Let be the first one to admit I stare at my dashboards all the time. Why? Because I love data and the indicators they often provide. But what happens (and how does it occur) when damage is done by the information gathered? May I specify the kind of pain I have witnessed: damage to the human story woven throughout an organization - when people get hurt by what appears to be objective information. Here's how it ALMOST happened.
A young team member put in their notice rather suddenly, sending a bit of a scurry to discover the reason. An up-and-coming valuable individual, this technician had a past which, unfortunately, prohibited him from being carried on our company's vehicle insurance policy. In turn, this prevented him from taking the next step in his career as a lead technician. The data I gathered about their role offered a clear cost-analysis and ample clarity on why we shouldn't rush to keep this employee by throwing money at them in a salary increase. Additional performance indicators showed some reasons to suspect they may not be the right fit for the organization. So, I entered the meeting with a clear outline, ready to deliver the content that would "set them straight" and provide some hard, but necessary truths about why their future with the company was limited. (Writing that portion of this story now makes it sound like an awful idea.)
Within the first moments of the meeting I sensed that I might be missing the real story. Curiously, I wondered about what might be going on behind the scenes, or what opportunity I'm about to miss if I plunge ahead with my information-laden talk? Pausing to reflect on my own testimony of transformation and growth, I listened more carefully to the journey the team member had been on, their fears, the sudden knowledge of expecting a child, and the uncertainty of how to provide and care for their family. Suddenly I recalled how it felt to hear someone speak positively to my future when I was down, discouraged and hopeless. Turning over my printed notes and performance charts, I spoke to the heart of the matter. "I'm excited for your family, and I'm sorry that you have been feeling fearful of your future. I know just how it feels... I've been there too. From now on, I want to be the first in line to commit to no longer limiting your future because of the mistakes of your past. In fact, I believe you have an important calling on your life to be a strong leader, a successful team member, a great husband, and an amazing father. I think we can find a way to move forward with your career here, and I'm willing to invest in that for you, and your family."
I was able to contain my tears until he left the office, just moments after he joyfully announced that he wouldn't let us down and that he's grateful for the opportunity. For a few moments afterward I cried. In part because I was genuinely grateful he would stay on the team, but also because I was far too close to missing the moment of change than I would like to admit. Had I relied on my data and dashboards, he would have left the company 2 days later. We would have spent untold time and energy looking to recruit and onboard a new team member (we've now been able to put a number to that cost - $40,000). Instead, we found an insurance policy to cover him (it cost a LOT) and within 60 days was leading a team. 6 months later, he was the most productive, driven, and contagiously joyful team member we had. I couldn't be more proud of serving with him.
One of my core convictions that has settled into my leadership team from this experience (and several more since) is that while dashboards and data provide insights, I've never known a human story to live within them. Cost analysis and performance metrics are some of my favorite tools - but discernment must always be a present helper when working for and with our valuable team members.
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