Room To Move
A Logic, Not A List
I was standing at the whiteboard.
The CEO and three directors were well into a lively discussion about a large funded service on which the margins had completely eroded over time. They were starting to talk over each other, each speaking passionately, from completely different perspectives.
One wanted to talk about their short-term cash position and why staying in this business was vital. Another was already three years out, thinking about what a decision to walk away would signal to customers. A third wanted to craft a political strategy to force government’s hand in bridging the gap.
None of them were wrong.
But they weren’t yet landing anywhere, because I hadn’t given them anywhere to land yet.
So, after 20 minutes, I suggested a pause, and asked, “Does this help?”
I took a marker and drew branches, from left to right. A decision flow, not a decision list. What would compel government to bridge the gap? If they don’t, can services be trimmed? If not, do reserves cover it? If not, does a loan facility make sense? And underneath the lot: do we trust our own ability to economise?
By the third 'if-then’ branch, I could see it happening. The cash-position director and the three-years-out director weren’t in tension at all. They were standing on different points of the same sequence, and the moment they could see that, the whole room moved together.
Question: Where in your next big decision are good points scattering, for lack of a sequence to hold them?
Out There
Read these questions. Ask yourself if you can answer them?
And, then, ask yourself what these questions have in common.
What big bets are we making right now?
What do we want our best customers to say about us?
What would we be proud of even if it failed?
What do we want our competitors to sweat over?
What could we be wrong about?
What is it we’re pretending not to know?
What would we attempt if we knew we couldn't fail?
If we vanished tomorrow, would anyone have to invent us again?
What's the opportunity everyone else in our sector is too nervous to chase?
What these have in common is that they’re not common.
Most ‘conventional’ strategic questions ask people to justify. These questions ask people to want. These questions work by sidestepping the analytical, risk-averse part of the brain and going straight for imagination and candour.
“What’s our five-year plan” invites caution, because the honest answer might expose you to scrutiny. “What are we truly excited about” invites honesty, at an emotional level, and doesn’t presume we’ll answer it in the same way.
Which brings me to my job. And, possibly, yours, as a leader.
We’re more than “facilitators.” We’re closer to permission-givers. The room only answers these questions honestly if they believe, genuinely, that nobody’s going to hold the answer against them later. Ask like an auditor and you get defensiveness. Ask like someone who’s actually curious what they’d say, and you get the truth, sometimes for the first time in years.
Question: Which of these would you most like to ask your team this week?
Depended Upon
I was on a long country drive this week and stopped in Euroa.
You’ve probably never heard of it. Even in 1914, this pastoral district’s population was tiny. Just 7,700. Yet, the town’s War Memorial told me that over 1,100 of these people volunteered for the war effort.
A quarter of them never came back. Another quarter came back severely injured.
Think about that. That’s not just a statistic. That’s most of the eligible young Euroan men deciding, together, that something mattered more than a comfortable (or even uncomfortable) life at home.
I was moved.
You might say that’s an odd thing to be moved by in 2026, when patriotism has definitely lost the sheen it once had. But, strip the politics out, and there’s a perennial question that goes back to the time of the Odyssey, if not beyond: “What actually gets people to act well beyond their self-interest?”
It’s easy to say it’s altruism, or morality, or even kindness. But, having worked on over a thousand projects with ‘for purpose’ organisations, many of which rely on volunteers alongside paid staff, I’ve seen something much deeper at play.
It’s the connection that comes from working in tandem with others, from believing that you are depended upon. You are depended upon to contribute to something larger in scale than anyone could ever achieve alone. You are depended upon to trust in an outcome that will benefit the many, not the few.
The people of Euroa a hundred years ago weren’t paid to enlist. These much more powerful forces got them to sacrifice their time, their limbs and their lives, to achieve something well outside an individual’s reality.
Question: How do you help your people believe they’re truly depended upon?
If you’re involved in consequential decisions or conversations this week, simply ask, “What do others depend on me for?”
Enjoy the glimmers of sun if you’re in the Southern Hemisphere’s winter gloom, and stay cool if you’re a Northener. I’ll be back with you next week and, before you go, please do click the heart if something today has clicked.
Andrew
I read an article this week about a study that tracked children into adulthood and the one thing that was most associated with success as an adult was feeling needed as a child - giving children responsibility to help about the house, with little jobs that make them feel like they are really depended upon for the household! I guess that never leaves us
I have a love/loathe relationship with some questions of the kind you set out in ‘Out There’, in particular: “What is it we’re pretending not know” – there’s no coming back from that one – it cannot be unasked..
‘Depended Upon’, Euroa and its war memorial reminded me of Richie – my much loved father-in-law, also from country Victoria (Maryborough, population around 5,600 in 1939), who at 17, fudged his age so he could enlist in WWII and went on to see 5 years of active service. In 1942, separated from his battalion and lost on the Kokoda Track for three weeks, surviving on grass and water, he came across what he thought was a dead body. He kicked it over and a bloke looked up at him and said “Richie, wouldn’t have a smoke on ya wouldya?” It was his mate from Maryborough. Richie carried him back to safety and they both survived the war. What men like this sacrificed… some their lives, others something of themselves for the rest of their lives.