This excellent interview with Professor William Sahlman covers many great points about innovating. Please watch, listen, and enjoy.
The decision to be remarkable is not one to be taken lightly. It means you can't settle for anything less, and that's a big promise to make to yourself and others.
But man — what a payoff.
Say no to sarcasm. Yes, it's okay as a funny aside during a dinner conversation with people you know well. But it doesn't belong anywhere else, and certainly not in a creative workplace. Categorically ban it from any place or space where you're endeavoring to bring something cool and new to life.
Sarcasm brings with it many ills. If I'm listening to your concept for a marketing tagline, and I sarcastically respond "That's great", I've just cut you down in public, which is not helping you get to a better place. And now you no longer trust me as a generative, open-minded person. Worse yet, the next time we work together, you've learned not to take my utterances at face value. So the next time I say "hey, that's so cool!", you're going to waste energy and time processing that statement to figure out my intent, as oppposed to taking it as a microburst of positive energy which helps push you forward.
We're all here to be remarkable. A broad commitment to being remarkable reduces the friction, smooths out the bumps, and amps up the energy we all need to continue bringing cool things to life. Sarcasm is friction. Plain old nasty, energy-robbing, friction.
Innovating is already so hard — so why add any additional things to get in your way, right? Just say no.
Pianist Jeremy Denk visited NPR's studios to play and reflect upon Bach's Goldberg Variations. You can listen to the interview here — it's fascinating. Here's an excerpt:
One of the most beautiful thing about the Goldbergs is that Bach uses it as a canvas in which to draw this seemingly infinite world of possibility. He grabs from everybody; he basically does a mashup. He does things in the style of the French overture, in the style of different dances; he does lamenting — from the smallest to the largest, from the happiest to the saddest.
I see a strong philosophical link here to Tom Waits and Ice Cube. So much of the creatvity that fuels innovation is about connecting the dots between disparate sources of inspiration. It's about sampling from here, from there, and synthesizing those pieces to create a new, innovative whole. When you really examine them, many breakthroughs in the worlds of products, services, economics, and politics look a lot like what is happening with musical innovation, where it's about assorted bits and pieces being combined to create something which feels totally new at the time but which with time and perspective can be traced back to its component sources.
Principle 2: See and hear with the mind of a child
Principle 6: Live life at the intersection
Principle 8: Most new ideas aren't
Principle 19: Have a point of view
The fellow in the photo above is John Stevens, a self-taught civil engineer who made a huge contribution to the development of the Panama Canal over a hundred years ago. I've been learning about him through the pages of David McCullough's amazing work The Path Between the Seas, which is the story of how the Panama Canal came to be. From political intrigue which brings down governments to financial engineering that would make even a Goldman VP blush to the hard-headed bravery of entrepreneurial engineers like Stevens, this book has it all. It's the ultimate start up fable. It was recommended to me by my friend and colleague Bob Sutton, who is a big fan of the book, too:
This is a great story of how creativity happens at a really big scale. It is messy. Things go wrong. People get hurt. But they also triumph and do astounding things. I also like this book because it is the antidote to those who believe that great innovations all come from start-ups and little companies (although there are some wild examples of entrepreneurship in the story — especially the French guy who designs Panama's revolution — including a new flag and declaration of independence as I recall — from his suite in the Waldorf Astoria in New York, and successfully sells the idea to Teddy Roosevelt ). As my Stanford colleague Jim Adams points out, the Panama Canal, the Pyramids, and putting a man on moon are just a few examples of great human innovations that were led by governments.
For all you interested in the art and science of bringing cool stuff to life, this is a mandatory read. It is so choice. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking up a copy — you won't regret it.
Anyway, back to John Stevens. Anyone tasked with leading teams of creative people on a quest — where you know what you are going after, but you have no idea how you're going to get there — needs to study Stevens. A railroad man who trailblazed many a path through the mountains of the American West, Stevens instinctively knew how to get on with things, and how to inspire every one else to do their best. In a very Dave Packard kind of way, the guy knew the value of literally getting in the trenches to so that he could know — really know — what was happening out in the world. Where his failed predecessors in the saga of the canal ruled from the dry and safe roost of a remote office, upon his arrival in Panama, Stevens made a huge difference to the morale and direction of the entire enterprise simply by pulling on some big rubber boots and walking up and down the line of excavations, all the while chomping on a cigar. This guy is a role model for all us trying to make a dent in the universe.
McCullough includes some choice quotes from Stevens, many of which come from some books he authored later in life, which I am planning to read after I finish Path Between the Seas. Here are some of my favorites, with some color commentary:
"With great respect to supermen, it has probably been my misfortune, but I have never chanced to meet any of them."
As you might expect from someone with the discipline to put in the amount of study to become a self-taught engineer, Stevens was a believer in the simple value of hard work. I have to believe that if Stevens were to be alive today in order to meet Roger Penske, he would deeply admire Penske's aphorism, "Effort equals results". I also like this quote because it says something about the nature of talent, that it's not just about being born with something, but being willing to develop your talent, to gain the kind of experience that only comes with mileage.
Here's a great one on the primacy of doing:
"There are three diseases in Panama. They are yellow fever, malaria, and cold feet; and the greatest of these is cold feet."
I love that line. I'd wager that more organizations die of cold feet than from the burns that come with trying and failing. For anyone who has ever engaged with getting an organization to change, it's cold feet that you're fighting.
Finally, I'll leave you with Steven's wonderful expression of what I call Innovation Principle 15: celebrate sins of commision, stamp out sins of omission:
"You won't get fired if you do something, you will if you don't do anything. Do something if it is wrong, for you can correct that, but there is no way to correct nothing."
In fact, I like his formulation a lot more than mine: there is no way to correct nothing, so do something.
My colleague Paul Bennett produces one of my favorite collections of thinking, a blog he calls The Curiosity Chronicles. Over the past few weeks here at metacool I've been riffing on a bunch of ideas and thoughts rattling around my head and heart on the subject of leading, being a leader, and leadership (of which three the first is by far the most important…). To that end, Paul's latest post Curious About… Role Models really got my attention. Here's an excerpt:
To me, both of these examples share something in common. They are of women, leading in that unique way that women leaders excel: by sharing emotional stories and personally connecting in the first case, and by doing rather than endlessly debating in the second. It brought to mind British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher’s famous line: “If you want anything said, ask a man. If you want anything done, ask a woman.”
And here's another:
Being inspired by others is one of the most important aspects of leadership in my opinion, and having role models is a way to have something to constantly strive for. And work towards. It keeps us grounded and reminds us that we are all human. Whether it’s your mother, a young women who moved you with the story of her journey from village to boardroom or a mother who just happens to be digging a vegetable plot for her children to inspire the rest of the nation to eat better in the most important garden in the world, nothing helps us retain a sense of self better than realizing that there are other people out there in the world that we can learn from.
How might we all learn to be ever curious, like Paul? As he says, you could do worse than to follow your role models, or to go find some if you if they're not there yet for you. For instance, for me, when I need a reminder to feel the confidence to express myself first and analyze things later, I watch and read about Shinya Kimura. I'm hoping to visit his shop in the next few months. Finding inspiration in others is a surprisingly effective way to let yourself inspire others.
“Coming up with ideas is interesting and indefinable, isn’t it? The brain is a funny thing. An idea often emerges in the shower, or during a walk. Your brain has been ticking away and the idea just bubbles up. Occasionally you feel, ‘God, I’ve gone dry.’ It’s like writers’ block. Shortly before the launch of a new car, when I’ve used all my existing ideas, I think, ‘Now what?’ But running the car produces new ideas as you understand what you’ve created.”
The Delta Wing. It looks like a rocket, but it's a car. It also represents a fundamental, albeit still potential, paradigm shift in our conception of what a racing car can be. I love the way it looks, and am even more excited about what it represents.
For students of the art and science of bringing cool stuff to life, the key question isn't "will it win?", but "how did it come to be?". Hopefully someday someone will write a book on the story of the Delta Wing. For now there's Wikipedia and this good Popular Mechanics article for those of you interested in the backstory on this amazing car.
Because I don't know enough yet about the how on this one, let's focus on the what. If the Delta Wing were a movie and you were the director, here are the characters you'd ask central casting to deliver to your set to weave a compelling tale of daring innovation:
The Ace Technologist: Ben Bowlby is the technical mastermind behind the Delta Wing and the leader of a spectacularly talented and experienced design team. I admire the elegance of his design vision, and the way in which he went back to first principles in order to reach for a new outcome. The Delta Wing effectively performs as well as cars having double the horsepower. That kind of elegant efficiency is what we need in the world today. Efficiency is sexy, a notion that some wayward manufacturers would do well to rediscover.
The Visionary Entrepreneurs: two business-savvy racers were instrumental in making the Delta Wing happen. Chip Ganassi provided financial backing for the first prototype of the Delta Wing, which was not accepted by the racing series it was designed for (see The Enlightened Incubator entry below). Duncan Dayton then took the ball and ran with it, recasting the Delta Wing as a Le Mans competitor, and practising some magic to build a coalition capable of developing, building, testing, and ultimately running a competitive new racecar design — quite a task. Dayton epitomizes the truest sense of entrepreneurship: making things happen by making the smartest use of the resources you have at hand. Dr. Don Panoz, an entrepreneur's entrepreneur, and Scott Atherton also played pivotal roles in the genesis of the Delta Wing. And last but not least, kudos to Nissan for having the guts to engage with this endeavor as a motor supplier and sponsor. Their commitment to innovating makes me want that GT-R even more.
A Team of Artists Who Ship: The Delta Wing is built by the heroes at All American Racers (AAR). AAR is hallowed ground in the racing world, as place where heroes like Dan Gurney and Phil Remington still walk the halls. Over its long history, AAR has proven to be one of the most innovative institutions based on US soil. I don't know about you, but the idea that the master maker Phil Remington had a hand in the creation of the Delta Wing, well, it sends shivers down my spine.
The Enlightened Incubator: you can't run a race car without a sanctioning body to hold the race. At the annual 24 Hours of Le Mans race, there are 55 positions available for race cars to compete. Early on in the Delta Wing venture, Duncan Dayton and company secured the 56th place on the grid from the sanctioning body for Le Mans, the Automobile Clube de l'Quest. While the Delta Wing won't be contesting the Le Mans race for points, it will be an integral part of the racing field, and will live out of the "56th garage" at the Le Mans circuit. This idea of the 56th garage being available represents highly enlightened thinking when it comes to the art and science of innovation. I've written before here on the vital importance of designating a place for the people in your organization to fail. And while I hope the Delta Wing has a successful race at Le Mans, no matter what happens they will have learned a substantial amount, and the cause of innovation will be served. Next year's car will be that much better due to the enlightened incubation of Garage 56.
Professionals to Get the Job Done: at the track, the Delta Wing will be run by the storied Highcroft Racing team. Though most of the focus in racing is on the driver, it is actually one of the ultimate team sports, especially in the kind of endurance racing the Delta Wing is designed for. Ideas are one thing, executing against them is quite another. It takes a village.
A Brave Protagonist: and then there's the human in the hot seat, Marino Franchitti. Race drivers are only as good as their last race — it's an incredibly competitive sport, and there's a line of drivers out the door waiting to take over your spot. That's why I admire Marino Franchitti's willingness to take on the reputational and career risk of driving not just a new car, but a new paradigm. Unfortunately, the world of racing does not operate by the rule of Silicon Valley, and failures are not celebrated as points of learning. On the other hand, someone had to pilot the Wright Flyer, and now Orville's name is one for the ages. Hats off to Marino, and here's to him showing us how fast this thing can really go, WFO. He has guts.
One Sexy Beast: from an aesthetic standpoint, I think the Delta Wing rocks. It looks wicked – why be beautiful when you could be interesting? Of course, I've been accused of having a rather unmainstream view of car aesthetics (here, here, and here, for example), but I call 'em like I see 'em. This thing grabs your attention, and keeps it. I believe a whole generation of 8-year-old kids are going to fall in love with automobiles because of the Delta Wing. And here's a suggestion to the fine folks at Polyphony and Nissan: create a digital version of the Delta Wing and let the rest of us drive it virutally in Gran Turismo 5. It'll do wonders for the Nissan brand, and it will create a pull effect on the conservative world of racing: we really want to see you professionals race the cars we love driving online.
To sum it up, if you're going to shift a paradigm, you could do worse than to try and do it with a really sexy beast like this one, but you'd better have the entire innovation ecosystem in place, too. Enjoy the photos and videos below.
My friend and colleague Bob Sutton wrote an interesting post last week on the topics of good bosses, FUBAR, and SNAFU. Having personally contributed to a few SNAFU situations (honestly, how could you not if you've ever shipped anything real?), and living a large part of my life these days helping others work through situations mired in the muck of FUBAR, I really appreciated his post. It's one that anyone engaged in the art and science of bringing cool stuff to life should read. Here's an excerpt:
But it is impossible to be a leader without facing stretches where you and your followers are overwhelmed with the complexity and uncertainty of it all. When this happens, to maintain everyone’s spirits keep them moving forward, and to sustain collective stamina, sometimes it is best to embrace the mess–at least for a while.
This challenge reminded me of two of the most famous and fun World War II expressions:
SNAFU — situation normal, all f**ked-up
FUBAR — f**ked-up beyond all recognition
One CEO I know… uses the distinction between the two to help decide whether a "mess" requires intervention, or it is best to leave people alone for awhile to let them work through it.
He asks his team, or the group muddling through mess: "Is it a snafu or fubar situation? " He finds this to be a useful diagnostic question because, if it is just usual normal level confusion, error, and angst that is endemic to uncertain and creative work, then it is best to leave people alone and let hem muddle forward. But if it is fubar, so fucked-up that real incompetence is doing real damage, the group is completely frozen by fear, good people are leaving or suffering deeply, customers are fleeing, or enduring damage is being done to a company or brand — then it is time to intervene.
I love this distinction between SNAFU and FUBAR, and as a leader of, and contributor to, teams engaging in the creation of new things, I find it really useful, on several levels.
First, if I tried to deal with every FUBAR and SNAFU situation on my radar, I would go completely batty. As Bob also writes, indifference can be as important as passion, and knowing what not to engage in helps save your passion for the things that really matter to you and the people you work with. Focusing on FUBARs seems like a great way to spend your time as a manager.
Second, what I judge as SNAFU may not be SNAFU to those really close to the matter, such as the core design team working on a project. When exposed to the chaos that is a design effort in the middle of things, it is hard as an outsider to feel as much confidence about where things are going as the folks who are working on it each day. In those situations, you have to go more by their body language than by the content, as the tendency at these points as an outsider is to see a lot of SNAFU, perhaps because it is. But experience says that the SNAFU feeling may actually be part and parcel of the design process; if you're not feeling it you may not be pushing enough. And calling SNAFU on a team may actually have an effect opposite to what you desire, as imposing your opinion on folks who have the experience and wherewithal to work out their own problems is as sure a ways as any to sap morale, destroy confidence, and extinguish the spark of intrinsic motivation. As Bob says, better to let people work through their own problems, so long as you have confidence that the time, resources, and talent are there to make it happen.
FUBAR, on the other hand, demands action. These situations cause damage to brands, organizations, careers, and sometimes even people. It's a sign of good leadership when they are identified honestly, and dealt with effectively, even if it means long, difficult road to reach a solution
So, in a long-winded way, I agree with Bob. But, I do think there's more to this story. There's another World War II acronym called SUSFU, and it is some ways the most pernicous of this trio of f-bomb acronyms. Here's what it stands for:
SUSFU: situation unchanged, still f**ked up
Of all the "FU" family of acronyms, SUSFU is the one that really gets my goat. SUSFU is the groundhog day version of FUBAR, in that it invovles something that's a mess, but which somehow has been left unresolved so long as to become routine, even invisible. At one point a SUSFU was a FUBAR, but maybe it didn't get fixed, and then people got scared to deal with it, and then they chose to live with it rather than try to challenge it. This can happen in one's personal life, in a long-lived team, certainly in an organization of any size, and especially in society. Think of big wrongs which existed in our own culture for many years — such as limited voting rights — and in each case you'll see as SUSFU loitering around the premises. Global warming is a SUSFU. The lack of vocational training and apprenticeships in this country for the mechanically-minded is a SUSFU. That lackluster loss leader in your product lineup is also a SUSFU.
FUBAR's are usually self-evident and feel like a crisis to most observers, so taking the responsibility to express the leadership to resolve them, while challenging and hard, is a relatively straightforward decision. A SUSFU, on the other hand, is likely to be flying under the radar to the part where it's become part of everyday life, so remedying it will demand the vision, sense of humor, and fortitude of Brad Pitt's character in Moneyball. SUSFU's are resilient SOB's, rising zombie-like to thwart all your best efforts to move forward. The upside is that the payoff for righting a SUSFU can be enormous. To be sure, slaying a SUSFU may be a quixotic endeavor, but in my opinion we need more people to take up the cause of moving past them.
Here's my challenge to you: in the next year, could you identify one SUSFU in your life and then try to make it better? Imagine the the collective impact of thousands of us unf**king all those SUSFU's. Pretty f**king awesome, no? Go for it. JFDI.