Leaders' Stories

Stories compose the richness of our lives. They are the events, experiences and activities that shape who we are and how we move into planning, decision making and interacting with others. When we think about it, we realize that most of our values have a "story" connection: recalling a parent's work ethic, a teacher's patience or perhaps the impact of an historical event.

When leaders share their values' stories with their teams, they create an environment of trust, intimacy and concern not easily accessed when values are treated rather as sterile, objective concepts. Stories help team members internalize values with clear pictures, examples and often poignant images. And stories are more easily retold as a way to share values with new team members and external clients than are complex definitions. People like to share stories. The sharing itself creates a sense of the familiar -- a connection, a feeling of being part of the inner circle. Storytelling is an important skill of successful leaders.

According to Leadership Experts, Jim Kouzes and Barry Posner (The Leadership Challenge), "Stories serve as a kind of mental map that helps people to know first, what is important (purpose and values) and, second, how things are done in a particular group or organization." The best remembered stories are vivid, "have a strong sense of time and place, and told in colorful and animated language."

My father is an expert storyteller, and one of my favorite values' stories I learned from him. It regards the value of reliability -- following through with a commitment. I am able to source this value quite directly to a story my father told me when I was a little girl. It is a story I have retold often. And, which I heard my teams share when on-boarding new staff or explaining the why of being on time, delivering "as promised," and fulfilling promises.

I'm sharing the story below (with minimal embellishments to keep it short for the blog). As you read this one, think of the stories behind your own values -- and how you'll tell them in a meaningful way to communicate personal and organizational values to your team.

My father was just 12-years old when the movie, "Gone With the Wind," was released in 1939. The oldest of seven children born to a share-cropper father and a child-bride mother, my father was not unlike many children raised during the depression -- having little and enthralled by the slightest opportunity to do, have or experience more. So, when the older brother of a girlfriend offered to include my father in the nineteen-mile car trip from Willacoochee, Georgia to the theater in the town of Douglas to see "Gone With the Wind," my father could hardly believe his luck.

Going to that movie became the most important event of his young life. Dad counted his pennies and pestered his parents for the extra ten cents to purchase the twenty-cent ticket for the show. In 1939, twenty cents was a significant amount of money -- two-thirds the minimum hourly wage and more than twice the price of a loaf of bread. Besides the cost, being gone for the afternoon meant dad wouldn't be available to help with chores or the care of his brothers and sisters. And for my father, nothing mattered more than that movie.

The driver for the trip, the proud owner of a Ford Model A,

promised to pick my father up at precisely 4:30 in the afternoon so they could be in Douglas in plenty of time for the evening show. Having no timepiece, my father headed to the prearranged rendezvous point shortly after noon on Saturday, pennies and nickels tightly bound in a piece of old handkerchief. It was late in the year and the energy of the burning Georgia sun settled hot into the clay-packed road. In dad's fist, the handkerchief was wet with sweat, the coins leaving ridge imprints along the crest of his cramped palm.

My father waited along that road throughout the afternoon and into the evening, finally using the setting sun to determine that 4:30 surely had come and gone without a passing car. When he did creep home, my father took the back roads -- embarrassed at having begged for the coins and waited half a day by the side of the road when there were chores to be done and children to be watched.

Throughout my life, the picture of that ragged little boy standing steadfast along the side of a red-clay road, coins in hand, hope broadcast on his face -- slowly replaced by disappointment and then by shame -- was the image of the expectations we create when we promise someone something. It was the story that anchored reliability as a value for me. It is rich and poignant and heartbreakingly memorable. And it has been told many a time . . .

Now, what is your values'  story? And how will you share it with your team?

Train the Puppy Brain

This week finds me in Lenox, Massachussetts attending a deep writing workshop. What this translates to is thirty to forty writers sitting in a room with a creativity coach and writing. Mostly just writing. The purpose of the workshop is to create space and provide tips to keep us on task in our writing. Most attendees, me included, are working on a particular writing project. And while the workshop is about writing, much of the coaching is universally applicable to doers of all types and to leaders.

One area that is getting a lot of attention here is dealing with the distractions (many invited) that get us off-track from our writing. In that regard, here's a nugget that really resonated for me. Thinking burns thousands of neurons. Whether it is productive thinking (see 27 Feb blog) or "why is that sock on the floor?" thinking, is irrelevant to the brain. Thinking -- all thinking -- uses mental energy. The "headline" here (as our coach would say) is, why would we "waste" neurons on distractions and worry when we are working to bring a project forward?

It's the same whatever the creative process -- to put the most mental energy forward, we need to conciously train our brains. I once heard a meditation teacher compare the human brain to a new puppy. When we aren't watching the puppy brain, it goes off and does its own thing -- to include the not so great stuff like piddling on the carpet, chasing squirrels and teething on someone's Jimmy Choo's -- translate to: engaging in negative self talk, pursuit of distractions and unproductive worry -- all of which "burn neurons."

According to our coach here at writers' camp, our brains are freshest first thing in the morning following a distraction-free night of sleep. So here's the take-away: if you have a really big project that requires some big creative thinking, you may choose to adjust your calendar to schedule that work first thing. Additionally, it may be a good idea to have your gatekeeper hold your calls and visitors at bay. And while you're at it, turn off that cell phone and the alert tone on your computer that signals the arrival of new email. These are ways to sanitize the room for the puppy brain.

At others times, when sanitizing the room may not be an option, have on hand mechanisms that bring you back to the task -- deep breathing, self awareness actioning (acknowledge your distraction and consciously come back to your task without "wondering away" from the work at hand) or simply turning away physically from the distraction (email, the window, the newspaper . . . ).

Your task today: train that puppy brain to deal with distractions and reserve those neurons for the really important thinking. Woof, woof!

Getting to good

It's been a great morning. Beautiful sunrise. Amazing workout at the gym. Connected with my sister and laughed with delight. Why is it, then, that the only thing I can think about is how I apparently aggravated the Barrista at my favorite Starbucks? For two pumps of vanilla syrup, I'm letting my great day hit the skids. What happened to all of that good stuff of the past three hours? Well, I'm giving into my negativity bias -- and neuropsychologist, Rick Hanson, would say that I'm in good (at least plentiful) company in my ability to feel badly.

According to a paper by researchers from Case Western Reserve University and published in the Review of General Psychology in 2001, we evolved to be particularly attuned to (and apparently to obsess about) the negative in our lives. From the earliest days of man, the ability to keen in on the bad (threatening, negative) was important to survival. After all, it was more important to be tuned in to the saber tooth tiger about to pounce, than to the beauty of a newly blossomed flower or a bird's sweet song -- but make that flying thing a pterodactyl and we were on alert! That negativity bias -- tendency to focus on the bad-- persists today and oftentimes obscures the good.

Let's face it, in our lives most of us truly experience more good than bad. Still, it can be a challenge to maintain a balance, let alone "get to good" when that one negative occurs. And, are you ready for it? Here's the GOOD news: it can be done. You can train your brain to recognize the good. You can rewire to positive. How? By taking time to fully experience the good. Make a practice of recognizing and appreciating the good with intention. I often recommend to clients that they start with an appreciation journal and simply recall at the end of each day three positive things for that day. They don't have to be big things (after all, little bad things certainly make an impact -- recall my coffee experience), they simply have to be recalled, then savored. A smile from a stranger. Finding my favorite fresh figs at the market. Flipping the perfect omelet. Little, and good. And of course, there are those hugely positive events too. Whatever they are, intentionally recognize them. choose to give the positive as much attention as you give to the negative. Start to sensitize your brain to the good. Look for the good -- remembering that we move in the direction we look.

Nature or nurture, indeed -- evolution is only part of the story. When we intentionally invite and recognize the positive, we can get to good.

Now, can we make that a triple, two-pump, non-fat , extra hot . . . extra happy latte, please?