PART I
Self-Deception and the āBoxā
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 Zagrumās 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 Zagrumās 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 colleaguesā explanations confused me. They mentioned a discovery that solves āpeople problemsā; how no one really focuses on results; and that something about the āBud Meeting,ā as it was called, and strategies that evidently follow from it, are key to Zagrumās 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 nearāhigh 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 pathwayāone of many connecting Zagrumās 10 buildingsāmeandered beneath oak and maple canopies along the banks of Kateās 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 Buildingās 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 didnāt 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 Budās secretary, Maria. āYou must be Tom Callum,ā she said with enthusiasm.
āYes, thank you. I have an appointment with Bud for nine oāclock,ā I said.
āOf course. Bud asked me to have you wait for him in the Eastview Room. He should be with you in about five minutes.ā 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.
āHello, Tom. Thanks for coming,ā he said with a big smile as he offered his hand. āPlease, sit down. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, juice?ā
āNo, thank you,ā I replied. āIāve had plenty already this morning.ā
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. āSometimes things can get pretty hot in here. We have a lot to do this morning. Please feel free whenever youād like.ā
āThanks,ā I stammered. I was grateful for the gesture but more unsure than ever what this was all about.
āTom,ā said Bud abruptly, āIāve asked you to come today for one reasonāan important reason.ā
āOkay,ā I said evenly, trying to mask the anxiety I was feeling.
āYou have a problemāa problem youāre going to have to solve if youāre going to make it at Zagrum.ā
I felt as if Iād 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 āwell doneā sticker, every time Mrs. Lee passed back the homework.
Finally I managed to say, āA problem? What do you mean?ā
āDo you really want to know?ā asked Bud.
āIām not sure. I guess I need to, from the sound of it.ā
āYes,ā Bud agreed, āyou do.ā
2 A Problem
āYou have a problem,ā Bud continued. āThe people at work know it, your wife knows it, your mother-in-law knows it. Iāll bet even your neighbors know it.ā Despite the digs, he was smiling warmly. āThe problem is that you donāt know it.ā
I was taken aback. How could I know I had a problem if I didnāt even know what the problem was? āIām afraid I donāt know what you mean,ā I said, trying to exhibit calm.
Bud nodded. āConsider a few experiences,ā he said. āFor example, think of times when youāve 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?ā
I thought about it for a moment. āI suppose Iāve done that, yes.ā But so what? I wondered.
āOr have you ever promised to spend time with the kids but backed out at the last minute because something more appealing came up?ā
My mind turned to my boy, Todd. It was true that I avoided doing much with him anymore. I didnāt think that was entirely my fault, however.
āOr, under similar circumstances,ā he went on, āhave you ever taken the kids where they wanted to go but made them feel guilty about it?ā
Yeah, but at least I took them, I said to myself. Doesnāt that count for something?
āOr how about this one: have you ever parked in a handicapped-only parking zone and then faked a limp so that people wouldnāt think you were a jerk?ā
āAbsolutely not,ā I said in defense.
āNo? Well, have you ever parked where you shouldnāt and then sprinted from the car with such purpose that observers would think you just had to park there?ā
I fidgeted uncomfortably. āMaybe.ā
āOr 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?ā
I didnāt say anything.
āAnd speaking of the workplace,ā he continued, āhave you ever kept some important information to yourself, even when you knew a colleague would really be helped by it?ā
I had to admit, I had done that.
āOr are you sometimes disdainful toward the people around you? Do you ever scold them for their laziness or incompetence, for example?ā
āI donāt know if I scold them,ā I said weakly.
āSo what do you do when you think others are incompetent?ā Bud asked.
I shrugged. āI guess I try to get them to change in other ways.ā
āSo do you indulge people with kindness and other āsoft stuffā you can think of in order to get them to do what you want? Even though you still feel scornful toward them?ā
I didnāt think that was fair. āActually, I think I try pretty hard to treat people right,ā I countered.
Bud paused for a moment. āIām sure you do, Tom,ā he said. āBut let me ask you a question. How do you feel when youāre ātreating them right,ā as you say? Are you still feeling that theyāre a problem?ā
āIām not sure I know what you mean,ā I replied.
āWhat I mean is, do you feel that you have to āput upā with peopleāthat you have to work pretty hard to succeed as a manager when youāre stuck with some of the people youāre stuck with?ā
āStuck?ā 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. āI suppose itās true that I think some people are lazy and incompetent,ā I finally replied. āAre you saying Iām wrong about thatāthat no one is lazy and incompetent?ā My inflection on āno oneā was too strong, and I cursed myself for letting my frustration show.
Bud shook his head. āNot at all. Some people are lazy. And I, for one, am incompetent at a whole bunch of things.ā He paused for a moment. āSo what do you do when youāre confronted with someone you believe is lazy or incompetent?ā
I thought about it. āThat depends. Iām pretty direct with some people, but with others that doesnāt 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 Iāve 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.ā
Bud nodded. āI understand. But when weāre finished, I think you may feel differently.ā
The comment unsettled me. āWhatās wrong with treating people well?ā I protested.
āNothing. If thatās what one is actually doing,ā Bud said. āBut I think you might discover that you arenāt treating people as well as you think. You may be doing more damage than you know.ā
āDamage?ā I repeated. A rush of worry flushed my cheeks. Attempting to keep my emotions under control, I said, āIām afraid youāre going to have to explain that to me.ā The words sounded too combative, even to my own ear, and my cheeks flushed all the more.
āIāll be happy to,ā he said calmly. āI can help you learn what your problem isāand what to do about it. Thatās why weāre meeting.ā He paused, and then added, āI can help you because I have the same problem.ā
3 Self-Deception
āDo you have kids, Tom?ā
I was grateful for the simple question and felt the life come back to my face. āWhy, yes, one actually. His name is Todd. Heās 16.ā
Bud smiled. āDo you remember how you felt when Todd was bornāhow it seemed to change your perspective on life?ā
I strained to find my way back to the memories of Toddās birthāthrough 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 didnāt have much of a relationship. But at Budās invitation, I attempted a remembrance of the time and emotion surrounding his birth. āYes, I remember,ā I began pensively. āI remember holding him close, pondering my hope for his lifeāfeeling inadequate, even overwhelmed, but at the same time grateful.ā The memory lessened for a moment the pain I felt in the present.
āThat was the way it was for me too,ā Bud said. āWould you mind if I told you a story that began with the birth of my first child, David?ā
āPlease,ā I said, happy to hear his story rather than relive my own.
āI was a young lawyer at the time,ā he began, āworking 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.
āIt 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.
āA week after Iād 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 donāt think Iāve ever been happier in my life.
āBut then came a phone call. It was December 29. The lead partner on the deal was calling me. I was needed at an āall handsā meeting in San Francisco.
ā āHow long?ā I asked.
ā āUntil the deal closesācould be three weeks, could be three months. Weāre here until itās done,ā he said.
āI 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.
āBy 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.
āI hunkered down and got to work. Most of the action was on 25āmeetings, negotiations among all the parties, everything. But I was alone on 21āalone with my work and my photo album, which sat open on my desk.
āI 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 Iād go back up to 21 and eat while poring over the documents.
āIf you had asked me at the time what my objective was, I would have told you that I was ādrafting the best possible documents to protect our client and close the deal,ā or something to that effect. But you should know a couple of other things about my experience in San Francisco.
āAll of the negotiations that were central to the documents I was working on were happening on the 25th floor. These 25th-floor negotiations s...