When it comes to domestic duties, my wife and I have pretty clear lines of division of labor. I can't say that we have talked about it all that much, but there are some household things I do and other things that Beth does. We don't have defined or documented job descriptions (although it might have saved more than a few "misunderstandings" if we did) but we do have a pretty well understood TOA (Team Operating Agreement). Co-location and an intimate understanding of each other's strengths and weaknesses, interests and dislikes over 15 years will do that.
Like most couples, we can read each other's moods, finish each other's sentences, and know when a single look speaks volumes. But, there is one area where we are challenged to communicate well, and that is in the kitchen; specifically, grocery shopping and cooking.
I don't typically shop for groceries. That's Beth's job. Beth doesn't cook. That's my job. With rare exceptions, this division of responsibilities has held true since we have been married. And I know we are each grateful that we don't have to do the other person's job.
When I do find myself wandering around the grocery store looking for olive oil or basmati rice, I might as well be lost in the deepest rain forest. Stumbling up and down the same aisle, l finally ask a clerk where the item is. Then with a sigh of frustration, I move to the second item on the list and repeat the exercise. Grocery stores just don't seem to be laid out the way my brain works. Beth on the other hand has her list organized by aisle and zips down each aisle just once, stuffing her cart in record time with minimal hesitation, every Saturday morning (while I am golfing).
As foreign as the grocery store is to me, the kitchen is to Beth. I enjoy cooking and am reasonably good at it, but if it were up to Beth, we would eat whole wheat pasta with microwaved pasta sauce from a jar and a salad every night. That's not going to cut it for me. It's not that I live to eat, but I feel meals should be shared and enjoyed, not mundanely endured for the sake of sustenance. Beth understands and appreciates that, but not enough to make the effort to cook.
I'm willing to bet that for most couples there is some area of their relationship that has this yin and yang to it. But, what does this have to do with requirements?
On occasion, I decide to prepare something different and intricate that requires some spices or ingredients that I don't regularly have on hand in the pantry or refrigerator. So I dutifully put those items on the grocery list, conveniently stuck on the Team Refrigerator with a magnetic pen so it is readily available, expecting that by Saturday afternoon they will magically appear for me.
Invariably, about the 8th hole, my phone starts to ring. "Did you want fat-free sour cream or regular? The red potatoes are all large, is that OK? They don't have cilantro, will Chinese parsley do? How do I tell if these are jalapeno or serrano peppers? They don't have any swordfish but the butcher says the sea bass is fresh. And what the heck is pro-sci-oo-toh? Your handwriting is terrible."
I don't need this. I'm trying to sink a 4-footer to save bogie and my cell phone is vibrating like crazy. Why doesn't she understand my cooking requirements? I wrote them down pretty clearly, at least to me.
I help a lot of teams adopt best practices in project execution, and by far the most challenging area is the translation of the business needs into sufficient detail that the team (usually developers writing code) can create the expected result, or maybe something even better. Commonly referred to as requirements definition, business analysis, or functional specifications, this activity usually emulates the processes used in the construction and engineering worlds. Most organizations employ methodologies that continually elaborate the requirements into greater and greater detail, from a Business Requirements Document to a Functional Requirements Specification to a System Requirements Specification to a Technical Design Document (with signatures at each hand-off). This usually results in more documentation than even the most diligent developer will ever read, let alone deliver on. More time is spent reviewing and approving the documentation than actually writing code or delivering business value.
I tried to do this once with Beth's grocery list. At the top of the list I wrote:
2 - regular cans of diced tomatoes with cumin spice. Del Monte is the best brand but if you can't find that, Hunts or the local brand will do. If you can find any that also have jalapenos diced in them that would be better but not if they are too spicy because your Aunt Katharine gets heartburn easily. They have to be diced, not stewed or whole, because I hate having to cut them up. I'd rather just pour them in already cut. Some have celery and onion in them. That will leave an off-taste when I reduce the sauce, so don't get those. If you can't find the regular size cans, get three of the smaller cans or one of the large cans…
By this time, there was no more space on the grocery list for the next ingredient, so I got another sheet of paper.
Why couldn't I just write "2 cans of tomatoes for Chicken Stew with White Wine?" Because Beth doesn't cook. She lacks the context to make the same decisions I might make when faced with the challenge of uncertainty or discovery at the grocery store. So, instead, she attempts to clarify my requirements with questions like, "How many ounces in a regular can?" Of course, I have no idea. In my job, I just open the can and pour it in.
At this point, I am left with two other options: A) Be willing to cook with whatever she buys and brings home, or B) go grocery shopping with her. When it isn't that important, I choose option A. When it really matters, I go shopping with her. I do occasionally shop by myself, but I've already described why that is not a preferred option.
I have never really understood why we put so much time and effort into attempting to refine an inherently weak communication medium rather than leveraging a naturally strong one. You would think we were all lawyers drafting contracts to protect our parochial interests rather than trying to deliver a valuable business outcome. The minute documentation even feels like a CYA, you are dead.
Collaboration through dialogue is clearly a more effective method of conveying requirements, especially when the two sides don't share a common context or experience. Not only will the dialogue bring greater clarity, but in the process each party will gain some insight into the other's perspective, making the next dialogue that much more effective. And after all, we're not trying to create the perfect shopping list. We're just trying to make a good meal.
Increasing shared context through dialogue creates a more flexible environment. Before we decide on the groceries, Beth and I talk about the dinner we are going to have so she understands my general vision, even though she lacks the context to decompose it into ingredients. But, when I do go shopping with her, it is not uncommon for me to see something that looks really good and totally change everything I was planning to make. I scratch off half the things on her list and fill the cart with what I know I'll need, trying to remember what I already have in the pantry. This used to frustrate Beth because we had already agreed to what would get done. But now, she just listens and helps me find what I need. We're a good team that way: agile.
BTW, we do the dishes together. Bon appetite.
If I've read one article, book or blog about how important good communication is to the success of a project I've read a thousand. No one would ever deny the importance of effective communication, yet overall, most projects at some point suffer from lack of communications more than from insufficient technical skills. Personal baggage, assumptions, ambiguity, cultural differences, poor mediums and a general lack of disciplined practice all combine to thwart even our best efforts to communicate effectively.
It's challenging enough to communicate effectively face-to-face, but for most teams, especially those not co-located, the most common form of communication is digital. Emails, tweets, blogs, IMs, and texts all employ a medium that exacerbates our poor communication habits because the other senses that can gauge the tone and intention are absent or assumed. Smiley faces and other emoticons can help convey an attitude, affirm an intention, or at least imply some levity, but they are not the real thing.
If you are like me, you probably spend a fair portion of your day in email. But email is not the most robust communication medium. It cannot communicate body language or tone of voice, and it is slow and one way. Even for the fastest typists, it doesn't flow like interactive dialogue.
But, when it comes to written communication there is a difference between fast and brief. A quote commonly attributed to Mark Twain says, "I would have written less, if I had more time." It takes time to write effective communication, and time, or lack of it, is the primary cause of many miscommunications. So, when I have an email I want to make sure is received exactly as I want it to be received, I think DIE: Deliberate, Intentional, and Explicit.
While this acronym is not limited to email or other writing, I find it is easier to create the disciplines if you first practice them in email. Written mediums have an inherently a slower pace, allowing for time to build the habits.
Being deliberate means slowing down, being thoughtful or measured. I know I am deliberate when I think about the message I want to convey before I start to type. I become more careful with my choice of words and conscious of the way the message could be received. Doing this helps me see where the communication could break down and prompts me to think about how to preempt the miscommunication with greater clarity. Being deliberate also forces me to be conscious of my intention.
While a close cousin to deliberation, intention implies a higher level of premeditation. In addition to being intentional in my thinking, I am deliberate with my intentions. I don't leave my intentions to be assumed or surmised; I write them down. I lead with them, front and center, and often use smiley faces and other emoticons, if appropriate, to convey and reinforce my intentions.
It is not unusual for me to start an email with the phrase, "I want to be clear about my intention in responding to ..." or "My intention is not to alarm you, but rather to just inform you ... :)". I specifically use the words "my intention" as opposed to "I want to" because I believe it better conveys the desire of the dialogue instead of my selfish wishes. "My intention" is a signal that sets the tone for the conversation to follow.
Explicit is about leaving nothing implied, assumed, or ambiguous. It's about talking straight and clear, leaving little room for misinterpretation. It is easier to be explicit if you have already deliberately framed the communication through your intention. Words become focused and less subjective when the stage of intention has been deliberately set. The words can now paint the explicit picture in detail within the boundaries framed by the intention.
So, when I think of being explicit, I think of another acronym, CYA. Not the CYA you are probably thinking of. Here, CYA stands for Check Your Assumptions. What am I taking for granted about the recipient? What do I think they already know and am I being completely unequivocal?
DIE and CYA are cute TLAs, but how do they look in practice? Several articles ago, I wrote about Speaking in Absolutes: eliminating use of judgment or hyperbole through words like "should" or "always" because they can inflame the conversation and create unintended negativity. I have a similar aversion to pronouns, especially indefinite pronouns, which can lead to unintended ambiguity and misinterpretation.
By definition, pronouns are substitutes or shorthand for something else in the sentence or paragraph. However, the improper use of these substitutes can lead to confusion. So, I make it a habit to try to reduce the use of these words in my emails. Of course, I don't completely eliminate them (pronouns, that is), as the complete elimination of any pronouns would make every sentence as awkward and repetitive as this sentence.
But I think in general we become lazy in our writing, and using indefinite references like they, someone, most, and so on supports that laziness and can lead to faulty assumptions and miscommunication. It's a good habit to Check Your Assumptions when you use any wording that could just as easily be clarified. You will be amazed at how much confusion it avoids, though you may never really know. You just won't have to deal with as many misunderstandings.
I challenge you to take even a short email and review it to check your assumptions just around the use of indefinite pronouns. See if the sentence is clearer if you replace the pronoun with the person's name or with exactly what you are referencing. Doing this may take a little more time, but I assure you the time it saves will be recouped in the time not spent clarifying later.
I know I can be annoying (that is a nice version of the words my wife uses) when I ask people to clarify their references to unspecific objects, places or people in my reply emails. It is a quirky little habit I have. However, I appreciate kind reminders when someone catches me getting lazy and using fuzzy language. I know my communication is not always as perfect as I want it to be.
So, the next time you read or write something like, "They want to take care of that while they are there," you may want to CYA. I wouldn't have a clue what you intended, and I just might ask you to explain. :)
The end of a project is a point of transition for the team. The work is over, the budget spent, and typically the team disbands. I feel it is important to mark this change with two events: a retrospective and a celebration. The first is primarily a mental reflection exercise, while the second is an important emotional tagging of the transition itself -- two different purposes that are inextricably linked.
Transition points are important to acknowledge with a sacred marker. In many cultures and religions, generational rituals acknowledge movement from one life stage to another: births, first communions, bar/bat mitzvahs, marriage, etc. These celebrations, both spiritual and social, are designed to emotionally transition individuals from one state or condition to the next. Ceremonies bring structured witness to major life events. Without ceremony or celebration, there is no formal acknowledgment of what was, what is, and what might be.
In just a few days, my oldest daughter, Jenna, will be married -- a major life transition. There will be a ceremony and we will celebrate what is and will be. But first, I would like to look back at what was. It's hard to pick just a few things, or even the most important lessons. However, at the risk of being a bit sentimental as I walk Jenna down the aisle, here are five important things I learned by being her father. I try to keep these in mind as a parent and in my role as a leader and project manager.
My two daughters couldn't be more different. One blonde, one brunette. One quiet and pensive, the other loud and energetic. The theatre vs. Jimmy Buffett. But underneath their unique exteriors, they have the same needs, wants, and desires as everyone else, including me. We all need to belong, to be acknowledged, and to make a contribution. How we do that will vary, but the underlying motivation is the same.
Learning to recognize and tap into their drivers in such a way that their passions are fulfilled means seeing more of that commonality even if we are celebrating the differences. When they were young, it was common for teachers, coaches, and relatives to compare them, noting their differences, and the girls enjoyed highlighting their own differences too.
As a parent, drawing the line between the safety of consistency and the surprise of diversity was not always easy. Punishment or praise may have been tailored to the differences, but hopefully the underlying intent spoke to their similarities.
I don't know what it is like to be famous, to live in a social fishbowl followed by the paparazzi, and I'm not sure I want to find out. Living around the ever-watchful eyes and impressionable minds of children was challenging enough for me. Hardly anything went unnoticed, and random comments were repeated at the most inappropriate time. ("Daddy, I thought you said you didn't like Mr. Smith." Oops!)
We can talk all we want about how they should behave, what they should or should not do, but what they hear is what they see. They can't see your intent. Little things like picking up litter, driving habits, please and thank you, are just as important as study habits, eating and exercise, or showing respect to others. Some disciplines start out as unconscious habits imprinted in formative minds through continual observation.
Our children are not us, but they are a reflection of us: little human mirrors.
It's OK for them to see I'm human with all my weaknesses and frailties. It's hard to keep up the façade that I know everything. (Thank you, Trivial Pursuit.) When the girls were young and inexperienced, my perspective was definitely better than theirs. But as they grew, their ideas and thoughts also grew in relevance and value. Now, their perspective may be even better than mine as I grow old and locked in the experience patterns that have worked for me in my world.
It is one of the true joys of parenting to reach the point where a conversation with your child is a discussion of peers and not a pontification of position. Somewhere in the last decade I learned to control my ego, at least relative to parenting. And I think it has been a good thing. Or maybe they have just helped me realize how often I am not right. Either way, this has been a great lesson for me when working with my teammates.
I'm not a big fan of heaping on superfluous accolades in order to build self-confidence. I think it builds a misplaced sense of reality and creates high maintenance adults. I'm from Minnesota, but not from Lake Wobegon (Garrison Keiller's mythical town where "all the children are above average"). Still, there are more than enough opportunities to sincerely praise people for what they do and who they are, if we look for it. My daughters' trophy shelves are endless. It doesn't make sense to be stingy with sincere praise.
Equally important is the encouragement to try something different, to venture out and take risks without fear of failure. I earned broken bones and scars (physical and emotional) from my boyhood adventures outside my comfort zone, but I was comfortable doing that because of the support system of encouragement and love I knew was there for me.
Talking about love may be a bit too squishy for the work environment, so call it something else, like trust. But either way, don't hold back. The price is miniscule and the return to both the giver and recipient is tremendous. Praise, encourage, and love.
I'll be a Dad for the rest of my life, but I don't intend to have to work at it all my life. I can't tell you the number of times I wanted to live my daughters' lives for them, protect them from their inexperience, make their choices for them, steer them away from harm. But I also know that when I was growing up, I didn't tolerate that from my teachers, coaches, or parents.
I failed more times that you would think reasonable, and every time someone was there to pick me up and watch me walk right back into it again. I was both stubborn and a slow learner. I don't want to be a passive spectator in my daughters' lives, but I also don't want to run their lives. I just want them to know I will always be there for them, no matter what.
In preparation for a slide show during the Father/Daughter dance, I scanned dozens of pictures of Jenna from when she was a baby through a young girl. It may sound trite, but it seems like only yesterday.
We all have numerous distractions in our lives -- things that seem important at the time. But, in retrospect, there has been nothing that has mattered more in my life than being a parent. I've learned a ton, and my role may be changing, but I'm sincerely glad I'm still a dad.
So much for the retrospective. Now it's time for the celebration. Tonight, I will dance with the most beautiful bride, and she with the proudest father. Cheers!
When teaching project management for software development, it is not unusual to make references to the construction or engineering fields to illustrate work decomposition, dependencies and other fundamentals of project management. The similarities start to fade once you get beyond the planning stage, especially when working in organizations employing more agile practices. But, before we throw the baby out with the bath water, I'd like to share some things I learned from a specific young construction crew about project management, teambuilding, and leadership that I think you will enjoy.
My best friend from high school teaches construction for a group of high schools in Michigan. John grew up in a construction family, mostly residential and small commercial, and has been in the industry since getting out of college. John is also a natural teacher and coach. He is passionate about creating a positive and supportive environment for his students where they can not only learn the skills of their trade, but also learn a lot about themselves and each other. His goal is simple: At the end of the year, every student in his class should be better prepared to make a positive contribution to society. Period.
It is unfortunate that traditional academic methods struggle to measure this type of education. Consequently, John's program receives more than a few raised eyebrows from some of his peers, who prefer the safer, standard pedagogical approach to teaching and learning. Fortunately for his students, this doesn't faze him at all. In fact it inspires him to continue to create better ways to show the value of his program, especially for those students who are better suited to applied learning and working in 3D.
This past week John and I went on a golf trip. We had a lot of talk time to catch up on family and other goings-on, but mostly we talked about our respective jobs. He's a teacher. I'm a project manager. He works with kids in high school. I work with professionals in corporate America. He builds homes. I build software. We were surprised at how much we had in common when we shared our work experiences.
John has two classes of 15 students, the morning and afternoon classes. The kids come from six different high schools, so outside of class most of them don't know each other. Every year, starting in September and finishing in June, the two classes collaborate to build and sell a house from the ground up, completing all phases in one school year. They do all the work under the guidance of John, his assistant, and a few master tradesmen who act as both teachers and project managers.
As I listened to John talk about how he works with his students, I couldn't help but draw the comparisons to the teambuilding and collaboration necessary for a great team. I had labored for John's father as a summer job in college, and I don't remember it being quite that much fun. So, I started asking more specific questions about his methods and how he approaches teaching. Here's a sample of some of the things they do in his program and what I learned from his class. I'll let you draw the comparisons.
To start with, everyone, even the students' parents, call John "Coach." John has found that moniker strikes the ideal balance between the respect of a supervisor and the familiarity of a parent without being invasive. There are rules; they are known, and explicitly communicated, but he rarely has to enforce them. For instance, hard hats and glasses and safe work behaviors are not optional. Cell phones are only for emergencies. No texting allowed while at the job site. Peer influence and pressure to keep making progress keeps the conduct and behaviors moving forward.
His crew understands the importance of staying focused in an environment where it doesn't take much to cause an accident that leaves someone seriously hurt. He expects his students to show up physically and mentally. They get points for attendance, but not for excused absences, unless they are communicated ahead of time. Students can do outside community work to make up for the absences.
Terminology is important. Most of these kids have never touched power tools and some may not even understand just how dangerous they can be. Therefore, rules for the tools are important. Each student develops their skills through progressive demonstrations of proficiency. Group leaders rotate every six weeks and monitor the completion of each skill level, only approving those that measure up to quality and safety standards. I'd like to try this one on some of my teams and see how that goes over.
Weekly goals are specified as empirically measurable deliverables. Outcomes, not activities, are important. Every class starts with a daily stand-up meeting, where they review what the previous class completed and what they expect to complete in their class. John uses 3x5 cards with the list of tasks, necessary equipment, and required resources for the next assignments. These are posted on the board in the site trailer before each class, and the students select their assignments. Any disagreements are resolved with rock-paper-scissors. Work is sized and assigned to the teams, not the other way around.
Teams are self-governing. They grade each other and themselves, every day. Every day! That means every day John reviews all the grades, but only intervenes on the group leaders' grades. He provides feedback to the leaders, who are then responsible to carry the message to the rest of their team. John typically only gets involved in disputes at the leaders' request. He prefers that the leaders and other students resolve issues maturely between themselves. When it comes to grading, the group's grade is deducted from the leader's grade, so improving the team is the goal of each lead. Exams are hands-on individual performance reviews of working product: a wall built, a floor tiled, trusses set, or plumbing that works. Evaluations are done by professional builders (independent auditors) who volunteer their time.
At the end of every class, the site is clean and equipment is put away. Every Friday, Coach has hot dogs for the class -- 50 cents apiece. Occasionally he doesn't put on his tool belt, and steps away. That's when they step up their game. He spends time every day trying to catch them doing things well and complimenting them in front of their peers. But if they do make mistakes within safe boundaries, he believes in learning by failing. Issues are never about the person, always about technique, behavior, and results.
This approach helps the students own the output. John asks them, "How would you do this work if this was going to be your house? Would you cut corners or hide mistakes?" His daily mantra is, "Students don't care how much you know until they know how much you care." So he tries to stay connected enough for students to know he is there for them. Most all of us can look back and recall a teacher who made us feel special in that way. John tries to be that person for his students.
These kids are learning great life skills under the guise of construction education. They are also demonstrating some very practical project management and team building skills which will help them in any career they pursue, even if they don't call it project management. I've worked with a lot of teams in my career, and they could all benefit from this type of learning.
As we were parting ways at the end of the week, I asked John what he learns from working with the kids. While the first word out of his mouth was "patience," he was quick to follow that with a deeper reflection and a favorite quote. "'He who teaches, learns!' Most people know more than we give them credit for. And if you let them, they will teach you. You just have to listen."
John is fortunate to have a vocation he is passionate about, and I'm pretty sure his students know that. Well done, Coach.