Over the weekend I ran into a former coworker, Greg. It’s been close to 20 years since we worked together, and we spent several minutes catching up. We talked about our current work situations, gave family updates, and laughed about the old times. We eventually parted ways, promising to do a better job of keeping in touch.
As I went about the rest of my day, I couldn’t help but recall some of the projects and conversations we’d had during our tenure at the same employer. There was one incident though that my mind kept going back to. It’s the same one that always pops up when I think of Greg. It was the time his office door went missing.
Our CEO at the time believed strongly that managers should be available whenever the team needed them. As a result, he expected that we follow an “open-door” policy. Whenever possible, the doors to our offices were to remain open. It served as a conspicuous signal that any employee was welcome to speak to any member of management at any time.
The problem was that Greg liked to close his door. He didn’t want to be interrupted while he was working. He said he needed to focus in order to do his best work. So while the rest of us kept our doors open most of the time, Greg’s was typically closed; much to the ire of our CEO. So one day, Greg came in to find the door to his office had been removed.
Glenn Geher, a professor of psychology at the State University of New York at New Paltz, says that closing your office door too often sends negative signals to the rest of the team. It shuts people out, making them feel excluded or unworthy of your attention. At a minimum, it communicates an unwillingness to engage with others. Closing the door is a silent social cue about your approachability.
Obviously, there are legitimate times when the door should to be closed.
- You’re having a confidential conversation with another associate.
- You need to take a private or sensitive phone call.
- You need an hour or so to focus and finish up some time-sensitive work.
However, these should be rare occurrences. If your door is always closed, there may be larger issues that need to be addressed. Besides, think of what you’re missing.
- You’re missing out on the chance to hear new ideas from other member of the team. When you shut the door, you communicate that you are not interested in anything outside the scope of your current focus.
- You’re missing out on the opportunity to coach others. When you shut the door, others learn to seek out coworkers who are more receptive to sharing ideas.
- You’re missing out on the little, seemingly inconsequential conversations that inevitably pop up from time to time throughout the day. When you shut the door, the team decides to move on without you.
Geher suggests using the door sparingly. Communicate the occasional desire to close your door for some quiet. Everyone understands the need for some distraction-free work. But let your default be an open door. Don’t watch through the glass as the team moves on without you.
Leaders ask questions.
What if you could do away with deadlines, appointments, and alarms? What if you could do what you want, when you want to do it? Would you be more productive since you’d be able to focus energy on the truly important things? Or would your output plummet, giving way to procrastination?
Think about it.
I talk about the concept of partnership a lot, usually within the context of customer service. We want our customers to view us as a partner as opposed to a vendor, or even a service provider. The idea of having a partner moves the relationship past the point of transactional interactions. When customers see us as their partner, the relationship changes. It becomes stronger, more intimate, and ultimately more rewarding. The time we spend with customers, and they with us, is greatly enhanced when viewed as a partnership.
In case you missed it, a guy named Infinite Tucker recently won a race by literally flying across the finish line. It was May 11th and the finals of the 400-meter hurdles event at the 2019 SEC Track & Field Championships. Infinite (that’s his real name) and his Texas A&M teammate Robert Grant were neck and neck coming to the finish. The junior launched himself into the air, going “full Superman,” and dove across the finish line. He crashed to the ground, just beating his friend and winning the gold medal.
This Saturday afternoon, my daughter Abby will graduate high school. It’s an interesting road that she’s traveled, with plenty of twists and turns along the way. She left an orphanage in Ternopil, Ukraine for the wide open skies of Lubbock Texas. She battled the setbacks presented by her Autism to attain the confidence of an “A” student. She’s grown from a sweet child into beautiful young woman.
Last month, a Pittsburgh woman (her name has not been released), discovered an abusive ex-boyfriend hiding in her attic. She lived in the house with her two daughters and began to notice small things out of place. She thought about calling the police, but thought she would sound crazy for reporting a “blanket in my basement.” On April 20th though, she heard a noise upstairs and went to investigate.
According to researchers at Cornell University, the average adult makes somewhere in the neighborhood of 35,000 conscious decisions each day. Some of these are fairly trivial; take what to eat for example. Decisions about food account for as many as 226 of the choices we make daily. Any one of them has little impact on our lives. Other choices are more serious. Making a wrong decision can often lead to very negative consequences. String too many of those together and the stress can become overwhelming.
As far back as 577 AD, primitive matches were used to start fires in China. In 1805, Jean Chancel developed the first self-igniting match. His required dipping the match head into sulfuric acid though, and never really caught on. Like so many great ideas, the common friction match was discovered by accident. English chemist John Walker was testing different chemical mixtures, dropped a match on his hearth, and was delighted when it lit upon being struck.