By Ian Chisholm

In August 2004, I was alone on the Isle of Skye finishing my final month as the first CEO of the Columba 1400 International Leadership Centre. My wife and our three children had returned to Vancouver to stay with her mum and dad, and set up our new life there, giving me a chance to tidy up all loose ends in the transition (a.k.a. work my ass off.)

It was a tough time for me. Some regrets had snuck in about things that we had not accomplished at the Centre. I refer to it now as a bad case of CEOitis (which I have realized is quite common amongst senior leaders who leave their post). A strange resentment had festered to a point where people were noticing my mood and were undoubtedly looking forward to resetting the organization with a new CEO. I can imagine that I looked whipped — because I was: grey, tired out, and disappointed in all that had not been accomplished.

Sue and Ron Myers are very special friends of mine that I met in New York in the 1990s. They are both the kind of trusted advisors that a young executive needs in his life. Their deep experience has seen them advising CEOs and entrepreneurs over decades. They both enjoyed Skye, had made the trip several times, and had arranged one final visit to spend a few days with me in my last month at the helm.

I don’t know what they saw or sensed or noticed in me, but they arranged an appointment with me for an afternoon in my cottage (which, at this point had three wooden chairs, a toaster, a case of beer and a hockey bag with my clothes and shaving kit).

We sat down together in the front room by the fire. They wasted no time in giving me the talking-to of my young life.

They called out things by name that they had heard me complaining about — and told me to keep a lid on it. They identified the old ideas that I was clinging onto as if they were the only things that I would ever create — and told me that they never wanted me to talk about them again, and to get busy creating new ones. Sue told me to stop beating myself up and looking for attention. But most of all, in their closing argument, Ron told me that what he wanted to see in me immediately — right there in that room — was an immense sense of J-O-Y for everything that had been accomplished on my watch. (He actually spelled it out for effect, which was C-O-O-L).

He didn’t need me to brag about my accomplishments, or even talk about them, but I did have to take JOY in them. If there was no room for joy, then I would have to dump something else that was taking space inside me, so that there was room for it. And he told me to keep dumping, until there was room for a boatload of J-O-Y.

My leadership had affected thousands of people. And I needed to take that on. It hadn’t been perfect; there were regrets; I’d taken a few tough hits; I had sacrificed important things in my life for the endeavour at hand. But I had made a big old dent in the universe. And that meant that I had every reason to connect to JOY, and to leave the rest behind.

And they just wouldn’t accept any other way forward.

My head went down and I started to cry — and then laugh. And then I cried some more and laughed some more, and we drank that beer in the fridge and laughed again. In the weeks ahead, my last on Skye, I reflected on all that had happened, and had no choice other than to admit that Sue and Ron Myers were right — and that they had helped me move on to the next chapter of my life.

Many of you will know that I believe in the power of a non-directive approach and the ownership and responsibility that this approach creates. But what I learned that day is that there is a time when good friends, and trusted advisors, need to lay advice down so clearly that you have no choice but to pick it up — as a strong steer in the right direction — and go forward differently.

Ian Chisholm is a founding partner of Roy Group.

By Mark Bell

Recently, for whatever reason, I have been acutely tuned into and moved by small but big acts of compassion from people who have put themselves at the heart of a situation and offered their best to lead. These seem to be individuals who were not concerned so much about “the job” and much more interested in the actual work.

A recent example got me thinking: has the organization these leaders are members of wonderfully nurtured a culture to enable such simple and authentic levels of presence? Or is it that whatever their culture might be, “good people” will unerringly behave in the most appropriate and meaningful ways?

I have often also pondered why some people seem to do excellent work no matter the task, circumstance or environment. I have a friend who excelled wherever he earned his money. During our student years, I worked with him in bars, on building sites, in offices and on farms. He has since gone on to apprentice in his profession and has grown to be a senior leader. In each of these arenas he has done wonderful work — no matter the variety of role, the clients he was facing, the people he worked with, or who reported to him. Culture? Stellar individual? Character? Emotional intelligence? All of these and more?

An anecdote for you. A while back, I took a flight with a low-cost carrier. There are no frills here: the targets for this organization are to sell as much as possible while in the air, turn around, get people on their bottoms faster than you can say, “Is this seat taken?”, and get back up off the ground as quickly as possible.

As we take off, a gentleman in an aisle seat three rows in front of me seems to pass out and collapse across the aisle, held in only by his seat belt. This is the first of this unfortunate man’s ever-worsening, very ill moments during our flight.

Throughout the flight all the attendants, and the Spanish male steward in particular, care for him as though they are travelling with him, as though he is a member of their family. The sales trolley is unceremoniously dumped; he is cleaned and freshened over and over, quietly, sensitively and with great attention. He is spoken to throughout, softly, almost in calm whispers, drawing as little attention to his embarrassment as possible.

Upon landing, the steward ensures everyone else waits, for far longer than the 20 minutes he is allocated in order to get the plane back in the air, as he personally helps this gentleman regain his bearings and gradually come to. The steward behaves as though there is no one else there, while simultaneously managing to seamlessly engage with all the other passengers.

It is past 11 o’clock now, but none of the weary, mainly business travellers complains about the delay. We all seem mesmerized by the elegance of this steward’s kindness and attention. Without speaking, he insists that we also think only of this other person. We feel transported to a calmer, kinder place. We are moved by his humanity. As I leave, the steward is now wishing everyone else a good evening. I say, “Thank you,” and he nods back to say that he understands what I really mean. There is a hush in the baggage collection area and strangers are talking quietly to each other.

Now, I have no idea if the organizational culture of that low-cost carrier creates this kind of powerful leadership. I have no idea if there is a rule that says this is what you must do if you are a steward in this situation. I am fairly sure it wouldn’t have mattered: this steward simply could not not have behaved as he did.

I imagine this steward would have been a success in bars, on building sites, in offices, on farms or in any other profession. It is who he is.

Mark Bell is a special advisor to Roy Group and co-founder, with Ian Chisholm and Robert Henderson, of re-find the future.

By Bradley Chisholm

Imagine walking into the dressing room of the Team Canada Olympic hockey team, dragging Sidney Crosby out to the luge track, throwing him onto a sled and expecting him to win gold. We would never do it. We would never take someone who was fully immersed and masterful in his sport, throw him into an arena totally foreign, and expect the same level of mastery. We would never do it in sport, but we do it in our professional organizations all the time.

We take our high-performing lawyers and doctors out of their courtrooms and operating rooms – the arenas where they have pursued mastery — we add the word “managing” or “chief” to their business card and then wonder why our teams lack leadership. There is a significant disconnect between the value we put on the quality of leadership — the culture of our organization, vision, engagement of the team — vs. the time, resources and support we devote to intentionally developing the leaders of our teams. We expect them to jump in and perform as masterful leaders.

There are a couple disruptive mental models at work here:

1. The only valuable learning is technical learning. A common theme we have experienced is that worthwhile learning in a professional environment needs to focus solely on the substantive disciplines of that profession. Lawyers learn about new legislation and case law; doctors learn about new medical developments; designers learn about exciting industry innovation. Creating opportunities for learning around disciplines that would position professionals to begin their leadership practice is often considered an expensive investment not connected to the core business.

2. Leaders are born. We carry around the idea that some people are born to be leaders and others must be content to follow. With this mindset, we can see why “leadership development” becomes a process of identifying those who exhibit what we believe leadership needs to be and then throwing them down the icy track (kicking and screaming if we have to).

What is possible when these mental models begin to shift? We have had the privilege of working with Mentors who have instilled in us the belief that leadership is a choice and a practice. We each have the ability to choose leadership, and by doing so, we choose to begin to learn and practice methods, tools and skills that will help us become stronger in a leadership role. These practices are different than our professional practices (for some professions very different), and therefore the learning is different too.

If you are a professional moving into a leadership role, you may have to fight for the learning opportunities you need to get better at your leadership. You may be the only one in the office immersing yourself in this different type of learning — and often it means setting your professional practice aside to make space for the new.

For many, moving into leadership does not just involve setting aside a practice, but setting aside something we are masterful at. Over a lifetime we get the chance to become masterful in a collection of things . . . and it’s all in the combination. Think of the stories we can make happen in our professional organizations, in our families and in our communities if one of the masteries we have chosen is leading self and leading others.

Like a longtime skier learning how to snowboard for the first time, there are going to be some bruises and sore muscles, but it’s worth it in the end.

Bradley Chisholm is a former p artner of Roy Group now serving as the Chief Officer, Strategy and Governance for the BC College of Nursing Professionals

By Bradley Chisholm

My business partner graciously arranged for my wife and I to take in a Lyle Lovett show in Victoria. There were no visual distractions, no opening band and no gimics. After an 8 word introduction on the microphone – Lyle Lovett and his Band hit the ground running. They played for two and a half hours straight and from the energy of the audience at the end of the show – could have played for two and a half hours more with no protest, whatsoever.

Anyone who has experienced Lyle Lovett in concert would agree that there is something powerful going on up there on stage – he loves what he does, he always has, and along the way he found a sound that is totally unique. He is a gentleman, a charmer, a perfectionist, and a showman – the whole package. But it was something else that really shifted a mental model that I was carrying around about what mastery is. It took the idea of mastery from being about how great you ARE to how well you SHARE. What Mr. Lovett did better than anything else was to create the space and the conditions for others find and share their mastery, too.

Can you imagine being asked to go on tour with Lyle Lovett? His small band consists of 6 other performers. Over the course of the evening each member would be introduced personally. It was clear early on that Mr. Lovett does’t fear being surrounded by talented musicians – he seeks them out. His band was not just his “accompaniment” or “backup”, they were his full-fledged partners. At times, they backed Lyle up beautifully, spotlighting his incredible unique talents. At other times, Lyle would step back and accompany them as they shared an original composition of their own. Lyle created the space for these others musicians to introduce themselves and their craft to the world. The audience had not arrived knowing that they would be introduced to their next favourite artists – but this was a non-negotiable design feature of the evening.

The humility and grace Mr. Lovett displayed in creating the space for others to grow and practice made me wonder if mastery can exist without it. Can someone be a master if they are not willing to support others to find their own? Can the artist who toils away in solitude, never engaging with the world or other artists, be considered a master? Can the brilliant legal mind that shines in court but refuses to put any effort or attention to developing young lawyers be considered a Master? Is leadership actually an integral, requisite part of mastery? It certainly felt like it the night of Mr. Lovett’s concert.

Bradley Chisholm is a former partner of Roy Group now serving as the Chief Officer, Strategy and Governance for the BC College of Nursing Professionals