Sticking with the Basics at ChildFund

I have an interesting new role with the executive team at ChildFund, International. I’m trying to fill the shoes of their former director of strategy. She just left to do a little strategic work at a foundation run by a guy named Bill Gates.

Because she left at a critical planning window for the global child development organization, they began looking for someone who could facilitate and guide their planning process even as they recruited a new director of strategy. That’s how I find myself spending big slices of the next six months helping the senior team at ChildFund map out, prioritize and align big buckets of strategic and operational work.

In many ways, the work takes me back to my organizational development work at Luck Companies, supporting key leaders as they sought to implement big changes. It’s real journeyman work, requiring solid process and facilitation skills – along with the ability to remember that I’m not the boss. (That’s sometimes a challenge for me.) My work at ChildFund isn’t to develop strategy, or invent a process. No, it’s simpler (read: harder) than that – they simply want me to take their existing process for their strategic business planning and facilitate it effectively.

Make it better, not different.

Understand. Organize. Facilitate. Clarify. Those words are at the heart of the role I’ll be playing as I partner with ChildFund in the coming months.

Working with Some Real Movers and Shakers

The headline for this post would be a terrible, possibly inappropriate, pun – save for the fact that some of the individuals who helped kick-start VCU’s Parkinson’s and Movement Disorders Center actually call themselves the Movers & Shakers.

It took me a while to get it.

Bad naming schema aside, it’s been utterly fascinating to dive into the world of medical and clinical research in our strategic planning work with the VCU Center. Our biggest job may well be serving as translators for the talented team of researchers and scientists as they seek to communicate the purpose – and promise – of the Center to the community.

The Center sits at the intersection of global research into neurological disorders, and serves as a gateway to some of the 300,000+ Virginians who have Parkinson’s, Huntington’s or essential tremors. The core focus is research, but there is a clinical care component, as well. At the heart of the Center, however, is the heart of its core team – dedicated researchers who passionately want to solve complex neurological mysteries, and build meaningful relationships with patients and the community.

As we wind down our work with the Center next month, we hope to set the three-year-old Center on a clear course of research and patient care – supported by an organizational structure and an outreach arm that can make its message visible.

Letter from John: The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday

My friends who spend time in the world of Navy SEALS -- either by exercising in a local park, or engaging in more serious work overseas -- are familiar with the motto of the highly disciplined special ops team:

The only easy day was yesterday.

It's a nice phrase. It's simple, clear, sort of catchy. And it's slung around a lot during a mentally and physically grueling qualification training. Slung around for a reason -- 90% of NAVY SEAL candidates drop out during training, unable to take the intense demands.

The work of any successfu l leader is to recognize that every day can be hard. If you're leading well, and your team is growing, the days gets harder and more complex -- more often. If you're leading well, and you're learning from your challenges and successes, the harder work begins to become a new norm. It doesn't become easier, but your ability to engage well increases.

It might seem odd for me to be quoting the Navy SEALS but I've recently been thumbing through a book a friend who operates in that field gave me.

"Small Unit Leadership" is built around the very real principle that "platoons (small units of soldiers) seal the fate of armies." The front line leaders of those small units, the sergeants and corporals, can determine the success or failure of armies.

I'd suggest the same is true of any organization. Your front line managers determine the success or failure of your organization.

We recently started new efforts with several organizations focused around targeted coaching to strengthen the focus, skills and leadership of mid-level managers -- small unit leaders, in the military vernacular. While the intention of our coaching work with these managers is not to put them through Navy SEAL training, our team believes that effective coaching involves a lot of stretching, clear outcomes and accountability.

It's exciting to be able to add another dimension to the work we can offer our clients, and to see our management/leadership coaches, Debra and Jim, apply their unique talents.

Of course, it adds to the complexity of our work. Raising the bar on ourselves as an organization is in our DNA, and it often means that the only easy day was yesterday.

That, we'd argue, is the nature of doing our best work.

Playground Perspective: Maintaining an Energetic Beat

I'm not an emotionally expressive guy. Which explains how I found myself parenting an exceptionally expressive daughter with Nikole; they both exist in my life to teach me important things.

Thea combines the frenetic energy rattling through my brain with her mother's deep empathy and creative bent -- and then marches steadily to her own beat. Usually not in the direction I'd like her to march.

She&# 39;s also relentlessly curious.

It would be maddening if she weren't such a happy kid. Okay, sometimes it's still pretty maddening. Mostly, it's sort of wonderful. 

I delight in watching her burst into her own day after day:

• She might have had the BEST DAY EVER at the Virginia State Fair this past weekend, and she didn't even have any fried food! (Seriously, do you know how happy we were to discover the King of Pops selling his natural popsicles near the tractors? Very happy.) Watching your child explode with delight as she swirls around in a spinning teacup ride can't be beat.

• But you really haven't lived until your four-year-old dances around the house singing Cyndi Lauper songs. (Thea singing, "Oh, daddy dear, you know you're still number one, but girls they want to have fun..." has an entirely different energy than the original version of that song.)

• Did I mention her curiosity? Thea and I sat on the couch the other morning for 20 minutes talking about chimpanzees and watching Jane Goodall videos. She explained where trees came from on an evening walk with me last week. That was after she explained transportation to me...

None of this is new to some of you, but I find I'm constantly amazed by the restorative energy of children, and by the unique energy of my own child.

There was a version of me that wondered where that energy went as we aged, only to discover that much of it goes into protecting ourselves from others.

When I let go of the need for control, for protection, that's when I find myself leaning into a conversation of curiosity, inspired by possibilities for change and disruption, mesmerized by someone else's story. It is hard -- HARD -- to do. I count myself fortunate that I have created a job that allows me to be so open to others.

I can climb onto the teacup ride, dance around the kitchen and explore the world of Jane Goodall almost every day in the work that I do. I enjoy this version of myself much more -- it reminds me, when I glimpse it in the mirror, of a small child I know sleeping just down the hallway.

Letter from John: Looking Up

Lately, I find myself looking up. A lot.

I recently had lunch with a senior executive at a large corporation who expressed exasperation with a team responsible for leading big cultural change in her organization. "I just don't understand why this team seems so overwhelmed allof the time," she said.

The team in question reported up to this executive, who frequently reviewed the team's work and made recommendations. She never failed to have recommendations, and ideas for more work...

"Look up," I suggested. She stared at me. I think she was annoyed. I continued, "I know it sounds trite, but it strikes me that the team is responding to the way it is being led. You simply aren't giving them breathing room to be great."

I went on to share that every time I was in the organization, priorities had shifted. New tactics and initiatives were constantly being introduced. The team in question -- and most of the rest of the employees -- spent much of their time reacting as they leaped from project to project. Not incidentally, it seemed that she triggered much of the ever-shifting cascade of priorities.

"People are professional boss watchers," says Jay Coffman, my old boss, friend and mentor. And too many leaders are professional people blamers -- surveying their employees and teams for evidence that things are not going well. That's not leading, no matter how well-intentioned -- that's bad management.

Too often, I see leaders who simply don't practice their leadership. That practice is as simple as standing in front of a mirror or asking team members to help replay their engagements, and provide feedback. Our team at Floricane knows that the cornerstone for effective leadership is a constant state of critical self-awareness -- and an active belief that change starts with each of us.

I say active belief, because I continue to run into leaders who nod sagely at the idea that how they show up, engage and behave is the most important part of their job at work. They nod sagely, and quickly shift the conversation to others.

Sometimes, there are good reasons to shift the conversation. The leaders I work with are stretched past capacity, as are the teams and organizations they're leading. The stakes feel higher than ever. And, so often, external issues feel more pressing, more important, than focusing internally on the development of self -- or others.

I think the core issue is simple: looking in the mirror is serious work! Looking in the mirror, or asking others how you're doing, is UNCOMFORTABLE. It requires humility, and integrity, and a willingness to change.

Self-reflection is hard stuff! Bringing your best self to your work with, and for, others demands discipline. I stumble more often than anyone I know. Some days, I can be a complete train wreck. It's helpful when I can spend a little more time checking my own performance:

• Looking in the Mirror: Change starts with me. Before I walk into a room, I should focus on how I need show up in order to benefit the others in the room. What outcomes do I hope to create? What do others need from me? What will success look like from their perspective? How do I know this? Can I ask them before we get started?

• Watch the Video: I know I can't be perfect in the moment, so I spend time trying to "autopsy" my meetings and conversations. How could I have engaged differently? Is there an opportunity to check in with someone else to review the tape from another perspective? Do I have an opportunity to follow up after-the-fact with new information, or better perspective?

Neither of these activities, as time-consuming as they can be, is useful if I don't care about improving myself -- or being in service to others. Because I want the people I work with to thrive and grow, and live into their best selves, I find that it is time well spent. And it is some of the hardest work I do. I know you feel the same way.

Playground Perspective: The Art of Losing Isn’t Hard to Master

I've got news for poet Elizabeth Bishop. The art of losing is really hard to master. Of course, that's the point of her poem, "One Art", which emphasizes that we spend our lives losing, and preparing for more loss, harder loss.

Last month, we lost a cat. Harvey, a cute 'fraidy cat who had been part of Thea's entire life, did not come home from the vet. The 'fraidy cat part is important -- in Thea's world, Harvey was a feline uni corn, a mythical beast that wandered the periphery of her life. He spent most of his time with Thea hiding in a closet, hugging the shadows, slipping beneath furniture.

His biggest fear since she was born in 2008? That the child would pet him.

Still, we knew that his de ath would rock her world. We didn't anticipate a shift in her mental pantheon that would elevate him to become one of the most important things in her entire universe. For a week.

Day One, a Friday, was hard enough. We suspected that Harvey would not be coming home, and let Thea know that he was sick. We all snuggled on the couch and gently stroked him, and said goodbye. And then Nikole and I took him to the vet, and stayed with him, and said our own goodbyes, as he fell asleep under the anesthesia. The doctor euthanized him after we left.

Nikole and I were both broken-hearted, but Thea seemed to take things in stride once we came home. She didn't realize that he was dead until Saturday morning.

"Dad," she said, as we snuggled on the couch together early that morning, "will Dr. Hiser mail Harvey back when he gets better?"

Talk about crisis communication.

In short order, Thea knew that Harvey was dead, and was not coming home. She cried for two hours. It was rough.

At bedtime, she laid in bed and sobbed for an hour. "I miss Harvey so much," she wailed. Never mind that Harvey existed only on the periphery of her world. That wasn't really the point. For the first time in four years, something very real had vanished unexpectedly from her life.

That night, Thea curled in my lap as I told the story of Thea the Pirate Princess and Harvey. Heavy on the symbolism, it involved Thea setting sail on her pirate ship the Lucky Bucky. Thea and her crew of fierce pirates (her two small cousins, a fat Chinese cook and our dog, Rilo) took Harvey to an island at the edge of the world, where he slipped off into the jungle with his mother, chasing butterflies. (Hello, C.S. Lewis.) It seemed a good idea at the time, but it triggered another hour of sobbing.

Sunday was a little better. And Monday.

It's said that every significant loss in our lives reopens previous losses. But what about our first loss? What prepares us for that?

If the last few years has taught us -- all of us -- anything, it's that we are all faced with change and loss and challenges that we can never anticipate. When the economy evaporates, and the social and political landscape shifts with it, no one is immune. I talk to people every week who are trying to reinvent their lives on uneven ground, or attempting to reconcile their new world with their old aspirations. It's difficult, heart-breaking stuff.

It's never hard letting go. It's sometimes even harder grabbing hold of something new and unexpected. It's unfamiliar, uncomfortable. It feels too soon. We're not sure we're capable of moving forward.

It's been almost a month since Harvey died. Last week, as I was tucking Thea into bed, she leaned into me with tears in her eyes.

"Daddy," she said. "I miss Harvey so much."

"I miss him, too, sweetie," I replied quietly. I asked her what had made her think of Harvey.

"When we were going to the library today, momma and I passed a graveyard and it made me think of him," she whispered. She paused. "Dad, will you tell me about Harvey on the Lucky Bucky tonight before I fall asleep?"

Sometimes, we remember what we've lost. In those moments, we need to be able to lean into people we love, and feel their understanding. In those moments, we need stories, and memories, to hold us together.

The moon has just risen above the lip of the sea, casting a beautiful glow around the shape of Thea's rainbow pirate ship as it splashed through the waves. A bright moonbeam danced through the mast and sails of the Lucky Bucky, and in the shadows the slender shape of a small cat could be seen as he chased a moth through the skies...

Landing NAMI

It’s always nice when we have an opportunity to work with an organization whose mission hits close to home. The National Alliance on Mental Illness Virginia (NAMI Virginia) is focused on improving “the quality of life of Virginians with serious mental illness through support, education and advocacy.” It’s a big mission for a health issue whose big footprint is too often invisible.

I encountered mental illness in a visible way as a college student at Virginia Commonwealth University. Learning to understand and support – in a useful and caring way – several people who were central to my life at the time who suffered from mental illness proved to be one of the hardest, and important, growth steps in my young life. Lacking resources, I fumbled my way through these relationships – often doing as much harm as good, despite the love I felt for my friends.

As an adult, I understand so much more – but there is still much to learn. In my work with Floricane, I have opportunities to support and engage people from all walks of life, facing a variety of challenging circumstances.

Poverty, sexual violence, literacy, fragmented communities – in their own way, each organization we support addresses big, often frightening, issues. I’m not so sure that mental illness doesn’t remain the most hidden of them all.

Regardless, it’s an important issue for all of us. And we’re excited to be partnering with NAMI Virginia as they explore the ways in which they can strategically strengthen and focus their work.

Pitching FIRST CHAIR

It’s official – the joint Richmond Symphony/Floricane leadership and organizational culture program has a name, and it’s tuning itself for the upcoming 2012-2013 season!

FIRST CHAIR, a co-creation of the Symphony and Floricane puts up to 80 employees from a single organization on stage with as many as 60 musicians from the Richmond Symphony – plus Maestro Steven Smith and Floricane’s John Sarvay. In a facilitated, in-the-moment musical experience, participants sit elbow-to-elbow with the musicians for a live performance, and deconstruction, of an intense piece of classical music. Along the way, lessons in collaboration, innovation, change management, organizational effectiveness and leadership are woven into the discussion.

FIRST CHAIR was piloted last spring with a team of 80 leaders from HCA’s Chippenham/Johnston-Willis campus, and it was a huge hit. Since that first session, key Symphony staff – including advancement director Frazier Millner, executive director David Fisk and business development manager Elyse Jennings – have been ironing out logistical details and discussing FIRST CHAIR with more than a half-dozen businesses interested in the experience.

It looks like the next run of FIRST CHAIR is set for the first week of December – with subsequent sessions on tap for early 2013.