Two articles caught my attention. In the first, the author, Kevin Hassett, argues that smarty-pants know-it-all Ivy League MBAs are responsible for all the economic trouble we're in today. (I suppose he could be right, but in my experience, Ivy League MBAs are brilliant and creative. Then again, I only know one, and we've been friends since we were roommates in college.) Hassett uses the phrase “best and brightest,” presumably alluding to the term used by David Halberstam to describe the posse of geniuses he blamed for leading the country into the debacle of Vietnam.
I'm not sure I agree with the general thrust of the piece, but one line caught my eye. In describing how these high-powered businesspeople came to believe they were masters of the universe, the author refers to Ohio University research involving 153 MBA students. According to Hassett, the psychologists running the study “observed that the students who had the strongest narcissistic traits were most likely to emerge as leaders.”
An article in Time runs along a similar vein. The author, Jeffrey Kluger, examines a couple of other studies recently published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology. And guess what? The UC Berkeley researchers involved in that effort discovered that “dominant individuals behaved in ways that made them appear competent [...] above and beyond their actual competence.”
I posted the Time article on the door to my office. I hope my employees take two messages from the piece when they stop to read it. First, that I'm engaging in a bit of self-deprecating humor – which I am. Second, that Kluger's advice to “[s]peak up, speak well and offer lots of ideas, and before long, people will begin doing what you say” may be worth examining.
Taken together, the articles suggest that you need to fake it before you can make it. Harvard MBAs may or may not have ruined the world, but before they were in any position to do so, they had to believe in themselves (perhaps a tad too much, but that's a discussion for another time). Bosses may be smart, or they may not be, but they only got to be bosses by being willing to put their ideas out there, and by having the confidence to assume that others will follow.
Leadership is like anything else. You're not born doing it: it takes practice, and you'll make mistakes, and if you have the slightest amount of self-awareness, you're going to ask yourself frequently whether you really belong in the position you've reached. So relax. You might have to fake it for a while. But so did your boss when she was in your job (and then she did it again when she moved up into the corner suite she occupies today). And so did that other manager down the hall whose intellect and leadership skills you admire (and maybe he still is).
You can't do the right thing for the people you are leading if you're not leading. Take a deep breath, and then, as another brilliant MBA I know likes to say, act as if you really have the confidence that you think somebody in your job should have. Before you know it, you will.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Anger Management
Not unreasonably, people sometimes leave their jobs because they are unhappy (usually with their boss). On the other hand, on many occasions, an employee changes jobs because it is simply in their best interest at that point to do so. Perhaps the company is not doing well, and they fear for their continued employment. Or there may have been a change in the employee's personal life – a marriage, say, or the arrival of a child – that necessitates a move. Or, perhaps the employee simply received a better offer from another company.
In that latter case, in my experience, an employee accepting an offer to work elsewhere doesn't simply acknowledge that their current employment no longer meets their needs. Instead, very often, he or she will work up a head of steam first. By the time they depart, they have crafted a laundry list of complaints, and are happy to share them with whoever asks. Indeed, listening to the litany of errors in judgment, unfair decisions, or lack of recognition experienced by the employee, one could hardly imagine how they could have stayed so long. Never mind that the employee was happy enough until the new offer came in.
I've seen this happen over and over again – in fact, I have been guilty of the same behavior myself – and I think I understand why. In your current position, you have friends, colleagues, perhaps even a boss you like, and you feel loyalty to these people. You've been compensated, of course, for your efforts, and the company has perhaps invested in your development through training, conferences, and promotions. In short, somewhere deep inside, you feel like you owe these people something, and that perhaps you are doing the wrong thing by walking out.
So, in order to rationalize your decision to leave, you develop a list of reasons why you shouldn't be staying in the first place. Like that raise last year that wasn't what it should have been, or that idea of yours that never got the attention it deserved. Somehow, it feels better to be leaving a situation that's wrong, than it does to move from a good situation to one that is even better. The former is something you need to do, while the latter feels more like something you just want to do.
Allow me, then, to set your minds at ease. It is acceptable and ethical to move into a new position when you feel it is a better fit for you for reasons personal, professional, or both. Unless you've entered into an agreement to the contrary, your burden of responsibility to your employer is limited to doing your job to the best of your ability, as long as you both choose to continue the arrangement. Most employment agreements are “at will,” meaning that you or your employer can choose to part ways at any time. Employers have good reason to structure the relationship in this way, but it works out for you as well: when you decide to go, you can simply go, with no further responsibility to your employer.
The reason I raise this issue is that I hope that if more people are aware of this tendency, they will attempt to avoid it (as employees) or defuse it (as managers). When I left my last position, I made a real effort (not always successful, admittedly) to make sure everybody understood the change was because I was reaching for something, not running from what I already had. My mantra was, “I love it here, but I need to move on, because this opportunity is unique and provides me with something I've been looking for.” My new job offered more money and more autonomy, and my boss and my colleagues understood that those were important to me, and my choice did not reflect in any way on how much I enjoyed my work with them.
As managers, we can help shape the tone of an employee's separation by understanding and respecting their decision. Generally, when employees have left my team, I have (usually) avoided trying to talk them out of it: I assume that adults are able to make decisions about their own lives. I want to show respect for their choice for many reasons, one of which is that I don't want them to feel the need to create that laundry list of complaints to counter my argument. I want us to part as colleagues who respect one another, and who shared a very positive work experience together. That not only makes me feel better, it also helps avoid situations in which the departing employee poisons the atmosphere during – and sometimes beyond – their notice period.
In that latter case, in my experience, an employee accepting an offer to work elsewhere doesn't simply acknowledge that their current employment no longer meets their needs. Instead, very often, he or she will work up a head of steam first. By the time they depart, they have crafted a laundry list of complaints, and are happy to share them with whoever asks. Indeed, listening to the litany of errors in judgment, unfair decisions, or lack of recognition experienced by the employee, one could hardly imagine how they could have stayed so long. Never mind that the employee was happy enough until the new offer came in.
I've seen this happen over and over again – in fact, I have been guilty of the same behavior myself – and I think I understand why. In your current position, you have friends, colleagues, perhaps even a boss you like, and you feel loyalty to these people. You've been compensated, of course, for your efforts, and the company has perhaps invested in your development through training, conferences, and promotions. In short, somewhere deep inside, you feel like you owe these people something, and that perhaps you are doing the wrong thing by walking out.
So, in order to rationalize your decision to leave, you develop a list of reasons why you shouldn't be staying in the first place. Like that raise last year that wasn't what it should have been, or that idea of yours that never got the attention it deserved. Somehow, it feels better to be leaving a situation that's wrong, than it does to move from a good situation to one that is even better. The former is something you need to do, while the latter feels more like something you just want to do.
Allow me, then, to set your minds at ease. It is acceptable and ethical to move into a new position when you feel it is a better fit for you for reasons personal, professional, or both. Unless you've entered into an agreement to the contrary, your burden of responsibility to your employer is limited to doing your job to the best of your ability, as long as you both choose to continue the arrangement. Most employment agreements are “at will,” meaning that you or your employer can choose to part ways at any time. Employers have good reason to structure the relationship in this way, but it works out for you as well: when you decide to go, you can simply go, with no further responsibility to your employer.
The reason I raise this issue is that I hope that if more people are aware of this tendency, they will attempt to avoid it (as employees) or defuse it (as managers). When I left my last position, I made a real effort (not always successful, admittedly) to make sure everybody understood the change was because I was reaching for something, not running from what I already had. My mantra was, “I love it here, but I need to move on, because this opportunity is unique and provides me with something I've been looking for.” My new job offered more money and more autonomy, and my boss and my colleagues understood that those were important to me, and my choice did not reflect in any way on how much I enjoyed my work with them.
As managers, we can help shape the tone of an employee's separation by understanding and respecting their decision. Generally, when employees have left my team, I have (usually) avoided trying to talk them out of it: I assume that adults are able to make decisions about their own lives. I want to show respect for their choice for many reasons, one of which is that I don't want them to feel the need to create that laundry list of complaints to counter my argument. I want us to part as colleagues who respect one another, and who shared a very positive work experience together. That not only makes me feel better, it also helps avoid situations in which the departing employee poisons the atmosphere during – and sometimes beyond – their notice period.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Free-Fall Leadership Redux
The free-fall continues, as does my role – well, for the next 100 days or so anyway.
Things are unfolding pretty much as I described in my first post on this subject. However, there has been a significant, albeit planned, development: the first round of layoffs has been completed.
Saying goodbye to colleagues under these circumstances has proven difficult for everybody, even though we knew this day was coming. Although some people left even earlier, a large group departed on or about January 29th. The prior week, suddenly, crates appeared in cubes and offices, and the first wave of departing employees became identifiable by the jeans they wore and the cartons they carried.
We'd spent weeks avoiding the fact that many of our friends were on their way out. In the interim, we shared a common destiny: all of us, save a few, knew our termination dates. All of us were part of successful teams tragically linked to a very unsuccessful enterprise, and by and large, we'd come to accept our fate. We leaned on one another for support, and speculated on who might be offered permanent positions, or why the acquiring firm kept one team and not another. We were all in it together.
But this first wave of departures created an earthquake in what was, after all, a fragile and temporary status quo. Prior to this stage, the concept of us all going our separate ways had a surreal quality. Yes, we have been slow to fully internalize the situation, but that's only because we needed some time to process the change.
Now, however, the eschatological nature of our existence demands attention - and acceptance. And the response, as far as I can tell so far, has been anger. Anger at our former leadership, who well deserve it. Anger at our new owners, whose only real crime is being different than what we were used to. Anger at the universe for the way things turned out.
I anticipate, though, that anger will give way to acceptance, as it tends to do in these situations. To help my team get to that place as rapidly as possible, my focus is on counseling them on how to best prepare themselves for identifying and succeeding in new positions. I'll write about that some more in the future.
I'm also very energized by my own thinking about what to do next. I'm far from settled on the direction that I'll be taking, even though I've now got less than four months of employment left. With the economy in the tank, and unemployment approaching 8%, this is not a good time for an executive in his mid-40s to be looking for work. And yet, I'm excited. I like change, and I'm about to undergo a ton of it.
Things are unfolding pretty much as I described in my first post on this subject. However, there has been a significant, albeit planned, development: the first round of layoffs has been completed.
Saying goodbye to colleagues under these circumstances has proven difficult for everybody, even though we knew this day was coming. Although some people left even earlier, a large group departed on or about January 29th. The prior week, suddenly, crates appeared in cubes and offices, and the first wave of departing employees became identifiable by the jeans they wore and the cartons they carried.
We'd spent weeks avoiding the fact that many of our friends were on their way out. In the interim, we shared a common destiny: all of us, save a few, knew our termination dates. All of us were part of successful teams tragically linked to a very unsuccessful enterprise, and by and large, we'd come to accept our fate. We leaned on one another for support, and speculated on who might be offered permanent positions, or why the acquiring firm kept one team and not another. We were all in it together.
But this first wave of departures created an earthquake in what was, after all, a fragile and temporary status quo. Prior to this stage, the concept of us all going our separate ways had a surreal quality. Yes, we have been slow to fully internalize the situation, but that's only because we needed some time to process the change.
Now, however, the eschatological nature of our existence demands attention - and acceptance. And the response, as far as I can tell so far, has been anger. Anger at our former leadership, who well deserve it. Anger at our new owners, whose only real crime is being different than what we were used to. Anger at the universe for the way things turned out.
I anticipate, though, that anger will give way to acceptance, as it tends to do in these situations. To help my team get to that place as rapidly as possible, my focus is on counseling them on how to best prepare themselves for identifying and succeeding in new positions. I'll write about that some more in the future.
I'm also very energized by my own thinking about what to do next. I'm far from settled on the direction that I'll be taking, even though I've now got less than four months of employment left. With the economy in the tank, and unemployment approaching 8%, this is not a good time for an executive in his mid-40s to be looking for work. And yet, I'm excited. I like change, and I'm about to undergo a ton of it.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Inflation in the Online Crime Sector
I'll get back to the employee evaluation stuff at some point.
Today, though, an article in the Wall Street Journal (Feb 2, 2009) caught my interest. The article is derived from a press release issued by PGP, the company that commercialized the free secure email software we all knew and wanted to use, but couldn't, due to the lack of any decent public key infrastructure.
(As an aside: a single desktop license for PGP encryption software runs over $300. Wow! I guess if free doesn't work as a business model, try exorbitant!)
But I digress.
PGP hired some folks to survey the IT community (“43 organizations across 17 different industry sectors”), and found that the cost of an average data compromise event in 2008 rose 2.5% year over year to $202 per record.
This number is important, because the best weapon the CIO can wield in the battle for budget dollars is a set of hard figures quantifying risk. How many customers do you have? Ten thousand? Congratulations – a single inadequate security process can cost you $2,020,000. Think that's a lot? Actually, it isn't: the survey revealed that “[a]verage total per-incident costs in 2008 were $6.65 million.”
When it comes to getting budget for access control, identity management, security, and related matters, it's possible to rely on the newspaper argument. That conversation goes like this: “We can spend a few extra bucks ensuring that our database is locked down, or we can wake up one morning to find your picture in the paper, next to the headline, ‘Executive's Parsimony Results in Massive Identity Theft.’” That position has definite emotional appeal, but in the end, the pure dollars and cents argument wins the day.
Today, though, an article in the Wall Street Journal (Feb 2, 2009) caught my interest. The article is derived from a press release issued by PGP, the company that commercialized the free secure email software we all knew and wanted to use, but couldn't, due to the lack of any decent public key infrastructure.
(As an aside: a single desktop license for PGP encryption software runs over $300. Wow! I guess if free doesn't work as a business model, try exorbitant!)
But I digress.
PGP hired some folks to survey the IT community (“43 organizations across 17 different industry sectors”), and found that the cost of an average data compromise event in 2008 rose 2.5% year over year to $202 per record.
This number is important, because the best weapon the CIO can wield in the battle for budget dollars is a set of hard figures quantifying risk. How many customers do you have? Ten thousand? Congratulations – a single inadequate security process can cost you $2,020,000. Think that's a lot? Actually, it isn't: the survey revealed that “[a]verage total per-incident costs in 2008 were $6.65 million.”
When it comes to getting budget for access control, identity management, security, and related matters, it's possible to rely on the newspaper argument. That conversation goes like this: “We can spend a few extra bucks ensuring that our database is locked down, or we can wake up one morning to find your picture in the paper, next to the headline, ‘Executive's Parsimony Results in Massive Identity Theft.’” That position has definite emotional appeal, but in the end, the pure dollars and cents argument wins the day.
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