Turning an aircraft carrier

 

Through some mistake, I’m sure, I was invited to a meeting with high-level leaders of a healthcare organization I worked for. The alphabet soup of degreed masterminds were talking about changing the culture of our huge organization. While I, too, hold an advanced healthcare degree, I felt out of place. My tenure with the organization was a fraction of the lowest ranking leader in the room.

 

Around a beautiful, hardwood conference table strewn with coffee pots, laptops, tea bags, legal pads, silenced cell phones, and coconut-infused ionic water, the CEO, CFO, COO, and a handful of Senior VP’s would pontificate about the latest and greatest methods of impacting corporate culture. How could they turn the corporate ship to better care for the patients we served.

 

What if…?

 

The ideas bantered about sounded like the combined bibliographies of Shep Hyken, Zig Ziglar, Tony Robbins, and Stephen Covey–good information, but too complex. We weren’t building a new ship, we were simply changing course.

 

Should I say anything? Will I kick myself for not sharing my thoughts? After all, I had only been with the organization for a couple of years. Yet I was there for a reason, so maybe this is it. 

 

I didn’t know if I should raise my hand, clear my throat, tap my Office Depot pen on the mahogany slab, or just blurt.

 

“What if,” I blurted, “we, as caregivers, were to simply fill our minds with things that are true? What if we focused on whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure and authentic, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable—the best, not the worst? What if we identified excellence in the small things we do—any detail worthy of praise—and think about those things? What if every one of us did this? Would our goals be achieved?” 

 

Man Overboard?

 

Silence. Probably for a full minute. Total silence. Nobody poured coffee or nervously capped their Montblanc fountain pen or let out a disgusted sigh. 

 

I thought the Admin. assistant was going to check the invitation list and discover the error of my presence. Any insecurity I had for being seated at the table increased exponentially.  I was exposed. I was about to walk the plank

 

“Brilliant!”

 

Abruptly enough to jolt some in the room, one of the senior leaders said, “That’s brilliant! That’s what we need to do!” He raised his arms in simulation of a touchdown. “Anyone of us can do that! And it’s easy for our leaders to teach their people!” 

 

He slowly pointed around the room as he made the comments, connecting his eyes with theirs. Each leader nodded but said nothing. Instead, they cast their eyes down seemingly ashamed they did not voice the “brilliant” idea. “Our culture will change, our employee retention will skyrocket and our patients will be truly cared for.” 

 

He turned to me.

 

“Gary, how long have you been thinking about this? Did you come up with this all on your own? Tell us your thought process.”

 

An unexpected source of “brilliance”

 

It would have been safe for me to mention the latest leadership book I’ve read or the Podcast I listened to on the way to the meeting; that would have been “acceptable” to the people in the room. It would have also been untrue. I am old enough to know, truth is best. I am also far enough along in my career to not be concerned about the next right step for career advancement.  

 

“I meet with a group of men every Saturday morning at 7am,” I began. “We discuss how things are going in our work lives, our home lives, our personal lives, and the lives we live in service to our community.” All eyes were on me now. With the mention of the Saturday morning discussions, I aggravated some exposed nerves in their lives. Men and women alike, I imagined, longed to be a part of such a discussion. At the very least, they wanted someone to listen to them.

 

“We also read a couple of sentences from the Bible,” I offered. “The ‘brilliant’ things I just told you aren’t at all original thoughts on my part. They were written in a letter to a church in the city of Philippi by a man named Paul about 2,000 years ago.” The man across from me looked puzzled but not angry, so I kept going. In fact, I decided to elaborate. 

 

“Paul wrote the words as an encouragement to the congregation—he wanted them to keep doing the things they did well and to do so with an attitude of serving one another and the community around them.” 

 

I turned to the president. “The church at Philippi was just like our organization,” I said. “To put it in business terms, they were looking for ways to leverage their existing skillset to solidify the labor force and grow market share. Paul simply wanted to spur them on to joy by reaching their full potential.”

 

As I glanced around the table, I saw nods of affirmation. I saw men and women pause in contemplation. And I saw the president cap and close his Montblanc just before sliding it into his shirt pocket. He had the answer. The meeting was over. 

 

Still turning…

 

The healthcare organization remains engaged in the process. Progress has been made, but the ship is not fully turned. Leaders are being trained and, in turn, training others in their downline. The metrics we sought are in sight. Best of all, the caregivers are given permission to care while being clinical. It makes our interactions more human.

 

I’m still turning too. Serving others is not a natural act for me. My tendency is to come at things with an analytically critical mindset. I was trained to catch people making a mistake. But living a mindset of “What if…?” helps me to set the rudder hard over. At least I am engaged in the turn, moving to a new heading. Paul was brilliant!