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I have a good friend who taught me how to reupholster furniture and more generally how to think creatively about solving problems. In fact, as part of a project when I was earning a master’s degree, I created a video about her creative process that I still watch from time to time when I’m looking for some inspiration.
But it was a different lesson she taught me that I was considering this week. It’s about dealing with difficult people—and I failed to implement the lesson.
My friend used to teach an upholstery boot camp—a three-day weekend of intensive instruction for out-of-towners designed to provide the basic skills of breaking down and then rebuilding a chair with new foam and fabric.
Each time, four to five people would fly or drive to Indianapolis and spend eight hours a day working on their own projects but learning collectively in my friend’s studio. What made the experience special was the group dynamics—watching other people learn and make mistakes and work on different kinds of chairs helps you learn what to do to your own and in the future.
But sometimes the group dynamic was off. And at one boot camp in particular, a participant arrived with the wrong kind of chair, the wrong materials and the wrong attitude. As a result, she struggled, she complained and she demanded the teacher’s constant attention.
My friend was so determined to turn this student’s attitude around that she gave this malcontent almost all her attention. That left the other students—the ones with great attitudes who had come prepared and ready to learn—with less instruction and almost certainly a less satisfactory experience.
When it was over, my friend realized her mistake. Showering attention on the person who was never going to be happy actually gave that complainer the upper hand and let her poor attitude spread like a virus. It would have been far better to focus on the people who were eager to learn.
This week, I found myself in a somewhat similar situation. I was convening a small group for a project that had required quite a bit of coordination and communication.
One of the participants arrived with what were essentially the wrong materials, frustration about the time the project would entail and an unwillingness to be a team player in the process. The other people came with great attitudes, a ton of flexibility and exactly what they’d been asked to bring.
You’ve probably guessed by now what I did. I tried everything I could to work around the person who was unprepared and in a hurry. I took advantage of the flexible attitude of others to make changes in the project and try to speed things along. And worst of all, my anxiety led to tension among all the participants.
Eventually, we accomplished what we needed to accomplish. But what I should have done was taken this person aside early on and explained that we wouldn’t be able to accommodate the person’s expectations about time and the project overall. And if that meant this person couldn’t participate, that would be OK.
I thought about doing just that. But I was so focused on what I thought would solve the problem that I probably created bigger ones.
That’s the beauty and frustration of hindsight. You can see better alternatives, though you can’t know whether they would have worked. Regardless, I am confident I will choose a better path next time. And maybe this will help you do so, too.•
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Weidenbener is editor of IBJ. Reach her at lweidenbener@ibj.com.
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Speaking of positivity, I can’t help but remark on the two bodacious stories in this week’s IBJ that caught my attention as examples of good journalism. The first, of course, was the long and informative piece on the medical-privacy breach by Community Hospital – wow. The second, much shorter but still a fine read, was the story and interview with the Wilhelm construction company chief. Really enjoyed this good stuff. Thanks.