The Collaboration Hall of Fame: Nominations are now open
This is a contest I just made up. It’s either last night’s Academy Awards show or all the reading I’ve been doing about positive psychology, saying thank-you and filling yer bucket. It could also be the fact that I woke up with the sound of Julie Andrews singing “My Favorite Things” in my head this morning. Seems clear to me that we’re not doing nearly enough to appreciate and recognize those collaborative break-throughs we’ve all experienced. According to the experts, that means we’re leaving a lot of happiness on the table. I say it’s time for a little experiment.
I’m kicking this off with three or my all-time favorite moments. There’s plenty of room for yours in the comments below. Let’s get happy!
The Plate Incident. The scene: A weekly staff meeting where a group of 7 intrepid survivors of a recent organizational bloodletting, struggle to find a new purpose that will attract funding and clients. The manager is showing signs of agitation: if the furrow in her brow gets any deeper, we’ll have a place to put the hamster Oz has been trying to unload.
The manager erupts: “Why is it that every time I speak the rest of you stop talking?” Out of the arctic silence, a single voice quavers: “Because I assume you’ve made a decision, and further discussion is pointless.” Cult-like, we all nod.
“But, that’s not…I don’t always…” The realization breaks over her face like the yolk of a 3-minute egg and she grabs 2 of the paper plates we always have handy. She writes “D” on one and “O” on anther. “I’ll hold up D when I’ve decided and O is when I’m adding my opinion to the conversation.” Which she did from then on. It was just one tiny moment, but the hamster lost her new home, and our team transformed.
The Come to Jesus Meeting. The scene: I’m facilitating a weekly work group meeting to design a structure that will give nurses a voice in decision affecting them. The team is mostly staff nurses.
Word has gotten back to the nursing exec sponsor that a group member has been speaking out of school. Apparently, he’s mis-characterized what team members think of what they’re doing, telling the board of the nurses union that “we all know this is just an exercise management is taking us through.” Watching the nursing exec confront him and admit to feeling betrayed, him admit to speaking those words, and each nurse say “you don’t speak for me” was like watching the wave at a baseball game: slo-mo wonderment. Except I felt much, much fuller.
“You Can Say That?” The scene: An annual care-planning meeting at an eldercare facility. The team is multi-disciplinary, the participation lop-sided. The doctor gives a not-very-inspiring recitation of the treatment plan (meds, vitals, symptoms) and the others, who have much more contact with the patient, say nothing. The meeting feels like the moment before a thunderstorm, when the skies want to erupt, but can’t. In my role as meeting coach, I say: “So far Dr. X has been doing most of the talking. I don’t see how such a one-sided conversation can add up to a care plan, especially when the rest of you have more contact with the patient.” In the stunned silence that follows, the social worker turns to me and says: “You can say that?” It’s the doctor who says “YES.” Now everyone is talking, and leaning forward, their faces alive: The social worker, the nurses aide, the housekeeper. The new aide mentions a chance observation, nothing much, but the room goes silent and the doctor is looking at the aide like a compass tuned to true north. 2 questions later and the treatment and care plans have both changed.
It’s working - as I write, I’m smiling. I can’t wait to hear about your moments.