Embracing Failure and Risk: Fuel for Growth

This is an excerpt from Chapter 7 of my new book: Rogue Leadership: Harnessing Headwinds to Drive Performance out now on Amazon and Book Depository worldwide.

Copyright ? 2019 by Paul Rosenberg All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used in any form whatsoever without the written permission of the author, except for brief quotations included in critical articles and reviews.

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I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work.

—Thomas A. Edison, inventor

I make mistakes like the next man. In fact, being—forgive me—rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger.

―J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

The glass-framed board outside the CEO’s office featured a nice framed photo of one of the employees. Beneath, engraved in big, bright letters, it proclaimed: “Failure of the Month.” How do you react when you read this?

For most of us, the reaction would probably be laughter, a smile, or just plain incredulousness at the absurdity of such a thing.

Fear of failure drives so many of our actions. At a very young age, we begin to notice we get praise for doing well and feel shame when we miss the mark. Competition is good, but like sex, drugs, and alcohol (not rock ’n’ roll), it’s better in moderation.

The professional world puts a premium on success, driving us to shine and stand out. At the same time, we all need the space to fail and the ability to learn from our mistakes. We are so focused on the “wins,” we don’t give failure its proper due. As a result, we miss a lot of learning opportunities.

In other words, most leaders fail when it comes to failing.

Although it might sound like a paradox, failure should be celebrated in our success-obsessed culture. If handled right, mistakes and failure can guide us back on course.

Unless leaders develop and follow a purposeful approach to failure, using it as a catalyst or tool for improvement, their organization will continue to fail. Because that kind of environment is so common, very few people in business are willing to take risks, push the envelope, or try new ideas. To survive and thrive using this model, we must let go of all we know and approach challenges in a radically different way.

Our childhoods are defined by experimenting—trying, observing, and changing. But when we enter adulthood and become leaders, we move away from that, losing one of the most important traits that can bring about success.

When I was a kid and played around with my chemistry set, I blew up more than a few things—all in an exploratory spirit. In short, I didn’t avoid mistakes and failure, but instead, I learned from them.

When one of the most brilliant business leaders I know sold his business for hundreds of millions of dollars, he succeeded because he paid attention to his failures. Risk-averse leaders block creativity and often get in the way of moving their business forward. Hockey player Wayne Gretsky’s famous quote sums it up well: “I scored more goals because I took more shots.”

We need to evaluate risk in a new light. If we truly want a different world, we have to tear down the old one. That can seem overwhelming to some people. But it doesn’t have to happen overnight. It just has to happen.

Even if your current culture doesn’t embrace risk and failure in a transparent way, you can still learn from the innovation that comes from a “think tank” environment. An effective solution would be to set up a standalone area or department as an incubator for new ideas where failure is allowed, and learning follows from trial and error.

But you don’t need a formal incubator to learn from failure. Every organization can take steps every day to ensure they don’t stifle innovation and performance. They achieve this by capturing and learning meaningful lessons.

Failure has been the greatest teacher in my life. My success rides on the fact that I have failed so many times. Often, I have either not known what I was doing or made colossal mistakes. I have been stupid, arrogant, overconfident, and hardheaded. Just to be clear, though: I am not asking for forgiveness.

I have picked out some top failures. Grab some popcorn and enjoy my pain (my therapist says this will be good for me).

 My Inner Idiot

I was new on the job in a fish-food plant that made pellets for salmon farms in Southern Chile. I saw the plant manager put a fish pellet in his mouth, bite it into two pieces to look inside. I didn’t know what he was looking for, but he exuded confidence and knowledge (not to mention fish-meal breath!). In an attempt to get accepted by the new client, I followed suit. In front of the crew I was coaching, I reached into a barrel, pulled out a pellet, and bit down. The entire crew burst into laughter.

"Gringo, what are barrels for?”

I hadn't paid attention to the safety initiation, but then I remembered: “Um, rejected material?”

“That would be a yes, compadre.”

"Why was it rejected?” I asked nervously.

"Staph infection.”

Then I burst out laughing, mortified and humbled, but enjoying the absurdity of the moment.

My response to my unhappy meal, as well as the crew’s reaction, has served me well over the years. Here are the insights I learned:

• Laughing at your mistakes makes you human, and also creates trust. If you handle the incident with grace, it adds to the folklore of shared experience at work. We not only remember great leaders and their performance, but also their goofball moments: "Remember when Ed accidentally showed his vacation photo in his Batman speedo swim trunks?" It’s always good to be part of the company legends—in a fun way.
• Being dumb also allows you to listen better, without your inner über-leader trying to prove how much you know by getting ready with your response. Communicating is not tennis. Unless your name is Serena.  
• Asking “stupid” questions actually opens the way for creative thinking and can highlight issues everyone else might have dismissed—for example, asking, “Why are we doing this? Do we need to be on this path?”
• Being "dumb" and not knowing it all comes across as nonthreatening, and I have used it to build relationships. It helps us avoid triggering defense mechanisms in others.

According to some of my best mentors, “How you show up is how you show up.” You can decide what that means for you. If you don't know how to fall on your sword when appropriate, leading may be difficult. Recognizing your errors and having accountability keeps you authentic. A colleague of mine once made a significant accounting error, but because she didn't try to hide it, it served her well in the eyes of the company. Doing this well can be an art form.

In case you were wondering: I never did get an infection.

Eating My Own Left Foot

One of my most endearing jobs involved working for an assistant to the mayor of a small city in California. I wrote speeches, served as his aide de camp, met with the public, and handled protocol at events. An exciting and interesting job—except for the weekly council meetings.

The mayor, one of the first Asian Americans in US politics, stood firm as a powerful voice against discrimination. Together, we made a great team, and we would often sit at his koi pond, feed the fish, and map out strategy.

For the Cinco de Mayo parade, I would usually ride with the mayor, but because of the vice mayor’s Latino heritage, he was given that honor. The mayor bowed out and asked for a full report when it was over.

When the parade stopped in front of the grandstand, on impulse, the vice mayor and I decided to have a little fun and run around the car and change seats, much to the delight of the celebrating crowd.

After the parade, I went into the mayor’s office and he asked how it went. With pride and excitement, I blurted out, “It was great, so funny! We decided to switch places, like a Chinese fire drill!”

The mayor remained silent for at least thirty seconds. “What about what you did makes it Chinese?”

He let me sit there for a few moments. I didn’t have an answer. I realized I had offended him and an entire group of people. Language is important. He knew I meant no harm, but he also knew I would learn a great lesson that day about how to communicate. He raised my awareness with grace and wisdom, and for that I have been grateful ever since.

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