Monday, April 30, 2007
Working with Feedback: MORF
Feedback. I have taught classes on feedback. I study cause and effect and try to be "on" to feedback that is non-verbal.
Yet, alas, I still miss the signals sometimes. And when negative feedback comes in, especially when it's a surprise, I notice that it can really bother me. I wouldn't have admitted that in public years ago but one of the physician leaders I most admire shared the same thing recently.
He was talking about publishing research and how it takes a thick skin to present even the most solid findings to peers, as there is always someone who will slice into you for ill-formed ideas or worse. He said after publishing and presenting hundreds of papers that it still hurts to get bad feedback.
I got some mixed reviews for a public workshop I did for the Fire Service Leadership Academy with the University of Utah's Continuing Education department. I spend a lot more time doing one-on-one coaching and I prefer to teach smaller, more intimate groups. I know my voice doesn't project well in a larger room, so I'll have to start using a microphone, but that's minor.
While I got plenty of good marks, and many wanted to spend more time on the material, I also had some comments about cutting some participants off. Ouch. A class on feedback and some felt cut off. Room for growth for sure, especially when it comes to larger audiences.
What I'm spending more time reflecting on is how hard it was to see or include the good feedback given some of the negative feedback.
I noticed how tempting it was to tilt a bit off-center because I wished I had had more perfect scores. I started to slip into that perfectionistic hole of being angry with myself, worried about what my sponsor at Continuing Ed was feeling, etc.
It took effort to use my own process of MORFing the situation, as in "what do I want more of for myself, for others, for the relationships, and for the future?" This process always transforms negative energy, so I took a deep breath and considered what I really wanted.
What I want more of for myself is to learn more about sequencing learning modules, so I don't end up feeling rushed to make a particular point during a workshop.
What I want for others is for them to have a more organized learning experience and never feel cut off.
What I want for the relationships centers on creating a stronger sense of inclusion and trust.
And, what I want for the future is to keep bringing this powerful body of work on conversations to more people in ever more skillful ways.
If I haven't said it recently enough, I come to this work honestly and consider it life work to continue to deepen my capacity to teach myself as well as others!
Yet, alas, I still miss the signals sometimes. And when negative feedback comes in, especially when it's a surprise, I notice that it can really bother me. I wouldn't have admitted that in public years ago but one of the physician leaders I most admire shared the same thing recently.
He was talking about publishing research and how it takes a thick skin to present even the most solid findings to peers, as there is always someone who will slice into you for ill-formed ideas or worse. He said after publishing and presenting hundreds of papers that it still hurts to get bad feedback.
I got some mixed reviews for a public workshop I did for the Fire Service Leadership Academy with the University of Utah's Continuing Education department. I spend a lot more time doing one-on-one coaching and I prefer to teach smaller, more intimate groups. I know my voice doesn't project well in a larger room, so I'll have to start using a microphone, but that's minor.
While I got plenty of good marks, and many wanted to spend more time on the material, I also had some comments about cutting some participants off. Ouch. A class on feedback and some felt cut off. Room for growth for sure, especially when it comes to larger audiences.
What I'm spending more time reflecting on is how hard it was to see or include the good feedback given some of the negative feedback.
I noticed how tempting it was to tilt a bit off-center because I wished I had had more perfect scores. I started to slip into that perfectionistic hole of being angry with myself, worried about what my sponsor at Continuing Ed was feeling, etc.
It took effort to use my own process of MORFing the situation, as in "what do I want more of for myself, for others, for the relationships, and for the future?" This process always transforms negative energy, so I took a deep breath and considered what I really wanted.
What I want more of for myself is to learn more about sequencing learning modules, so I don't end up feeling rushed to make a particular point during a workshop.
What I want for others is for them to have a more organized learning experience and never feel cut off.
What I want for the relationships centers on creating a stronger sense of inclusion and trust.
And, what I want for the future is to keep bringing this powerful body of work on conversations to more people in ever more skillful ways.
If I haven't said it recently enough, I come to this work honestly and consider it life work to continue to deepen my capacity to teach myself as well as others!
Sunday, April 29, 2007
April Aspens, Tales on Timing
The end of April. An early spring in Park City. Green everywhere. Snow remains on the ski runs to the south like icing drizzled on a pound cake.
Aspens stand out against a blue sky outside my sunroom office.
One tree is completely bare, with a darker bark. The tree to its left has a much lighter bark, symmetrical spreading branches, and only the hint of buds.
The next tree over, nestled in to the spruce outside our bedroom window, has both buds and leaves that are starting to unfurl.
And, the smallest aspen tucked further to the north has leaves the size of dimes already waving in the wind.
Same soil. Same trees. Same location. Different timing. It's like that with us too. My husband, Steve, a software architect and electrical engineer, is likely to take his time, study a problem intently, and craft a very structured solution. I'm as likely to rely on my intuition, experiment, and take the occasional blast or crash that comes with experimenting.
Maybe it's the same with our aspen trees. Some are slow to open up and seem to be assessing conditions and waiting until things "warm up" a bit more. Others are quick to open up and seem to enjoy dancing with the wind that catches the sails of their growing leaves.
In nature, it's easier to appreciate differences and speak of beauty with reverence.
In organizations and in relationships, we too often long for everyone else to see it our way, to do it our way. I've fallen in that hole many a time, pushing others to go faster, take more risks, learn out loud. And, I've been pushed to slow down, be more cautious, consider more options.
With aspens, the main thing we want to know is "are they growing?" There's a lesson here.
As leaders, we should be asking the same question about our people, "are they growing?" Aspens that seem frozen in time in April are quietly generating energy for brilliant bursts of green during the growing season.
Similarly, when we spring a new vision on our people, we must observe whether everyone is growing toward the same light, appreciate differences in timing, and continue to nourish the roots that give energy for growth.
Aspens stand out against a blue sky outside my sunroom office.
One tree is completely bare, with a darker bark. The tree to its left has a much lighter bark, symmetrical spreading branches, and only the hint of buds.
The next tree over, nestled in to the spruce outside our bedroom window, has both buds and leaves that are starting to unfurl.
And, the smallest aspen tucked further to the north has leaves the size of dimes already waving in the wind.
Same soil. Same trees. Same location. Different timing. It's like that with us too. My husband, Steve, a software architect and electrical engineer, is likely to take his time, study a problem intently, and craft a very structured solution. I'm as likely to rely on my intuition, experiment, and take the occasional blast or crash that comes with experimenting.
Maybe it's the same with our aspen trees. Some are slow to open up and seem to be assessing conditions and waiting until things "warm up" a bit more. Others are quick to open up and seem to enjoy dancing with the wind that catches the sails of their growing leaves.
In nature, it's easier to appreciate differences and speak of beauty with reverence.
In organizations and in relationships, we too often long for everyone else to see it our way, to do it our way. I've fallen in that hole many a time, pushing others to go faster, take more risks, learn out loud. And, I've been pushed to slow down, be more cautious, consider more options.
With aspens, the main thing we want to know is "are they growing?" There's a lesson here.
As leaders, we should be asking the same question about our people, "are they growing?" Aspens that seem frozen in time in April are quietly generating energy for brilliant bursts of green during the growing season.
Similarly, when we spring a new vision on our people, we must observe whether everyone is growing toward the same light, appreciate differences in timing, and continue to nourish the roots that give energy for growth.
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]
