Malcom Brown

You have an underperforming Team Member?

Here's what I do.

I lean in.

The 'lean in' concept means something else to those who embrace the Sheryl Sandberg idea - I have a different definition.

I get very close to a problem area. I lean in.

I ask questions about it. Get to know it thoroughly. Meet with the workers that execute the process and find out how it works.

Choosing where to lean in is an art. We can't be over-interesting ourselves in every gap in the team.

But where a process is not working, where a team member is not performing, where the results are not there - it's time to lean in.

Sit next to the hotspot.

It's not micromanaging. That's when goals are set and KPIs are measured.

Leaning in, is where we get under the hood and seek out every meticulous detail. It's microinspecting.

And often what you thought was the problem often becomes something else.

#leanin #performancemanagement #microinspecting #businesslinguist

Passion for the job is used to justify a lot of bad workplace behaviour.

It's used as an excuse for crossing the line.

"Sorry, I'm just passionate about my work."

Often said after upsetting a colleague about some task that needed to be done.

To me, passion can be irrational. It's being zealous, not commercial. It can be fiery, not composed.

Passion for the job manifests as pushing through, jumping queues, imposing on colleagues, ranting, raving, throwing weight around, standing on toes, being belligerent.

Whereas persistence and explanation will get the job done more effectively and in line with commercial goals.

I know I'm at my most unhappiest when I'm comfortable.

I don't think I'm alone with that.

Looking around, I reckon those who have found a comfort zone are the most miserable.

Getting long-term cozy and safe lacks stimulation.

I'm sure we're all designed for growth and if there is no growth, we shrink.

Happiness is looking forward, expecting something, anticipating stuff, desiring more.

We need the ongoing fueling and stimulating sustenance. We need to be creative and productive.

Turning off all the senses and living comfortably doesn't let any of this happen.

No need to act dangerously, just adventurously.

I've always worked with guidelines.

Instead of rules.

Newbies appreciate rules. They need to be assured they are doing the right thing and not upsetting anyone.

New starters in any team want to know the rules so they can comply.

Rebels break the rules and generally just make a mess of everything.

These unschooled workers become outliers and either need to be redirected or shown the way out.

The true artist masters the task and executes from guidelines. They work from expectations and goals. And values.

The best team members, the true artists, I've seen are those who:

• are certain who they are servicing

• acknowledge the rules but consider them secondary

• know the systems and the processes and how they can be manipulated to achieve the goal

There is much to enjoy at work when you achieve that level of mastery.

I've always wanted a lifestyle job.

For me, it works better than seeking a work/life balance.

A lifestyle job has:

• stimulating tasks

• fabulous work location

• great working relationships

• inputs that enhance my life

• access to ideas and challenges

• an energising work environment

• services around me that I can use

• flexibility to meet my personal needs

• ability to connect with my family as much as possible

Might not be everybody's lifestyle, but it's a lifestyle that suits me.

I've got a lifestyle job now.

Those who don't have a lifestyle job, hanker for a lifestyle business. They think they want to be:

• a cozy cafe owner,

• an exotic tour guide,

• a mobile content creator going from beach to beach .....

The reality rarely translates to a lifestyle business.

I remember when I was in my 12th year of teaching and the turbulence of the profession motivated me to just want to mindlessly wash dishes in a cafe - surely that was less exhausting.

I bought a cafe and the glamour of that enterprise expired within 6 months. It didn't create the lifestyle I was after.

My current lifestyle job does.

I did an interesting pen and paper exercise last night.

Got an A4 sheet of paper, and drew a line down the middle.

With my favourite fountain pen, on one side I wrote the heading 'Energises'.

On the other side, I wrote the heading 'Drains'.

And under each, I listed the things that energise my life, and the things that drain it, respectively.

Both columns included people, events, activities, pastimes, tastes, sights, actions. Everything.

Now they've been surfaced, the idea is to work on removing the drainers and allowing more space for the energisers.

I'm pleased to report that there are many more energisers than drainers.

I'm down to the last few drainers, but I'm finding them difficult to remove.

I'd classify the handful of drainers as bad habits.

I'm committed to making changes in routines and finding someone to keep me accountable for these changes.

For me, the act of writing surfaces things.

I recommend it.

It's the oddest experience.

I'm working on an office floor known as the focus floor.

The expectations are that noise levels be library-like.

Old-style library-like noise levels. (Not sure what libraries are like these days, TBH)

People are moving around softly, speaking in hushed voices and gently closing meeting room doors.

It's so stressful.

Any sound above 2 decibels is loud.

Whispered conversations can be heard from the other side of the room.

A dropped cup or a banged chair is cacophonic.

It was a relief to go to another floor where the conversations were liberal and the noise level a hubbub.

Maybe knowledge workers are not used to focus work?

They're used to headphones, background music and the low hum of traffic. A constant noise.

Sustained focus work, working in the flow, is a skill that needs to be re-learnt.

There's the one big thing that slowed my productivity levels.

I've worked it out and all is now good.

I was caught in the trap of the constant dopamine exposure.

For me, it was when I looked for social media likes.

The regular online checking for likes distracted me, became mind-numbing, and after an hour or two, I'd done nothing.

I posted, I commented, I challenged - and then I waited for the online thumbs up.

It took a while to realise it was happening.

I thought that was my lot - plenty of great creation ideas, but no time to get them created. And when there was time, my brain was foggy.

I felt dull and uninspired.

And it was because I was caught in that dopamine exposure trap.

What have I done about it?

Simple.

At the beginning of every day of the week, I write my To Do list.

Ticking them off is now fulfilling my dopamine rush.

The feeling of completing a list is greater than waiting for online 'likes'.

I said it was simple.

There is one common thing about each successful stage of my life.

This made a difference to the trajectory of my career and my life.

For each stage, I've had a coach.

Over time, there have been different coaches for different purposes.

And what they've shown me has been different to what they teach.

I'm reading Andre Agassi's autobiography 'Open' and he talks about his coaches. Obviously, in sport there are coaches for finessing the techniques and tactics of the game.

But Agassi had more than that.

He had a coach for his disorganised thoughts.

Another for his troubled soul.

Another for logistics and emotional support.

For me, my standout coaches have been:

• two teachers at High School who each showed me the beauty of enquiring

• a comedy coach who showed me the possibility of entrepreneurship

• a work coach who showed me the possibility of intrapreneurship

• a finance guide who showed me the way people see the world

And now.

I'm looking for my next coach. A coach that drives me further. A coach who can sort through my avalanche of ideas and efforts.

Anyone?

Ever been to a meeting with multiple presenters?

Here's one tip.

Each presenter needs to be ready to present when their turn comes.

This means the next presenter moves to the front of the room just as the previous speaker finishes their presentation.

They need to be ready to be called to start speaking.

This keeps the meeting moving. The momentum continues.

The time taken for one speaker to hand over to the next is dead time as the second speaker waits to be called to the front.

The handover is seamless if the second speaker is already at the front, ready to speak.

It makes the presentation appear slick.

And subconsciously, the audience senses the context of the next agenda item.

It's a small thing, but we're all made up of small things.

Working the merry-go-round in the centre of Canberra was my favourite job.

I had two shifts a week. The job was to collect the tickets, then start and stop the carousel. As well as keep everyone safe.

It was an old thing. It was originally running on the St Kilda Esplanade, then bought by the Canberra Civic Council in 1974.

1975 was when I started working on it.

I was first nervous about jumping on and off the moving carousel, but I soon couldn't get enough.

Each turn went for four minutes.

The horses, the two elephants all had names. (I often wondered how 'Morse Code' got his name?)

It felt like being part of the circus.

Things got a bit rowdy on Thursday nights (late night shopping) and plenty of teenagers tried to get a free ride.

Didn't worry me, so long as there was no damage to the horse's mane.

It's all relevant, isn't it?

Other merry-go-round supervisors would chase the teenagers off the carousel. It would often escalate.

So long as they weren't too disruptive, I ignored their harmless rule-breaking.

Better than driving 130 kmh along country backroads as a dare.

Adam Goodes is an articulate representative of his culture and a strong advocate for justice for all.

He not only speaks his thoughts, he acts his vision.

There is much to respect in this man, particularly his strength of character.

But I've often wondered what he thought of other prominent indigenous people who weren't similarly outspoken.

The ones who are strong in their culture, but not publicly active in their determination to address the wrongs they see and experience.

We've seen Stan Grant, Eddie Betts, Nickie Winmar, now Cyril Rioli, calling out their poor experience.

But others don't. Not publicly anyway.

I asked the question.

As Adam said, it's tough making a statement against racism. The avalanche of negative response to anyone who makes themself visible in this environment can be overwhelming.

And threatening.

I have no idea how large this wave of racist trolling is on social media, but with more indigenous people pointing the finger, surely it will start to dissolve soon.

There's a lot of talent out there.

There's even more in your team.

Most teams are like an iceberg.

The confident, the articulate, the loud are visible above the waterline.

But that's only one-tenth of the mass.

The critical mass is below the waterline.

The knowledge workers in your workplace are backroom people.

They prefer not to be up front, or even visible. That's why they take a backroom role.

They're the chefs, not the maitre de's.

But being not visible doesn't mean they're not to be listened to.

Being not loud doesn't mean they have little to offer.

Not just hard work, but ideas, suggestions, improvements.

They need to be sought out and given the space to make a contribution.

And their contributions need to be given weight.

The best leaders I've had were the ones who sought and tabled my contributions. They gave me a seat at the table.

I watched a speaker at my Toastmasters club last night and there was something discomforting about his speech.

It wasn't the content.

It wasn't the topic.

It wasn't the tone.

It was all in the delivery.

The body movement and gestures were out of sync with his speech.

A simple example.....

The speaker wanted to make three points, but gestured with two fingers.

And also this.....

During the speech the speaker slammed his fist into his other hand for emphasis, but the sentence that was being emphasised was delivered about 3-4 seconds earlier.

It was incongruent.

I get this with coaching as well.

It's not unusual to work with people who are out of sync with what I observe in their behaviour.

They lack congruence.

They say they like red shoes, but wear black shoes.

Admit it, you like black shoes!

The best people I work with are congruent. Their level of self-awareness helps growth to occur.

The toughest discussions are those with people that lack self-awareness. They lack congruence.

They would seem to have ignored feedback over the years.

For everything on my task list, I only need to know one thing.

For every meeting I attend, I only need to know one thing.

Every ask, every event, every problem to be discussed - I only need to know one thing.

It's ....

........ What is the expected outcome?

Once I know the outcome - the task, the meeting, the ask, the event, the problem has a purpose.

I usually know what to do next.

I also might query your outcome and question its value.

It might even mean that I have a different job to do.

Once I've clarified the outcome, I make an assessment on whether it's worth my time.

It might surprise you how many things disappear when there is no outcome that adds value.

I'm all about maximising outcomes and impact, and minimising output.

How does that sound to you?

The three words that make me nervous.

In any one-on-one meeting.

Chatham House Rule.

It's usually said by the superior in the room.

And it's normally an attempt to generate some criticism of a colleague or, more likely, another superior.

Criticism without retribution.

Definition: When a meeting, or part thereof, is held under the Chatham House Rule, participants are free to use the information received, but neither the identity nor the affiliation of the speaker(s), nor that of any other participant, may be revealed.

I clam up. I'm not playing.

I don't 'dump' on others without saying the same to them face to face.

It's unethical.

I lose respect for the other person.

They're setting up an environment of gossip and behind-the-back chatter.

Chatham House Rule?

Run a mile.

I can't read a book of historical fiction or fact without this one thing.

It needs to have a map.

• If it's a journey, I need to see a route.

• If it's a battle, I need to see the terrain.

• If it's a hometown story, I need to see the landmarks.

Maps set the context and give me the overview I need.

But more than that.

I think a great map is a gorgeous piece of artwork.

An illustrative historical map of the original lands lets me step into that time.

That's why Social Studies was my favourite school subject. Give me a textbook with a map and I'd want to read the story of every location.

I even remember mapping the local urban landscape from my pushbike over 4-5 weekends for some school project.

(I tried to master Adobe Illustrator to draw my own maps, but that was beyond me. Unfortunately.)

If a storybook doesn't have a map in it, it's no good to me.

In the late 80's I went to see Rolf Harris in concert.

At the Palais Theatre in St Kilda.

It wasn't cool then.

Harris' mate Harry Butler lived up the road from us in Garratt Rd, Bayswater, WA; and Rolf Harris himself grew up in a neighbouring Bassendean.

Harris was a performer, quite popular and I thought there was some heritage connection with myself to justify me checking out his craft.

I had an interest in the performers' techniques and he was a performer.

The concert included the usual hit list of songs, broad brush paintings and the inevitable wobble board.

What stood out were the jokes. The patter in between the songs.

They were the bluest jokes I'd ever heard. It was extreme.

And comfortable.

The contrast of 'Two Little Boys' book ended by foul language and gutter humour was acute.

It just made the experience unpleasant.

It was jarring.

We now know that Rolf Harris spent a life creating unpleasant experiences.

My son and I went to see Tina Turner at the Grand Prix after-party in Adelaide.

It was November 1993. He would have been 8 years old.

It was hard work lifting him up to see Tina perform.

We'd spent the afternoon at the Grand Prix and headed to the concert area as soon as it finished.

He couldn't get enough of the performance and continually jostled to get a decent line of sight.

Concert comfort then was nothing like it is now.

He's been an avid concert-goer ever since.

Tina Turner just being in Adelaide was a big thing. To be performing as well, my goodness, we couldn't believe it.

Ayton Senna, the race winner, made an appearance just before she sang 'The Best' (again).

Thanks for the memories.

A common conversation starter is to ask where people grew up.

"Where did you go to school?"

"Where were you born?"

Many podcasts I listen to start by asking the visitor about their heritage.

Place of origin is important to people.

This morning I was listening to an interview with Seth Godin and he was asked a similar question about his background.

His response:

"That's not important. I prefer to talk about ideas."

Place of origin was not a priority to Seth. He didn't want to use that as an anchor or a frame.

He wanted his ideas to be the focus, not his birthplace.

I think we ask about place of origin for two reasons:

1. To see if we can make an easy connection, or

2. To put a person's world view into context

We're all interconnected now.

So, the next time I engage in conversation, I'll be interested in, "What ideas inspire you?" or "What innovative solutions do you bring to the table?"

I'm interested in shared passions and aspirations, rather than geographic origins.