INNOVATING IS LEARNING

An excerpt from the new book SHOW YOUR INK: STORIES ABOUT LEADERSHIP AND LIFE (amzn.to/1nqHQ9l)

I experienced a situation in a consulting engagement once that taught an interesting lesson. At first, I thought it was about life at work, but soon I realized it was really just about life. The lesson was that personal improvement and creative contributions only result following mistakes, failures, and learning. You have to experiment, fall short, learn, and try again. Improvement is a process!

Managers say they want change, improvement, creativity, and innovation. They are full of it. What they really want is mistake-free and pain-free improvement. Outside of work, people do the same thing. They say they want to get in shape or find a new job, and then one little setback stops them in their tracks. They feel embarrassed and angry and quit. The trick is to weather the storm and learn so you’re less likely to screw up again. Setbacks are supposed to be the very things that help you avoid future mistakes.

At a consulting engagement several years ago, this principle came to life in a hilarious manner. I was hired as a coach for a manufacturing company in the Midwest. They had about one hundred million in revenue and growing. The industrial widgets they made were a key component in the manufacturing processes of many other manufacturers in several industries. Their widgets were considered best in class, tops in the industry.

My first day with them started in the president’s office. He gave me his take on the company, the team, what needed to change, and so on. He wanted his team to speak up, show more initiative, and create needed change. He claimed his employees would give innovation lip service when chatting with him, but the behaviors were not there. He said he asked for new ideas all the time but got nothing

Eventually, he took me to a large conference room. Inside, his top team of eleven managers waited for us around a large table.

What followed was horribly boring. They told me about their areas of responsibility, how long they had been with the firm, and so on. Boring! The worst part was watching their body language. It quickly became apparent that these men all respected and revered the president. Unfortunately, the behavioral reaction to reverence looks terribly similar to the behavioral reaction to fear.

After about thirty minutes, I suggested to the president that it might be useful if he left me alone with the team for a while. He looked at me funny but agreed and left. When he left, the reaction of the team was comical. The nonverbal change was huge. People exhaled, pushed back from the table, leaned back in their chairs. They had felt compelled in his presence to sit up straight, pay attention, and avoid fidgeting. Now, they could relax. The status bubble is powerful.

The conversation that ensued was quite different. They got past product lines and strategic projects and began talking more about culture and interpersonal relationships. Professionals often clam up in the presence of consultants, but I’m great at getting people to loosen up. It wasn’t me they were worried about that day. It was the boss.

Two weeks later, I was sitting in the president’s office, talking about his team, when the phone rang. I couldn’t hear precisely what was being said—it just sounded like an angry version of Charlie Brown’s teacher. The president was smooth. His words revealed that a product they had sold had broken down, paralyzing the customer’s entire manufacturing facility. They wanted a fix, and they wanted it yesterday.

Mr. President hung up the phone. He looked at me and said, “Sorry, Doc. Be right back.”

I was worried. He looked like he was going to blow a valve.

He walked quickly out of his office and glanced over the tops of the cubes outside, looking for his target. He found him. Marty was young, strong-willed, smart, and full of creative energy. He was a recent mechanical engineering graduate, and this was his very first job post college.

The president spotted Marty and moved in quickly for the kill. He stopped at the entrance to the young engineer’s cube. “Marty! I guess I’ll take that forty-five hundred dollars out of your next check. Does that sound good?” He then muttered under his breath, “Special orders…” and turned and walked away. No explanation, no nothing. Jaws dropped across the office. Marty was shell-shocked.

This was the same man who told me people just didn’t seem to be speaking up. No wonder! To make a mistake was to receive his wrath.

I followed the president back to his office. He shut the door. There was an awkward silence. I asked what happened. He explained that the company produced a particular type of industrial widget. It was quite technical. Marty was a sales engineer. His job was to talk through many advanced technical issues with the client to ensure the correct product was purchased and produced.

He then told me that Marty had created a custom widget—something the company did not do because of cost and risk reasons. Marty wanted to please the client, but the client wanted a widget that could do a few very unique things.

He continued, “Apparently, Marty thought of a way to act like MacGyver and rig up the machine to do what the client asked for. He no doubt found some buddies in manufacturing to help him. Well, what he cooked up worked. For three months. Then it stopped working. No, it didn’t just stop working—it stopped my customer’s entire manufacturing process!”

There was silence for a moment.

“Let me guess. It’s going to cost you about forty-five hundred dollars to fix the situation,” I stated.

He nodded. Finally, he looked at me and said, “Now let me guess. You’re going to tell me I didn’t handle that correctly.”

“Let me ask you,” I responded, “how bad was his error? I mean, I’m not an expert in your business, so I’m being honest. We both know there are rules and then there are rules. He broke a policy, but maybe we should think about why. It’s not like he embezzled funds, know what I mean?”

He erupted. “Special orders are against the rules. First, for our specific product line, they aren’t cost effective. Second, they represent a liability we don’t want to take on. He knows better. All of our engineers know that’s off limits.”

“How much of a deviation from standard product design did Marty take?” I asked.

“Not much, really. It was clever, but risky, untested in the field, and it failed,” he replied.

I intentionally remained silent.

“What? OK. Maybe I shouldn’t have yelled at the kid, but he screwed up with a new, potentially big customer,” he said.

“Wait, wasn’t that a customer Marty landed with this sale?” I asked

He didn’t answer. I again allowed the silence to continue.

He held up his hands. “Fine, I get it. You’re saying I should apologize to Marty. I wasn’t serious about that money, either. I just wanted him to understand the scope of his screw-up.”

It’s amazing what you can get people to say without having to tell them to say it.

Then, I had to give the “bumps in the road” speech. Real improvement requires principled risk taking. Innovations almost never simply materialize. Instead, teams have to try things and experiment to see what happens. They mess up. They take small steps. They create half-baked ideas. It’s only through persistent learning that minor—and sometimes large—breakthroughs happen. It doesn’t matter if you’re working with a product, service, product, technology, or business model—it’s a process.

I could see him start to loosen up. He sat back in his chair and relaxed. He smiled. “Maybe I should call Marty in here,” he said and reached for the phone.

“No,” I said respectfully. “I’m not sure how to say this, but the issue today wasn’t just about Marty. Everyone in earshot learned a lesson about innovation. They all heard you out there. They will all certainly remember it later too when they’re thinking about going above and beyond for some little risk that might pay off.”

His brow furrowed. “You want me to go out there and apologize? He messed up, but you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“You both had a misstep today, but you have the biggest status, and modeling the right thing to do could make a difference. I’d go out there so everyone can hear you. Tell him you shouldn’t have snapped. Tell him you’re not pulling that money out of his check. Tell him why he should have approached the situation differently. Then, talk about how you can learn from this. Ask him how he can innovate next time smarter, cheaper, safer, and faster.

“That it?” he asked sarcastically.

“No,” I said. “You should have a picture of you and Marty taken today, and put it in the company newsletter. Use this opportunity to not only make good with Marty and everyone else who was listening, but go further and turn this into a good moment for innovation at this company. In that article, talk openly about his well-intentioned attempt at innovation and what you learned. Use this as a chance to encourage others to try—and try smartly because innovation matters.

He laughed and added, “Why did I hire you?”

Marty—and everyone else—was intrigued to see Mr. President come back out of his office. I was too. The conversation that followed was therapeutic for everyone. Sometimes stepping up to do the right thing and show your ink is tough, but it’s worth it.

Innovation is amazing. It’s vital. It can also be messy. Encourage smart risks and embrace learning; otherwise, when you say you support innovation, you’re just full of hot air. The same thing applies to your individual life too. I don’t want to encourage you to flout the rules just for the fun of it. You do, however, need to push things. That entails risk. Bring it. Otherwise, enjoy being mediocre.