The Cost Of Failure

There is a new mountain bike trail near us that is “bench cut”—meaning that on one side of the trail, the ground rises steeply, and on the other side, it falls away, almost like a cliff. The trail is not hard, but the cost of failure is high. I know this not because I ride this trail (or any trail for that matter), but because I was having breakfast with one of my team members, and he told me about it.

The conversation had turned to how the issues our children face change as they get older. My children are mostly grown and out on their own, but as a dad, I am still concerned for them and, to some degree, involved when they have problems. When they were young, the price they (and I) had to pay for a mistake was usually pretty low. They might break or lose a toy, miss out on something they wanted to do, or even suffer an injury (we had our share of skinned and broken things).

As they have moved into adulthood, the cost of a mistake can be very high—loss of a job, failure of a marriage, financial impact, long-term health consequences, and the list goes on. Even though they do not live in my house, and I do not directly support them, I can still be entangled in the consequences of their failure—sometimes financially, but always emotionally.

While the analogy is of limited usefulness, sometimes being a leader is like being a parent. We are trying to guide other people whom we care about toward their best life, without any actual control, and yet bearing some of the responsibility and consequence for their failure. It is a very difficult position to be in. Sometimes, we make it harder by our behavior.

The Helicopter Leader hovers over their team at all times to protect, guide, and placate team members. This seems reasonable at first. “I don’t want them to make a mistake, get hurt, fail, etc.” we hear them (or ourselves) say. That’s understandable, but in overprotecting them, we are actually crippling them.

If you were teaching someone how to trail ride, you would not start them on the trail I mentioned above. You would take them to a trail where the “cost of failure” was low and let them try. At some point, they must fall (or hit a tree, in my case) so they can get better at staying on the bike and on the trail. We need to give our people the room to make choices and take responsibility for their actions as “practice” before they find themselves on a bench cut trail.

The Punitive Leader makes team members pay for their mistakes. I personally do not believe in punishment; I believe in consequences. We don’t have control over people, and punishing them is a way we try to exert control. I would rather we clearly identify what the consequences will be for the decisions others make. Punishment makes the whole thing about you, whereas consequences make it about the person who made the choice.

I worked for a supervisor early in my life who would tell you he had never fired anyone. Rather, he would say that they had quit. He clearly identified his expectations for the people on his team and the consequences if they choose not to fulfill them. If you are teaching someone to ride a bike, you don’t push them down when they do it wrong. You don’t have to. They will fall off on their own.

Finally, the Laissez Faire Leader is so hands off that their team is left to flounder and fail on their own. This is the extreme stance that people should be capable of doing their job, and if they can’t, they should just fail and move on. This leadership style abandons the responsibility leaders have to develop their people. Like the Punitive Leader, this tends to cause people to do the least and the safest thing required, which does not lead to success or growth (individual or organizational).

I can’t imagine taking someone out to show them how to trail ride and then just leaving them to figure it out on their own. Actually, I can. My first time snow skiing, my “friends” talked me out of lessons and said they would show me how. We took a lift most of the way up the mountain. It took considerable effort and many falls just to get off the lift, at which point they showed me how to snowplow and then disappeared down the mountain. Not fun. Not helpful. Not leadership.

The cost when leaders fail is very high. People’s livelihood, mental and emotional health, and future are often intertwined with the outcomes (consequences) of the myriad interconnected choices we all make. Great leaders guide without overprotecting, draw clear connections between action and result, and create opportunities for trying (and failing) in a supportive and protective environment. That is the only way we can all learn how to ride together a little better in the Bison Way.