Honoring Human Responses in Strategic Planning
Discomfort has a way of popping up right when things start to get interesting. In the case of strategic planning, it might come with the realization that this process feels a lot like being handed a blank notebook when you were looking for an instruction manual. As a new consultant and former client of The Spark Mill, I have spent the last few months watching; watching the process, yes, but also watching people. I’ve witnessed spirited moments of joy and innovation. I’ve also seen tension and discomfort among teams as they work on zooming out. Well-oiled operations keep the doors open and the programs running, and for teams that are accustomed to operational thinking, there is comfort in the immediate payoff that lets you know you are on the right track. But, strategic planning flips that right on its head and raises foundational questions that cannot be answered through process improvement alone.
My work has always been, and will always be, person-centered. I see human nature shining through in everything we do at TSM. So, the more I think about it, the more sense it makes that unpleasant feelings could arise when teams are asked to step outside of the tactical thought-processes that are familiar to them and into the abstract world of strategic thinking. In a short time, I’ve developed a strong sense of compassion toward teams as they navigate the dichotomy of strategy and operations. In order to better understand the client experience, it has helped me to step back and think about what is actually occurring in someone’s psyche during such times of frustration.
Feelings of overwhelm and discomfort are our mind’s way of protecting us from potential threats; evolutionarily, it’s our built-in alarm system. But as we engage in change making in the modern world, I’ve found that the importance of taking care not to let those alarm bells totally stop us in our tracks, cannot be overstated. When I sense resistance from a client or even within myself or my team, I’m careful to interpret it as a yellow light, and not necessarily a red one.
It’s an important moment to slow down and ask:
What is this feeling trying to say?
Maybe it’s saying:
This feels too big. It isn’t what I expected Or: I’m afraid I won’t succeed.
Not to pile on, but strategic conversations don’t happen in a vacuum either. Outside the conference rooms we are all dealing with personal responsibilities and family dynamics, all while the buzz of politics and news headlines ring in our ears. It’s a lot to carry, and then, we go and ask ourselves to dream big on top of it. It’s not unreasonable to get tripped up every now and then.
I’ve seen this show up differently depending on who is in the room; sometimes it’s disinterest or hypercriticism, and other times, it’s a rush to just get the whole thing over with. I’ve also noticed that when the discomfort isn’t acknowledged, it has a tendency to weigh teams down or boil over. On the other hand, letting that frustration saturate the atmosphere for too long can create an anxious and emotional loop with no clear way out.
These very human responses are not inherently wrong, but don’t necessarily lend themselves to strategy.
Which begs the question: How can we name a difficult feeling and experience it, without letting it control the narrative? The social worker inside me has fixated on this delicate balance, and I want to lift up the idea that, despite what perfectionism and “grind-culture” might whisper in our ears, there is something to be said for simply learning as we go. And, ultimately, being better prepared for the next time we find ourselves overwhelmed by what lies ahead.
Remaining focused, keeping our defenses at bay, and not allowing the worry to cloud our vision is easier said than done, but we’ve all had to do it at some point in our lives in order to take a risk, whether it be personally or professionally. I see the human ability to regulate our own discomfort in the interest of growth as a gift. However, drawing on that gift requires us to be present, flexible, and optimistic; traits that are admittedly difficult to equip ourselves with consistently each morning, but not impossible. In my experience, a bit of self-reflection, vulnerability, and peer-support goes a long way.
I have empathy for the fact that strategic planning may feel something like doing a puzzle without a reference photo on the box, but I’m learning that that’s sort of the point. It takes a lot of mental effort, and the impact it has on the brain after a full day of meetings is not insignificant. The process is designed to challenge us. At The Spark Mill, we’ve also designed it to be joyful and incredibly rewarding. It is a privilege to be able to guide people and organizations as they navigate their own unique visions for the future. I want current and future clients to know that feeling sluggish, pessimistic, or distracted at times isn’t indicative of failure in the strategic planning process; I see it as a common and manageable response to the unknown. As a proponent for change-making in all different forms, I do what I can not to dismiss those feelings, and I urge you to do the same. Honor them. Name them. Work through them.
And remember: if it was supposed to be easy, everyone would have already done it, and we would be out of a job.