When my brother introduced us to the board game, "Settlers of Catan," my husband, Dave, and I fell head over heels in love with the game. Riveted by its old-world feel, the capricious rolls of the dice, and the interesting decisions about natural resources and infrastructure building, we got a little obsessive. We played all the time, and we each developed our personal go-to strategies. We approached the dice rolling differently. I’m intuitively-inclined and sought to “get a feel” for how they were landing. I shook them with my eyes closed for a long time, picturing all the rolls that would get me what I wanted. It was all kind of mystical. Dave, an environmental attorney, was all about logic and science. He rejected the notion that each game we played had its own pattern of dice-rolling or that our intentions could influence our rolls. Although he found my intuitive approach illogical and baseless, he was kind (and smart) enough to hold his tongue. We also had different approaches to the decision-making. I don’t consider myself a strong strategic thinker. I don’t suck at it, it’s just not one of my greatest strengths. Dave, on the other hand, is a gifted strategist. He loves and excels at chess; I find it tedious.
At first, I strongly preferred to stick to the coasts in order to gain access to more favorable trade terms, and I relied heavily on buying development cards. (Doesn’t this sound intriguing?!) There came a time, though, when I could no longer deny that my strategy was not working. Dave’s focus on high pip counts and building cities kept getting him to ten points faster. It really pissed me off. I got upset and started thinking negative, unhelpful thoughts. I felt embarrassed: “I should have known that! I’ll never beat him, because he’s more logical and analytical than I am.” And defensive: “My way really is better, but the robber kept coming up!” And resentful: “Why does he have to be so competitive? We’re supposed to be having fun.” (Despite the fact that I, too, badly wanted to win.) I often would stubbornly stick to my losing strategy long after its futility was clear. Fun times! At one point, however, it occurred to me to wonder whether there was something I could learn from how Dave played. I chose to start observing and being curious about his strategy. When I started adopting some of his thinking, I began to see an improvement in my odds, which whetted my appetite for more success. The negative reaction I’d been stuck in was replaced by both the satisfaction to have learned something new and an increased enjoyment of the game. What Does This Have To Do With Leadership? Three things: 1. Learning something new means that someone knows more than we do, and that’s OK. For accomplished people who are accustomed to being in the lead, or who feel pressure to feel that way, following the examples of other people can be uncomfortable. It’s doubly hard if they are not senior to us. It’s helpful to keep in mind that it’s not a contest of our worth as professionals; they simply have either mastered or intuitively have an easier time with the skill in question. And they’re very likely learning other things from us. 2. Improving how we do something doesn’t negate everything about how we used to do it. Let’s stay away from this kind of either/or thinking. Just because I adopted some of Dave’s strategies doesn’t mean I was doing it all wrong before. I still practice my mystical approach to the dice, and I still choose to stick to the coasts within reason; I just also pay more attention to pip counts now, too. 3. Learning and improving just feels good. Now I know that I can learn to think strategically more than I’d given myself credit for. That feels pretty awesome. When we refuse to put ourselves in the mindset of learning from others, we remain awash in uncomfortable emotions like resentment, fear, and envy. Stepping out of that defensive, insecure place into one of openness and curiosity is much more pleasant! Your partner on the journey into excellence, Mara
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