An Exercise in Gratitude: A Toast to Xiaowei

It’s said that people don’t leave bad jobs - they leave bad bosses. I’d like to explore the opposite effect – how having a boss who cares about, values, and grows with you can make it ridiculously difficult for you to uproot yourself from your first job.

Rather than attempt to squeeze a list of platitudes into a one-paragraph LinkedIn Recommendation, I’ve taken a page from a series of illustrated stories I’ve been binge-reading on Facebook. So - here are several vignettes that, hopefully, reveal a little bit more about Xiaowei’s leadership, professionalism, and character.

响鼓不用重锤敲

(My interpretation: You don’t need a heavy mallet to get a resonant drum to ring true)

I spent my first weekend on the job trying to impress my new boss. The task Xiaowei gave me was simple – look through a performance management template with fresh eyes and let her know what worked and what could be improved. It was a simple task that shouldn’t have taken me more than a few hours to deliver.

However, my eyes weren’t just fresh that weekend – they were eager (to impress). I took my laptop home and began to rework and redesign the entire performance management template from scratch. I thought hard and worked fast, and before long I’d put together what I was sure to be my magnum opus. True to my alma mater, I added a typical SMU "finishing touch", putting together a few slides describing and discussing my approach and summarising the updates to the template.

You can probably guess how my presentation went. Xiaowei was slightly bemused as I rattled on and on, completely missing the point of the task she’d assigned. I’d rushed to put my consultant hat on, solutioning without first fully understanding the nature of the problem and the needs of my client. But rather than toss my “magnum opus” out, Xiaowei coached me along as we worked backwards from the solution I’d rushed to create, solving the problem together in reverse.

Creating value isn’t about rushing into solutions. It’s about seeking feedback, retaining a learner’s mindset, and iteratively integrating what you’ve learnt as you work together with your stakeholders. Through this initial conversation with Xiaowei and the countless others that followed over our next 3 years working together, I came to deeply appreciate her generosity with feedback, and her commitment to the growth of her team, driven by extensive knowledge and keen experience. Like an experienced drummer, she knows how to modulate and moderate her feedback to help her people grow, enabling us to make the most of our strengths.

上得厅堂下得厨房

(My Interpretation: A true host can rise to the occasion and entertain their guests in the great hall, while still cooking up a storm in the kitchen.)

My closest friends know how I suffer from rather frequent bouts of impostor syndrome. One especially bad episode 2 years ago was triggered by an otherwise-neutral conversation with a senior colleague. They were looking for interview questions for a mid-level role and had turned to me for help. While I didn’t know of any interview questions specifically tailored to mid-level communication professionals, I offered to search for the set of questions I’d been asked when I joined Shell.

“No. I’m looking for questions for experienced candidates with around 10 years on the job.”

It was a rather neutral statement, but it sure hit me hard. It made me question my capabilities and experiences, and made me wonder if I’d just been faking it to make it so far. And – true to form – I let it stew for way too long before I finally spoke to Xiaowei about how that comment had made me feel, and my feelings of inadequacy and perceived lack of readiness for my next posting. Her reply was neither indifferent truth nor coddling consolation. Instead, it struck the right balance of reassurance and reproach.

“Don’t undermine how quickly you’ve learnt and picked up things in the past 2 years. But - the only way to gain 10 years’ experience is to spend 10 years gaining it.”

While it might sound like a trite truism at first, the latter half of Xiaowei’s answer reminded me of the many anecdotes she’d told me about when I’d come to her asking for help and advice. I’d listened wide-eyed as she described difficult and emotional discussions with fenceline communities when she served as communications lead at one of our facilities. I was inspired to keep pressing on with the IdeaRefinery (a programme supporting energy start-ups in Singapore, now known as the Shell Startup Engine) as she shared her own experiences designing and delivering a Social Investment programme that still runs today. I got a little envious of her candour as I watched her discuss and push for change in high-level reputational strategies with very senior Shell leaders, underpinned by confidence gained from her many years as a communicator.

Indeed, the best way to gain a 10 years’ worth of experience as a communication professional is to walk the ground, learn continuously, and reach a level of unconscious competence that underpins a productive debate on strategy. And instead of feeling inadequate and small, I left the discussion with my chin held high, looking forward to the many decades of my own career that I had ahead of me.

“壳”动未来

(The Chinese translation of Shell’s Brand purpose. My interpretation - give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall make the future. It’s also a pun on Shell’s Chinese name “壳” [Qiao], which sounds exactly like the “撬” in Lever.)

You might think that I’m bilingual based on my use of Chinese in the headers. On the contrary, my command of the Chinese language is barely enough to sustain conversation with a 7-year-old, worsened by Chinese Language classes in school that emphasized rote learning and blind memorisation instead of developing a true love for the many connotations and layers of the language, and the culture that underpins it.

And that’s why I sheepishly asked Xiaowei how I should pronounce our company name in Chinese, after trying and failing to figure it out on my own. Was it what I’d heard some Pioneer-generation Singaporeans say – “Xian ke”, or Clamshell? Or was it simply “Ke”? And was I imagining it, or did some of our colleagues also say “Qiao”? True to form, Xiaowei pulled out a pen and paper and started to tell me a story of our brand.

With deft and confident strokes, she draws out the character - 壳. “We used to be called Xian Ke, or Ke, but that keeps your attention on the seashell. It is almost a literal description of the brand trademark, if you think about it.”

She draws a few more accompanying Chinese characters that describe the variants of Ke to ensure I’ve gotten her point and was following along. Eggshells. Conches. A snail’s shell. I nod.

“But – this same character, 壳, can also be pronounced ‘Qiao’. And that’s where it gets interesting, as that refers to a very hard surface, unlike a brittle eggshell. Like geological seams that defined the beginnings of our company. The heavy carapace of a turtle. Or the earth’s crust deep under the ocean where we explore for oil and gas, and the same crust upon which we’re building offshore wind turbines for the future.”

I’d never forget Shell’s name in Chinese ever since that lesson. Later, I found out that this individual who had taught me the story behind our company’s name had also christened numerous Shell colleagues from around the world. Xiaowei gave them Chinese names tailored to match the nuances of their personalities and characters, which could only be done if she knew each of them deeply.

Xiaowei’s commitment to the growth of her team was never just about raising their productivity. It is very much personal – growing our love of a language, restoring our confidence when we’re down, mentoring us to understand our strengths, and in so doing, enabling us to become the best versions of ourselves.