第3章 Part 1

the question

We begin with the costs of asking How? too quickly or too eagerly. When we ask how to do something, it expresses our bias for what is practical, concrete, and immediately useful, often at the expense of our values and idealism. It assumes we don't know, and this in itself becomes a defense against action. This section underlines the importance of getting the question right and paying careful attention to the nature of the debate.

Getting the question right may be the most important thing we can do. We define our dialogue and, in a sense, our future through the questions we choose to address. Asking the wrong question puts us in the philosopher's dilemma: We become the blind man looking in a dark room for a black cat that is not there.

how is the wrong question.How? is not just one question, but a series of questions, a family of questions. It is the predominance of this family of questions that creates the context for much of what we do.

How? is most urgent whenever we look for a change, whenever we pursue a dream, a vision, or determine that the future needs to be different from the past. By invoking a How? question, we define the debate about the changes we have in mind and thereby create a set of boundaries on how we approach the task. This, in turn, influences how we approach the future and determines the kind of institutions we create and inhabit. I want to first identify six questions that are always reasonable, but when asked too soon and taken too literally may actually postpone the future and keep us encased in our present way of thinking.

Question One:

How do you do it?

This is the How? question in basic black, serviceable in most situations. It seems innocent enough, and in fact it is innocent, for when I ask this question, I take the position that others know, I don't. I am the student, they are the teacher. The question carries the belief that what I want is right around the corner; all that prevents me from turning that corner is that I lack information or some methodology. What this question ignores is that most of the important questions we face are paradoxical in nature. A paradox is a question that has many right answers, and many of the answers seem to conflict with each other. For example, “How do we hold people accountable?” Well, real accountability must be chosen. But if we wait for people to choose accountability, and they refuse, don't we then need to hold them accountable? If we set up oversight systems to ensure this, then what are we getting: accountability or compliance?

The paradoxical questions that lead us to what matters most are those familiar, persistent, complicated questions about our lives, individually and organizationally, that defy clear solutions. We all want to know what we were placed on this earth for, what path is best for us, how to sustain long-term intimate relationships, how to raise a child, how to create a community. At work we try to change the culture, increase performance, find and keep great people, deal with failure, develop leaders, predict where our business is going, be socially responsible. These are large questions, but the small ones also are difficult: Where do I spend this day? Where has the time gone? What is this meeting really about? Why is this project on life support? Where can I get eat a healthy meal? Why don't I get home by 6:00 PM?

We can pursue methods and techniques for answering these questions, or we can appreciate their profound complexity. We can acknowledge the possibility that if there were a methodological answer, we would have found it by now. We can accept the possibility that dialogue and struggle with the question carries the promise of a deeper resolution. Maybe if we really understood what the question entailed, if we approached it as a philosopher instead of an engineer, this would take us to the change or learning that we seek.

The real risk in the “how to do it” question is coming to it too quickly. It finesses deeper questions of purpose, it implies that every question has an answer, and rushes past whether or not we have the right initial question. The rush to a How? answer runs the risk of skipping the profound question: Is this worth doing? And it skirts the equally tough corollary questions: Is this something I want to do? Is this a question that is mine, that matters to me? Or is it a question, or debate, that has been defined by others? And if it has been defined by others, do I have a right to say no to the demand? Here is one more question that precedes methodology: Why are we still asking this question?

You might say that this more profound line of inquiry takes too long, that it can paralyze us from taking decisive action. Well, hold this concern for the moment, because it is just this concern that keeps us operating within boundaries that do not serve us well.

Question Two:

How long will it take?

We live in a culture of speed, short cycle time, instant gratification, fast food, and quick action. So the question of How long? becomes important. Why wouldn't we want everything right now? How long?—like the others—makes its own statement: If it takes too long, the answer is probably no. It implies that change or improvement needs to happen quickly, the faster the better. In this way,

the question How long? drives us to actions that oversimplify the world.

If we believe that faster is better, we choose those strategies that can be acted upon quickly. As individuals, we would rather lose weight with a quick fix of diet pills than the slower, more demanding process of changing a lifetime of eating and exercise habits.

Similarly, in the workplace we choose change strategies that we can act on now. We want changes to occur in days, weeks, and months, not years. This is one appeal of attempting to change the culture by changing the structure, revamping rewards, and instituting short, universal behavior-specific training programs. These are concrete and decision-able actions, amenable to instant execution. Change through dialogue and widespread participation is rejected.

The most important effect of the How long? question is that it drives us to answers that meet the criteria of speed. It runs the risk of precluding slower, more powerful strategies that are more in line with what we know about learning and development. We treat urgency like a performance-enhancing drug, as if calling for speed will hasten change, despite the evidence that authentic transformation requires more time than we ever imagined.

Question Three:

How much does it cost?

The question of cost is first cousin to the question of time. Instead of instant gratification, we seek cheap grace. The question makes the statement that if the price is high, this will be a problem. It embodies the belief that we can meet our objectives, have the life and institutions that we want, and get them all at a discount. It carries the message that we always want to do it for less, no matter how rich we are. For many issues, this is fine. When we are dealing with tangible goods and services, then cost should drive the discussion.

The cost question, however, also controls the discussion of questions that are less amenable to economic determination. At work, there are concerns about safety, about the environment, about the treatment of people; these are larger and vastly more complex issues than getting a product out the door. When we put cost at the forefront, we are monetizing a set of values, and we do this at great risk. At a regional meeting of the National Forest Service I attended, one subgroup felt that services and activities offered by the NFS, such as outdoor education and recreation, as well as commercial use, should be individually costed so as to create a valid marketplace for decisions on how much financial support was needed for each. At stake, though, were the more difficult questions: Whose forests are they? If people do not have the money to pay, should they not have access to public lands? Plus, what impact would essentially commercializing the forest lands have on the goal of preserving them?

Regardless of our personal stance on an issue, when we zero in on cost too soon we constrain our capacity to act on certain values. We value people, land, safety, and it is never efficient or inexpensive to act on our values. There is no such thing as cheap grace. When we consider cost too early or make it the overriding concern, we dictate how our values will be acted upon because the high-cost choices are eliminated before we start.

As individuals, we affect our families and the community we live in by how we address the cost question. We vote on the culture we want by the way we opt to control costs. When we save money at the superstores, we make it difficult for local businesses to survive. When we vote for reduced taxes, we put an unbearable strain on local education and government services.

The question “how much will it cost?” puts the economist at the head of the table. We want the economists to sit with us, but how much do we want them to dominate the discussion? When the cost question comes too early, we risk sacrificing what matters most to us for the sake of economy.

The most common rationalization for doing things we do not believe in is that what we really desire either takes too long or costs too much.

Question Four:

How do you get those people to change?

This is the power question. There are many ways to position it: “Those people” need to change for the good of the organization, they need to change for their own good, for the good of the family, for the sake of the next generation, for the sake of society. Here are some examples of the ways we hinge our desired future onto someone else's transformation:

At Home: How do you get children to clean up, study more, show respect . . . you name it. How do you get your him or her to pay attention, get a job, show love, stay home . . .

At Work: How do you get top management to walk its talk, work together, be role models, send one message, know we are here . . . you name it.

Abroad: How do you get another culture to work as hard as Americans do, to consume more, save more, live the values of the U.S. corporation . . . in essence, to be more like us.

We may say we want others to change for good reasons. But no matter how we pose the question, it is always a wish to control others. In asking the question we position ourselves as knowing what is best for others.

In all the years I have been doing consulting work and running educational workshops, this is the most common opening question. The majority of all consulting engagements are commissioned with the goal of changing other people's behavior. You constantly hear clients ask, “How do we get those people on board?”—as if we are in the boat and they are not. We want to enroll people, align people, bring them up to speed, motivate them, turn them around, and in the end, get rid of the dead wood.

The desire to get others to change is alive and well in our personal lives also. If only the other person would learn, grow, be more flexible, express more feeling or less feeling, carry more of the load, or be more vulnerable, then our relationship would improve. Most of us enter therapy complaining about the behavior of parents, partners, co-workers, children. While we may package our complaint as a desire to help them, we are really expressing our desire to control them.

The behavior we describe in others may be an accurate description, but that is not the point. The point is, our focus on “those people” is a defense against our own responsibility. The question “How do you get those people to change?” distracts us from choosing who we want to become and exercising accountability for creating our environment. We cannot change others, we can just learn about ourselves. Even when we are responsible for employees or children, we surrender our freedom and our capacity to construct the world we inhabit when we focus on their change.

No one is going to change as a result of our desires. In fact, they will resist our efforts to change them simply due to the coercive aspect of the interaction. People resist coercion much more strenuously than they resist change. Each of us has a free will at our core, so like it or not, others will choose to change more readily from the example set by our own transformation than by any demand we make of them. To move away from the spirit of coercion, we replace the question “How do you get them to change?” with “What is the transformation in me that is required?” Or, “What courage is required of me right now?” When we shift the focus to our own actions, we also have to be careful not to ask it as a How? question. This is not a question about methodology, it is a question of will and intention. And when we honestly ask ourselves about our role in the creation of a situation that frustrates us, and set aside asking about their role, then the world changes around us.

Question Five:

How do we measure it?

This question makes the statement “If you cannot measure it, it does not exist.” Or to paraphrase Descartes, “I can measure it, therefore it is.” So much for love. The engineer in us needs a test to affirm knowledge, a ruler to mark distance, a clock to demonstrate time. We justly want to know how to measure the world. We want to know how we are doing. We need to know where we stand. But the question of measurement ceases to serve us when we think that measurement is so essential to being that we only undertake ventures that can be measured.

Many of the things that matter the most defy measurement. When we enter the realm of human nature and human actions, we are on shaky ground when we require measurable results as a condition of action. As with the questions of time and cost, it is the importance we give the question of measurement that can limit what is placed on the table. A glaring example is student assessment in public education. There are many children whose capacities or accomplishments cannot be measured by a standardized test. We know this, and some schools are developing portfolio alternatives, but our educational system is increasingly driven by a high-stakes testing mentality. When the test becomes the point, then teaching methods and curricula are herded into performing well on the tests. Nontest-related learning becomes secondary.

Our obsession with measurement is really an expression of our doubt. It is most urgent when we have lost faith in something. Doubt is fine, but no amount of measurement will assuage it. Doubt, or lack of faith, as in religion, is not easily reconciled, even by miracles, let alone by gathering measurable evidence on outcomes.

There is also the issue of what use will be made of the measurement. Is it intended for control and oversight, or is it for learning? Is it for the sake of a third party, or for the players involved? The useful aspect of measurement is that it helps us make explicit our intentions. The dialogue about measurement is most helpful when we apply it to ourselves. We need simply to make the subtle shift from “How do you measure this?” to the question “What measurement would have meaning to me?” This opens the discussion on the meaning of the activity and the use of the measures we take. It keeps measurement from being a supervisory device, and turns it into a strategy to support learning.

Measurement is also tricky because we think that the act of measurement itself is a motivational device, and that people will not act on what is not institutionally valued through measurement. This shrinks human motivation into a cause-and-effect dynamic. It implies that if we do not have a satisfactory answer to the measurement question, then nothing will get done. Again, this restricts what we do and pushes us into a world where we only undertake what is predictable and controllable. So much for imagination and creativity.

Question Six:

How have other people done it successfully?

“Where else has this worked?” is a reasonable question, within limits. It is dangerous when it becomes an unspoken statement: If this has not worked well elsewhere, perhaps we should not do it. The wish to attempt only what has been proven creates a life of imitation. We may declare we want to be leaders, but we want to be leaders without taking the risk of invention. The question “Where else is this working?” leads us down a spiraling trap: If what is being recommended or contemplated is, in fact, working elsewhere, then the next question is whether someone else's experience is relevant to our situation—which, upon closer scrutiny, it is not.

The value of another's experience is to give us hope, not to tell us how or whether to proceed.

If the change we contemplate has anything to do with human beings, even the most successful experiment undertaken elsewhere has to be seriously customized for our situation, every time.

This is not to argue against benchmarking, but to express the limits of what value we can actually find in looking elsewhere for how to proceed. Most attempts to transport human system improvements from one place to another have been profitable for those doing the transporting—the consultants—but rarely fulfilled their promise for the end user. Reengineering was a good example of this. The ideas behind reengineering were golden, but its widespread expansion via hard selling from some high-level early adopters led in most cases (60-75% according to its creators) to disappointment and even dysfunction.

Taken in isolation, and asked in the right context, all How? questions are valid. But when they become the primary questions, the controlling questions, or the defining questions, they create a world where operational attention drives out the human spirit. Therapist Pittman McGehee states that the opposite of love is not hate, but efficiency. This is the essence of the instrumental bias, our bias toward action, control, predictability. While being practical is modern culture's child, it carries a price and we are paying it. The price of practicality is its way of deflecting us from our deeper values.

yes is the right question.The alternative to asking How? is saying Yes—not literally, but as a symbol of our stance towards the possibility of more meaningful change. If the answers to How? have not fed us, then perhaps we ordered the wrong meal. The right questions are about values, purpose, aesthetics, human connection, and deeper philosophical inquiry. To experience the fullness of working and living, we need to be willing to address questions that we know have no answer. When we ask How? we limit ourselves to questions for which there is likely to be an answer, and this has major implications for all that we care about.

The goal is to balance a life that works with a life that counts. The challenge is to acknowledge that just because something works, it doesn't mean that it matters. A life that matters is captured in the word yes. Yes is the answer—if not the antithesis—to How? Yes expresses our willingness to claim our freedom and use it to discover the real meaning of commitment, which is to say Yes to causes that make no clear offer of a return, to say Yes when we do not have the mastery, or the methodology, to know how to get where we want to go. Yes affirms the value of participation, of being a player instead of a spectator to our own experience. Yes affirms the existence of a destination beyond material gain, for organizations as well as individuals.

To commit to the course of acting on what matters, we postpone the How? questions and precede them with others that lead us to more questions that perhaps lead us to more questions. So much for answers. In fact the most useful questions are ones that entail paradox, questions that recognize that every answer creates its own set of problems. Here are some Yes questions that draw us into what matters.

Question One:

What refusal have I been postponing?

A dominant myth in almost every workplace is that if you say no, you will be shot. The only question is whether our reluctance to say no is more an expression of our own caution and doubt or a feature of the culture that we work in.

If we cannot say no, then our yes means nothing.

When we realize, as Jung stated, that all consciousness begins with an act of disobedience, then saying no opens the door to pursuing our own desires. Refusal becomes a realistic option when we realize that saying no is the beginning of a conversation, not the end. We may say no, and the people we work for may say, “You have to do this.” That's okay. I can live without getting my way, but I cannot live without believing that I have a right to refuse what makes no sense to me. The inversion of “What refusal have I been postponing?” is “What have I said yes to that I did not really mean?” Even if I meant yes at the time, I may not mean it now—which says that I have a right to change my mind, which is yet another expression of our freedom and acceptance of our humanity. Machines are consistent, people are not—they only try to be.

Accepting the possibility of refusal means that when we finally say yes it is an act of volition. It is the clearest test of whether we are acting on our own instincts, according to what matters to us, or whether we have internalized the direction provided by others. This is not an argument against following the direction provided by others. It is simply a litmus test: Have we freely chosen to follow their direction, or do we do so out of compliance and a fear of refusing? While we may be doing the same thing either way, the context of our action is everything.

Question Two:

What commitment am I willing to make?

This question recognizes that if change is to occur, it will come from my own free choice, not from the investment of the institution or the transformation of others. Every project of consequence or personal calling will require more of us than we originally imagined. Sister Joyce DeShano, an executive of a large health care system, understands calling better than anyone I know. She says that the call comes from a place that we do not know, that the demands placed on us will be more than we ever expected, and that if we knew what was in store, we never would have said yes. These are excellent tests for the pursuit of what matters.

The question of commitment declares that the essential investment needed is personal commitment, not money, not the agreement of others, not the alignment of converging forces supportive of a favorable outcome. For anything that matters, the timing is never quite right, the resources are always a little short, and the people who affect the outcome are always ambivalent. These conditions offer proof that if we say yes, it was our own doing and it was important to us. What a gift.

Question Three:

What is the price I am willing to pay?

There is a cost to pursuing what matters, and money is the least of it. In acting on what matters, we are leaning against the culture, and we may be disappointing those around us who have adapted to the way we used to be. We may begin a project with little management support. We may initiate discussions that no one else wants to have. We may push our institution into caring about the environment, about its community, about a new service, about new ways of managing performance. All of these carry a risk, and well they should.

Despite its rhetoric, the culture does not value independent action. The culture wants to ask the family of How? questions: What does it cost? How long does it take? Where else has this worked? And we may have no good answers to these questions. When we say Yes instead, we acknowledge that acting on what we choose costs us something, which is what gives it value. If there were no price to saying Yes, to acting in the face of our doubts and meager methodology, then the choice we make would have no meaning.

Asking what price we are willing to pay also means that if we fail, we expect there to be negative consequences. This is one aspect of accountability: If it does not work out, we will not be rewarded. And why should we be rewarded? Because we tried hard? Not really. The fact that being wrong may be costly also means that if we are successful, we will have purchased some latitude to try again, perhaps recapturing some more freedom to act and room to breathe.

Question Four:

What is my contribution to the problem I am concerned with?

This question is an antidote to our helplessness. It affirms that we have had a role in creating the world we live in. If we believe that we have not created what we are facing then the payoff is a moment of guilt-free innocence—it is not our fault. If we decide to choose freedom, we surrender innocence and exchange it for guilt. We experience the guilt of saying no to an individual or an institution, and saying yes to what matters. We gain a life lived well and lose the comfortable innocence of a life partially lived.

This question also shifts the nature of accountability. It is the alternative to being “held” accountable, because it asks us to choose accountability. When we get stuck, and are not acting on what matters, it is usually because we have defined ourselves out of the problem. What keeps us stuck is the belief that someone or something else needs to change before we can move forward. Acknowledging what we have done to cause the problem dislodges us from being trapped in an instrumental existence. This question also gets us out of the audience and onto the stage. We affirm that we are not a spectator, but a player, and in the end we have no one to blame but ourselves. How is that for a strong selling point?

Question Five:

What is the crossroad at which I find myself at this point in my life/work?

This question affirms the idea that it is the challenge and complexity of life and work that gives it meaning. We expected to live happily ever after and find that yesterday's triumph is no longer enough. There is no level of success from which we can wade into shore. This question is especially important if what we have done in the past has been successful, for what worked yesterday becomes the gilded cage of today. It is the answer to this question that gives us clues to what matters most.

The fact that we acknowledge we are at a crossroad gives us the energy to get through the intersection. We will find meaning in exploring and understanding this crossroad. Our crossroad represents an as yet unfulfilled desire to change our focus, our purpose, what we want to pursue. Talking about our crossroad also recognizes that what is most personal to us is also universal. It is always surprising and reassuring to find out that we are not alone and our own crossroad is widely shared by others.

Question Six:

What do we want to create together?

This question recognizes that we live in an interdependent world, that we create nothing alone. We may think we invented something, or achieved something on our own, but this belief blinds us to all that came before and those who have supported us. It is a radical question, for it stabs at the heart of individualism, a cornerstone of our culture. It also declares that we will have to create or customize whatever we learn or whatever we import from others. We may think we can install here what worked there, but in living systems, this is never the case.

Just having a conversation about this question brings people's deeper side into the room. As soon as I begin to discuss what I want to create, I am in the position of cause, not effect. So many workplace conversations are about how we are going to deal with what they want to create. Question Six stops the political discussion of what they want from us and how we are going to respond, and starts the purpose-filled discussion of what we will initiate. The dialogue alone levels the playing field, even if for only a moment. For that moment, our desires count.

The Bonus Question:

What is the question that, if you had the answer, would set you free?

This is the mother of all questions. It is a question that can only be meditated upon. Each time you answer it, you begin a different conversation. While there may not be one answer that you can settle on, each attempt aims you in a good direction. It is like a laser beam into what matters. It brings the question of our freedom front and center. It carries within it the optimistic message that our freedom might be within reach. It confronts our illusions about what will set us free because the answer is a reminder of all the effort it takes that does not set us free, but further obligates us. This question is the culmination of the previous six questions.

All together, the Yes questions transform our inquiries into a deeper, more intimate discussion of why we do what we do. They bring us to the larger question, a favorite of large-scale change consultant Kathie Dannemiller: How will the world be different tomorrow as a result of what we do today? This kind of question brings our purpose into focus. It makes us choose what matters for ourselves. If we want to create a workplace that values idealism, human connection, and real, in-depth learning, we have to create this ourselves. We take a step toward these ideals when we shift to the Yes-type questions, questions that are filled with anxiety and ambiguity, questions that force us to put ourselves on the line.

Towards a More Perfect Union

We can now bring these two sets of questions together, and in so doing, better define the meaning of a shift from How? to Yes—or from “What works?” to “What matters?” Each of the six Yes questions offers an alternative path to the six How? questions. Read the pairs of questions and notice how the locus of control shifts from outside to inside, from practice to intentions, from the strategic to the personal. It might not seem like much, but it is a small shift with large implications.

How? Question One: How do you do it?

becomes

Yes Question One: What refusal have I been postponing?

The shift here is from a question of method to one of choice. Granted, refusal is a strange way of saying yes. But when our plate is full and we seek a change, knowing what we need to say no to is essential to invention. Many acts of creativity, even new businesses, began with a decision about what not to recreate. The second wave of computer companies were begun by IBM graduates who were determined to create something different.

Also, remember that the question of “How do you do it?” is more often an indirect expression of our doubts than real curiosity. So let the doubts be stated directly and let them be owned by the doubter as an internal struggle in their thinking rather than a detached observation of the external world. Plus, if you believe that saying no will get you shot, well, what a fine way to go.

How? Question Two: How long will it take?

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Yes Question Two: What commitment am I willing to make?

We have time for all that is truly important to us, so the question of time shifts to What is important? When we say something takes too long, it just means that it does not matter to us. So be it. Don't do it. Schedule is a much later discussion—besides, our ability to know how long a change in a living system will take is a guess at best. How long does it take to raise a child, change a culture, create a new direction, shift a strategy? We can shout urgency, set tight schedules, define monster goals, and the world will still proceed at the pace it chooses. We are too prone to understate the time required as a means of convincing ourselves or others to go ahead. Change comes from care and commitment, so let that be the more important discussion.

How? Question Three: How much does it cost?

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Yes Question Three: What is the price I am willing to pay?

The real cost of change or creating something of value is emotional, not economic. What is most valuable cannot be purchased at a discount. The price of change is measured by our effort, our will and courage, our persistence in the face of difficulty. The shift here is from an economic measure of cost to a personal measure of will. The price I am willing to pay recognizes this. When we do talk about money, or a budget, it is usually other people's money we will be spending. If it is their money, the stakes are not so high. If we want to raise the stakes so the decision is of some consequence, better to make it a personal question. The ultimate price is the willingness to fail and get hurt if it does not work. This is the more important discussion and leads to a more realistic consideration of whether or not the price is too high.

How? Question Four: How do you get those people to change?

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Yes Question Four: What is my contribution to the problem I am concerned with?

This is a shift in accountability. The focus on my contribution keeps the decision maker in the loop of accountability. Too many decisions to initiate a change are made by people untouched by the change effort. The Yes question embodies Gandhi's idea that we need to become the change we want to see. This keeps us honest. It is the antidote to our need to control others. The Yes question affirms that we are the cause, while the How? question declares they are the cause. Better we than they. Gandhi had another precept that I once saw on the wall of his ashram: “If blood be spilled, let it be our own.” This defines humility and a willingness to sacrifice, and our thinking about change needs more of this.

How? Question Five: How do we measure it?

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Yes Question Five: What is the crossroad at which I find myself at this point in my life/work?

The central question in exploring a change is whether or not what we are considering will have meaning for us, for the institution, for the world. Concrete measures can determine progress, but they do not really measure values. The crossroad question helps to define what has personal meaning for us, which is the first-order question. We pursue what matters independently of how well we can measure it, so by looking at the crossroad we break the limitations demanded by the measurement question. It is important to measure what we can, but to raise this question too early, and to use it as a criterion that will determine whether or not to proceed, runs the risk of worshipping too small a god.

How? Question Six: How are other people doing it successfully?

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Yes Question Six: What do we want to create together?

These questions represent the tension between what is proven and what is still to be discovered. If we want our institution to hold a leadership position, then we need a question that does not distract us too much by holding too closely to the experience of others. Individually and collectively, we have the wisdom we need to get the results we want. The challenge is to trust and act on that wisdom. How many times have we brought in an outsider to tell us what we already knew was true?

“Where else is it working?” has a compelling face validity. Who would argue against learning from others? The problem is that the question perpetuates the belief that others know and we don't. The Yes question shifts towards the knowledge of those who have a stake in the change and affirms our trust in ourselves. Remember the childhood game of hide and seek? The search began when the one who was “it” called out, “Ready or not, here I come!” A profound statement.

The Paradox of How?

We can now thread these concerns together. Whatever our destination, it is letting go of the practical imperative that is most likely to guide us to a larger sense of where we want to go and what values we want to embody in getting there. What matters is the experience of being a human being and all that this entails.

What will matter most to us, upon deeper reflection, is the quality of experience we create in the world, not the quantity of results.

There is no methodology for recovering our idealism. Why follow in the steps of another to discover where our dreams will lead us? If we believe there is only one recipe for this discovery, the method we have ingested will contaminate our own answer to the question of purpose.

The array of Yes questions brings meaning and reminds us that if freedom is what is essential to a life that matters, and to an institution that fulfills its purpose, then along this path are acts of disobedience and even betrayal—a willingness to move against the dominant beliefs of the moment. I am always surprised at how willing people in power are to follow the current fashion. The moment one high-profile institution, in concert with a big-name consulting firm, reengineers, empowers, merges, divests, flattens, kisses customers, or emphasizes cost control, the chain reaction of follow-the-leader is immediate and widespread. When we follow fashion and ask for steps, recipes, and certainty, we deny our freedom, for we are trapped by the very act of asking the question. Following a recipe assumes there is a known path to finding our freedom and that someone else knows it. Freedom asks us to invent our own steps. The phrase that expresses this most clearly is “to be the author of our own experience.”

This does not mean that we cannot learn from others. It is just that asking how is a poor method of learning. We learn by bearing witness to how others live their lives. We learn from the questions others have the courage to ask. We are more likely to be transformed from dialogue about what is real and what is illusion. These conversations are qualitatively different from seeking methods and answers.

When we look for tools and techniques, which are part of the How? question, we preempt other kinds of learning. In a sense, if we want to know what really works, we must carefully decide which are the right questions for this moment. Picking the right question is the beginning of action on what matters, and this is what works. This is how we name the debate, by the questions we pursue, for all these questions are action steps. Good questions work on us, we don't work on them. They are not a project to be completed but a doorway opening onto a greater depth of understanding, action that will take us into being more fully alive.

defenses against acting.Changing the focus from questions about practicality to questions about personal commitment entails more than simply a shift in agenda or a change in conversation. When we embrace the Yes questions, we are confronted with our freedom. Most of the messages of our culture deny our freedom and tell us that we are products of our environment, driven by rewards and self-interest, and that those in power hold our future in their hands. To truly act on our own values and pursue what matters means that we need to accept, at the level of bone marrow, that we are free and therefore responsible for the actions we choose, regardless of our environment and its messages.

The most difficult aspect of acting on what matters is to come face to face with our own humanity—our caution, our capacity to rationalize our willingness to fit into the culture rather than live on its margin. This is true in our neighborhood, among colleagues, and in the workplace. Fundamentally, to act fully on what matters means we are asked to claim our freedom and live with the consequences. The subtlety with which we deny our freedom warrants a lifetime of exploration, but what follows are some examples that are germane to this discussion.

The Boss Is Cause

The first line of defense against freedom is to pay attention to people in power. Many of the How? questions carry the statement that the future is in someone else's hands: the politicians, the media, management, the unions, the government. When we seek their support and hold them responsible for our institutions, we reinforce our own helplessness. We do this when we credit them with our success and blame them for failure. The persistent “How do we get top management support?” is the embodiment of the belief that someone else is vital to change, and this is a very popular question.

When you or I suggest that leadership is not that crucial, few people like the message. Most claim that we have not met their top management, that we are naïve about the power of the position—the discussion is endless. Some will actually get angry if you persist with the argument that we give the power to and, in this way, create those at the top. Nelson Mandela, the recipient of worldwide admiration, has stated that the moment you treat a man as if he is a god, you have invited the devil into existence.

The devil, in this instance, is not the behavior of the boss or politician; the devil is the denial of our own power and the expectation that someone else will lead us to a better tomorrow.

The belief that the power lies “up there” is a way of ensuring our own helplessness, all for the relief of an imagined moment of safety.

The Will to Analyze and Seek Concrete Data

We also deny ourselves action when we keep looking for more and more information to ensure greater certainty about the future as a condition of moving on. We can turn curiosity into a life stance, in which life is to be studied, measured, submitted to a continual cost-benefit analysis, rather than lived. We can make a career of evaluating the adventures of others. The will to evaluate and measure is in the same category as the will to hold power. The illusion is that if we can conduct enough research on changes in human systems, the results will be persuasive. My experience is that data and measures are not half as persuasive as anecdotes. Anecdotes, personal stories, reminiscences like biblical parables, are the medium through which faith is restored. Stories are a form of poetry, and give us a saving image to personally relate to. The persistent questions about data and evidence are most often a form of disagreement, or despair, or show a lack of faith. There is little discussion of faith in organizations, but it is only with faith that significant changes can begin.

When Is a Cigar Just a Cigar?

When is a How? question useful and not a defense against change? Of course, questions can be a genuine search for more information. They become suspect when no answer will satisfy. I become wary when people ask how, get an answer, and ask how again and again and again. Stand in the presence of any member of the How? family: What are the steps to changing culture? How do you handle difficult people? Where is this working? When the answer is offered and each time the question snaps back like a rubber band, you know that doubt or caution is the real subject of discussion, not methodology or data.

When no answer satisfies, and people continue to act as if they do not understand, then the wrong question is being asked.

Then, the question about How? is not for information, but is a defense against an alternative and unpredictable future.

Authentic questions, on the other hand, are asked with the expectation that those doing the questioning will join in devising an answer. The question is not used to make a statement, or to minimize choice. A question about method has value when we are willing to act on its answer. When a question is followed by a series of additional questions, then beware. Be especially careful of the questions about measurement. We all want evidence, but each of us must consider this: When the measurement question is asked as if someone else, working independently, must prove value, then the question is a refusal in disguise. It is fine to refuse, but say it directly, don't disguise it as a search for data.

The Risks Are Real

I want to acknowledge that to confront people with their freedom— in this case, to face them with intimate and paradoxical questions and postpone getting into the familiar territory of the pragmatic—is to invite their anger. Many will resent the demand to bring their personal ideals or longings into the discussion. We hear charges that the Yes questions are too personal, as if business were not a personal thing. There is a cultural contempt, especially in the media, for anything that smacks of “touchy feely,” touching and feeling.

This means that the answer—that you are a free soul, responsible for the future of your institution and your environment—is quite indigestible. That is the problem with this book. Anyone who acts on its message risks being accused of being too abstract, or too philosophical, or naïve and unproven in the “real world,” or a fan of New Age spirituality. Someone will note that there are few examples where these ideas have worked, where they can be credited with a major turnaround. The most cynical response to idealism and the pursuit of meaning is the claim that most people do not care about meaning. What they want is a better lifestyle. They want higher pay, better benefits, not more responsibility. They want better bosses, not more freedom.

These objections have some validity, but what they likely mean is that the people making them are saying no to the ideas of freedom, choice, and accountability. I would support them in their refusal. The only response to these concerns is to acknowledge them and encourage those voicing them to just say no. Part of freedom is the right to deny the existence of freedom.

We Make It So

We all, in some way, defend against acting on our values and intentions by denying that we are, in fact, helping to create the culture that pressures us towards safety and a methodological existence. We complain about the culture as if we were only visitors here. We want to hold top management responsible for creating organizational culture, and we each have our favorite culprits to blame for taking the society in a direction that distresses us. As individuals we keep our heads down, believe that there will be time later to act on our intentions, and choose to dismiss the more difficult, ambiguous, and personal questions that deal with the meaning of our work and our experience.

The problem is that when we invest emotionally and economically in—in fact, organize ourselves around—safety, control, and predictability, we postpone the deeper questions of what matters. The cost to ourselves and our institutions is the quality of being alive. In every concert Bruce Springsteen cries out, “Is anybody alive out there?” Interesting question. The pursuit of what matters is about bringing the quality of being alive to everything we do. This is, ultimately, the reward for pursuing our desires.

Escape from Freedom

Part of the appeal of making How? the question of choice is that it lifts the requirement of going deeper and reflecting on our ideals. We say we do not have time for this, but there are deeper reasons to postpone depth, for it can make us anxious. Pursuing How? is the safer path, the more comfortable path. Asking How? thereby is a way to avoid anxiety or, as philosopher Eric Fromm would say, to “escape from freedom.”

What we really want is both freedom and safety, but they are strange bedfellows. Freedom gets confused with liberty (which means we are not oppressed). Freedom is not doing your own thing, but just the opposite. It means we are the authors of our own experience. It means we are accountable for the well being of all that is around us. It means we believe that we are constituting, or creating, the world in which we live. This belief is rare for most of us, because mostly we feel helpless. At these moments, we wish for better leaders, better government, and someone else to create the conditions for us to be free. As if someone else can give us our freedom.

The dilemma is that we do not want to pay for our freedom. We want to drive fear out of the workplace. We want someone else to assure us of a safer tomorrow. We want to know how: how to do it, how much it costs, how long it will take, how to get those people to align with us, how to measure it, and who else is doing it. All of this is a wish to go to heaven and not have to die. We want certainty before we act. And we want those in power to bless us. We have been willing to yield sovereignty to our bosses or institutions in return for their promise to take care of us. This bargain is disappearing through no action of our own, but the disappearance of safety is hard to live with.

As long as we wish for safety, we will have difficulty pursuing what matters.

Loss of Faith

Asking How? is also a defense against our own loss of faith. It is a defense that the culture strongly rewards. The culture promises security through answers and the bottom line. The question is whether it is a real or illusory promise. Knowing how to do something may give us confidence, but it does not give us our freedom. Freedom comes from commitment, not accomplishment. It comes from finding our own voice, not following another's. Continually asking how is a form of self-restraint and even subjugation. I am acting at that moment as if I am not quite ready; I need one more lesson to be able to cook, sing, manage, raise a child, hit a tennis ball, motivate others, live to be one hundred and one.

In this way, How? becomes an expression of our lack of trust in ourselves. Instead of choosing the life we want, we postpone it. We believe that we are not enough, that we don't have it together. We think that we must attend one more workshop, read one more book, get a college degree if we don't have one, an advanced degree if we do. We think we must have a recipe if we are hungry, a personal trainer if we are out of shape (who isn't?), plastic surgery if we are looking older, and we go shopping when all else fails.

Shopping is a culturally approved way to assuage our anxiety and postpone going deeper within to the core of our experience. If performing and accomplishing my way out of anxiety fails, maybe I can purchase relief. I was in a high-end lingerie shop in New York once and I asked the salesperson, “Who buys this expensive underwear?” She said that men buy it when they feel guilty and women buy it when they feel depressed—in a consumer culture, we believe that we can spend and shop our way out of anxiety and pain. I forget, now, what I was doing in that store.

The Mask of Confusion

There are times when leaders ask us to make a change and we respond by acting confused. We continue to ask How? when we do not really mean it; the confusion is just a measure of our discontent. We act like we are confused, like we don't understand. The reality is that we do understand—we get it, but we don't like it. At work, when management says we have to shift culture, structure, strategy, we may think they are wrong. Since we think we cannot say that directly, we instead ask them to provide more detail, define roles, give us the tools, the blueprint for what they have in mind. If they respond to our requests, it rarely makes a significant difference. The effect of the effort to eliminate “confusion” is simply to delay the change.

This Is It

Our wish for quick action and our love of tools, useful as they can be, distract us from our own values and the reality of our own experience.

Endlessly seeking more tools, more skills, more methodology deflects us from accepting our humanity, our limitations, the fact that the questions that trouble us are inherent in being human and have no real answers.

We are as together as we are ever going to be and it may not be enough. My body is not in the shape I want it to be; I am getting older and a flat stomach won't change that; the quality of my meal will not satisfy the hunger in my heart; no amount of shopping will cure my loneliness.

To live our lives fully, to work wholeheartedly, to refuse directly what we cannot swallow, to accept the mystery in all matters of meaning—this is the ultimate adventure. The pursuit of certainty and predictability is our caution speaking. Freedom is the prize, safety is the price, what is required is faith more than fact and will more than skill.

The Price of Not Acting on What Matters

This chapter has been about our resistances to acting on what matters. Let me summarize here what has been suggested above:

First, our resistance isolates us from a deeper intimacy with ourselves, which is the wish to understand, to wonder why, to find our purpose, to let other people in, to express our feelings, and to affirm our humanity.

Second, it robs from us one aspect of our freedom: the capacity to pursue what matters to us, to create a world that we believe in according to our values, independent of the marketplace or what is fashionable at the moment.

Third, the decision to ask the How? questions first and postpone the questions of meaning, the Yes questions, has a pervasive effect on how we experience our work as well as the optimism we feel about the organizations we inhabit. It influences the way we think about our lives and the larger society, especially the production/consumption engine that drives it. The love of what is practical and concrete reinforces a culture of materialism. Most of us see clearly the economic materialism out there, but this is simply an expression of the spiritual materialism within us.

The challenge is not that we do not know what matters to us; it is that sustaining our actions becomes unbearably burdensome. At those moments when we have the space to consider what is in our hearts and what dreams remain for us to fulfill, the task can seem monumental and treacherous. Often we become clearer about what matters to us when we are in a protected learning or spiritual environment: a retreat, a sanctuary, a vacation conversation, a workshop, or a coaching experience. In a moment of clear thinking and feeling about what matters to us, we may be determined to act on our insight. But as we return to the mainstream of daily life, the determination can become diluted. What happens is that when we reenter the culture with all of its power, we face once again the commitments we have made, and the expectations of those around us. The pull of getting things done and the questions of How? exert their force. These are the moments when what matters and what works seem most at odds with each other. What follows are ideas that help sustain our intentions in the face of it all.