I’m forty miles from the mill—I’m droppin’ it into overdrive
The little blue Toyota pickup was mostly used for hauling loads around the parking lot. It rarely took to the streets. It was my first time with a manual transmission, but since we were confined to the grounds and maxed out at second gear, how hard could it be?
Still, all my more-experienced colleagues insisted the truck’s clutch was wonky. They told me that I wasn’t learning to shift properly because the clutch was so weird. "If you ever want to drive a real stick shift," they'd say, "you'll have to learn all over again." I naively believed them. What did I know?
All this was way back during my days as a professional carpenter for a regional theater outside Philadelphia. Our scene shop, where we constructed the sets, was across the parking lot from the main stage, which meant that we had to perch our larger creations on the back of the trusty blue Toyota, rumble carefully across the lot, and assemble them on stage. Easy-peasy.
Jump forward several years later, and my wife and I were moving to Canada so that I could go to grad school. We had to get a new car, but our budget would only cover a little hatchback with a manual transmission, which was cheaper than one with an automatic. This was a bit of a dilemma. We needed the car primarily for my wife’s long commute to work, but she had never driven stick. Since I would be taking the train into Toronto, we decided to prioritize her mastering the manual transmission while I sat it out.
That meant, I had my own personal chauffeur for nearly a year, which suited me just fine. For some reason, though, it didn’t suit my wife. Eventually she grew fed up. So, one fateful day we found an empty parking lot—flat and wide open. It was time for me to conquer the stick shift once and for all.
I slid behind the wheel, convinced that everything I’d learned in that blue pickup with the bum clutch was just plain wrong. My heart pounded. My palms were sweaty on the wheel. I pressed the clutch, put it in first, and . . .
Well, what do you know! I was off in a jiff, shifting smoothly into second and then—the terra incognita—third. After some practice in the lot, I aimed the car onto the street, and in no time I was in fourth. Turns out that tootling around the theater parking lot years before in that little blue truck had been all the lessons I needed. It fact, whatever the quirks of that supposedly wonky clutch, they probably made me a better manual driver.
Yup. That whole time my wife was chauffeuring me around—ah, the good ol’ days—I could actually drive stick pretty well and had no idea! My wife was mystified and a little miffed. (Sorry, baby. I really didn’t know!) Since that day, I’ve stuck to driving stick.
This memory makes me wonder, though. What other hidden or forgotten talents are buried inside me? And, if I can lose track of my own skills because of silly assumptions (and bad advice), how often have I missed the hidden talents of others?
Now, if you’re a regular reader, maybe you’re thinking, “How is he going to soup up this anecdote into a leadership lesson?” Well, hop into the passenger seat and buckle up as we prepare to zip down the leadership highway.
But, before we get on the road, a little detour into the back alleys of teaching.
One of the most damaging potholes teachers must avoid from the outset is making assumptions about their students’ knowledge.
When they meet a new class, the temptation is to think, “Oh, this bunch knows all sorts of things from previous classes.” Or, they may decide with no evidence that students don’t know squat about particular topics. Either conjecture will be as inaccurate as most uninformed guesses, thus pretty much guaranteeing a rough ride for everyone right from the starting line.
In contrast, good teachers treat each new class like they’re taking a car for a test drive. You wouldn’t just hop in and peel out into the street, I hope. First, you’d scan the dashboard and get to know where all controls are, adjust your seat, and reset your mirrors before shifting into gear and hitting the accelerator. Similarly, the best teachers scrutinize their classes to uncover what their students know and don’t know and then craft their lessons to everyone's advantage. Doing so helps smooth the road for the rest of their trip together.
I’ll bet you’ve been that student stuck in a classroom with a teacher who acted like you should know things you’ve never been taught. Or, just as bad, the class where the teacher constantly explained things you’d known for years. When I started as a professor—sad to say—I was that teacher. Thankfully, my early students had few compunctions about showing me the error of my ways and setting me straight, often with a rude bluntness endemic to adolescents.
As I’m always saying, how it goes with great teaching, it goes with great leadership.
For the leader, each new team member arrives with a unique set of skills, knowledge, and gaps in their knowledge. It’s not just common courtesy but absolutely crucial to introduce them to your ways and ease them in. I’ve not only been that lousy teacher, but I’ve also been that new guy on the team drowning in a lake of unfamiliar jargon and inside references. And, let’s face it, there’s only so many times you can ask for clarification before it grows real old. It’s incumbent upon the leader to assure the newbie is up to speed and to foster a culture where colleagues readily do the same.
Similarly, I’ve been that employee who rolled in with a small Toyota truckload of skills and experiences only to be treated like I just landed my driver’s permit. There's nothing quite as soul-crushing as being persistently underestimated by your new boss and colleagues.
Worse still is when the boss is the newbie but makes bogus conjectures about an established team and its members. If you’re ever a leader in that situation, whatever you do, don’t fall into assumptions about what your new team knows and doesn’t know. Otherwise, like that presumptuous teacher, you won’t get much past the starting line before you’ve pancaked any hope of fostering trust into roadkill.
Furthermore, even when you and your team have been together a long time, no matter how well you think you know your people, be sure to appreciate that they may still surprise you with new knowledge or abilities. Or, like my secret stick-shifting skills, they may uncover talents or learning they didn't even know they had!
The human mind is a puzzle, a maze, a conundrum. Scientists and philosophers have made incredible strides in exploring the inner workings of our noggins, but it sometimes seems that each new discovery only uncovers more mystery. So how’s a leader to cope?
It really boils down to relationships and culture. You must create an environment where your team members are welcome to share their thoughts, concerns, questions, and criticisms. That way, even if you accidentally overstep (or understep), they can simply tell you. Sort of like my students calling me out—only, I hope, a little more politely.
Great leaders work to build relationships and cultures that eliminate assumptions. They engender mutual trust, transparency, and open communication. It’s an ongoing process, sure, but well worth it. What’s more, great leaders also ask (and answer) a lot of questions, and not just when they’re new! Dump the assumptions and give it a try. Thrill as you discover your team’s unexpected skills. You never know who might turn out to have that secret ability you need. They may even know how to drive stick.
What bogus assumptions have been made about your knowledge? What erroneous assumptions have you made about others’?
Great leaders learn to avoid making assumptions about their team, and I can help.
Unlock the Great Leader Within! Download my free resource, the Transform To GREATness Toolkit, now!
I look forward to hearing from you.
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