then ask yourself, "What's next?" Other people will soon wonder the same thing about you, and they'll want to find out. As your narrative evolves, others will want to contribute to the adventure, to see where it goes. That shared vision will then become a launching pad for your own never-ending story.

There are two ways to summarize this principle. Both are true, but only you can determine which one is right:

Deeds through narrative define you.

Or…

You define narrative through deeds. 

Wood's Unsought Advice 4 of 5: Keep Secrets. Unless You Can't

Terry Pratchett once wrote, "Wisdom comes from experience. Experience is often a result of lack of wisdom." Inspired by that aphorism (and hoping one day to be wise) I'm sharing some draft comments for a project I might develop in a few years: tips for my students who face a complex and changing workplace. 

Knowledge without context is a recipe for error. Let's say a friend of yours has recently purchased several bags of fertilizer. You know the fact, but you don't know the reason. Is your friend planning to grow a garden or plant a bomb? Context matters -- it may be an issue of life or death -- but it can be hard to discern. You see similar ambiguity in most workplaces. You learn things about your colleagues, but not always in a useful way. People share information with you, but not always with your best interests at heart.

At work you are awash in data. Posted signs, organizational charts, policy statements, formal histories, architectural structures… Each of these (and countless more) provide ways for you to know who's who and what's what. At the same time, much of the data you encounter fails to follow formal channels. This kind of information reflects the flows and dams of interpersonal communication that frequently generate more valuable knowledge than any company newsletter or scheduled meeting. 

Problem is, some of this information is mere gossip. 

Get together with enough people over time and you'll discover plenty of fascinating claims made by some people about others, their backgrounds, their interactions, their limitations, and their agendas. Seemingly innocuous, this kind of information can become distorted, as when you hear a disparaging story about a coworker at lunch only to learn an entirely different story from that colleague later in the afternoon.

For some folks, the very complexity of gossip is its best attribute. One can learn much by studying how a story shifts and warps with each retelling. The ability to trace a story's mutation from person to person helps many would-be office politicians exploit the connections that hold a place together. Best of all, sometimes these folks will promise to share that actionable intelligence with you. 

Even so, be wary of any colleague who leans toward you and whispers, "I really shouldn't pass this along, but I'll tell you..." At that moment, ask yourself, "If my friend would break someone's confidence for me, how do I know he wouldn't do the same thing about me?" Trust me on this one: Few people will keep your secrets for long. The power that comes from insider information -- getting it and sharing it -- is just too tempting.

When someone wants to share secrets about another person, your best strategy is avoidance: "Sorry, I don't want to contribute to the gossip mill." Just don't play the game. Cultivate instead a reputation for speaking directly with people, never settling for second-hand information. And should someone share their secrets with you, not as gossip but as genuinely personal information, never tell a soul. Keep secrets...

Until you can't.

In some cases, you never want to be the last person keeping a secret. Do you think that only Bernie Madoff, the disgraced ponzi schemer, went to prison for his crimes? He wasn't alone in paying the price. Many of his friends and family members also face jail time, financial ruin, or at least a lifetime of shame for holding Madoff's crimes in confidence. 

These supposedly smart people did a dumb thing by keeping Madoff's secrets. Why did they do it? Well, they too wanted to go along, to avoid being tarred as untrustworthy, as a snitch. They calculated a short-term benefit while ignoring the long-term cost. Today they're thinking differently, and you should too. 

It may be as simple as observing one person using discriminatory language in the workplace. Will you simply stand by and say nothing? Sure, you might rebuke that language immediately, or you might have a personal chat with the offender later on. OK. But what if the offense continues and nothing is done?

In such a case, you must share your concerns with a trusted person at a higher level of responsibility. That choice is fraught with difficulty, no doubt. You don't want to earn a reputation as a tattle-tale, whether in kindergarden or in the adult world, but neither do you want to confront this question: "You saw this and failed to report? Doesn't that mean that you allowed it to continue?"  

Don't trade in gossip, but remember: Some secrets simply can't be kept.

Wood's Unsought Advice 3 of 5: Look More, Judge Less

Terry Pratchett once wrote, "Wisdom comes from experience. Experience is often a result of lack of wisdom." Inspired by that aphorism (and hoping one day to be wise) I'm sharing some draft comments for a project I might develop in a few years: tips for my students who face a complex and changing workplace. 

One day a student stopped me in the hallway and nearly cried out with anguish after receiving an undesirable grade, "But I worked so hard!" To the student, this statement should have caused me to reconsider my grade. I recall how frustrated she was when I informed her that she was confusing personal evaluation with professional assessment. 

What's the difference? 

To answer that question, let's first consider the fraught process of evaluation. This sort of measurement usually mixes belief and attitude. In other words, I may believe that I have completed four of five scheduled tasks today. This is a matter of fact. Yet I may also consider an attitude (mine or an attitude held by another person) about those tasks, whether, for instance, they were done "well" or "poorly." In this way, evaluation adds an attitudinal statement of good or bad, adequate or inadequate, positive or negative. Reasonable enough, right? At the same time we should remember how this process often dredges up deeper notions of worth ("Just how good an employee (or teacher or writer or whatever) am I?" This sort of character judgment can be useful. 

Still it's generally better to assess rather than evaluate. 

To assess is simply to compare outcomes to expectations, seeking to focus on observable characteristics rather than abstract responses: How many widgets have I completed on time? Can my students demonstrate their grasp of today's lesson? Do these paragraphs advance my central argument? Immediately you might be tempted to fall into the mode of evaluation after assessment: How "good" is the outcome? Shifting to that query makes sense when you are concerned both with "What is?" and "What should be?" This is the sign of a morally engaged life. However, "What should be" is seldom under our control. Thus we may understand Voltaire's wisdom when he wrote, "The best is the enemy of the good." Sometimes it's enough to take meaningful steps toward an ideal state, pausing occasionally to assess your progress without judging your distance from your goal too harshly. 

Want a concrete example? Consider the fact that most weight-loss experts recommend you to avoid stepping on the scale every day when trying to shed excess pounds. They know how hard it is to separate the observable assessment from the emotional evaluation. If the scale doesn't show a lower number today, you may give up tomorrow. That's why experts in diet and nutrition typically encourage us to assess our physical health (which only partially includes numerical weight) in concrete ways rather than abstract measures. Do you feel comfortable in your clothes? Can you climb stairs without losing your breath? Is your body sufficiently able to fight off disease? Whether it's losing weight or gaining value, focus on the real rather than the ideal. Check the scale from time to time, but don't fixate on your distance from the ideal.

Of course, that's easy to say and hard to do. We're wired to evaluate; consequently we can easily sink into despair when things go wrong (as they frequently do). Few people are ever good enough to satisfy their ambitions. But anyone can say, "I will complete this task without error, starting one step at a time. First, I will understand how to gather my materials. Then..." This gradual accumulation of observable experience is the subject of assessment and, most importantly, the sign of growth. Even more, it helps us maintain our equilibrium when we might otherwise feel buffeted by evaluations, those of others or those presumed of us. 

Want to get something done? Focus on what you can see. Look more, judge less.

Wood's Unsought Advice 2 of 5: Seize the Mayhem

Terry Pratchett once wrote, "Wisdom comes from experience. Experience is often a result of lack of wisdom." Inspired by that aphorism (and hoping one day to be wise) I'm sharing some draft comments for a project I might develop in a few years: tips for my students who face a complex and changing workplace. 

Heraclitus taught that we never can step into the same river twice. Think for a moment on that statement... What does it mean? One interpretation proposes that life is change, that the constant flow of things and people is far more "real" than any piece of flotsam or jetsam in the river. Deep stuff, perfect for a late night bull session. Problem is, the rush of events overtaking most workplaces is enough to make many of us feel like pieces of clutter on a raging river. It takes so little to get washed away. And all the philosophy we can summon won't help us combat that fear. That feeling is understandable, making us want to grab a passing branch and hold on. Too much change can be scary. Best that we avoid it until we're ready to plunge ahead. 

 

Is this the best way to deal with change? I faced that question a few years back when my campus was thrown into turmoil during a financial crisis. At that time, as I was beginning my third year as director of my school's peer mentor program, many of the foundational truths upon which I thought we could depend had been called into question. As the university began to draw its resources down, budgets were replaced by estimates, which offered fleeting comfort. Our mission grew hazy as administrator after administrator talked of restructuring and redistribution and the hunt for redundancies. How would I face the incoming group of peer mentors, and what would I say to veterans who saw the seismic chasms cracking under our feet? 

At my age, 20 years older than most of my students, I had little experience upon which to offer assurance, especially when every meeting I attended with university leaders ended the same way: "We don't know what will happen." What about the experts in Long Beach? "They don't know." What about the legislators in Sacramento? "They don't know, either." All of us, from the most inexperienced student to the savviest administrator, looked toward a horizon that roiled; all the straight lines were gone. The changes sweeping our community resembled nothing less than the gale winds of mayhem. 

That word, "mayhem," gripped me as I stood up to offer opening remarks at our peer mentor pre-semester retreat. I told them to prepare. Faster than most students, they would need to find their equilibrium. Classes were being cut, faculty were being furloughed, programs were being revamped, and policies were being rebuilt, sometimes more quickly than administrators could explain them. Peer mentors would be on the front line of all this confusion and fear. In this "Season of Mayhem," even experienced faculty members would be off-balance. 

I knew this because I'd seen dozens of them standing anxiously at summer orientation sessions, hoping for students to add their classes with a fervor never before felt. For untenured instructors, full classes meant employment, while under-filled classes risked cancelled sections, lost wages, and potentially worse news. I saw proud, confident people facing a dreadful angst as economic change produced personal woes normally hidden behind a professional facade. One colleague turned away from the crowds and cried with me silently as she contemplated her husband's fate. His hospital bills were piling up and their university-provided health insurance now teetered on whether students would take her classes. 

At the same time, students saw their paths to graduation blocked as course options evaporated. In fatter times, professors could allow extra students to squeeze into classes. No longer. Perhaps the ultimate illustration of this Mayhem Season: an instructor's choice to add students over class limits would not contribute to our coffers. Now, thanks to the crazy new math of declining budgets, more paying students would cost us money. Logic itself was increasingly subject to change. 

We did our best to contain our frustrations and advance our mission. Peer mentors waited for paychecks that took weeks to appear, and they patiently endured my empty replies to reasonable questions: ("So, when are we getting paid?" "Honestly, I'm not sure."). At one particularly tense meeting after weeks of long hours and work to ensure our budget, I struggled to contain tears of my own. I stepped out to compose myself and, upon my return, I found nearly a dozen peer mentors waiting for me with hugs and assurance. 

The first months were hard, but eventually we began to make our way, charting new parameters for our program's identity. Each new request became a chance to rethink our skillsets, to assess our processes, and to serve others who need us. After a while I began to change our unofficial semester slogan from "Season of Mayhem" to "Seize the Mayhem." 

Seizing the Mayhem calls upon you to do more than accept chaos. It's a chance to transform change into opportunity. To Seize the Mayhem is to remember that when others are unsure, you can be both honest ("I'm not sure either") and revolutionary ("But I'm ready to try something new."). That moment, when you begin to read the space between the known and the unknown as the site of creativity, innovation, and potential, you risk (in the best possible way) becoming an author of your world. The rules that bind us to anesthetizing conformity, the age of "confidence" that really means the ability to sleepwalk through life, can be abandoned. In their place, a genuine sense of play, the dizzy smile of the unshackled self. This is the meaning of what Joseph Schumpeter called "creative destruction." Change is not the end of order; it is the beginning.

Wood's Unsought Advice 1 of 5: Add Value

Terry Pratchett once wrote, "Wisdom comes from experience. Experience is often a result of lack of wisdom." Inspired by that aphorism (and hoping one day to be wise) I'm sharing some draft comments for a project I might develop in a few years: tips for my students who face a complex and changing workplace. 

Do you work hard? Great. Now for the bad news: It's not enough to work hard. You must be able to articulate the value of that work to others. For many folks, this is difficult. It feels like bragging, like showing off. Conversely we all know a coworker who seems determined to insert her or his achievements into every conversation (even when supposedly praising the good works of colleagues). The "It's all about me" vibe is easy to spot and difficult to stomach. Heck, it's even tough on the offender who discovers how hard it is to stop relentless self-promotion, for fear that others will wonder: "What has Faultless McPerfect done lately?" Don't fall into that trap.

At the same time you should be prepared to translate your achievements in terms that are meaningful to the organization, mapping your labor upon a recognizable (and changing) terrain of valuable outcomes: clients served, dollars saved, innovations launched, that sort of thing. And if your salary for these accomplishments is less than another person in the industry (or even at your workspace, if salary figures are publicly available) you must be willing to find an appropriate time and venue to identify how your organization can adequately compensate you for the value you offer.

Whether you're seeking a job or advancing in your current position, always consider how you add value beyond the initial terms of employment. When I negotiated my salary at my current job, I stated that the opening salary was too low, that I needed more if was going to face California's notoriously high cost of living. Unfortunately my need alone was hardly persuasive. Actually, I came across as whiny, which was hardly the way to begin a professional relationship with a new boss.

The person making the offer kindly offered me some advice: "Tell us what else you offer, along with what we're already willing to pay you to do." I soon understood how that kind information gives an organization the justification to reconsider budgetary realities that otherwise seem insurmountable. I took some time, figured out some ways that I can add value, added this previously unconsidered information to the discussion, and negotiated a satisfactory increase in my starting salary. The result was immediate and long-lasting. That initial conversation has paid benefits year after year, since each raise I've received has been built upon the foundation of that first negotiation.

And don't forget that once you land that job, you're not done enhancing your value. Search for new challenges, new opportunities, new ways to become useful. Because even if you impressed someone enough to get hired, your ability to respond to changing needs will likely be judged by someone else - someone who doesn't necessarily value those initial skills that got you through the door. Your ability to bring new skills and competencies to an organization, not simply to plod along in the job you already have, offers more assurance of your indispensability: an essential quality in an economy that promises security to fewer and fewer of us. Don't take yourself for granted, unless you want others to do so. Know your worth - and add value.