March 28, 2006

Trying to Tease Out
My Leadership Talent
In One Easy Seminar

Most managers have an excuse for why they're difficult to work for, because most don't ever get formal leadership training. Some of those who do, have an equally good excuse.

That's because there is no shortage of leadership-development exercises that fall short of their goals. Such programs—like vitamin supplements—are rarely questioned because, the thinking goes, they couldn't hurt. Some beg to differ. "Games without practical applications take people's attention away from the real common-sense hard work of managing people," says Gerry Kraines, a psychiatrist and CEO of management consulting firm, the Levinson Institute. "That kind of training is worse than no training."

So I set out to enroll in a leadership-development program to hone my skills. But I wanted to avoid the notorious fun-for-all-ages exercises—navigating blindfolded teammates through a maze; building a structure out of paperclips, straws and tape; or identifying what kind of animal you'd be. This and the PowerPoint pablum with its ill-fitting metaphors seem to gloss over the office's ugly realities: petty skirmishes, injured egos, rewards for bad behavior and the fragility of any meritocracy.

Even the better seminars can be a "narcissistic orgy," I was warned—as if that were a bad thing. But at least it would provide something that is arguably a manager's scarcest resource: self-awareness. I chose the nonprofit Center for Creative Leadership because several people said I would enjoy it. (I did.) Only three-days long, CCL's Foundations of Leadership also happened to be the least expensive: $3,700.

Within minutes of paying, I received an email providing me online access to all the course's preliminary work, which involves getting your boss, peers and direct reports to fill out two of the four lengthy psychological or skills-based questionnaires on you, the budding leader. This is the 360-degree assessment process that acknowledges that perception trumps reality—you're only as good as your current boss, and to a lesser degree your peers, think you are.

The first of the assessments is the Conflict Dynamics Profile designed to help people understand how they respond to conflict. This has 114 questions in which I'm supposed to rate statements. "When another person seriously provokes me during a conflict, I ..." and then lists various responses such as "later think of things I wish I'd said or done." (Almost always.)

The other questionnaire is the SkillScope, 98 questions that identify either strengths or "development needed." For example, "Spots problem, opportunities, threats, trends early." (Life, full of ruinous moments, has honed me into an early-warning system.) I check "Strength." At least five colleagues have to fill out those assessments, a big imposition except most of them joked—I think they were joking—that they would bring the hammer down on me. One even rubbed her hands together.

I had to finish two more assessments totaling 199 more questions that were only burdensome because of the subtle choices you have to make. For example, the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, which identifies your communication preferences, asks you to choose between equally appealing qualities such as "fair-minded or caring." One wishes for an option, "depends."

A day before I headed out to the center in Greensboro, N.C., I got a call from Kevin O'Callaghan, one of my instructors who spent 23 years in the Air Force as a squadron leader and behavioral scientist, which to me conjures Carl Jung crossed with the straight-talking Norman Schwarzkopf. He sounds perfect. I don't get the sense that he likes Yanni music or aromatherapy. He asks if I have any questions.

"Just one," I tell him. "Is there any role-playing involved?" I'm not fond of premeditated role-playing; I like my fakery to come naturally.

Yes, there will be role-playing in groups during the second day, he explains. I suddenly have another question: "Is that videotaped?"

"Yes," he says. "But it's only your small group who will see that."

By 7:55 a.m. last Wednesday, the whole class is on a bus, making its way from our hotel to the wooded CCL campus above Lake Higgins. And as we file off the bus, Kevin and our other instructor, Talula Cartwright, greet us at the door and escort us to the classroom with its projection screen, five large tables seating four each, and cushy chairs. There are binders stuffed with publications, each day's PowerPoint presentations and an empty notebook, or "Learning Journal."

Before we begin, Kevin asks if we have more questions, or if even we heard any rumors about the program.

Tim Koenigsknecht, a manager for an auto-insurance company in Michigan, raises his hand. "I heard you videotape conversations."

After giving the same explanation he gave me days earlier, Kevin says we had to tell the class some information about ourselves—in the tradition of the Quakers, "when the spirit moves you." The only difference, he says, about to draw nervous laughter, "is that the spirit will move each and every one of you."


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