People who know me well tell me I’m a waffler. They don’t mean it as a condemnation of me but just as a statement of fact: one of those inevitable flaws that we accept, understand and (when we need to) exploit. I often flip-flop on issues, questions, points-of-view, opinions, courses of action . . . well, you get the picture. I guess my less-than-friends would say I’m indecisive. But that’s not true.
I’ve seen too many situations where truth is ignored in the defense of a decision.
The Johnson and Nixon White Houses became so invested in staying the course in Viet Nam that they couldn’t really question what the hell we were doing there in the first place. They left that to the young people of the day.
GeoW and his cabinet of thugs are so intent on executing their plan to turn Iraq into Iowa that it is impossible for them to acknowledge the obvious: that this has been a horrendous mistake.
In my own industry, real estate, brokers have found it impossible to admit that their decision years ago to build their business around agents instead of consumers was an error. Today, as a result, they give away 70 -80% of their gross to agents and try to run their businesses on what’s left. Yet, when they moan about their low profits, the only solution they see is to recruit more agents.
It’s like taking a road trip to Canada. You drive for a couple of days and start to wonder why you haven’t crossed the border. Finally you discover that you’re actually going in the wrong direction and are headed into Mexico; so you speed up.
Like smokers, we become addicted to our bad decisions.
Not me. I am a human being and am endowed (!) with the ability to constantly reassess my situation and make adjustments to my behavior based on what I see. As John Hiatt says: ‘we can choose, you know we ain’t no amoebas.’
I make things in my business. The end result of much of what I do is a thing: a book or a program or an event or a class — something like that. Usually I’m running a team of individuals to produce the thing within the confines of a budget and on a predetermined schedule. My team members tend to be good technicians, well versed in their own specialties and able to produce the pieces they are responsible for. They are well organized and precise. It drives them NUTS when, halfway through a project, I learn something new that has implications for what we’re doing; and tear the whole thing apart to make adjustments.
Poor Allison. She worked for me back in the 90s. She was a treasure; probably the single most organized person I ever met. She carried a Franklin Planner and recorded everything and could quickly locate any information anybody needed. Her files were immaculate, her desk pristine. Her entire being was structured around timelines and deadlines and step one, two, three. She was the embodiment of precision: not a single hair was out of place. Poor child.
Her frustration with me was immense. We’d have these team meetings and I’d come in and change everything and she’d start ghasping for breath and flipping back in her Franklin saying, ‘Wait a minute! On July 14 at 10:07 a.m. you said . . . ‘ Still, she was a good trooper and usually got with the program, a hair or two out of place.
Although we acknowledged the difficulty and spent quite a bit of time talking about how we could work together without driving one of us (her) looney, the reality was that I had a style and a reputation for producing extraordinary results. While she was a very valuable part of the process, the idea that we’d change that style and jeopardize that reputation so that she could be more comfortable was absurd. A few more hairs slipped out of place; a smattering of grey began to appear.
One particularly bad day, after a team meeting where she had become so upset that she pounded the table while making her point, I stopped by her office to discover her gently sobbing into a Kleenex.
‘Oh, my God, Allison — what’s going on?’ I asked closing the door behind me.
‘Ha!’ she came back. ‘Like you don’t know!’ She pulled the tissue down from her nose to quickly wipe an errant tear that had splatted on her open Franklin.
‘The meeting? Oh; the meeting.’ I said sitting down across from her. ‘I know that had to be hard on you.’
‘Hard on me? You just don’t get it, do you?’ There was anger to the point of hatred in her voice.
‘Yeah, I think I do. I know that we have a plan and everyone gets busy doing their own . . . ‘
‘Stop. You really don’t get it.’ She stood up and turned to look out the window. ‘It’s like you come in my office when I’m not here and pee all over my files!’
It’s an image I now bring to my mind every time I change a decision. I still make decisions the same way, still change almost anything — but I do see myself peeing all over others peoples stuff in the process.
But I’m not ashamed. I’m proud. It’s a gift: the ability to so clearly see the merits in almost any point of view. The flexibility to be comfortable and effective in any situation. The willingness to tear everything up and start over to produce a better result.
It’s people like Allison who make life comfortable. It’s people like me who keep it fresh.