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When an organization is struggling, it’s tempting for the boss to blame the team.
I’m not sure the evidence supports this. After all, other similar organizations are thriving–drawing from precisely the same labor pool.
Sure, it’s easier to be a coach if Michael Jordan is on your team, but it turns out that creating the conditions for commitment, learning and resilience are the boss’s job, not the people you hired to follow along.
Design of any kind requires empathy. If you’re making it for yourself, it’s a hobby. Everything else is for someone else.
Great designers know who it’s for. And the design is for them, not for the designer.
Annie Jean-Baptiste teaches us about restrictive design. This is what happens when the designer fails to identify and recognize who the work is for, and then leaves people out. “Exclusion is a business decision, even when you did not mean to make it.”
Not everything needs to be designed for everyone. But all well-designed experiences and products are designed for someone.
Name your people, invite them in and give them what they need.
This is a choice we rarely name.
Putting effort into how much ambiguity we can handle can define a career and give us a path forward in our social and cultural interactions as well.
Our desire for clarity is based on safety and how we think about risk. If you know exactly what to expect, you won’t be held responsible for things that feel like they’re out of your control.
Clarity pushes us to put things in a category, a predictable box, well-labeled.
Ambiguity, on the other hand, is the nature of the future. All interactions with other people, with complex systems and with what hasn’t happened yet are somewhat unpredictable.
That range of outcomes is where possibility lies.
“I’m not sure.”
“This might not work.”
“We’ll be okay.”
Pretending that the ambiguous is certain is a short-term sort of bravado that works in the movies and politics but not in real life.
For the rest of us, there’s the chance to embrace the soft edges of ‘perhaps’ on our way to make things better.
HT to Seth B.
The cultural impresario has always had leverage.
Invest time and money and put on a show. Start a cable network, a book publishing company or become a concert promoter. You’re the gatekeeper, an adjudicator of status, a person who can transform people’s lives simply by amplifying and spreading ideas and allowing art to reach its audience.
Time and money were apparently the gating factors. It takes a while to turn a profit, and it’s uncertain and hard work.
Except…
New platforms and tools remove both time and money as barriers.
Penn and Teller needed their fame and the CW network to launch their cable show Fool Us. But now, anyone can start a competitor on YouTube in a weekend.
A radio pundit needed to spend years to build a syndicated network of terrestrial stations, but now you can start a podcast, in your basement, for free. In a weekend.
Gallerists don’t need galleries, and you don’t even need a building to coordinate a foster-home-based pet shelter.
So what’s the impediment?
I’m guessing that if you got the call today, you could put together your ideas for a book, or five minutes of standup or even the software you’d code.
But we don’t need the specific call. We’ve all been called.
The barrier is simple: fear. The fear of beginning and of sticking with it. The fear of succeeding (or failing). The fear of impostor syndrome. And the fear of going forward without a guarantee.
So let’s call it that. Fear is real, but fear might not be rational.
Begin.
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