So where do you think you got it from?

I had finally put together a plan I was comfortable with to get on a plane to visit my 92-year-old father in Florida. Focusing on keeping both of us safe, I researched masks, upgraded my non-stop flight seat, planned for a place to quarantine, and secured a rental near the retirement home where he lives for a few weeks so that I would have many opportunities to visit the place, which is mostly on lockdown. I communicated my plan to others, inviting their thoughts and opinions. And at the last minute, I decided to take a COVID test offered by my employer, a measure meant to further ensure my father’s safety as well as mine.

Navigating the airport was far worse than I had imagined. American Airlines had set up a bullpen-style check-in and baggage drop, and there were so many people that the line wound outside the area and into pedestrian traffic. Signs suggested social distancing, but there was no way not to infringe on others’ space. I admonished the man in front of me to pull his mask up from his chin. The woman behind me kept running into my bag, pushing it forward so she could stand closer to me. Even the kiosks, placed six feet apart, were set up in a way where passengers stood close to each other. No one was wiping down screens. The passageway from the kiosk to the baggage drop was thick with people.

Finally rid of my bag, I got to my gate. It was also overcrowded. There was no opportunity to sit away from others. Many passengers were doing their best to stand along the edges; others were sitting with masks down, eating food they had waited for in crowded lines.

COVID test results were to be posted within 24 hours. Forty minutes past the 24-hour point, I refreshed my email one last time before boarding my plane. Ding: my results were in. I had to work through three screens in order to finally click on COVID Test Results. The airline announced seating for first class passengers. And my eyes settled on the words on my phone, in red, that said positive. The trip was aborted.

Three hours later, after a frenzy of apologies and pleas and a long drive back home, I settled into my home office, mentally preparing my asymptomatic self to quarantine from my husband and the world for two weeks.

The responses from my employer, Pima County, and the Arizona Health Department were almost immediate, organized, and kind. I felt grateful that in spite of the dysfunction of our nation’s capitol around managing the pandemic, local resources were timely and helpful. Tracing felt painful: I was guilt-ridden by the idea that I was a carrier who may have infected other people. I notified my hairdresser, a neighbor who works out of her home, since she and I had spent an hour together (albeit masked) at close distance. An office mate was quarantined since we shared a not-so-well-ventilated space.  Any other contacts were deemed too short or too distanced to report.

I told a handful of people about my situation. The first question each time was “Where do you think you got it from?” Believe me, I had mentally traced every moment of my time over the previous two weeks. Once. Twice. Again and again. I had been, I would say, 90% careful. I wore a mask when walking through halls at work, set up a shared restroom routine I thought was safe. I limited my time in public. Besides the haircut and work, I had gone to the grocery store twice and Target once, both with short lists and limited exposure time. I kept wipes in the car and used them before and after each trip. I had a few guesses, but honestly, there was really no way to know where I had picked up the virus.

As I retraced my steps, I was acutely aware of the fact that my asymptomatic self had come into contact with many people. My view of the airport experience shifted from fear of contracting the virus to fear that I had spread it to others. And if I, someone who had been careful about my habits and movements, had stood in that bullpen with the virus in my body, surely there were others there, too.

My thoughts alternated between “someone gave me this” and “I gave this to someone.” Blame. Guilt. Shame. I’ve had plenty of time to contemplate those three words over the past few weeks. Each is a noun, and each is an action verb, too. Tracing felt kind of like a form of blame, but I knew it was a functional one that would be helpful to alert others of potential exposure either to me or from me. Feelings of guilt and shame were, well, heavy and difficult to bear.

While I had the virus, I had casual contact with a few people who were also positive. I started paying attention to their words, in emails and on social media, to learn more about their journeys and whether their feelings echoed mine. It turns out that feelings of guilt and shame are common among those of us who have tested positive. Remarks that insinuate blame seem more often to come from those who have not. And yet, neither manifestation is particularly useful as we move forward through a pandemic that is surging rather than regressing.

Which brings me full circle back to a leadership stone I—and many other leaders—have written about: the power of influence. Since contracting COVID-19 and walking through my relatively comfortable quarantine and symptoms, I have wrestled with how to use my influence to positively affect others’ actions. My 90% efforts were not enough to keep me from contracting the virus. I have watched as my workplace and our nation have continued forward, “being careful,” but still subjecting ourselves to potential virus spread. In one instance, I witnessed a communication from a leader telling her subordinates that if they acted irresponsibly and caught the virus, they must also take responsibility for the results of their behavior, including disciplinary action, all while continuing to insist on overall practices that may not keep them safe. This wasn’t a helpful message: it blamed rather than offered support and solutions. A leader should provide a positive path forward, especially in a crisis situation. Right now, my power of influence seems miniscule, and it makes me sad.

What you say and do as a leader are critical to your success. Putting aside blame and feelings of guilt and shame, you must communicate a message that is powerful enough to influence others’ behavior, in a way that makes them feel supported and safe. And then you must demonstrate the same behavior you are messaging. This pandemic continues to rage, and we must all be mindful of our own actions and feelings, as well as those of others. If there has ever been a time where empathy for each other is needed, it is now. Today, I hope sharing my story will remind people of their own power of influence and the power of empathy.

On Being Judged

I hadn’t expected to write additionally about judgment, until something happened at my work that got me thinking: As leaders, how do we manage the judgment of others, and what do we learn from it?

A little background: I am in the interesting situation where I am working for an organization I left nearly eleven years ago. My position is technical, not supervisory, and I am fortunate to be working with many of the same people whose expertise I benefited from before. As I perused my email after a long holiday weekend, I came upon a lengthy message from a colleague who played a role both during my former tenure and in my new position. This particular email was inflammatory; the colleague was questioning my ability to work effectively with her or her staff in my current position, based on a strained relationship we had had eleven years ago.

Later that same day, I crossed paths with another staff member with whom I had previously worked when I was school principal. She talked about how sad she had been when I left, and the positive influence I had had on her work and the school as a whole. She shared that during difficult times while I was principal, I was able to frame challenges in a way that helped her do her best work. In both situations, I had received feedback from a colleague about my performance. The contrast between the messages was great.

What was I to do with the feedback I received? One person accused me of being disrespectful of her; the other admired my leadership. Could both of these perspectives be true at the same time?

Here’s where I make a plug for leadership stones. We need to be able to consider the information we read, hear, or see and form it into something that works best for us. In instances where others judge us, we need to be willing to take a hard look at the feedback and decide what role it will play in our personal growth. I often ask myself these questions:

·      Is the feedback accurate? Is it true?

·      How does the information help me grow as a leader?

·      What is the learning I will take away from the feedback?

It’s important to remember that any perspective one gains from another’s feedback is one data point (or one stone, to keep with the leadership stone analogy). A leader must consider the array of feedback he or she receives within the context of his or her work. I needed to consider the feedback I received from these two colleagues in the context of my current role, and to reflect on the circumstances in which they occurred.

No leader is immune from judgment. Whether you are the one in charge or someone who provides a technical or support service to others, you will be judged by others. The goal is to listen, consider, and learn.

On Judging Others

We have all had experiences where someone at a meeting or on social media is VERY upset about something, and we dismiss their focus with a comment like, “that person needs to get a life, “ or “he has too much time on his hands.” This happened to me a few weeks ago at a homeowner’s association meeting, when one person went on and on about the (apparently unacceptable) way the landscapers trimmed the desert spoon plants in our common areas. It occurs to me that we all might have too much time on our hands, the way we comment about this or criticize that. It’s not just a daily habit, but a several-times-a-day habit we’ve gotten into.

My “aha!” moment about different perspectives came at a public event several years ago. I was representing the nonprofit where I worked, and many donors were in attendance. The leader of the organization had some of the most amazing skills I’d ever witnessed when it came to meet and greets. He was working the room like a pro, personalizing his comments to each guest, and making everyone feel at home.

“He’s wearing that suit again,” said a member of the fundraising department. “What?” I asked, reframing my thoughts to focus on how our leader was dressed. “The tan one. The tan suit. He’s wearing the tan suit again.”

My boss’s professional wardrobe flashed across my mind. He had some beautiful suits: charcoal gray, black, a brown that still worked with his graying hair. He had a great set of ties, some with themes that signified his work, others that were perfectly matched to a colored shirt and particular suit. And he did have one tan suit. I found it curious, unusual, but also a little brave. Why not wear something different from the same old same old black or minor variation? The “tan suit” color was more toward taupe, and I thought it looked fine. No big deal.

Back to my colleague. “Who wears tan suits?” I quickly noted our different perspectives: she disliked the suit and thought it was inappropriate for events like this. It was an irritation to her. I thought it was unique but pretty much a non-issue. While she had judged his effectiveness as a fundraiser in part by what he was wearing, I was looking only at his actions.

Now don’t get me wrong. Tan IS an anomaly in a Boston landscape of black attire. I once showed up at an upscale event wearing an ensemble of brown and realized right away that I’d gotten it wrong. But the idea, implied, that a tan suit might put off donors seemed like a stretch to me.

Here’s my learning: not only do opinions vary, they also vary in the weight they carry. Appearances, attributes, and behaviors run through our individual filters and are judged. Some are barely considered, while others drive individuals to distraction, to irritation, to the need to complain. Some are notable enough to be acted upon. Information inflow is constant, and it can be distracting if we focus on inconsequential matters. Choose what it is that is significant enough to comment on or to take action for or against.

As a leader, you will not only be called on to judge: you will be judged. Constantly. I have been judged for the tone and volume of my voice, the length of my skirts, the height of my heels, the organization of my presentations, my hairstyle, the size and shape of my body. I’ve also been judged on my technical expertise, the way I handle crises, and where I go on vacation. Part of leading is being visible and noted. It’s inevitable.

As you consider how you are judged, spend some time looking at how you judge others. There’s often a story behind what you perceive: the tan suit could have been a reminder of a loved one’s clothing preferences, or it could just be a tan suit. If it’s important to you, consider asking about the item of concern. Find out if there’s a story.

Place your energy where you can make the greatest difference. Becoming distracted by judgment that does not support your goals takes away from your effectiveness. When others point out things they perceive as wrong, take a moment to consider whether their perspective adds to or detracts from your goals.

Know thyself, then do something.

In his book, Good to Great, Jim Collins stresses the need to “get the right people on the bus.” The basic concept is this: the leader of the company is like a bus driver who must choose the right people to be on the bus, decide who should get off the bus, and ensure that the right people are in the right seats.

This visual has stuck with me over the years. I’ve discussed it in book groups, shared it with managers and CEOs. While the phrase is bumper-sticker worthy, its application is far from simple. Looking at human beings in high level positions and determining their fit is one of the most challenging things we do as leaders. And asking some to leave is equally difficult.

But what about your own seat on the bus? Whether you’re the driver (the CEO, VP, Principal or Superintendent), or someone riding in a strategic location, are YOU the right one for the job? If not, can you become the right person, or should you exit the bus. 

Figuring out if it’s time to leave is no easy task. It takes serious self-reflection to consider your role, your effectiveness, and your fit. Those who can successfully self-reflect and initiate changes in their own work lives make some of the best employees and leaders.

I’d love to simplify employee evaluation systems to a self-reflection model. Unfortunately, the number of people who excel at self-reflection is surprisingly low. I’m feeling a little hopeless even writing this blog, in fact, because I’m afraid the right people won’t read it and even if they do, they won’t see themselves in its light. (cue “You’re so vain…”)

Should you get off the bus?

I’ve been on a number of leadership teams, and not one of them was particularly strong. Jockeying for positions of power, shunning accountability measures, and hiding behind those doing the real work is common in leaders. Witnessing these habits is hard for someone who is constantly assessing her own skills, maintaining her authenticity, and doing her very best. Most recently, I found that I was not the right fit in my position on a leadership team, and I left.

I have moved a lot in my adult life, sometimes for my husband’s work, sometimes for my own. I worked in five school districts before I turned forty, and after so many start-stops, I started to see myself as a catalyst for change. I would begin a new position, work hard to do the best job I could, upend a few things, start new initiatives, and then get called away to a new opportunity.

The first time I was in a position for longer than 6 years, I realized I was no longer enjoying my work. Everything felt like a hassle, each day a long march. I realized that I was simply restless—I had accomplished some major things with my team, and I wasn’t seeing a logical next step.  Fortunately for me (and my team!), I was swept up into an interim position, and the leader who replaced me was first-rate. In this case, moving on allowed me to grow and gave another leader an opportunity to continue to grow the organization.

So you decide to stay on the bus. Should you work on developing your skills so that you ARE the right person? How long will that take—too long for the organization’s goals or your professional goals?

Let’s face it: few jobs come with a how-to manual. Learning how to be successful in each new position over the course of my career has taken several years. Teachers can relate to this: what we learn in university makes up a very small portion of the expertise we gain with experience. Learning new skills is a major part of our professional journey, including positions of leadership.

If you’ve taken the time to analyze your own strengths and weaknesses, and regularly assessed your progress, I’ll bet you already know what you need to improve to ensure that you are the right person in the right seat on the bus. Then it’s just a matter of getting the additional support and skills you need. And if that doesn’t work for you, perhaps its time to get off the bus.

 In fact, leaders of companies that go from good to great start not with “where” but with “who.” They start by getting the right people on the bus, the wrong people off the bus, and the right people in the right seats. And they stick with that discipline—first the people, then the direction—no matter how dire the circumstances.

-Jim Collins