Looking Backwards to See the Future

Recently, I had the opportunity to attend and present at the Society for Industrial/Organizational Psychology Conference, commonly known as SIOP.  It is a conference I attended regularly when I worked in HR and one that I have attended infrequently since switching to Marketing.  Despite my long absence, having recruited and hired interns from SIOP for many years, I knew I would reconnect with old friends and catch up with new colleagues. 

 I had not originally planned to attend, but was invited to give a presentation on social media and implications for the future.  Public speaking is something I enjoy doing, especially when it is on something I am passionate about and a subject that people are excited about.    Perhaps I read too much science fiction as a child, but the future, innovation and change are things that intrigue me.  

 What was going to make the conference meaningful to me was only partially related to the content of  the sessions and my presentation.  I would get to see former interns who are  successful in their own right, colleagues who publish or consult on interesting topics and mentors who would listen to me and give me advice.  Contemplating this, I  recognized that the conference, and my participation in it, would cause me to reflect on my life and the path not taken.  I had left the mainstream of I/O Psychology a number of years back, and felt a bit like the prodigal daughter.  I spoke the language, but was no longer quite fluent.

  As I attended the conference and spent time with folks I cared about, each of us shared stories.  Somewhat to my surprise, I was not alone in being reminded of the choices I had made along the way.   Everyone was on their own journey and engaged in some form of transition.  Some were new at jobs, marriages or parenthood, other were receiving career affirming accolades and others were simply in the process of reinventing themselves.  Each had made decisions, whether good or bad, that had shaped our lives.  As we sat in the conference lobby or bar, drink in hand, and updated each other, we made peace with our choices and helped each other contemplate the future.

 The funny thing about the future is that no matter how we plan for it and think we know how things will turn out, reality is often somewhat different.  Life and careers rarely turn out as we thought they would.  Perhaps, this is not such a bad thing.   Many times we are forced out of our comfort zones  by the unexpected.   And, usually, much to our own surprise, we find skills or reserves of strength that we did not know we possessed.   This is what I heard as I spoke with people.   There are actually many possible futures out there.  Perhaps we all need to plan for more than one outcome.  

Fortunately, the folks I spoke with felt good about what they had done and where they were headed.  Yes, there were unexpected turns, but all seemed to figure out how to navigate pretty well, although some were not at the destination they had been heading to.  I did not hear too many regrets.  Rather, what I heard were new and exciting possibilities. 

 So, as I sit here several weeks later and put together plans to create my own consulting practice, I recognize that it is precisely the decisions that I have made and the paths that I have taken that have gotten me here.  Going back to my roots actually helped me see the future more clearly.  Becoming an I/O Psychologist was part of my journey.  It helped shape me and who I am.  It prepared me for successful careers in both HR and Marketing.  And now that I am consulting in social media, which has implications for both HR and Marketing, I do not need to choose between two worlds.

While starting one’s own business is always risky, I know that change is difficult and nothing comes without a cost.   So while the road ahead may be a bit rough,  I will do my best to steer clear of the roadblocks.   I am really enjoying being “bilingual” and have already started planning a social media symposium for the next SIOP.   I really enjoyed attending the conference, my presentation went well and I guess there are worse things to be known as, as I was dubbed at the conference, than the “Twitter Lady”!

Sharing Our Stories

[tweetmeme source= “Andreasg411′]

A number of years ago, I had the opportunity to conduct research on the impact of organizational downsizing on survivors. The project was sponsored by the Division President, so I began with the requisite senior management buy-in. I was, however, not sure whether the individuals I wanted to speak with would in fact be willing to speak with me. I also wondered whether if they did speak with me and agree to participate in the research, they would be open and honest. After all, they had just witnessed a significant number of their friends and colleagues being laid off or forced to retire, and clearly they had to be somewhat distrustful of the organization that they had previously seen as one that would provide them employment for life.

I decided to take a qualitative approach and set out to do both one-on-one interviews as well as group sessions. To ensure things were done properly, and to allay fears on the part of my interview subjects, I worked through the appropriate management teams and HR and made sure that everyone knew the purpose of the research, communicated that the comments would be confidential and that the research was not related to any pending resource action. As I set out, I hoped for the best, planned for the worst and armed with a tape recorder and note pad, started meeting with people.

What I discovered surprised me. Folks opened up, shared, cried and I had trouble ending every session. They allowed me to tape record them, trusted me to keep their confidences and poured out their hearts. What started out as a piece of communications research on the downsizing process, turned into something larger. Clearly the organization had made many mistakes in communicating about the layoffs and in its implementation, but that was only part of it. What was clear is that these individuals wanted to be heard. They were glad that someone was taking the time to seek their opinions and elicit how they felt. They wanted to share their stories and I was the only person that had bothered to ask.

As I consolidated the feedback from the downsizing survivors and prepared to meet with my sponsor, I was faced with a challenge that I had not previously experienced in my research career. The depth of emotion exhibited by those I spoke with was well beyond anything I had previously dealt with. I felt an obligation to tell their stories and make their feelings known. I was not sure what the Division President had expected to hear when he asked for this project to be undertaken, but I knew that I would not be able to feedback anything but the full scale of what had been shared with me. So, armed with the confidence of my convictions and some well put together PowerPoint slides, I communicated what I heard, told a few anecdotes, discussed how things could have been handled differently and made recommendations of what should be done in the future. I felt good about my presentation and the things I had uncovered. I was relieved that the message was well taken and that I was praised for my work. I went back to my office, wrote the requisite thank you notes and went on to my next project. Now, many years later, as I look back at this, I wonder whether the lessons learned were ever truly understood. Yes, the organization implemented many of my recommendations and fortunately, or unfortunately, as the case may be, the organization got much better at handling downsizing. But, did they ever learn to listen to the stories?

Most of us have a desire to share our stories, although we have different ways of doing so. Ultimately we want to be heard and we want someone to care. The employees I spoke to felt that an agreement had been broken and that they had gone from being viewed as valued staff to simply being a resource number of an accountant’s spread sheet. It was a rude awakening and a painful experience for them. They lost trust, and I sincerely doubt that they, or their co-workers were ever the same again. They had given their all, they would no longer do so.

Unfortunately, it has become a fact of business that human capital is the largest expense and often the first lever that is used when expense reduction targets need to be met. Management no longer trembles at the thought and when needed, the well documented plans are pulled out and executed. It is a sad thought, but American business has become really good at layoffs. But do American businesses understand what it does to their people, not just the ones that they let go, but to those left behind? I highly doubt it.

So, that brings me back to the stories. What the downsizing survivors I spoke to missed most of all were the communities they had developed at work. Work was not just a place they went to do a job and get paid, It is was about interacting with other people who listened to them and cared what they had to say. Now, as I sit here and write this, I wonder how much technology has propelled the explosion in blogging and social networks, or how much has been driven by the human desire to connect with others on a meaningful level. As we see faith in government plummet and confidence in businesses and institutions reach new lows, we have collectively reached out to one another. We have formed our own communities and we are, once again, sharing our stories. We do not need corporations or institutions to help us do this, but it would be nice if one day they understood its importance.

On Crocus Watch

[tweetmeme source= “Andreasg411′]

It appears that the snow is finally melting and our semi frozen landscape is once again being readied for new life.  This is a cycle that has repeated itself for ages, and yet every year we seem to marvel at the rebirth that is spring.  This was brought home to me the other day by a comment I heard at the gym.  One woman was explaining to another that she was officially on “crocus watch”, focusing on her garden and eagerly waiting for those early harbingers of spring.

As I heard this conversation, I could not help but wonder, why had I never considered myself on crocus watch?   I love the warmth that spring brings, but it had never occurred to me to stop and search for those particular signs of spring.  And, I wondered, who were these tennis players/gardeners and why were they focused on these flowers blooming, while I had never thought much about crocuses at all?  Was it that flowers were just not my thing or was I simply oblivious to the cycles of nature and time?  Did I need to stop and smell the proverbial roses a bit more?  

Thinking about flowers and life cycles brought me back to the time when my children were in grade school.  There were always some mothers who were impeccably groomed, no matter the time of day or weather.   My daughters and I called them the Laura Ashley’s, after the English designer.  Dressed, it seemed, mostly in floral prints, they were a sharp contrast to me in my work suits and even my “off duty” attire of jeans and sneakers.  I was always rushing; they appeared to have all the time in the world.  Were they busy watching the crocuses bloom while I was out-of-town?

As I continued to contemplate my relationship with the floral world, and all the things I had failed to do or notice, a different stream of thought occurred to me; we are not all meant to be gardeners or even to wear floral.  I had never failed to notice the onset of spring.   Spring’s arrival was just heralded by a different set of events.    Spring was tax season, Passover Seders and the IBM Spring Planning Cycle.  It was when we put away our winter clothes and went to the mall to go shopping and catch the sales.   And, when I thought about it further, hadn’t most of the Laura Ashley’s stayed home when I went with the Girl Scout troop leader to sleep on the floor of the Norwalk Maritime Center and the Franklin Museum? Clearly, no one was well-groomed after sharing a bathroom with 300 girls.  I was willing to do that, maybe they were not.

 So, perhaps I need not be too concerned about my failure to have participated in crocus watch.  I have simply greeted spring, and life, in my own way.  And, while my gym companions have influenced the world through the flowers they have planted and grown, I, like many others, have made my mark through the people and relationships I have nurtured or things I have accomplished. 

As I left the gym, I recognized that I too have plants that bloom, only mine do not come up from the ground and they are certainly not crocuses.   So, as the days get warmer, please be aware that I am more likely to be in the mall than among the flowers.  And, while you will find Laura Ashley floral prints on my sheets, you not find them on my person.  But, please do wear floral if you so choose, there is room for all of us in the garden.

Hello world!

Today, as I write my first blog post, I am forced to contemplate the day and date of my birth.  Apparently, my entry into this world was not without drama.   On Easter Sunday in New York City, at a time when  almost everything shut down on Sunday, my mother went into labor.  This would  not have not been  problematic, had  my brother not picked this very time to have a dental emergency  (he was never one eager to share the spotlight ).  As family legend goes,  my father dropped my mom off at the hospital,  found a dentist that would help my brother, then drove  home where, exhausted, they both fell asleep.  

Seeing no husband pacing in the waiting room, a clever  nurse looked up my mother’s medical record and called my sleeping father.  After ascertaining that my father was indeed the husband of Estelle Schlissel, she informed him (apparently not without some thinly veiled contempt) that his wife had given birth to a healthy baby girl, in case he was interested.    My father, recognizing that his wife might not be happy with the fact that her husband had forgotten  she was in the hospital giving birth that day, woke my brother and wisely high tailed it over to the hospital.    

My father’s absence was not lost on my mother, as I heard this story repeated many times in my childhood.  But the story had a happy ending and despite the diffiulties of the day,  I arrived safely.  This was on April 11, or, the way the date is written on most forms, 4 11.  While  I always enjoyed the story of my birth and the fact that I was born on Easter Sunday (My brother was born on St Patrick’s day…so  perhaps I was unknowingly competing with him!)  it was only later that I realized that the date held a different kind of  meaning.

411 is  the phone number for information and help and, with the onset of texting culture, it is a term that is now very well known.  I like the serendipity of being born on a date that is associated with helpful information and have adopted the blog name of Andreasg411 to celebrate this.  It is also my Twitter handle and my on-line persona.

As I continue to write this blog, I hope that the information I provide does help enlighten someone.  I plan to cover a wide variety of topics including life and career changes, challenges faced by working women,  leadership issues and how social media is transforming business, life and the world.  I am sure what I write  about will evolve over time and I will  look back to the birth of my blog with fondness.   So  for those who are reading this, please join me on my blogging journey.  I hope that over time we can provide 411 to each other.