A chapter of a large international organization had just laid off staff due to a looming budget deficit--the first layoffs in its history. You can imagine the talk in the halls about how dire the situation was, how tenuous the future looked.
At the same time, a small team was preparing for a staff retreat that would kick off a strategic planning process. One member of the team argued, with considerable passion, that time must be allowed for people to vent and grieve, out of respect to the staff's feelings in this difficult time.
That's the conventional wisdom: We must "meet people where they are" and give them a chance to say what's on their minds. It seems the honest thing to do. Only when all of the difficulties have been confronted and handled can we start looking toward the future.
Makes all the sense in the world, but I feel weary just writing that, much less going through it. What we have here is the metaphor of organization as machine: All we have to do is fix what's broken and everything will run perfectly, or at least well enough to chug along.
What if we approached our personal health that way, finding every possible fault with our bodies, focusing on fixing all the defects before we let ourselves start to do the health-promoting things that will make the biggest difference in our lives? We'd be so preoccupied with our hangnails that we'd never get around to riding a bike, meditating, or eating well. We might even worry ourselves to death.
What's more, we just assume that being authentic and honest requires sharing every thought that crosses our minds, including angry ones. Instead, research shows that such venting only escalates feelings of anger and often does little to move people forward.
What happens when we set aside the standard practices that require us to identify and fix problems as the first order of business? What if we ask people to talk about their best moments and highest aspirations, rather than their grievances, even when they are in situations that appear to be difficult? What if we treated the organization as a living system and searched for what gives it life?
The retreat was designed from that unusual stance. The facilitator opened the session by asking staff to tell stories of recent successes, those projects and accomplishments that they felt represented their best achievements.
The planning team had expected only a handful of people would speak. To everyone's surprise, dozens of people stood to talk about their high points. Several eager hands were still in the air as the facilitator reluctantly moved to the next part of the agenda.
Susan, a much-admired staff member, had arrived at the retreat in a skeptical frame of mind. As the meeting came to a close the following afternoon, she quietly remarked to the people at her table, "Now I know we can do the impossible."
Perhaps the retreat would have worked better for some if time had been provided to air complaints. I expect there were some who felt the "real issues" had been swept under the rug. But they were few in number, even fewer than the retreat's planners had imagined. And perhaps even they began to experience a different reality as they heard their colleagues' stories.
The way I see it, the meeting was designed to show respect for people like Susan, those who have in them the kind of energy that moves a group forward (perhaps just waiting to be released). What would have been gained by subjecting her, and the many like her, to an airing of grievances? What would have been gained by sweeping under the rug their accomplishments, their pride in their work, their hopes and dreams?
A group always has a finite amount of time to do its work. So it's crucial to ask: what will move us forward both quickly and effectively? Do we spend time dissecting and attempting to solve all the problems we can find, or do we move directly to a higher level?