Personal Growth

“Forgiving is letting the captive free only to realize that the captive was you.”

The quote above has been attributed to several people (Smedes, Eldridge, assuredly others) and leads to the question I want to pose today:

Who do you need to forgive?

I was recently listening to a favorite parenting podcast about teaching your kids forgiveness. But my mind moved to work, as it often does. Like a slap in the face, I realized there was someone I was not forgiving.

Their actions were subtle. To be sure, they’re not immoral actions. Just enough to create tension. Or put more accurately, enough to hold me captive.

I am the problem.

Not them.

For I was allowing my perceptions of what they were doing to get under my skin. And the ugly thing is that, despite my best attempts to hide, this was producing in me all the kinds of things that I write about on this blog: gossip, discontentment, frustration —which is the politically correct way of saying I was pissed off.

In the next post, I am going to turn to anger and how becoming the captive—not forgiving—gives the other person the power. But for now, I want to focus on forgiveness.

Forgiveness is releasing the grudge. It severs the anchor and releases the ship back to sea. It allows you to steam ahead to the future.

Forgiveness is not forgetting. In fact, forgiveness is a more intense version of remembering than it is forgetting. It simply remembers in the proper context: This happened. I felt this way. I contributed this to the situation—we are always culpable to a certain extent. And still, it releases the feelings of anger, bitterness, and the necessity to have a bottle of antacid by us at all times.

To be sure, it is not magic. Like water, it is best to consume daily. And when the temperature is turned up, it is best to have a big jug of it with you at all times.

The only question left to ask is who do you need to forgive?

Stop whatever you are doing and write that name down.

Set yourself free.

I’ll never forget my first sales experience in product development. Our product design engineer had created an incredible concept for a new product we hoped to introduce to the market. It was savvy, sharp, and initial feedback was incredibly positive. Before long a big brand had signed on and we were off to the races! The honeymoon would not last long….

The prototype did not work as we expected. Specifically, the concept for tamper evidence did not function properly. We were under the gun as the brand needed product in the big-box stores for their fall launch. I had never experienced stress to that magnitude before.

I felt like we had somehow failed. I did not feel like anyone on the team had individually failed. In fact, I loved working with that team! They went all out, working around the clock—weekends included—as one person even skipped their niece’s wedding! I just felt a sense of obligation to “get it right” for the customers (in this case there were multiple parties involved). Our “delays” were really stressing them out, to put it mildly, and that was further giving us a sense of foreboding.

Thankfully, we somehow pulled it all together in the end. And the product that we ended up with was in many ways better, especially the tamper evidence, than the original concept. Many of us commented at the time that we “hope we learn our lessons” and “never go through this again.”

We were wrong.

What I have come to realize is that the “disaster” is a necessary attribute of product development.

The “disaster” experience is not a mistake. It is, and should be, part of the creative process. Getting it right the first time not only limits creativity, but also assures mediocrity. It robs the team of its creative prowess. (And it is always a team. Pixar, Apple, IDEO, it does not matter. The solo-creator is one of the most damaging myths in the business community).

I encourage leaders to understand this reality. It is not helpful when we get all pissy because engineers are once again sitting in the conference room making a product better. (Note how silly that sounds). Demanding that “they get it right” the first time is a complete misunderstanding of how the creative process works. We need to rather focus our attention and energy on building the appropriate time and budget into the project.

This, of course, might not be possible in manufacturing. In the story above, we kicked off the second week of February and had to deliver parts by the first week of August. There was no room for negotiation, it was “take it or leave it.” In retrospect, as the commercial lead, I should have been more forthcoming with the brand about the expected turbulence to come. I should have set the table more realistically. They might not have liked such honesty, they might had even considered working with someone less honest. But like the passenger who has been informed of the upcoming turbulence before take-off, they probably would have felt more assured about who was flying the plane when the turbulence inevitably came.

Similarly, as leaders, we need to set the table more realistically internally when the next developmental project begins. We need to expect the twists, turns, and inevitable bouts with turbulence. We need to realize that most ideas—most blog posts even—suck at first. We need to encourage our team to “make things better” nevertheless.

That assumes, of course, that getting better is part of our plans.

Mediocrity demands less. Mediocrity is even okay with “good enough.”

Let’s not be.

Let’s embrace the disaster, and get better.

I had a recent conversation with my trainer, Jimmy, about the counter-intuitive nature of bodybuilding. He was challenging me prior to one of our last sets of the session, “your body is going to be screaming ‘go faster’ and burn through this set, I want you to overpower your natural emotions and continue to work the muscle in the way this exercise intends to.”

Halfway through the set —it was excruciating —I was reminded that this advice pertains to all areas of life, business especially.

As I frequently write and talk about, organizational life is reactionary these days. Everyone is on the run, everyone is busy, and there is little time to spare. Organizationally, “pounding through the last set,” is sending a reply-all to the 33rd email in the chain (that sort of thing never happens at Hoffer Plastics…), rather than having a one-on-one conversation with the main person you need to connect with. It is assuming the worst when your team member writes or says something–again in email–that can easily be misconstrued, and venting to all the other team members without having a crucial conversation with the person who said it. It is “taking the issue off-line,” getting 38 people around the table (okay 38 is a little bit of an exaggeration but you get the idea) and everyone throwing logs on to the fire without anyone actually stepping up to be accountable for resolution. It is the sense that a lot was just discussed, and “we have a plan,” but three days later that “plan” hasn’t even left the gate for take-off because nobody is captaining the plane.

The examples are endless. They’re all hurried, sloppy, and not efficient in the long run, just like sloppy workouts are.

“Everyone is busy” is often the excuse, isn’t it? But isn’t the real reason that we lack discipline? Slowing down, properly trouble-shooting an issue, and deciding who is accountable, often brings with it the “lactic acid” that a burn-out set does. There is burning and pain, but in the end there is also progress.

This kind of execution and efficiency is counter-intuitive. If it was not, more organizations would be wildly successful.

Doing things the right way is never easy.

As I have said before, often the best decision or strategy is on the other side of your comfort zone. In a world of constant virtual connectivity, slowing down and aligning with fellow human beings is anything but comfortable.

(On that note, if you are reading this Jimmy, I don’t pay you to go light. If it does not suck, we are not doing it. See you tomorrow at 6 a.m.).

And since training fires me up, I’ll end with the question I ask myself every Friday morning when I am driving down Randall Road in the pitch black of the early morning:

How bad do you want it?

I have to ask this question because I am always tired, and it’s always tempting to take the easy way out.

If you want your organization to be mediocre, you don’t have to do embrace the pain.

You can even sleep in.

If you want to improve, however, you have to embrace the counter-intuitive nature of slowing down and acting with discipline.

You have to rise and go.

Occasionally, I get some candid feedback about this blog. Recently, someone told me, “Some of your blog posts are good, others are not so much.”

This is not the only time I have heard someone say that. (And let’s be honest, it probably is an accurate assessment!)

The choice —and even if you are not publishing a blog for the world to see, you still have this choice —is whether or not you are going to let feedback like this slow you down.

Haters will aways hate.

Creators will always create.

It is your choice.

I’m posting this, so I have already made mine.

I need to start by saying this is not good-bye. As I thought about this day many times over the last few months, I have comforted myself with the thought that your house is right around the corner. But I have to admit that I hate this.

Don’t get me wrong, I am happy for you. While I grew up watching the example of my grandfather who never retired, you taught me that retirement is a gift for the team members (our family members!) at Hoffer Plastics.

Of course the organization will miss your relentless pursuit of being the best molder in the building, and probably in the history of Hoffer Plastics. Of course, I will miss that too, but it is not what I will really miss.

More than anything else, I will miss the conversations we had waiting to fly to North Carolina, or Montreal. I’ll miss being stuck in the Air Canada Club with you for eight hours, and hearing your perspective on operational leadership. I’ll miss your emotion. Manufacturing is hard, and there might not be crying in baseball, but you have taught me that there is some crying in manufacturing! You have always cared deeply, and that care has NEVER wavered. It shone through in all our talks, and I have always come home feeling, “Thank God Rocky is on our team.”

Transition is hard, emotional, and flat out weird. The last six months have been difficult, and I am extremely thankful for your grace during this period.

I’ll always be grateful for the sacrifices you, Brenda, and your family made as the company grew. And I’ll also be forever in your debt for not telling my parents about that one time I was at your house during High School.

But that would incriminate us both, so some tales are best left untold!

Your slice is still wicked at times, so I hope that retirement helps that! I’m sure I’ll get to see the progress. When are we playing?

Thank you.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

You have made a tremendous impact on my life.

I hope we can make you proud as the ship leaves the dock with a new captain.

I believe we will.

But I also know it will never be the same.

I love you.

Alex