Giving

Three true stories:

A wise woman, who will appear often my stories, told me of her recent visit to China. She was hired as a consultant by a large company and she stayed in a well appointed room in a very grand hotel. But she was frustrated, she said, by little things. The light in the bathroom would flood the bedroom, because part of the wall separating the bathroom from the main room was glass. And she noticed that it wasn’t a warm hotel. There was a great deal of jet black. There were a lot of hard, shiny surfaces. She added, you know, they have this absolutely beautiful business card. But the writing on it is so small that I couldn’t read it, and none of the taxi drivers to whom I showed it could read it either.

A certain gentleman in India decided to have a suit tailor-made. It turned out to be an exercise in frustration because he kept going back for fittings. There was always something wrong. The arms of the jacket were too short. The legs of the trousers were too baggy. The buttons in jacket gaped when he did anything but stand still. The shoulders were too tight. Back he went, again and again, and tried to explain what was wrong this time. Each time the tailor and his team listened intently. But each time they fixed one thing, something else would get thrown out of whack. Then, one day, the gentleman realized what the real problem was. The tailor had never worn a suit. The tailor did not know, deeply, inside, what a good suit felt like, and how it ought to move when the wearer moved. And because he did not know, he could not create.

A woman lived in a wealthy suburb of a famous city, with her husband of twenty years and their teenage child. The woman had a particularly difficult, draining job, but it’s an important one. The man didn’t work, but he went out of his way to think of nice things to do for his partner, to cheer her up. He planned weekend trips to vineyards, bought her charming presents and organized chic dinner parties at their home. She confided to her neighbor, “But I don’t want these things. I just want him to get a job!”

Good design is about empathy. When you create something, ask yourself for whom you are creating it. Whether you are building a hotel, sewing a suit, planning a party or writing a book–for whom are you doing it? If you are doing it for someone else, you must be able to empathize with that person, to step into that person’s mind and see the world the way that person does. What brings this person pleasure or pain?

International business travelers want efficiency and reliability in their lodgings but also comfort. Did the architects of that hotel in China know that? The tailor might never have worn a suit, but he had certainly worn clothing. Why was he unable to translate his own experiences to understand better the discomfort of too-narrow shoulders in his client’s jacket? And for the stay-at-home husband: did he ever wonder whether the weekend trips, the gifts, the parties, merely add to his partner’s financial burden? How did he not see that his efforts failed to make her any happier, why did he not wonder what he was missing?

You can give because it makes you feel better. Or you can give because it makes the recipient feel better. Which do you want? And if both, then in what proportions?

A good designer understands that what people want runs very, very deep. These needs and wants are rarely stated, especially not in public, especially not in work-settings. But the good designer understands people and pleasure and pain. Whether we’re talking about an easy-to-navigate website, or a convoluted instruction manual, or conveniently placed bench in a park, or finding the perfect birthday present for a loved one, design must be rooted firmly in empathy, without which it is becomes an exercise in navel-gazing.

How To Ask Questions

He said, “What will you have for dinner?” I said, “Polenta, and some sausage.” He said, “Is it good for health, that sausage?” I felt annoyed. How was I supposed to answer that?

Questions are good. They create opportunities for learning, on the part of the questioner as well as the “questionee.” But not all questions are created equal. 

Asking whether sausage is good for health is a pointed question; the answer is already apparent. By asking me that question, this man was actually leading me to a foregone conclusion– his foregone conclusion. So what reason did I have to engage in this “conversation,” when I was merely an actor in his play? I had no reason to respond because his question already contained the answer he wanted to hear.

In business, as in personal relationships, we must maintain a delicate balance between asking direct questions and ensuring the other person’s comfort. I assure you that you are more likely get answers from people– even when they are in the wrong– when you ask questions that encourage and engage, rather than intimidate or accuse.

What if, instead of saying, “What were you thinking, Bob?” or “How could you do not know this would end disastrously?” I think it would be better to ask, in a neutral tone, “So, tell me how you made this decision. Walk me through your reasons.” Bob probably already knows his mistake, or at least, that he made a mistake. This latter approach allows Bob to explain himself without getting unduly defensive, and it allows to you actually see where the breakdown was.

Quite possibly you will find that Bob made the mistake because he based some decision on erroneous information that Janet, his team lead, provided. Now, instead of chewing Bob out, which is a waste of everyone’s time and energy, you can go to Janet– and follow the same method of questioning, without immediately accusing Janet or putting her on the defensive. Once you find where the mistake actually originated, you can deal with it.

People on the defensive have already shut down, and shut you out. You are now the enemy. They are not going to tell you what you need to know. And when something goes wrong, rhetorical questions and dressings down might make you feel better in the moment, but they won’t help you identify and eliminate the root cause of the problem.

You’ll find this is the case in all your relationships. If you’re a parent and your child does something really stupid, like climbing a rickety tree and then falling out of it, your real concern is (or should be) to ensure that he learns why it was wrong and understands both why and how not to do it again. Yelling at him is pointless. You’re better off understanding why he did it in the first place– was it ignorance? was it peer pressure? was it a desire to impress the girl next door?

Depending on his reason, you can give him a reasonable alternative. He didn’t know that the branches weren’t strong enough for him to climb them? Show him how to identify trees that are safe to climb. He did it because his “friends” egged him on? That’s a different conversation. And if it was about the girl next door, give him five bucks so the poor fellow can just buy her some flowers instead of risking life and limb to impress her.

Design your questions thoughtfully. What you ask and how you ask will have an impact on the response you get. This might feel contrived to you initially, but every new thing you did first felt a bit stilted and awkward; with practice, you became a natural. It is the same with asking questions.

There is great power in language, in words. We don’t always recognize it, but we always respond to it, often unknowingly. You know when someone is insinuating something, don’t you, or slyly accusing you of something? Well, they know when you’re doing it, too– even if you don’t realize what you’re doing.

Slow down. Think. Ask questions that give the other person space to really answer.

The Two-Faced Company, Part 1 of Undoubtedly Many

Market Strategy is outward-facing, while Org Behavior is inward-facing. The two stand back-to-back, like a pair of heroes surrounded by a gang of sword-wielding thugs. If they don’t work together, if they don’t understand each other’s abilities and limitations, if they don’t genuinely care about each other and “have each other’s backs,” they’re both bound to die.

So no, I don’t think that Market Strategy is separate from Org Behavior. That means, if you recognize that it is imperative to have a Market Strategy, there is no reason for you to approach Org Behavior any differently. And yet, most companies spend immense amounts of time, money and thought on their Market Strategy, but when asked about their OB strategy, turn blank faces towards you and say, um, well, we have HR people?

Not nearly good enough.

Lullabye

Not long ago, I chanced upon a song by Joshua Radin. He sings as if talking to himself, in a half-whisper, half-sigh, over music that is pretty, lilting, unassuming and repetitive. Listen to it here; take a look, also, at the lyrics. In short, a successful lullabye. Here’s why I think this song has outstanding design.

First, there is the genius of packing a whole world of meaning into a single word.

He sings, “There’s a hole in my pocket about her size… / …I wish my car could drive to her tonight; then I know everything would be alright.” And then, unexpectedly, he sings, “Then I look at you, warm in your dreams–” When I heard that, I had a split second to wonder who this “you” was– and you should take a moment to wonder too– before he continued, “–while your mobile dances above.”

There, reader, in one word, the whole story took on a new meaning; I realized who this “you” was, and why the song was called what it was, and what the full relationship was between this lover and the singer.That one word, mobile, tells us that the “you” is a baby. Without the mobile, we have no baby, and the song is just yet another song about love lost– yawn. But with the mobile, with the baby, we have an intriguing story– a man with a baby, and a woman who has left them both– an unusual story.

The word mobile also deeply affects the word lullabye, which appears only in the title of the song, but which frames the whole song. We think, for a moment, that the lullabye is sung to the baby– but no, the baby is already “lost in [...] dreams.” And we realize that the lullabye is not so much for the baby as for the singer himself. And in fact the song, though it begins with melancholy and longing, ends with hope and happiness, and a distinct sense of calm.

Second, the music: although it is beautiful and could stand on its own, its simplicity and repetition make it the perfect backdrop for a story simply, conversationally told. It, like the story, is deceptive in its simplicity and stays with the listener long after. And in its repetition is a hypnotic effect, a rocking motion– and when there is a mobile above, there is a crib or rocker below.

This is good literary design and good musical design– words are arranged just so, and music is arranged just so– but the song, like great design everywhere, combines disciplines. The words and the music not only exist together, but also, they inform each other– that is, each brings an additional depth of meaning to the other. We see this in so many instances. Take a beautiful home, for example: the external form of a house exists in harmony with the natural environment, the landscape. Frank Lloyd Wright’s Falling Water is a perfect example.

I could, I suppose, draw a connection now to business and management, but I won’t. The connection exists, of course, but I’ll leave it to you to make it. And you don’t have to; you could just sit back and enjoy the song. That’s just fine.

And if you like it, check out Sting’s Fields of Gold, which is so beautiful and so heartwrenchingly sad that I actually can’t bear to listen to it.

In the works

You’re here early, but welcome! I’m just getting things ready around here and I’ll have more to show you soon.