In my early 20’s, I was incredibly serious about how others viewed me and whether or not I was being taken seriously. At a friend’s picnic, someone sprayed me with a hose and I was upset because my hair was ruined and my cute outfit had to be taken off to dry. Seriously.
I have been taking that perfectionist attitude to work too. EXCELLENCE demands getting it all absolutely 100% right – right? I mean, you agree, don’t you?
Here’s the thing that working in technology taught me: the 80/20 rule. Sometimes you have to sacrifice something to get to the bigger picture. If your budget is tight and timeline is short and only 80% of the business requirements will be met, can the 20% be handled in another manner?
For those of us who are perfectionists, this is difficult to accept. You have to step back and see the entire view. How much more money will it cost to do it “the right way?” And – as rapidly as things change in today’s world – how long will your “right” design be relevant? What are you really trying to fix? Really dig deep and work together to understand the core issue. Sometimes the answer to the problem is much simpler than you initially thought. Sometimes, there really isn’t an issue at all – but a perceived issue or a misguided process.
Most days I still dress pretty impeccably for work, believing in the mantra dress for the job you want, not the job you have. As I raised my two daughters, however, I cannot always afford to be as impeccably dressed as I would like. But, I’ve learned that it really doesn’t matter what my hair or clothing look like if I am not bringing quality and productive results to the table.
In a large organization, we’re all in it to make money — and not just for ourselves, but for the company. When the company we work for wins, we all win.
In 1999 I had just been thru a divorce, was forced to move from part-time to full-time work, moved into a new home and was raising my daughters, ages six and nine, most of the time on my own. Did I mention I also started an entirely new job? . . . In Information Technology (IT)? . . . On a special project to implement SAP Software? If you have ever worked in IT on the implementation of new software, then you know how much effort, attention to detail and long, unexpected hours it can take.
I, on the other hand, had no idea. I was blissfully unaware.
My job on the IT project team was to translate the business I knew well (employee benefits) into something that would work in the new system (which I didn’t know at all). I sped through an introduction to SAP class; traveled to Boston for a week of intensive training on SAP benefits and then was placed in an office with a consultant to begin to build the system. In just three short months, I was told, I would present what we developed to management. (Even now I am laughing my head off at the prospect that was placed before me.)
I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. Was I scared? No. Terrified might be the better word.
The thing about the project is that no one else really knew what they were doing either. It was a great workplace leveler. All at once, all of us had exactly the same knowledge and experience: We didn’t know what we didn’t know. We were forced to rely on each other and our own wits to solve issues. We had to question everything. Gone were the days when we knew our jobs and knew (rather instinctively) what to do. Gone were the days of sitting in our own cublicles busily creating and solving issues independently. We needed each other.
I learned more in 1 year than I had in the past five years.
Mostly I learned that the workplace benefits the most when each of its contributors work together like connecting gears on a well-oiled machine. And when our employer benefits, we all benefit.
Icy streams of water slide from my hand down my raised arm and sizzle to my bare thigh as I take a long swallow from my sweat-coated glass of iced tea. AAHHHH…refreshed. A breeze runs it’s long steamy fingers through my should-length bob. I inhale the scent of crisp, salty ocean air, mixed with coconut scented sunblock and I curl my toes into the cool depths of the sand.
I wish I were at the beach. But I’m not.
I am actually sitting in my Pennsylvania home, inside my study surrounded by sea shells and ocean themed art. A ceiling fan rustles my hair. So – aren’t you wondering about the sand?
I really do have sand in my study — a recent gift from my 24-year-old daughter — who brings her inner child to her job as a Fresh Foods Manager at Wawa every day and makes sure that I keep the same spirit alive myself. Chelea has been found singing in the deli, handing out Cowtails candy to a coworker who made her day or playing practical jokes on others.
Your inner child is shorthand for your “authentic self”. The thing is, Chelsea gets up every day and brings her whole self to work. Her whole self prepares the food, makes the sandwiches, maintains the inventory, cares about her Wawa team, wants to be proud of the work she does, and wants to have fun while she’s doing it. Is there anything better than enjoying what you’re doing for 40+ hours a week?
Dress for success. First impressions count. Define your own personal “brand”. But the most important thing you can do for those with whom you work – and for whom you work – is to be authentic.
Keep it real. Stick your toes in the sand every once in a while.
When I get ready for work in the morning – or even Sunday night before my work week starts – I do a little bit of mental preparation about the day ahead. What’s on my calendar? Who will need what from me? Should I research or read anything before a particular meeting?
The point is to show up prepared — prepared to contribute your best to whatever activity in which you will engage.
As I know from my daughter (http://www.blondeshavemorerun.com/) – but certainly not from my own experience – runners prepare fastidiously for every event – often for months in advance. Runners don’t just show up.
Recently, a Frontier Airlines pilot (GMA 7/9/2014) did way more than anyone expected in terms of showing up. He bought pizza.
In a rare demonstration of passion and commitment to one’s job, Captain Gerhard Brandner took his own initiative to call Dominos and order pizza for the 160 passengers and crew onboard a flight that was already two hours delayed and had been sitting on the runway for over an hour.
The little things are sometimes the big things. And in all things, the people you work with and for are the most important.
He was man of average build with calloused and greased-stained hands and a weathered face. I feared his anger with a respect that needed no explanation. When he smiled, his eyes smiled first. He was a self-taught carpenter and electrician and car mechanic and small appliance repairman and construction foreman and a steel laborer – simultaneously. He was bilingual, conversing easily in German and English. He didn’t go to college. He didn’t graduate high school. But he taught me everything I know about life and how to live it. On Father’s Day, here are five tips from Dad.
#1 – Good enough is not good enough. Dad was a perfectionist of sorts who frequently complained about lackluster workmanship done by others. He built our house. And when it was done there was not one single thing that was left to finish – no unfinished floors, or half painted windows or pieces of trim were left to be done later.
#2 – You catch more bees with honey. Dad frequently reminded us that it served no purpose to be rude in return to someone we thought didn’t like us or who was rude to us. During one summer college break my brother, Steve, held a job at a nursing home where he swabbed floors and cleaned toilets. This was the 1970s; and my brother’s hair, just brushing his shirt collar, was considered long and “hippy-like” at the time. One of the other custodians was frequently snide with Steve. Steve would complain at home that this man was making his life miserable. Dad would say, “nevermind – you just keep being nice to him.” Steve listened. By the end of the summer, Steve’s custodian colleage was a firm supporter and friend.
#3 – It’s okay to stand up for what you believe in – even if it causes disruption. My older brother Jim marched in a peace demonstration during college. A newspaper photographer caught Jim in his lens and Jim’s photograph, protesting the Vietnam war, was front and center in our local newspaper. This was the 1970s, remember. The neighbors were all abuzz quickly jumping to criticism about my brother. I think it’s fair to say that Mom and Dad were somewhat embarrassed. There may have been some words about my brother’s behavior protesting our government – although I do not recall the exact context. What I do know is that when Dad died in 1993 we found that newspaper photograph safely hidden in my father’s important papers drawer. All along, he was secretly smiling at my brother’s will to be heard.
#4 – Nothing, No One is Disposable. At my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary, my brother Jim gave a toast that summed up their marriage like this: Mom and Dad threw NOTHING away. Dad would repair anything, would save pieces of broken electrical cords for re-use and had a garage stuffed with left over wood, nails, screws and car parts – enough to build or rebuild nearly anything. We never ran out and bought something new. He fixed it. This, as my brother noted, was a good metaphor for marriage. Through unexpected births and steel layoffs and strikes, through raising five children and putting them through college, Dad never gave up. And today I cringe at the items I dispose – thinking that Dad would try to fix them.
#5 – What makes us different makes life and work special. My dad worked in the melting pot of the Bethlehem Steel beam yard. His coworkers were from every country, every region of Pennsylvania, every ethnic background. He spoke of them in stories and jokes that were filled with respect and fondness for each of them. He saw the differences – including his own – as interesting, sometimes amusing and, in general, something that made the workday worthwhile. As a child, I don’t recall ever hearing a racial slur at home. Later, when my brothers would bring home their college friends — whom other parents of the time might regard as pot-smoking, too-free-spirited hippies — Dad and Mom would sit in the kitchen and talk with them. And although they both heard things they never thought they would hear in their house (about sex and birth control and how these young people intended to live), they never flinched, they never made anyone feel unwelcome. In fact, they taught me – the impressionable younger sister — to be accepting of all.
Ignatius Joseph Hoffman. He was born in the U.S. in 1919, grew up thru the Depression, made his own way teaching himself to design and build and create and labor, and became my Dad. Thanks Dad, for the best lessons in life.
*Dan Fogelberg wrote the song “Leader of the Band” for his father. In 2003 he said of the song, “If I would have been able to write only one song in my life, it would have been this one.”
“How Design Thinking is Making ERP Software Better” is featured on Page 78 in the May issue of CIO REVIEW. After proudly posting this picture on Facebook, one tech friend (@MicoYuk) tweeted in response “YES!! I LUV to see women on top of their IT game. Congrats to @SherryanneMeyer for bng featd in @CIOReview p 78 #WIT http://www.cioreview.com/magazines/may14/SAP2014/ …” I realized – remarkably – that the publication was a bigger deal than my byline. I went back into the magazine to check the conributors. I counted males and females. I was one of only 3 women who contributed to that issue of the magazine.
I want to be clear: I do not think the lack of female contributors is because the editors overlooked female candidates. I think it’s because women who are willing to put themselves out there are harder to find. I have a sense that when women draw attention to themselves it is not well received, and that therefore, women avoid opportunities that may shine too bright a light on them. Being vocal as a female is a fine art requiring delicate and adept balance to avoid inciting resentment among one’s peers. (I don’t know that I have mastered that art yet.)
Mico’s tweet to me made me sit up and take notice to how many of us are not leaning in to speak our minds on the broader technology platform. Nearly everything I’ve been taught has come from textbooks authored by men. Nearly every speaker I have had the pleasure to hear at a technology event has been male. And I checked who I follow on Twitter, and – GUESS WHAT!? – of the individuals I follow (not organizations), the majority are men.
Why is it that women don’t step out, say more, get quoted, write, speak, or publish more? Is it too risky to “Lean In” to put your thoughts in writing? Are we too busy being wife, mother, friend and tech genius all at once?
My Point of View: We need to be heard for the generations of young men and women who follow.
The image of stilettos often conjures up the image of a femme fatale – a woman whose charms can ensnare others. I was not that woman. I ensnared no one. I was more like Gracie Hart, tough FBI agent, walking cooly down the street – only to trip over her own heels. Repeatedly.
To say I wasn’t prepared for the sudden change that left me managing everything almost overnight would be an understatement. Before we started our application maintenance program (aka “outsourcing”) I was a supervisor of nine system architects – mostly focused on our solutions in the Americas – and managing a team that all sat in the same country, the same time zone, the same office building and floor where I sat. Progress on issues or new solutions seemed – well – seamless. We could yell over our cubicle walls to each other for a quick answer or walk down the hall a bit for a more in-depth technical answer from the guys who managed our middleware. We learned constantly from each other. And we had reached a level of technical and functional comptence that allowed us to execute flawlessly and fairly quickly without the burden of layers of procesess and handoffs.
Post outsourcing, I was the manager of the global team – the one in charge of 27 countries, three remaining in-house team members and twelve outsourced staff members. Post outsourcing, we all had to move from being collaborative learners to effective teachers. Post outsourcing, we had to tune our ears to different accents, work to understand a different culture, and – with sensitivity and grace – make a team of outsourced workers feel at home with us — whether they would be working onshore in our U.S. offices or offshore in India.
Nothing could have prepared me for this adventure. Most days were fraught with fear of the unknown. We feared losing our own jobs next. We were uncertain how to execute without the individuals that we knew would know what to do. We were tired from stress and working longer hours to cover Europe and Asia.
In time, each of us – the four who remained — would all rise to the call of leadership. I know I “played by ear” many days – unsure what to do or how to handle things. I made mistakes. Lots of mistakes. At the end of the workday, I’d abandon my stilettos for bedroom slippers and pajamas – and continue working at home. If I just worked a little harder, a little longer, things would get better. And in many ways they did. It took a village. . . and the courage to be knocked off my stilettos more than once.
First you cry. Well, I did. I cried because we had a phenomenal team and the move to outsource our team’s work meant that what we had built together would be torn apart. I cried because colleagues who solved the worst of technical challenges with me, who worked day and night and weekends with me, who always had a laugh to share – even in the middle of the night when we were dead tired – who taught me everything they knew, who celebrated Christmases and weddings and births with me would be gone.
I cried for all the right reasons. . . and some lesser reasons.
I cried because the familiar comfort of a job I knew well was suddenly gone. And that made me realize. This wasn’t personal. This was business.
In 2005, Thomas Friedman had explained that the world was, indeed flat. The walls had come down and the economy would be different. We would work differently. I remember reading his book – with a gulp of incredulous fear – and then stuffing it away on my bookshelf as if, safely ensconced there, it couldn’t be true. And here it was looking me smack in the face. I had lived in a fabricated reality in which the type of work I did would never be outsourced – let alone to another country. I had ignored the truths that Thomas Friedman spoke.
I had to move forward.
What we needed most of all was someone to talk about how to move forward. I had no ready answers. But I had the will to listen, to hear what others were saying — whether it was about the “new normal” or the old ways or how impossible it was going to be to transfer everything everyone knew in just five short months. We could have all fallen apart at that point – divided by anxiety, jealousy, fear. But for the most part, the team remained intact, committed to delivering the same high quality results on this “project” as they had for every other genuine project. With compassion and understanding, I listened. I learned. I tried to get answers for the team. I improvised when I had no answers and we needed answers. And I honestly said “I don’t know” when I had no answers. But I committed to get answers. What I tried not to do was to let any one person stand alone, be scared or feel hopeless.
Over the course of the next five months, I would host three retirement and five farewell luncheons, but not before the collective team left their legacy of knowledge in hundreds of hours worth of recorded training sessions. I was as proud of us as we dismantled as I had been in the early days when we first formed our team. No – that’s not true. I was more proud.
I was lucky to have worked with such talented, skilled people – people who managed this most difficult challenge of their careers with integrity, discipline and self-esteem. They left in their wake an awakened leadership.
The United States is now well into the midst of a labor renaissance. The industrial revolution, the technological revolution – these are gone. Textbook management styles that serve hierarchical organizations and mass production will not serve us well in the near or long term.
What I learned as I climbed the outsourcing hill was that there was more than one way to scale the mountain. What I learned was that being right-brained was not a technical handicap. You see, creativity has its roots in diversity…diversity of thought and culture and people. And diversity is showing us the way.
Shock. Horror. Disbelief. Fear. Anger. These are some of the words I would use to describe emotions as it became clear that a large number of our positions would change or disappear. Our financial livelihoods were at stake. But, more, there was something profoundly personal in the emotions we confronted when a move to right-source our work turned to the word “outsource”. The word “outsource” carried with it a stigma that the day-to-day activities with which we all identified ourselves are no longer valued.
The truth was that our knowledge was so valued that we created vast quantities of documentation for our the team at the outsourcing firm. The truth was that the change to an outsourced application maintenance program was difficult for everyone involved – including the new IT staff (from the outsourcing firm) that would take over of our work. The truth was outsourcing was a competitive business decision.
Here’s what I learned when I opened my eyes to the change that was coming. I needed to bump up my own knowledge. I needed to understand the economics of change. I needed to draw upon leadership skills that I did not to date have to summon — both to cull skills from the team that remained as well as to develop skills in a new resource pool that was thousands of miles away. And throughout it all, we could not lose productivity.
I like to think of the stages of change as an upward arrow – not an endless cycle.
To say that outsourcing was not an upward climb would be a lie. But to say that there were no benefits to outsourcing, to say that the personal and professional challenges did not make me grow, would be totally inaccurate.