Hi, I'd like to have a really boring meeting with you today.

Can you imagine seeing this invitation in your inbox?

Subject: Hi, I’d like to have a really boring meeting with you today.

When: First thing in the morning (before you have a chance to think).

Duration: 10 minutes longer than I say it will last.

Notes: I’d like to get everyone together because I think I should. Or do you think I should? I can’t remember. In any case, we’ll half-heartedly shift through a variety of topics and try to make progress on passing the time, which is the only item we’ll actually be able to measure. Towards the end someone may bring up something vaguely controversial but we’ll all feel awkward and so it won’t get discussed. The great news is that the content will be so boring that even banal humor will sound hilarious, so bring a feeble joke and you’ll feel like you’re moderately interesting. Wish I wouldn’t be meeting you but I’ll see you there regardless.

If you got this invitation it would take you all of two seconds to press DELETE and move on. But the reality is that every day, most of us sit in meetings basically identical to this. And the harsher reality for me is that I actually run some of them! Ack.

I’ve read two things in the last day that have me thinking about my meetings, my work, and how to make both more effective. The first is Read This Before Our Next Meeting by Al Pittampalli. In this insightful, concise book, Pittamapalli basically asserts two things: 1) we’re all run by our meeting schedule, and 2) most meetings are shockingly ineffective, so much so that they risk paralyzing our work culture. Check and check.

His advice basically boils down to “Don’t point out a problem without proposing a solution.” He contends that most meetings can be dispensed with. In his model, the central purpose of an effective meeting should not be to “decide something,” which only leads to circular discussion, delay, and lack of accountability. Rather, a meeting should be used to present a decision to a problem in order to solicit criticisms of the proposed solution and input on how to implement it.

Pittampalli acknowledges that this approach requires the willingness to write memos (and the willingness to read them). And he spares “work sessions,” brainstorming discussions, and one-on-one conversations, which are at the center of his approach. But everything else — weekly status meetings, management meetings, team meetings, project meetings — gets the axe.

I like it, and I feel like I’ve read similar advice before. What really caught my eye in Pittampalli’s text was not his critique of meetings per se, but his emphasis on recapturing alone time to increase productivity. That second idea is core to a short article by Susan Cain in Friday’s New York Times passed on to me by my friend and colleague Jono Smith. (As always, you can find the link to Cain’s article — and Pittampalli’s book — in the “References” section at the top of this post.)

Writing of “The Rise of the New Groupthink,” Cain contends that the modern push towards collaboration is killing creativity and effectiveness, both of which require solitude to flourish. Unlike Pittampalli, Cain doesn’t spare brainstorming sessions, which she describes as “one of the worst possible ways to stimulate creativity.”

I absolutely loved Cain’s piece. It completely resonated with me and described something I’ve always had a hard time explaining about myself: Why that, for a moderately social person, I need quite a bit of down time to regenerate. My best work, whether it be strategic positioning, analytics, writing, composition, or anything else, always happens through long periods of solitary time punctuated by interesting conversations with people I trust and admire. And the meetings I do value are more like bull sessions than anything else. (I also share Cain’s disdain for brainstorming meetings. Put me in a room of more than a few people to “talk something through” or “come up with great ideas” and I start nodding off.)

Further, Cain puts her finger on a seeming contraction I’ve noticed in our firm. At first I thought it was an outgrowth of a distributed work environment, but now I see it as a larger dynamic in the modern workplace: Many of us simultaneously yearn for more collaboration and at the same time loudly complain about being shuffled into too many meetings. The two are obviously not the same, Cain points out — tight schedules are not the same as increased connectedness.

Taken together, I’ve found a powerful 2012 professional charter in the two articles: Reduce meaningless “group time” designed to either hem & haw about this & that or magically inspire camaraderie; and instead create more productive stretches of solitude for my team and myself.

I’m not sure that I can do it, but given that I’m trying to swear off skepticism, it’s worth a shot. Plus, I’m tired of hearing everyone complain about how they “have so many meetings they can’t get anything done.” That’s really one of the most idiotic things any of us could say about our work, and yet almost everyone I know says it all the time.

Enough’s enough! Never mind the boring meeting — it’s cancelled.

Progress Requires Disruption

A quick post from Orlando, where I’m spending a short, delightful vacation with my family. Using Disney as an example of fantastic customer service is hopelessly overdone. Similarly, using Disney as an example of unparalleled creative vision is just as hackneyed. And yet, the reason Disney is such a tired example of both is that they consistently excel in both areas. And so, I hope you’ll forgive my possible lack of inventiveness as I relate a story from yesterday.

We were at our first real (as in “they will remember it”) visit to the Magic Kingdom. My kids were excited to read about the debut of the new Fantasyland, set to open in 2012. But when we walked past Cinderella’s Castle, we were greeted with a maroon wall. No Dumbo ride, no Toontown Fair. Seems that Fantasyland 2012 isn’t quite ready yet.

I’ve pictured the sign that was posted on the wall.

Now, from my experience there are three ways of explaining construction to customers:

1. “Under construction.” That’s it. We’re just telling it like it is. No explanation of what we’re doing, or why. Just a confirmation that, yes, your eyes are operating correctly. (Sometimes this explanation is paired with with the disconcerting addition, “Beware of falling debris.”)


2. “Pardon our dust.” As in, “Oh dear, ahem, whoops, we’re sorry, we didn’t mean it.” The lacking-confidence explanation.


3. The way Disney does. Disney says, “We’re making something great, and that requires inconvenience, and soon you’re going to be thankful that we inconvenienced you.”

Hear the difference?

I should add two more things. First, this wasn’t the only sign posted. Every twenty feet or so there were quotes from Walt Disney about the future, and progress, and how Disney pursues its goals. Disney took a construction wall and turned it into an exhibit about their culture.

Second, as my kids were standing around embarrassed waiting for their wacky dad to take a picture of a sign, a door we hadn’t noticed opened up in the wall. Two construction workers started to walk out of the walled-in area. They saw my kids watching and held the door open for us. My family got a five-second glimpse of huge earth movers, a massive hole in the ground, a partially-built castle, and lots and lots of busy people. And at the same time all four kids said “WOW!” The two guys smiled at us. Here at a place with wonders around every turn, my kids were amazed by a hole in the ground. From disappointment to amazement.

There’s lots here worth thinking about. The power of culture. The pull of vision. The critical role each person plays. (What makes a worker hold the door open for guests? What makes him even think of onlookers as guests?)

And more than anything, the fact that change is uncomfortable. Progress requires disruption. How do we approach change? How do we discuss it with our constituents? With the enthusiasm that we’re making something great? Or with the fear of falling debris?

Leadership, Change, and My Mom

In early 1999, shortly after the death of my mother, I was asked to write an article on leadership and change for The Magazine of Sigma Chi. In my grief it basically became a eulogy for my mom. Today the grief is gone, although the pain remains; and the thoughts below still ring true for me.

Everything I learned about change and leadership I learned from my mother.

In the sense that the word is commonly misused, my mother was not a leader. She was not an elected official, fighting city hall, pushing with sheer tenacity a massive reform initiative through a recalcitrant legislature. She was not a military hero, storming hills, orchestrating attacks, and accepting with grace the accolades of a grateful nation. She was not the chief executive officer of a major corporation, radically restructuring a failing business around an innovative new product line. She was not a sports superstar, using her charisma and athleticism to mold a rag-tag group of misfits into a championship team.

My mother had no direct reports, no subordinates, no charges; she authored no bills, no laws, no texts, no new philosophies. And before she died of cancer two months ago, I never would have never called her a leader. But now that my family and I begin to understand the enormity of the void her absence leaves for us, we realize, at least dimly, that she truly had more claim to the title of elected official, military hero, CEO, and superstar than any of us.

Mom held us together. She made the weekly phone calls to ask us how we were. Sorting through my letters after her death, I found dozens that served no practical purpose whatsoever. She wrote to say “hello” a lot; the weather is still cold, your father is working on a new project, the cats are fine. She connected my sister and me, separated by a continent, with news and gossip, and provided us plenty of fuel for our inside jokes on just how “fine” the cats were. Mom facilitated communication.

Mom was the first to know when one of us had had a wonderful day—or a rotten one—and she made sure the rest of us knew as well. She had a way of making you feel better than you probably deserved to — but had a way of making you feel like you deserved to, as well. Mom celebrated our accomplishments.

When we were cold, or sick, or sad, she made hot cocoa—not instant hot cocoa with water, but real hot cocoa with milk. Mom took care of her people.

When my sister and I fought over Legos or about who should climb the tree first, she made us share. Mom mediated conflict. She created coalitions. She delegated. She empowered.

In short, Mom was a leader. She never asked for credit, for praise, or for reward — and because she never asked, she never received any, save the undying admiration, love, and loyalty of those she led. Like all true leaders, she operated behind the curtain, leaving for the rest of us the center stage.

Cancer, like most diseases, is cruel. But cancer has a certain evil mystique around it, an ugly reputation: If cancer were a football team, it would wear a black uniform. And when it attacks someone who has taken care of you your entire life, when it attacks your whole frame of reference, cancer seems particularly cruel.

When Mom started fighting her cancer, our lives changed — and hers, obviously, changed more than any of ours. Watching her, our peacemaker, our communicator, our fan, our leader, navigate her cancer taught me much about change and how real leaders channel it.

Change can be painful. Cancer is a change in the body’s structure. The addition of even a few of the most microscopic of cells caused my mother incredible pain in her back, her legs, her abdomen. To counter the change it causes, cancer is fought with a combination of lethal drugs and radiation, which also manifest change and pain in the body.

Mom taught me that correcting a problem can sometimes be as painful as leaving the problem alone. But usually, leaving the problem alone has much more dire consequences than dealing with the pain of change. Leaders realize this fact and are willing to make short-term sacrifices for long-term gain.

Change can be subtle. Recently I had some pictures developed from Christmas. I was shocked and deeply troubled to see how ill Mom appeared. She was gaunt and tired. I didn’t notice it at the time because I was in the situation, in the context, and had no ability to step back and see the bigger picture.

Mom, however, knew what was happening — she began saying the things she needed to say, having the difficult conversations that were worth having. We thought she was crazy. Looking back, I understand that she was looking ahead the way good leaders do. Oftentimes we don’t realize change is occurring until it is already upon us. Change doesn’t always demand that we notice it — leaders, therefore, demand that change notices them. They are intuitive and aware, and understand that small shifts in dynamics can be the signal for massive change ahead.

Change perpetuates change. By the end of her battle, Mom was taking medications to counter the effects of medications taken to counter the effects of the radiation and chemicals used to fight her cancer. Mom realized and dealt with this implication tree without missing a step, never losing sight of the core change driving the others, and never losing sight of her objective. Change creates seedlings, so leaders must see the forest and the trees.

Change is best faced with a willing and positive attitude. During one of my last conversations with Mom, she said, “I’m not ready to die. But if this is how it’s supposed to be, then this is how it will be.” Mom approached her many changes with an attitude that shamed the rest of us. She never complained, and never feared. Leaders understand and embrace change. They realize that their job is to steer the boat along the best current, not push it upstream.

Positive change requires a team. As I look back on our last few months, I’m amazed at how much effort Mom put into keeping the rest of us encouraged and motivated. The number of letters, phone calls, and visits increased substantially. At a time when she had every reason and right to ask someone else to take the lead, Mom actually increased her efforts to keep us together. Leaders understand that precisely because change is difficult, it demands extra effort be put to maintaining the welfare of the team.

But now, the leader is gone, and we try to cope with another change ourselves. We wish for things. With every new morning we revise our wishes; we recalculate our hopes and lower our expectations.

“Today I hope that I don’t cry until mid-afternoon.”

“Today I hope that no well-intentioned but misguided person will share with me their own horrifying cancer story.”

“Today I hope that I only think of the funeral three times.”

I’ve noticed a shift in those wishes, though. They have gradually become more positive. The good days are more frequent — maybe two or three a week now.

As for change, more and more now I understand its biggest attribute: Change isn’t easy — just inevitable. You can harness it or it will harness you. So lately I wake up and make a new wish: “Today I hope that I will embrace change.”

True leaders leave a positive legacy. Thanks Mom.