Ticheli, a USC professor, describes the piece as having come to him first in a dream and then coming rapidly together – more rapidly than any piece he had ever written. In accepting the commission, he accepted the calling to lead a grief stricken school, community, and nation forward. In his own words, his hope is that American Elegy “reminds each listener of our human frailty and our intimate connections with one another.” 

For the last six months, a collaborative project involving the students, teachers, administrators, parents, and community members of a public high school in Seattle, WA has been exploring the intimate connections between business, community, and education. Working together, Dr. Dan Kaufman, Leslie Bennett, and I modified much of what we teach in the Tribal Leadership Intensive and other CultureSync Academy programs. We stripped it down, customized it, and reshaped it for this group.

This past week, a group of thirty teachers, students, community members, family members, and administrators of the school gathered together for the third of three day-long sessions that are part of the project. As facilitators, Leslie, Dan, and I shepherded a conversation in which the leadership of the participants’ emerged time after time and moment by moment.

Community members presented the statistics they’d spent months reviewing and led us together in considering the data from many perspectives. Parents and teachers presented what they’d learned in a gathering with parents and grandparents of struggling students as they explored what resources are necessary to support their children. Students presented a video on their experiences of the high school – the good, the bad, and the uncertain.

Most of the day was spent in discussion: the characteristics of the school today, the vision of an invented future of “Positive Outcomes for All Students.”  We used play to get quickly to the core of each conversation and spent (never enough) time looking at each question from many different points of view.

Throughout the day, participants made statements that shattered through any naïveté of what we were doing together. “You can’t learn if you come to school angry every day.” Male students “bring weapons to school, because they are afraid.” “Some teachers just don’t seem to care.” “Sometimes there are students we just can’t help.” So many heartbreaking messages, and yet gathered together there was hope in our interactions.

By the end of the day, the principal had collected promising ideas for improvements from all participants – some ideas that could be instantly applied, some much larger that would take time and greater involvement from the participants present and the teachers, administrators, parents, and students not in attendance. There are many next steps.

Several days later, I sat in a different high school auditorium half a continent away and listened to the school’s Wind Ensemble perform American Elegy. As it came to its completion, a single trumpeter played off stage behind a closed door. A voice from beyond, it called to every person present. It spoke of hope for the future, of the great sadness of too many losses, and the serenity that comes in holding those we love in an ever broadening circle.

It reminded me of our project in Seattle. While our group worked together on its project, the normal day continued at the high school. The vision, the participants, and the new ideas gathered together was that trumpet playing off stage.

It calls to us all.

As an employer, we can follow a similar path. Post a job opening, get a resume, look up the candidate’s profile on LinkedIn, and search the websites of their former employers to learn more. By the time the two sit down to an interview, a tremendous amount is already known. In essence, with platforms like LinkedIn, we’re all as visible as Ron Johnson and J.C.Penney were to each other during their courting phase.

This makes their very public breakup a relevant lesson for potential employees and employers everywhere. On the surface, it looks like this breakup is the result of 1) Johnson’s failure to lead J.C. Penney through a difficult time and into a brighter future and 2) J.C. Penney’s failure to give Johnson full rein. In reality, what has happened is a clash in values.

Where J.C. Penney is traditional, conservative, and sensitive to change, Ron Johnson is innovative and risk-oriented. From a values perspective, they were an unworkable partnership. The breakup is a result of that unworkability.

That clash in values didn’t have to happen and there were warning signs.

Warning Sign Number One: They are desperate for someone else to fix them.

J.C. Penney’s sales were lagging, performance was down, and stock prices were suffering. They knew they needed to do something. They didn’t know what. They were looking for a miracle worker. Desperation leads to less than optimal decisions when it comes to hiring.

Warning Sign Number Two: You think you can fix them.

Ron Johnson is part of Apple’s remarkable story of success. Until recently, we talked about the people and products of Apple as though they were gods. Unfortunately gods think they can fix anything and sometimes they act like they can do it all on their own.

Warning Sign Number Three: Fixing requires core values to be violated.

J.C. Penny’s core values might include words like tradition, stability, persuasion, and predictability. Ron Johnson’s core values might include words like: innovation, risk, transparency, and change. When the values are that disconnected, the partnership just won’t work. It doesn’t matter how big the opportunity, the prestige, or the potential gains to come.

If you find yourself like Ron Johnson and J.C. Penney, ignoring the warning signs at your own peril, start making use of your core values. Here’s how:

1. Identify your core values using the the Mountains and Valleys Exercise (if you haven’t already done this). You know you’ve gotten there when you’ve identified three-to-five values that you are unwilling to violate for money, prestige, or opportunity. 
2. If you’re the potential employee, interview the organization for its core values. Look for something more, much more, then a list of values on the wall. Ask the team of people interviewing you for examples of the values in action. Ask what happens when values are violated. Ask about the connection between the values on the wall and the core values of each employee.
3. If you’re the employer looking for the right candidate, use the Click Down Hack to uncover their core values. You’re looking for more than just a list here – ask how the values influence actions, ask for times when core values were violated and what happened, ask for the connection between their core values and yours.
4. Ask yourself if working together violates any of your core values. If it appears that doing so might, negotiate until core values are no longer violated.
5. If none of this works and you know that working together violates even one core value, don’t walk away, RUN.

This is such a crucial lesson that one of our team members and entrepreneur, Becca Ordonez, became inspired to start a new company. Mustered’s mission is to change the hiring process for the better and help companies build effective teams with great workplace cultures by connecting job seekers and employers through core values, strengths, and interests.  Its very first app is nearly ready for its beta launch. Sign up to get notified when it launches.

In the end, the biggest learning here isn’t about the warning signs themselves, it’s about the perils of ignoring core values. Fortunately, it’s easy to stop.

Have you ever had a core values mismatch with an employee or a company? If so, please share your experience in the comments.

My Accident and Aftermath
I had a horrific car accident in November. I wrote a blog about it, and then went silent, until now.  

Yesterday, while a makeup artist got me ready for a Linkage Thought Leader video shoot in Boston, she asked me what had happened. I’d warned the Linkage staff about my accident and that more than the usual makeup and time would be necessary. She was surprised I didn’t look as bad as she expected. She laughed and said: “You look like Brian Williams, and he wasn’t in an accident.”  

I told her the story of what happened, and she sat down and listened. After hearing the details, and then having to sit through the 90-minute video shoot (touching up the makeup at breaks), she made me promise to tell this story. So here it is.

How Bad Was It?
If the impact of the crash had been a few inches higher, I would have died, or suffered brain damage. A few inches lower and I’d be paralyzed. I don’t recall the crash itself—a Prius taxi versus a Mercedes SUV—and I was unconscious for about 90 minutes. The doctors feared brain damage, and perhaps a spinal cord injury. As I slowly came to at the UCLA Medical Center, I knew my mouth was a mess. I was missing two teeth, and much of the jawbone that used to support them felt like it was gone. My bottom two front teeth were knocked so badly that they pointed toward my tongue, which was so swollen that I couldn’t keep it all in my mouth—the result, I assume, of biting it during the car crash. Other teeth were scrambled so badly the surgeon wasn’t sure how to put everything back together again. Several teeth were fractured, with only small pieces remaining. My right ear was shredded. The impact of the collision had mostly hit the front of my jaw, and my broken bone was almost visible through the gash in my chin. I was throwing up blood.

The trauma team decided they couldn’t wait for plastic surgery, and so they sutured the wound in my chin, saying they were afraid I’d lost some vital tissue there. I imagined a lifelong horrific scar, and from the looks on their faces, so did they.

A CT scan showed that my jaw had been shattered. The surgeon, who was trying to be optimistic, said: “it’s in hundreds of pieces, at least it’s not thousands… and most are still there, just in the wrong place.”

Six hours of plastic surgery consisted of reassembling my jaw and remaining teeth, repairing my ear, and then reopening and closing the wound on my chin. When I came to, my chin was probably triple the size it normally was. My two remaining teeth, which were now pointing up again, were swaying like tree branches in a storm. The new CT scan showed two titanium plates, several wires, and many screws, holding everything together.

As soon as my IV antibiotics were in my system, I decided to leave the hospital—about a day after the surgery.  

Rehab
Then the big decisions started. How much would I rely on what was easy, versus what would make me fully functional again? 

My wife had to step back from her role at CultureSync and her full time job, along with taking care of our kids, became keeping me fed. She’d make stews with lots of protein and vegetables, and then puree them. They resembled dog food, but they slowed my weight loss. This was far better than drinking high-calorie shakes, which are mostly sugar and fat. Still, I lost 10 pounds almost immediately, and then another five. 

At first, all I was able to do was use my computer. I scoured the medical literature for what to do to stop or slow my muscle loss, because I couldn’t walk more than a few feet, much less do any kind of resistance training. I found a couple of studies that indicates that creatine supplements had helped muscular dystrophy patients keep their muscle mass, so I added that to my daily dose of steroids for the inflammation, antibiotics for infection, pain killers, mouth rinses, and several things I can’t even remember.

Two days after the surgery, I went to my regular dentist, who performed three root canals on my remaining teeth, to try to save them. He left them “open” for six weeks, while the bone healed. He also created an Invisiline to hold my teeth together while the underlying bone decided whether it would fail or try to survive. That device—or one like it—was in my mouth every minute of every day until April.

My surgeon was pessimistic about whether much of my jawbone would make it. At one point, he said the odds were 20%. My wife negotiated with him on the night of the surgery to try everything, noting that I was a nonsmoker, in very good physical shape, and would do everything he asked to increase the chances of success. She also talked him out of wiring my jaw shut. He said that without her appeal, he probably would have removed a big chunk of jaw, and the two teeth on it. (If you are a smoker, please think about this: if I had been a smoker at the time of my accident, the surgeon wouldn’t have attempted to save my jaw. Something about reduced circulation.)

As the swelling went down, and the bone healed, I had lost 15 pounds of mostly muscle. I was too weak to stand. I couldn’t speak.

I created a workout regimen to get me back involving first walking, then jogging, and then running. As soon as the surgeon cleared me to start lifting weights, I did—and found my upper body was half as strong as it was before the accident. When my blood pressure would rise, I would feel a throbbing in my mouth, which I felt was a good sign—at least my circulation was still working, and my cut nerves were beginning to mend. Any muscle connected to my jaw or neck hurt. Bench presses were like medieval torture sessions, even without weight on the bar. Shoulder presses sent pain up my neck. If I would do a little more than I should, the next day I’d be unable to move at all.

Every day was a balance. Too much exercise and the next day I’d be disabled. Too little and the next day I’d be weaker. A breakthrough moment came when Rich Callahan, my long time friend and academic colleague, called. When I bragged about my recovery plan, he yelled at me for doing too much. At his suggestion, I used my FitBit, which during better times motivated me to walk more, to limit my steps every day. Following his advice, I limited myself to 2000 steps per day.

By far the biggest problem was learning to speak again. Every day, I’d record myself for 20 minutes, and later an hour, reading a book out loud. Between nerve damage in my lip, my swollen tongue, the fact that my teeth had all moved (and some were gone), and the bulky Invisiline, it was like I was starting over. I lisped. “Th” sounds were impossible. My voice was raspy and hoarse. I couldn’t get enough breath support.

After 20-minute sessions of reading out loud, with my MacBook Pro recording every nanosecond of audio, sweat and tears would pour down my face, from the work and pain. Listening to the recordings was even worse. I sounded like, well, like my jaw was shattered and reassembled, with some pieces missing. I’d make a list of the sounds I couldn’t pronounce and then find tongue twisters to emphasize those over and over.

Every minute of every day was about being able to give speeches again. After a couple of weeks, I started laser treatments on my scar at the USC Keck Academic Medical Center, which felt like razor blades in the portion of my face that still had feeling. I also used a silicone-based gel that my dermatologist recommended.  

For the first two months, my lower lip was completely numb, as were much of my mouth. I used a prescription antiseptic rinse that kept my mouth free of infection, but also turned my teeth a brown-green that doesn’t exist in nature.

My target was January 8. I had a speech scheduled at California State University, Fullerton, to my friend Ed Hart’s Center for Family Business. I always take speeches seriously, but for that one, I practiced every word, over and over. At first I did this from bed, and then sitting in a chair. I wasn’t able to stand for more than 10 minutes until the day before.

Still unable to drive long distances, my CultureSync colleague Carrie Kish drove me to that event. Looking in the mirror at the university, I had a Jay Leno chin, which was an improvement from what it had been—something resembling a curse in Once Upon a Time. My chin had a second smile scar in it, and it was bright red. The scar was ironic, because I couldn’t smile. And my brain was flighty, and I had a hard time keeping a single thought in my head.

Thanks to Ed’s understanding, Carrie’s help in the presentation, all those meals and care from my wife, and a very supportive audience, I made it through. It was the hardest presentation I’ve ever given—worse even that the first speech I gave in Toastmasters as a high school student. I was drenched in sweat.

Three days later, I started a two-day leadership training session—six weeks to the day after my surgery—with about 55 leaders at HealthCare Partners. Jack Bennett, COO of CultureSync, helped me make it through, as did some wonderful friends at that great company. As someone who never needed a microphone, I now had to hold it an inch from my mouth or people in the back couldn’t hear me. A few days later, I was in Pennsylvania training a group of medical doctors, again, with a microphone an inch from my mouth.

The speeches took absolutely everything I had. At an airport in Pennsylvania after the speech there, I almost missed a flight because I wasn’t strong enough to walk down the jet way.  

I would categorize every day as either a “deposit”—working out, eating just right, and practicing learning to talk again—or a “withdrawal,” which was a speech, or client work.  

As the swelling went down, I had several more Invisilines made, with fake teeth in them so that, to quote one of my three dentists, I didn’t look like should be playing the banjo.  

Recovery
In late January, I started teaching in the USC Executive MBA program—a month later than originally planned. The students were understanding of my initial incompetence, and during the six weeks of that program, I noticed a startling change.

While speaking still hurt, and my endurance was limited, people stopped noticing that I had been in an accident. The swelling was down. The laser treatments were blending and lightening my scar. My practice sessions of reading out loud were teaching me to use my new jaw. Chiropractic visits were realigning my neck, which had been crooked for the first few weeks. The meals my wife made had enough protein and nutrition in them that I was building muscle. My daily torture sessions at the gym were bringing me back to my old strength.  

One of my EMBA students is the Dean of the USC Dental School. He pulled me aside after my first day of teaching, and referred me to an oral surgeon and a restorative dentist, both top in their field. The surgeon removed some bone fragments that my body had rejected, and the restorative dentist started work on a plan with several surgeries to replace my missing teeth and allow me to get rid of the Invisiline. 

I decided to start work on the mental recovery. Another of my students, Mike Grice, is a retired Lt Col in the Marines. He wrote me every week about my low morale, and what I could do to improve it. I saw a hypnotherapist (who wrote a great book I recommend – Your Survivial Instinct is Killing You). He recorded the session and asked me listen to it once a day. For the next week, I began talking in my sleep. According to my wife, it was as though I was arguing with myself. I’m still not sure what’s in that recording—when I listen to it, it hypnotizes me—but it seems to have brought mental balance and confidence back. I began to sleep better, and then, for long stretches. As someone who used to sneak by on five hours a night, I was now often sleeping 10 or more hours.

On April 9^th, I gave my last speech—a keynote and a follow up workshop in Las Vegas—with the Invisiline in my mouth. It was just in time. No matter how many times I had it adjusted or replaced, to speak properly I had to force my tongue against it, and that created a sore that often bled. I had to take frequent breaks to spit out blood.

On April 10^th, I had my first restorative dental surgery. For the first time since November, I was able to speak with out pain. My nerves had regenerated enough that I could smile, although it’s still a little crooked. 

The New Normal
I’m writing this on April 26^th, on a plane from New York to Denver. Yesterday, one of the restored teeth (that the surgeon had moved back into place and that the restorative dentist had made into a crown), began to hurt, and then throb. It may a sign of “reabsorption,” which would mean I’d lose the tooth and perhaps some bone. Or it might be a temporary infection. Or maybe it’s nothing. And this will be my life for the next few years. I have four teeth that probably will eventually fail, as may the jawbone underneath. That could be happening now, or not for a decade. When it does, I’ll need more surgery, more restorative dentistry, and more time off work. 

Why I’m Writing This
As leaders, or leaders-in-the-making, our biggest challenge is in dealing with crucible experiences—set backs, disappointments, or a sudden flood of self-doubt. All of those happened to me, starting with the accident on November 28.  

For those that have been through something like this, you’ll understand this next line. Others will think they get it, but won’t. I wouldn’t have gotten it even two months ago. 

The harder you work at making it through a crucible, the easier it appears to have been, and the less people learn from your experience.

Because leaders don’t talk about our crucibles in detail, we limit others’ ability to get through them. We also minimize the learning, because to wallow in it feels off purpose. Leaders look forward, not back. They talk about what will be, not what was.

And this situation presents leaders with a dilemma. Leaders are authentic and focused on others—so going through the steps of what happened to us feels self-indulgent and irrelevant. But to not talk about it feels like an ethical omission.

Crucibles are the most demanding teachers of all, and their gifts are life-changing. So that you can learn what an experience like this can teach you, here’s an email from my friend Ivory Madison, the CEO of Red Room, who saw me last week for the first time since the accident: “Dave, you look younger and healthier than ever, just the hell-and-back thing gleam in your eyes gives it away. That gleam reminds me of the stage at the end of the Hero's Journey where the hero becomes the ‘Master of Two Worlds.’ Having stared down death and now back in the Ordinary World, he is a master of both.” 

The best advice is to listen to your tribe. They know better than you what to do, how to do it, when to push and when to rest, and when it’s time to come clean about just how bad things have been, and the amazing gifts the crucible has given.  

The explosions at the Boston Marathon changed that plan.

Like most of the world, we at CultureSync are heartbroken at the losses and angered by the devastation that occurred in Boston on Monday afternoon. There has been too much devastation. What do we do?

The answer to that question is directly related to the cultural stage of your tribe. It’s easy to envision what tribes do at Stages 1 through 3, because we see those responses present around us every day. These tribes are taking actions that are consistent with the world that they see around them.

At Stage 1, the “life sucks” tribe seeks revenge for the purpose of revenge. The drive for revenge is so great that it might not even matter if the person(s) who are retaliated against have ever caused the tribe any harm. We saw this type of retaliation in August 2012 in suburban Milwaukee, WI when Wade Michael Page fatally shot six people and wounded four others in a mass shooting at a Sikh Temple. Page, a member of a white supremacist group, was engaged in his own personal racial holy war.

At Stage 2, a tribe’s response will be to further isolate itself from the larger world, to pull back from the dangers present in moving about in daily life. A tribe like this might stop traveling internationally, or even outside of its own regional area. It might keep its children home during the day to avoid all risk. It might even completely isolate itself from the larger world.

At Stage 3, the “I’m great” tribe will find itself taking actions that glorify its own place in the world over the place of other tribes. Domination and control are themes that emerge. These tribes seek to create safety for themselves at the expense of others. This tribe waves its banner, trumpets its song, and takes a no holds barred approach to making progress for itself. In a crisis, this tribe may even fall into smaller tribes as some members slide back into Stage 2 actions, behaviors, and relationship structures.

How do Stage 4 and Stage 5 tribes respond to the devastation and to future dangers? They do so by defining a new vision of the future and then taking actions that are consistent with that vision.

At Stage 4, the “we’re great” tribe takes those actions within and on behalf of itself. At Stage 5, the “life is great” tribe embraces community, creates connections throughout the world in service of a shared vision that is much greater than itself.

Patton Oswald has written an amazing response to these events where he points out that people were running into the bomb blast to help others. This was a Stage 5 tribe in action. Like most Stage 5 tribes, they came together for a brief moment rooted in shared core values. They were responding to an immediate purpose larger than any single person or tribe.

It’s a huge leap from Stages 1 through 3 to Stages 4 and 5; it is even a big leap from Stage 4 to Stage 5. To make those kinds of leaps during a crisis may seem unthinkable; and certainly there are people who've responded to Oswald’s post that have taken that position. The reason to stabilize yourself and your tribes at Stage 4 is so that when the crises come, and come they do, you and your tribe are prepared to move forward into Stage 5 action. This is exactly what we witnessed as individuals became a team of rescuers – racing and reaching back to pull one another forward into a vision of a world not decimated by terror.

We invite you to create a new vision for the future and to share it with us all. In these coming weeks, how will your tribes respond and what future vision of the world are you creating? 

One of the CultureSync Approved Tribal Leaders Leslie Bennett reminds me to take "will" out of the proposals we develop together. Statements like "participants will learn about the connections between organizational culture and organizational performance" become "participants learn about the connections between organizational culture and organizational performance."

As we make the change, I always think, removing "will" can't be that important can it?

Turns out it just might be.

Behavioral Economist Keith Chen is researching language differences that align with differences in national behavior when it comes to savings as a percent of gross national product.

Early results are more than a little startling. Nations with languages that speak differently about the future than they do about present (think: It will rain tomorrow) have a 5% lower savings rate than nations who do not (think: It rain tomorrow).

In the United States, with English reliant on "will," it turns out that our national savings rate as a percent of GDP is at the very bottom of the member countries of the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD).

When eliminating for every difference except whether the language is future-based (it will rain tomorrow) or not future-based (it rain tomorrow), Chen's research shows that the occurrence of savings is 30% greater among families using language that is not future-based. The differences don't end there - they also apply to things like obesity rates, use of condoms to prevent the spread of HIV, and smoking.

It turns out that when we use language that creates a distance between now and the future, we take actions as though the future is distant.

I just went through a real example of killing will.

I'd felt something disturbing as I brushed up against the side of my dog Spody: a slightly protruding, softly shaped blob. I found myself ignoring it for fear of what it might mean: "he has a tumor, he will die." The "will" part meant it wouldn't happen today. And, every day was a new today. For several weeks, I'd subconsciously avoided petting that area. Turns out the whole family was in on it too.

Finally, it dawned on me, I was avoiding what "will happen" someday rather than being focused on the truth: my dog had some strange new lump. With this recognition, I shared the fear with Leslie who "killed the will." The next day, Spody had an appointment. It turns out that everything is fine. He has a benign fatty lump called a Lipoma and that we can expect more. Just of those middle-life things. Killing will allowed me to move forward, stop worrying and get an answer. Had it turned out to be more serious, bringing him in sooner, rather than later would have been even more important.

Chen and his research partners at Yale haven't tapped into the impact of "will" in leadership, but let's make that leap.

One completely avoidable cost of “will” is the energy wasted in not attending to what is in front of us today. Even if the energy wasted is simply the energy of pretending that a relatively benign tomorrow never comes, it’s energy we’d do better to expend in other ways. Freeing up this energy has huge (and positive) consequences in the organizations we lead.

Are there areas where you are thinking about "what will be tomorrow" in ways that are reducing the likelihood of action? If so, try a little experiment with us. Kill will, even if you need to speak oddly at first. Then let us know what changes take place in your actions - and more importantly in your results.

Share your experiences here. Then, come back for next week’s blog post: Kill Will Part II. In it we dig more deeply into the implications and impacts of “will” in leadership.

The more candy that gets offered, the more it seems to be that the benefits just don't add up. The time and dollars invested turn into no appreciable difference in the relationships, performance, or results of the team. Or, even worse, perhaps the experience creates more dissatisfaction and fewer (positive) results.

I've been subjected to the little piles of candy scattered around the room too many times. It's led to my "No Candy Rules" for Training and Consulting.

No Candy Rule #1: Every Client Deserves a Custom Approach
It starts with listening to the client - what are their needs, their goals, their "have to have" outcomes for the engagement. Only when there is 100% understanding, can the consulting, training, and/or program design can begin.

Each client is an opportunity to sharpen the approach and accomplish a little bit more.

Here's the challenge: Spend more time listening to your potential client's needs and develop proposals based on what you hear rather than what you've done before.

No Candy Rule #2 Two: Be Ready to Improvise
At a recent engagement, we found ourselves pulling from a diverse set of tools in the moment - a little lean process improvement here, a little Scrum there, and an impromptu Seven Scenes Activity before lunch. All of these additions to the two-day session's outline cemented the learning and responded to the actual needs of the participants who showed up to the engagement.

Here's the challenge: For every new client you secure, commit to learning one new technique, resource, or tool. Show up to the engagement prepared to improvise in the moment.

No Candy Rule #3 Three: Leave the Candy on the Store Shelf
The organization or team deserves to be exhausted at the end of a training or consulting engagement. If we've done our jobs, we've brought enough content to inspire new conversations, we've provided the space for new working relationships, and the team has fundamentally changed at least one structure, strategy, or process. That's hard work. The team should be tired.

Offering candy - or a candy-like "pick me up" - as a way to keep the team working past the point of reason simply means that the consultant or trainer hasn't offered enough real value to keep the team engaged. That's just wrong.

Here's the challenge: Leave the crutches, candy, and tricks at home.

Here's the big challenge: Share your "No Candy Challenge" results - or - let us know if you think I'm being unfair to cookie cutter consultants (and their results).

To answer these questions, build trust and gain alignment, organizations need to be transparent with financial information. Showing the financial information is not sufficient; teaching your organization how finances work, how the organization makes and spends money is so fundamental to building trust and collaboration in your organization. Management needs to clearly articulate the organization mission, vision and values as this provides guidance to the organization for ideals, behavior and decision making. Mission, vision and values needs to be embodied in the organization’s five year plan, and as many people as possible in the organization need to participate in and contribute to the development of the strategic plan. When people can see themselves in the strategic vision, or the invented future, they are more likely to embrace it and earnestly work on implementing the plans of change. True ownership thinking also means owning the future, and all the work necessary to get there. Moreover, employees are the true “operational experts,” often knowing where process and system breakdowns occur and able to identify opportunities for improvement. If you listen carefully, you are likely to hear about their constraints in doing “the right thing,” whether real or perceived. By giving your employees the right information and tools, you can unlock many process improvement opportunities that will result in improved patient care and profitability.

To ensure achieving the long term operational and financial objectives laid out in the strategic plan, actions need to be taken today. Although we get a sense of action in development of the organizational annual goals, operating plans and budgets, the detailed action steps must be developed and owned by the departmental managers. These actions are usually detailed in the departmental plans and budgets where individuals can be held accountable. The true work of any organizational turnaround actually happens in the trenches; work performed everyday by the front-line staff and managers. The high level organizational goals must be translated to be meaningful to the individual departments actually doing the work. Goals related to the budget, quality, safety, patient satisfaction, growth - all must be made relevant to the unit managers, how it pertains to what they do, and they must understand how their actions will impact results. All employees can and should be engaged in developing rapid improvement plans, complete with financial targets and key performance indicators that might be unique and meaningful to managing the unit.