Imagine you’re trying to get an answer from a client. You’ve emailed. You’ve called. Someone on your team is waiting on you, and the only update you have for them is the same one you gave yesterday. You tell your manager how frustrating that feels.
“Did you try texting them?”
Well, no. And now, somehow, you’re walking your manager through the time you called and the email you sent, making a case for the fact that you did, in fact, do your job. Five seconds ago, the two of you were talking about a client.
I can see myself on either side of that conversation. Give me a problem and my brain starts looking for another way in. It’s one of the things I like about working in People & Culture. It’s also how I can end up answering a question nobody asked me.
Before I offer the text message
There’s a detail in that conversation I could easily miss as a leader. My team member has to go back to someone who’s counting on them and say, again, “I’m still waiting.” That’s the part I’d want to acknowledge. “It’s uncomfortable having to give the same update twice. How did that conversation go?” Then I have to be willing to hear the answer.
I can understand their frustration even if I think the client has a perfectly good reason for being unavailable. And if they say, “Honestly, I just needed to say that out loud,” I can let the conversation end there. Listening loses something when the other person can tell I’m just waiting for my turn to fix it.
If they do want my help, we can start with something they know better than I do. “When you’ve heard back from this client before, how did they reach you?” They might think of the text before I even mention it.
When I’m the one hearing the suggestion
My first thought might still be, “Of course there’s more I could’ve done. There’s always more.” I get to feel that sting. Once it passes, though, I want to give the suggestion a fair hearing. Maybe this client spends the day on the floor and answers texts between appointments. That would have been useful to know. It still is.
The part I can take with me is bigger than “send a text.” The next time I start working with a client, I can ask, “When something needs a quick answer, what’s the best way to reach you?” Someone else’s perspective just gave me a question I can use before I’m stuck. That’s the gift in good feedback for me.
What the failed attempt leaves behind
The same habit applies when a process falls flat. Say we email every new hire a form and keep finding it unfinished on day one. It’s easy enough to add a reminder. It takes a little more curiosity to sit beside someone and ask them to open the form on the phone they used when we sent it. We might spend the next ten minutes fixing a link we’ve spent weeks reminding people to click.
I’m learning to give myself the same room I’d want a good leader to give me. I can be disappointed that something didn’t work. Later, I can get curious about what happened. With practice, I find my way to that curiosity a little sooner.
And when someone comes to me frustrated, I try to remember how obvious that text message looked from my side of the desk. I had the luxury of a fresh perspective. They had yesterday’s email, an unanswered call, and a teammate waiting. I’d want someone to hear that part, too.