Читать книгу Self Leadership and the One Minute Manager: Gain the mindset and skillset for getting what you need to succeed - Ken Blanchard - Страница 8

Steve cleared his throat and looked around the conference room table. “Welcome, everyone.”

After months of preparation, this was the moment he had been working so hard for—his first ad campaign presentation. And he was more than a little nervous. The ten men and two women sitting before him were his clients, and they would decide if his campaign was acceptable for the upcoming year.

Steve distributed spiral-bound copies of the campaign proposal to the eleven vice presidents and then handed one to Roger, the president of United Bank.

“I’d like to begin by reviewing our budget.” Steve directed their attention to the projector screen, where he presented the budget amounts allocated to design, production, and media buys. He discussed his media recommendations and the rationale behind each one. Next, he explained the underlying thinking that had gone into the creative part of the campaign.

“Any questions?” Steve asked.

Around the table, people shook their heads. Steve sensed they were just waiting to see what the campaign was going to look and sound like. “All right, let me move on to the creative approach we’re recommending.”

Directing the presentation from his laptop onto the projector screen, Steve revealed storyboards for the proposed television commercials. Next, he showed preliminary print ads and direct mailers. Finally, he read the radio ad scripts out loud.

When his presentation came to an end, Steve took a deep breath and waited to hear what they thought.

At first, no one spoke. The silence stretched uncomfortably.

Finally, one of the VPs said, “You took a much lighter approach than I thought you would, but maybe that’s good—it projects a friendly bank.”

Another VP spoke up: “You’ve obviously put a lot of time and effort into this campaign.”

After another awkward silence, all heads turned to Roger, the bank’s president.

“This is garbage,” Roger said.

Stunned, Steve went blank. He simply didn’t know how to respond. He nodded his head as though he were trying to shake out a thought. “I guess we’ve missed the mark,” Steve finally managed. “I’ll go back and talk to the creative team. I’ll be back in touch next week.”

Steve didn’t remember how he got to his car. He found himself driving—but not back to the agency. There was no way he could face his team. Thank heaven his boss, Rhonda, was out of town. He needed to find a place where he could be alone and think. He also needed a good cup of coffee. Driving through an unfamiliar neighborhood, he happened upon a place called Cayla’s Café. He went in hoping to find relief.

He gazed around the bookstore café with its solid wood tables and matching heavy wood chairs. It was a very different place than the high-tech chrome and high energy of the ad agency. He found solace in the cavelike coolness, and was warmed by the smell of coffee.

What had gone wrong? How did things get so far off track?

Steve ordered a mocha and let the warmth of the mug seep into his palms. After this latest fiasco, he was sure to be fired. As he thought about it, he was surprised he had gotten this far.

Five years before, Steve had felt as though he’d won the lottery. Rhonda, cofounder of the Creative Advertising Agency, had hired him straight out of college with a degree in marketing. He’d taken an entry-level position and quickly worked his way to lead production manager in charge of several large accounts. Last year he’d served as coproducer of the industry’s awards program for outstanding ad campaigns.

Four months ago, Steve felt flattered when Rhonda gave him the opportunity to bypass the typical career path as a junior account exec on a larger account and take the account exec role on a small but well-regarded account—United Bank. Rhonda told Steve that she wanted to empower him, and that this was the perfect time to do so.

Steve saw his promotion as his chance to prove himself. If he could make a mark with United Bank, he could soon take on the more prestigious, big-budget accounts.

Or so he had thought. Now his confidence was shattered and his future in question. The meeting had unnerved him. The more he thought about the bank president’s reaction, the angrier he got.

In a blinding flash, Steve realized the real source of his failure—it was Rhonda. She’d abandoned him! Where was she when he needed her and when everything was falling apart? Why hadn’t she warned him that the client was a nightmare, that the copywriter on his team was a whiner, and that the art director was an egomaniac? Rhonda was the one person who could have saved him from this humiliation, but instead, she’d “empowered” him. He had trusted her and she’d fed him to the wolves.

Now that he had proved to be a failure, Steve was sure Rhonda would fire him. He decided to beat her to the punch. She wouldn’t fire him—he’d quit! He pulled out a yellow legal pad and pen to begin drafting his resignation letter.

He was just writing the first sentence when his attention was drawn to a group of young children trying to muffle their laughter as they gathered under a rustic sign claiming the area as Cayla’s Magic Corner. He watched as a small, vibrant woman moved in front of the children and sat down on a simple wooden stool facing them. She rested her forearms on her thighs and leaned close to them. Not saying a word, she gazed intently at each child. Steve could have heard a pin drop.

“I am Cayla,” she said softly, enunciating each word as though revealing a great mystery. “And I am a magician.”

She told them about an old Indian mystic who taught her the art of mind over matter. To demonstrate, she pulled out two rubber bands, entwined them, and pulled and tugged to show that they could not be separated.

Milking the tale for all it was worth, Cayla claimed she could separate the two bands using only the power of her mind—and then she did so. The children roared their approval. It was truly magical. Steve regained his focus and went back to writing his resignation letter, losing track of time.

“Did you enjoy the magic?”

The voice jolted him out of his deep concentration. Steve looked up and saw Cayla standing beside him. He rose awkwardly and held out his hand.

“Sorry, I hope you didn’t mind—it was fun to watch you. You’re a good magician. My name is Steve.”

“Mind? Not at all,” the woman said as she returned the handshake. “I was hoping you’d join in. My name is Cayla.”

“I like that name.”

Cayla smiled. “Thank you. My parents loved the name because it means ‘empowered’ in Hebrew. Maybe that’s where I get my magical powers,” she said with a laugh.

Steve gave her a wistful smile. “I remember when I believed in magic. I also remember how disappointed I was when I realized there was no such thing as magic. But don’t get me wrong—I still appreciate the skill behind the tricks.”

“You don’t believe in magic,” she said with a sigh. “Too bad, because it looks as though you could use some.”

Steve was too startled to reply. He’d had no idea he was that transparent. Cayla pulled a chair over from the adjacent table and sat down, motioning for Steve to sit as well.

“Listen,” she said, gazing at Steve with the same intense eye contact she’d given the children earlier. “You are obviously a businessman, yet here you are in this bookstore at midday. You’ve barely touched your coffee and scone. Something is bothering you.”

Encouraged by her compassionate smile, Steve told Cayla his sad story, beginning with his excitement and pride at being given his own client after less than two years with the company.

“But it wasn’t long before my dream turned into a nightmare,” he explained. “Even in the initial client meetings we struggled to establish an advertising budget. I had developed media and production budgets in the past, but I couldn’t tell the client what was appropriate for them. Nothing in those early meetings confirmed their good first impression of me or the agency—and it went downhill from there.

“There was no budget, no goals, and no strategy. I didn’t know how to direct my creative team without an agreed-upon advertising strategy. The client drove me crazy—no one could agree on anything!”

Cayla nodded thoughtfully as she listened to Steve pour out his side of the failed client relationship. “What about your creative team? Did they help?” she asked.

“Oh, they’re another story. Creative people are worse than spoiled children. I tried to give them direction, but it was like herding cats. When they asked for more specifics, I tried to explain that the client couldn’t agree on a strategy. But it all fell on deaf ears. They just told me that it was my job to figure out what the client wants, even if the client isn’t sure! How am I supposed to do that? Finally, I demanded they come up with something—anything—that I could show the client. So they did.”

“I’m afraid to ask …” Cayla’s statement trailed into silence.

“That’s why I’m here. It was a fiasco. The client hated it. Heck, I hated it. I knew it was no good, but it was all I had.” Steve was holding his head in his hands as though the burden was too much to contemplate. “I’m sick to death of the whole creative process. I’m not creative, so I have to depend on my team, and they’re totally undependable! It puts me in a no-win situation. How am I supposed to manage the creative process when I’m not creative?”

Cayla pressed on. “So what do you do now?”

“I’m writing my resignation letter,” Steve said matter-of-factly.

“Hmm,” Cayla said thoughtfully, “Quitting?”

“Yeah, before I get fired,” Steve responded.

“Why don’t you go to your boss for help?” Cayla asked.

“It’s too late. What can Rhonda do now? We’re probably going to lose the client—and she’ll blame me, even though it’s not my fault.”

“Whose fault is it?” Cayla asked.

Steve shook his head, feeling even more betrayed by Rhonda. “Isn’t it obvious? When Rhonda abandoned me, it all fell apart. Now I’ve even lost confidence in the things I used to do well, like budgets, media, and production. I didn’t realize advertising is such a dog-eat-dog world. It’s not like I thought it would be,” Steve lamented.

“Just like the magic,” Cayla interjected. “You loved magic when you were naïve and could suspend your disbelief. But now you are disillusioned by it, because you realize there’s a trick behind the magic.”

“I’m not sure there’s any trick behind succeeding in this business. If there is, no one has bothered to show me,” Steve said defiantly.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, it sounds as though you’re full of excuses—a poor victim of circumstance.”

Cayla’s comment struck Steve as harsh and he replied defensively. “What do you mean, ‘a victim of circumstance’?”

“I mean a person who refuses to accept responsibility for the situation he’s in. It’s easier to blame everyone else around you, rather than accepting responsibility for yourself,” Cayla replied without apology.

“Hold on. You can’t blame me for what’s happened. Rhonda’s expectations were unfair. I didn’t get the support I needed from her or from the creative team—I could go on and on,” Steve asserted.

“So,” continued Cayla, “Rhonda should have known better than to delegate the account to you and give you the freedom to do your job, right?”

Steve was a little annoyed—and surprised—at the turn the conversation had taken. Yet in his heart he knew she had a point.

Cayla’s eyes filled with empathy and in a soothing voice she said, “Right now you’re feeling confused and unsure. You sense there’s some truth in what I’m saying, but buying into it would mean that you must be the responsible one—not Rhonda, your client, or your temperamental creative team. Somehow that doesn’t feel fair. You’re even feeling a little scared.”

Steve stared at Cayla, wondering how this woman could know all that. It was as though she could read his mind.

“Let me explain,” Cayla offered before Steve could ask. “I can’t read your mind. As a magician, I’m a master of observation, although right now you’re not all that hard to read.”

Cayla looked straight into his eyes. “Steve, years ago I was in a boat very similar to the one you’re sinking in. Fortunately for me, I met a wonderful guy known as the One Minute Manager. What he taught me created such a miraculous change in my life that I call it magic. I’d like to pass that magic on to you.”

“Magic?” Steve asked incredulously. “I think I need more than smoke and mirrors to deal with this mess!”

“It isn’t in smoke and mirrors,” Cayla said flatly. “The magic comes from self leadership.”

Steve was quick to reply. “Leadership might work for the One Minute Manager, but I’m not a manager—let alone a famous one. I’m a lowly account executive with a manager who doesn’t support me—not when it counts.”

Cayla lifted an eyebrow. “That’s how it looks from where you’re sitting now—which is on the pity pot.” She smiled as she said it, and Steve couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “You have to turn the problem upside-down,” Cayla continued, “so that you’re the one on top. It’s time to stop looking for excuses and start proactively leading yourself.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, but I don’t believe in pop psychology or magic bullets,” Steve said glumly.

“I need you to suspend your disbelief, as you did when you were a child watching magic and believing. I need you to believe in the magic of self leadership,” Cayla said.

Steve half-grinned as he asked, “All right, what’s the trick?”

“Actually, there are three tricks. I’ll share them with you when you are ready.”

“How do I know when I’m ready?”

“You are ready for self leadership when you accept responsibility for your own success.”

“You mean I have to stop blaming Rhonda, my creative team, and the client and look in the mirror at what I did or didn’t do to succeed?”

“Yes,” she replied. “You need to stop thinking of empowerment as a four-letter word and realize that it is a grand opportunity. You need to start taking the lead to get what you need.”

There was a long pause as Steve pondered Cayla’s challenge. Finally, he said in a soft voice, “I think I get it. Rhonda empowered me to do a job, and I failed to take the initiative and responsibility for succeeding in it. I played the role of a victim. The problem with being empowered is that when things go wrong, you have no excuses. There’s no one to blame but yourself.”

“Here’s the truth of it: There’s only power in empowerment if you are a self leader.” Cayla waited for Steve’s eye contact. “Remember:

“Empowerment is something someone gives you.

Self leadership is what you do to make it work.”

“I obviously failed the self leadership test. But I can’t afford for my résumé to reflect that I was fired—even if I deserve it. I’ve got my resignation letter almost finished. I need to get it to Rhonda before she gets back from her trip,” Steve declared.

“Whoa!” Cayla held up her hand. “There you go again with the pity party! What happened to self leadership?”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Steve argued. “I’m taking the initiative and quitting!”

Cayla shook her head and laughed. “There are times when quitting is appropriate, but this isn’t one of them. Why are you so convinced you don’t have a chance? No one has actually warned you, have they?”

“No, but I know what she will think,” Steve said defiantly.

“Steve, is this statement true or false? ‘People are not mind readers, so it is unfair to expect them to know what you are thinking.’”

“True, with you being the possible exception,” Steve said with a smile.

Cayla smiled back. “So if Rhonda can’t possibly know what you are thinking, how are you so sure you know what she is thinking?”

“You have a point,” he said.

“What about this statement? ‘It is in my own best interest to take responsibility for getting what I need to succeed in my job.’”

“I guess the responsibility is mine,” Steve agreed hesitantly, “but I’m not sure what to do.”

“Follow me,” Cayla said.