PART I
Self-Deception and the âBoxâ
1 Bud
It was a brilliant summer morning shortly before nine, and I was hurrying to the most important meeting of my new job at Zagrum Company. As I walked across the tree-lined grounds, I recalled the day two months earlier when I had first entered the secluded campus-style headquarters to interview for a senior management position. I had been watching the company for more than a decade from my perch at one of its competitors and had tired of finishing second. After eight interviews and three weeks spent doubting myself and waiting for news, I was hired to lead one of Zagrumâs product lines.
Now, four weeks later, I was about to be introduced to a senior management ritual peculiar to Zagrum: a daylong one-on-one meeting with the executive vice president, Bud Jefferson. Bud was the right-hand man to Zagrumâs president, Kate Stenarude. And due to a shift within the executive team, he was about to become my new boss.
I had tried to find out what this meeting was all about, but my colleaguesâ explanations confused me. They mentioned a discovery that solves âpeople problemsâ; how no one really focuses on results; and that something about the âBud Meeting,â as it was called, and strategies that evidently follow from it, are key to Zagrumâs incredible success. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I was eager to meet, and impress, my new boss.
Bud Jefferson was a youngish-looking 50-year-old combination of odd-fitting characteristics: a wealthy man who drove around in an economy car without hubcaps; a nearâhigh school dropout with law and business degrees, summa cum laude, from Harvard; a connoisseur of the arts who was hooked on the Beatles. Despite his apparent contradictions, and perhaps partly because of them, Bud was revered as something of an icon. He was universally admired in the company.
It took 12 minutes on foot to cover the distance from my office in Building 8 to the lobby of the Central Building. The pathwayâone of many connecting Zagrumâs 10 buildingsâmeandered beneath oak and maple canopies along the banks of Kateâs Creek, a postcard-perfect stream that was the brainchild of Kate Stenarude and had been named after her by the employees.
As I scaled the Central Buildingâs hanging steel stairway up to the third floor, I reviewed my performance during my month at Zagrum: I was always among the earliest to arrive and latest to leave. I felt that I was focused and didnât let outside matters interfere with my objectives. Although my wife often complained about it, I was making a point to outwork and outshine every coworker who might compete for promotions in the coming years. I nodded to myself in satisfaction. I had nothing to be ashamed of. I was ready to meet Bud Jefferson.
Arriving in the main lobby of the third floor, I was greeted by Budâs secretary, Maria. âYou must be Tom Callum,â she said with enthusiasm.
âYes, thank you. I have an appointment with Bud for nine oâclock,â I said.
âOf course. Bud asked me to have you wait for him in the Eastview Room. He should be with you in about five minutes.â Maria escorted me down the hall and into a large conference room. I went to the long bank of windows and admired the views of the campus between the leaves of the green Connecticut woods. A minute or so later, there was a brisk knock on the door, and in walked Bud.
âHello, Tom. Thanks for coming,â he said with a big smile as he offered his hand. âPlease, sit down. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, juice?â
âNo, thank you,â I replied. âIâve had plenty already this morning.â
I settled in the black leather chair nearest me, my back to the window, and waited for Bud as he poured himself some water in the serving area in the corner. He walked back with his water, bringing the pitcher and an extra glass with him. He set them on the table between us. âSometimes things can get pretty hot in here. We have a lot to do this morning. Please feel free whenever youâd like.â
âThanks,â I stammered. I was grateful for the gesture but more unsure than ever what this was all about.
âTom,â said Bud abruptly, âIâve asked you to come today for one reasonâan important reason.â
âOkay,â I said evenly, trying to mask the anxiety I was feeling.
âYou have a problemâa problem youâre going to have to solve if youâre going to make it at Zagrum.â
I felt as if Iâd been kicked in the stomach. I groped for some appropriate word or sound, but my mind was racing and words failed me. I was immediately conscious of the pounding of my heart and the sensation of blood draining from my face.
As successful as I had been in my career, one of my hidden weaknesses was that I was too easily knocked off balance. I had learned to compensate by training the muscles in my face and eyes to relax so that no sudden twitch would betray my alarm. And now, it was as if my face instinctively knew that it had to detach itself from my heart or I would be found out to be the same cowering third-grader who broke into an anxious sweat, hoping for a âwell doneâ sticker, every time Mrs. Lee passed back the homework.
Finally I managed to say, âA problem? What do you mean?â
âDo you really want to know?â asked Bud.
âIâm not sure. I guess I need to, from the sound of it.â
âYes,â Bud agreed, âyou do.â
2 A Problem
âYou have a problem,â Bud continued. âThe people at work know it, your wife knows it, your mother-in-law knows it. Iâll bet even your neighbors know it.â Despite the digs, he was smiling warmly. âThe problem is that you donât know it.â
I was taken aback. How could I know I had a problem if I didnât even know what the problem was? âIâm afraid I donât know what you mean,â I said, trying to exhibit calm.
Bud nodded. âConsider a few experiences,â he said. âFor example, think of times when youâve known that your wife needed the car next and you noticed that it was almost out of fuel. Have you ever taken it home anyway, telling yourself that she could fill it just as easily as you?â
I thought about it for a moment. âI suppose Iâve done that, yes.â But so what? I wondered.
âOr have you ever promised to spend time with the kids but backed out at the last minute because something more appealing came up?â
My mind turned to my boy, Todd. It was true that I avoided doing much with him anymore. I didnât think that was entirely my fault, however.
âOr, under similar circumstances,â he went on, âhave you ever taken the kids where they wanted to go but made them feel guilty about it?â
Yeah, but at least I took them, I said to myself. Doesnât that count for something?
âOr how about this one: have you ever parked in a handicapped-only parking zone and then faked a limp so that people wouldnât think you were a jerk?â
âAbsolutely not,â I said in defense.
âNo? Well, have you ever parked where you shouldnât and then sprinted from the car with such purpose that observers would think you just had to park there?â
I fidgeted uncomfortably. âMaybe.â
âOr have you ever let a coworker do something that you knew would get him into trouble when you easily could have warned or stopped him?â
I didnât say anything.
âAnd speaking of the workplace,â he continued, âhave you ever kept some important information to yourself, even when you knew a colleague would really be helped by it?â
I had to admit, I had done that.
âOr are you sometimes disdainful toward the people around you? Do you ever scold them for their laziness or incompetence, for example?â
âI donât know if I scold them,â I said weakly.
âSo what do you do when you think others are incompetent?â Bud asked.
I shrugged. âI guess I try to get them to change in other ways.â
âSo do you indulge people with kindness and other âsoft stuffâ you can think of in order to get them to do what you want? Even though you still feel scornful toward them?â
I didnât think that was fair. âActually, I think I try pretty hard to treat people right,â I countered.
Bud paused for a moment. âIâm sure you do, Tom,â he said. âBut let me ask you a question. How do you feel when youâre âtreating them right,â as you say? Are you still feeling that theyâre a problem?â
âIâm not sure I know what you mean,â I replied.
âWhat I mean is, do you feel that you have to âput upâ with peopleâthat you have to work pretty hard to succeed as a manager when youâre stuck with some of the people youâre stuck with?â
âStuck?â I asked, stalling for time. The truth was, I understood what Bud was saying, but I disagreed with what I thought he was implying. I was trying frantically to find an acceptable way to defend myself. âI suppose itâs true that I think some people are lazy and incompetent,â I finally replied. âAre you saying Iâm wrong about thatâthat no one is lazy and incompetent?â My inflection on âno oneâ was too strong, and I cursed myself for letting my frustration show.
Bud shook his head. âNot at all. Some people are lazy. And I, for one, am incompetent at a whole bunch of things.â He paused for a moment. âSo what do you do when youâre confronted with someone you believe is lazy or incompetent?â
I thought about it. âThat depends. Iâm pretty direct with some people, but with others that doesnât work very well so I try to get them going in other ways. Some I try to encourage, and others I feel like I have to outsmart or outmaneuver. But Iâve learned to keep my smile most of the time, and that seems to help. I think I do a pretty good job with people, actually.â
Bud nodded. âI understand. But when weâre finished, I think you may feel differently.â
The comment unsettled me. âWhatâs wrong with treating people well?â I protested.
âNothing. If thatâs what one is actually doing,â Bud said. âBut I think you might discover that you arenât treating people as well as you think. You may be doing more damage than you know.â
âDamage?â I repeated. A rush of worry flushed my cheeks. Attempting to keep my emotions under control, I said, âIâm afraid youâre going to have to explain that to me.â The words sounded too combative, even to my own ear, and my cheeks flushed all the more.
âIâll be happy to,â he said calmly. âI can help you learn what your problem isâand what to do about it. Thatâs why weâre meeting.â He paused, and then added, âI can help you because I have the same problem.â
3 Self-Deception
âDo you have kids, Tom?â
I was grateful for the simple question and felt the life come back to my face. âWhy, yes, one actually. His name is Todd. Heâs 16.â
Bud smiled. âDo you remember how you felt when Todd was bornâhow it seemed to change your perspective on life?â
I strained to find my way back to the memories of Toddâs birthâthrough the pain, through the heartache. Diagnosed at a fairly young age with attention deficit disorder, he had been a difficult child, and my wife, Laura, and I clashed constantly over what to do with him. Things had only gotten worse as he grew older. Todd and I didnât have much of a relationship. But at Budâs invitation, I attempted a remembrance of the time and emotion surrounding his birth. âYes, I remember,â I began pensively. âI remember holding him close, pondering my hope for his lifeâfeeling inadequate, even overwhelmed, but at the same time grateful.â The memory lessened for a moment the pain I felt in the present.
âThat was the way it was for me too,â Bud said. âWould you mind if I told you a story that began with the birth of my first child, David?â
âPlease,â I said, happy to hear his story rather than relive my own.
âI was a young lawyer at the time,â he began, âworking long hours at one of the most prestigious firms in the country. One of the deals I worked on was a major financing project that involved about 30 banks worldwide. Our client was the lead lender on the deal.
âIt was a complicated project involving many lawyers. I was the second most junior member of the team and had chief responsibility for the drafting of 50 or so agreements that sat underneath the major lending contract. It was a big, sexy deal involving international travel, numbers with lots of zeros, and high-profile characters.
âA week after Iâd been assigned to the project, Nancy and I found out she was pregnant. It was a marvelous time for us. David was born eight months later, on December 16. Before the birth, I worked hard to wrap up or assign my projects so that I could take three weeks off with our new baby. I donât think Iâve ever been happier in my life.
âBut then came a phone call. It was December 29. The lead partner on the deal was calling me. I was needed at an âall handsâ meeting in San Francisco.
â âHow long?â I asked.
â âUntil the deal closesâcould be three weeks, could be three months. Weâre here until itâs done,â he said.
âI was crushed. The thought of leaving Nancy and David alone in our Alexandria, Virginia, home left me desperately sad. It took me two days to wrap up my affairs in DC before I reluctantly boarded a plane for San Francisco. I left my young family at the curb at Reagan National Airport. With a photo album under my arm, I tore myself away from them and turned through the doors of the terminal.
âBy the time I arrived at our San Francisco offices, I was the last one in on the deal. Even the guy from our London office beat me. I settled into the last remaining guest office, which was on the 21st floor. The deal headquarters, and everyone else, was on floor 25.
âI hunkered down and got to work. Most of the action was on 25âmeetings, negotiations among all the parties, everything. But I was alone on 21âalone with my work and my photo album, which sat open on my desk.
âI worked from 6 AM till after midnight every day. Three times a day I would go down to the deli in the lobby and purchase a bagel, a sandwich, or a salad. Then Iâd go back up to 21 and eat while poring over the documents.
âIf you had asked me at the time what my objective was, I would have told you that I was âdrafting the best possible documents to protect our client and close the deal,â or something to that effect. But you should know a couple of other things about my experience in San Francisco.
âAll of the negotiations that were central to the documents I was working on were happening on the 25th floor. These 25th-floor negotiations s...