The Job of C

I’ve been watching – and rewatching – a TED talk from Benjamin Zander, the conductor of the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra and co-author of one of my favorite books, “The Art of Possibility”.

In the talk, Zander explores Chopin as a vehicle for conversations about leadership, vision and engagement. Sitting at a piano, he deconstructs the piece a bit. In doing so, Zander notes that a B note is followed by a C note, and asks why.

“The job,” he says succinctly, “of the C is to make the B sad.”

I happened to be watching Zander’s talk during a week when I was asking a client group to engage in an uncomfortable, but important, process. It certainly wasn’t my job to make the group sad, but it was my job – as I saw it – to push them toward the inner edge of their discomfort in service to a good strategic plan.

It happens that our jobs with our clients are always a little different – nothing quite as cut-and-dry as simply making the B sad. But knowing what job each clients needs us to complete, the role each engagement needs us to play, sure makes our work flow better.

Playground Perspectives: Seeds of Change

We planted a garden a few weeks ago. Two gardens, actually.

On an early Saturday morning trip to Lowe's, a pink ceramic hippo caught Thea's attention. The hippo in question came with a small handful of grass seed, which grows into an amusing head of green hair in a matterof days. (When I was a young tyke, we did the same thing with half an eggshell.)

On the same day that Thea planted her hippo head of grass, she also helped Nikole and me plant the early spring garden. We planted long rows of seeds (peas, carrots, spinach and kale), along with a manda ted plot of strawberries.

With the right direction, our almost five-year-old was in her element, bringing a degree of precision and intention to the process that borders on the amusing. (She would get a slide rule for her birthday in April, if I didn't think it would just make her dangerous.)

We planted the outdoor garden on a cold and sunny day in February. It has stayed cloudy and cold ever since. We're still waiting for the seeds to emerge from the cold ground.

The hippo is another story entirely. It found a home on a sunny ledge in our warm house. By day three, the hippo was sporting a Marine quality head of green hair. By day five, it was a full-fledged early 90s punk rocker. Thea has cut his hair twice already.

You know where this is going, don't you?

"Dad! Why won't the garden grow?" Thea demanded the other day when we wandered into the backyard to check out the beds. "It's been like three seventy six thousand days!" Or eight days.

An impatient child -- who'd've thunk it?

I started thinking about her impatience during a recent conversation about strategy and organizational change. Driven not by budget, but by impatience, a prospective client kept pushing for a fast process that delivered fast results. We ultimately agreed, in the parlance of Star Wars, that we were not the droids they were looking for.

How often do we push for unrealistic harvests in our organizations, or in our lives? We know that change takes time and nurturing, that it is hard work. And yet, it's not surprising we get frustrated -- like Thea, most of us have never planted seeds in this particular garden. We don't know what to expect, and we don't like the results we're seeing!

There are general rules of thumb worth following in the world of change management (and probably gardening):

• It takes at least five years to change an organizational culture.
• Change is a rice paper floor. Plan to fall through it frequently.
• The best change starts with you. Change that starts with conversations about "getting those people to change" is destined to fail.

As the last (and first) snowstorm of the winter looms, it seems odd to be thinking about gardening. And that may be the last, best change lesson: Prepare to be surprised. Always.

I suspect thoughts of gardening will be taking a back seat to the joys of sledding later this week.

March 2013: Letter from John

Next week, I wrap up an engagement supporting ChildFund International's executive team through a series of strategic conversations.

You may recall that our team spent a week last spring with their Global Sponsorship Team as they built alignment around a shared vision of work.I'll be doing something similar next week with another global team.

It's a bittersweet space for a guy who was one phone call away from a career with the Foreign Service back in the spring of 2001. (Short version: After an 18 month recruiting process, the State Department mad e me an offer -- my dream job in the Middle East. For the right reasons, I turned it down.)

Spending time with an organization of global travelers with a passion for making the world a better place is a reminder of the many ways each of us can make a contribution. It's also a reminder that even jobs with life-changing missions are, some days, just jobs.

Living your passion, or a piece of your passion, or your passion of the moment is important work. Holding onto a passion after it has served its purpose in your life is an invitation to sadness and regret.

I often talk to leaders about the ways in which our beliefs -- about ourselves, about others, about the world -- shape our decisions, and the ways in which we engage with others.

I share that our beliefs are shaped by our experiences, thousands upon thousands of large and small moments that help mold our thinking, our reactions, our views. When you reach a point in life where your beliefs are no longer serving a purpose, or are just flat out wrong, it's time to change them.

Because that's easy, right?

No, not so much. We change our beliefs by changing our experiences. We let go of old passions by embracing new ones. We replace old stories that box us in with new stories that liberate and inspire us.

The work of leadership is to create opportunities for those around us to engage in work that reflects their deepest, best beliefs -- and to recognize when beliefs and values and fears and ego drivers (more on those another time) are keeping those around us from living their passions most fully.

It sounds a little Pollyannaish, I know. But once we get past the motivating force of a paycheck, it's really all we -- as employers and leaders -- have left. In his book, Drive, Dan Pink talks about autonomy, mastery and purpose, about the role intrinsic motivators play in inspiring people to do great work.

It's a long leap from "I'll be hanging out at ChildFund next week" to "look for ways to engage people where it matters most to them." But isn't that the best work we can do in this life, whether we do it in Bangladesh or in Manhattan or in a brick office building off of Broad Street?

The best way to start? Look in the mirror. Uncover your own beliefs, and ask in what ways they are inhibiting you from doing or motivating you to do your best work in this life.

February 2013: Letter from John

Welcome to Floricane 2013. If last year was all about financial survival (it was), then this will be the year of stabilization, alignment and delight.

It's a tricky balance.

Even as I try to absorb some very important lessons about discipline and fiscal prudence, Floricane's business model pushes our team to constantly explore the edges of the envelope. And while our clients appreciate our ability to stretch the conversation and increase their discomfort in constructive ways, they also value constancy, effective planning and execution.

One of the hardest things to do as a business is to simultaneously give customers what they want, and to delight and surprise them in the process.

As I chew on the end of my pencil and reflect on my recent experiences as a customer, I'm hard-pressed to come up with truly great examples of a business that wows me in the process of meeting my needs. I mean ones that really, really wow me.

Earlier in the winter, Thea and I wandered into the new WPA Bakery in Church Hill to check it out, and get something for breakfast. It was warm, cozy, personal. The muffins were good. The staff was friendly.

And then Kendra, one of the owners, gave Thea a cup of buttermilk hot chocolate with a massive, homemade marshmallow floating in the steaming mug. The look of delighted surprise on Thea's face -- that's what I mean. It is so freakin' easy to deliver, and yet so hard.

I think it starts with the basics. You have to get the fundamentals right every time.

Then there's delivering on your brand promise. At each touch point in an interaction, customers should consistently experience the unique and distinct aspects of your business, especially the ones that you market and promote publicly.

The third element is built around relationships. Your business should feel personal. Your customers want to feel a connection with you and your employees that suggests they actually matter to you as something more than a transaction or receipt.

You have to land all three of these cornerstone elements. Only then can you delight a customer.

As Floricane hits 2013 at a hard sprint, we're taking time to work our way through our business approach. We're retooling our processes, the basics of our business. We're recommitting to ensuring each client touch point is aligned with our brand. We're redoubling our investment in our relationships -- with our past and current clients, our partners and our friends in the community.

And then we're going to make sure we deliver a massive, homemade marshmallow atop every interaction.

TILTED: A RVA SMALL BUSINESS UNCONFERENCE

REGISTER NOW

FEBRUARY 23, 2013  |  RICHMOND TIMES-DISPATCH BUILDING

As a small business owner – or an employee in a small business – you know the value of innovation, transformation and being part of a thriving creative community. You also understand that there are harder, more serious and more essential elements to launching and building a great business.

Let’s leave the long speeches, drab PowerPoints and passive networking behind. Join us on February 23 for TILTED: A RVA Small Business Not Conference. TILTED challenges the conference status quo with a hands-on forum for small business owners to learn, share and connect – all served up with a large side of awesome, provided by the knowledge and experience you and 224 of your small business peers will bring into the room.

From small group sessions and interactive workshops to a food truck lunch rally and crowd-sourced discussions, TILTED is built on the belief that when the right people are in the room, the right knowledge is in the room. We learn the most when we are part of conversations that matter.

Get ready. TILTED is going to help you rethink your business in small, explosive ways.

TILTED is a co-production of the following #RVA small businesses: Elevation Advertising, Floricane, Fraser Design, One South Realty, The Hodges Partnership, TMI Consulting, Work It Richmond and Zuula Consulting.

Your registration includes:

• Admission to the full-day conference
• Free parking in our secure, downtown deck
• A comprehensive bio book of all presenters and participants
• Loads of free snacks and beverages from local vendors
• Access to the lunchtime Food Truck Rally
• Dozens of opportunities to teach, learn and connect with 224 other RVA businesspeople
• An invitation to the Tilted After Party
• And more...

REGISTER TODAY. (We ask that no more than five people per business or organization register so that we can welcome a diverse group to this limited capacity event!)

Playground Perspectives: Hold That Note

We continue to overestimate the capacity of our small child to remain still in environments where she doesn't have the slightest interest in what's happening around her. Like, for instance, a visit to her grandmother's house, a quick trip to the grocery store, a five hour driveto Charlotte, or an afternoon with the Richmond Symphony.

Leave it to Thea to loudly whisper, "This is BORING! Can we go now?" ten minutes into the Symphony's annual "Let It Snow" concert. When we're sitting five seats away from the Symphony's executive director. And into the ear of an older gentleman clearly interested in the music being performed.

Granted, the first half of the production largely consisted of older, traditional holiday music. The sort of music that doesn't pass the muster of a prima donna newly obsessed with dancing to the Cyndi Lauper, the Sugarhill Gang and Pomplamoose. Anything, really.

We did what any sane parents would do. We took a break. A 45-minute break until intermission had passed, and the program for the afternoon moved into the theoretically safe territory of the family sing-a-long. Fortified by a large gingerbread cookie and armed with a small, red bell on a string (and a small drinking straw), Thea returned triumphant into the grand Carpenter Theatre. She was -- to paraphrase the modern wrestling parlance -- ready to jingle.

After conductor Erin Freeman instructed the audience on the safe use of jingle bells, the Symphony and its chorus rolled through at least 37 variations of "Jingle Bells". Just to get Thea comfortable with new approaches to old themes. She jingled steadily. Even in the non-jingle moments. And she conducted mightily with her drinking straw, attentively watching the conductor's moves and intently mirroring them.

But it was the "12 Days of Christmas" that sealed the deal. You see, we started practicing that little number weeks ago. And Thea had perfected the art of holding some seriously off-key vocalizations at key moments. Like when Erin decided to be tricky and adjust her cues to the audience -- creating space for young, loud voices not trained to pay attention to cues to really shine.

There was the young boy at stage left with his preemptive, "five gooooooolllddeeen rings!" And there was Thea hot on his heels with very proud, sincere and elongated homage to that damned partridge and his pear tree. It hung in the air for long seconds. It attracted stares of genuine admiration, and more than a few bemused glances.

But that's what makes life with a four-year-old so sweet and special. They exist in this precious, precarious cocoon, balancing between full throttle and kindergarten (where she'll be forced to throttle down). It is exhausting and delightful to watch Thea move through the world, and through this holiday season, with new-found awareness and verve. I'll be sad when it's gone. But I'll also be less tired.

December 2012: Letter from John

In 2006, my engagement with the Richmond region went from passive to active -- thanks to my participation in the first Greater Richmond Challenge.

Created by Stephanie Kirksey and her team at the Greater Richmond Chamber, the Challenge was a reverse play around the traditional InterCity Visit. Instead of heading out to see how other cities create success, the Challenge invited a hundred-plus Richmonders to explore successes in their own back yard.

I found myself on a small team exploring some inspiring work in the realm of affordable housing. What we discover ed during our 24 hour blitz was eye-opening and inspiring -- organizations like Better Housing Coalition and Virginia Supportive Housing that are transforming the way our region deals with serious housing issues.

But the Challenge's real lessons weren't strictly educational. They were relational.

Earlier that year at a Creative Change Center event, I had my first introduction to Andy Stefanovich. (Some of you know exactly how much "Wow!" can be packed into a first encounter with Andy.)

Andy said something that night that I've carried around with me for seven years now. "Look around the room," he said. "There are people here who caught your attention. Give yourself permission to have a business crush on someone in the room tonight, and write them a business love letter. Ask them out for coffee or lunch, and get to know them better."

For an introvert like myself, Andy's invitation to be extraverted had remarkable power.

I was just looking at the business crush list I compiled at the end of the 2006 Challenge: Stephanie Kirksey and Betsy Borders Mangum, Robert Dortch, Sam Rugg, Scott Sutton, Lawson Wijesooriya are all now serious, essential friends. I never would have connected with them without Andy's permission to have a crush.

As I head into 2013, and year five with Floricane, it feels like a good time to identify a new batch of inspirational, amazing people with beautiful spirits - and to fall in love all over again with people who make this community sing. I've started working on my business crush list for 2013. I'll leave a few slots open on my calendar for a business crush blind date or two.

Go fall in love with amazing people. The magic never wears off. (Though someone needs to tell Kirksey she owes me lunch...)
 
Happy New Year, Richmond. You rock, and I want to hang out with you.

Getting Educated About Substance Abuse

Like so many people, I don’t have to look far to see the impact of substance abuse and addiction on our society. I’ve experienced substance abuse and addiction firsthand with family and friends, and I see its impacts on the streets of Richmond daily. Its one of the most visible scars in our community – so visible, we barely see it.

Fortunately, there are organizations like the the Substance Abuse and Addiction Recovery Alliance – called SAARA of Virginia for short.

SAARA of Virginia is what is called a peer-based, or consumer-based, organization – it exists for and is largely run by people who are recovering from addiction and substance abuse. The organization serves as a bit of an umbrella for a host of counseling and support programs around the state, and works hard to support these groups even as it advocates for changes in policy and legal areas.

We spent a couple of Saturdays this fall working with SAARA’s board as they began to focus on where they needed to go long-term. In addition to putting some clearer definition on SAARA’s purpose, we began mapping out some specific steps the organization could take to increase public awareness, strengthen its board and be more sustainable.