Vol. 4, Issue 16: I Think You're Wonderful

Seeing The Wonder In Others Can Be Your Leadership Superpower

Years ago, when we still lived in Manhattan full time, my kids went to an absolutely wonderful public school - P.S. 9 - which we loved and love and still talk about incredibly fondly. P.S.9 had a stable of amazing faculty and staff, the kind of people who, when you think about in whose hands you want to leave your kid, are the kind of people you can only dream of being so lucky to have waiting.

In NYC, everyone is guaranteed a spot in public Pre-K, but not everyone is guaranteed a spot in their zone, so when we got a spot at P.S. 9 (our zoned school), it was like we’d won the MegaMillions jackpot. It was amazing. And the Pre-K teacher at the time was a woman named Mrs. Stitham. Mrs. Stitham is exactly what you’re picturing in your head: kindly older woman, been doing it for 30 years, competent guitar player*

*One time while she was holding her guitar, I asked Mrs. Stitham if she knew “Highway to Hell” and it would have been absolutely legendary if she’d stood up and played it. But alas, she didn’t know it. Related but not relevant, I was at a Super Diamond show in Atlantic City once where they asked the crowd for requests and I asked for “Highway to Hell” and THEY PLAYED IT. I’m not a big AC/DC fan, but this is my go to for some reason.

Pre-K is largely about 2 things: getting along with other kids and singing. And Mrs. Stitham’s class was long on both, but especially singing. They sang a lot, but my favorite song that they sang which I still find myself singing around the house sometimes*, was a song called “I Think You’re Wonderful”. You can find the lyrics here. You can also listen to a guy named Red Grammar singing it at that link if you’re inclined. It’s a sweet song with a message that we tend to lose as we get older.

*I sing a lot around the house. Mostly the worst songs of your lifetime, but also evidently Pre-K songs

As adults, we stop saying things like “I think you’re wonderful”. In the workplace, praise tends to be focused on metrics or outcomes: KPIs*, budgets, measurable performance reviews. And those things are important, of course. You can’t run a real world business without actually accomplishing anything other than hollow praise. But this isn’t only a question of outcomes; it’s a question of motivation and leadership. But leadership, at its best, is about seeing people the way a child sings about them, without hesitation or agenda.

*I had just gotten used to KPIs when someone came up with OKRs. Whoever is responsible for this probably deserves an award for their continued dedication to results, but they also get my eternal disdain for making me remember another initialism

What if leadership, true leadership, starts where that song leaves off? With the courage to tell people (and show people) that they’re wonderful?

Somewhere along the way, we forgot how to do that*. Somewhere between our first job and our first leadership role, we learned to ration appreciation. Praise became a performance tool, that being something we give when it drives an outcome or smooths over a hard conversation. We say “nice work” the way we’d offer a handshake.

*I’ve done two things recently: one is that I’ve recommitted to in person interactions and the second is that I tell people to have a beautiful day at the end of the interaction and I have to say it’s been a big value add for me

The problem isn’t that people don’t want to recognize others; it’s that doing so can feel risky. In a culture obsessed with control, efficiency and Wall Street outcomes, genuine vulnerability and looking someone in the eye and saying, “You’re really good at this” can feel almost subversive. On the other side of that is that we’ve reached the point in our society where someone says something nice and our initial reaction is “What’s your angle? What do you want from me?” instead of taking, internalizing and appreciating the praise.

The outcome of that is a culture obsessed with productivity, but starved for belonging. Wonder and being wonderful isn’t about flattery; it’s about attention and seeing the unique potential in someone before they see it themselves.

I talked about this a little bit in an earlier post, when I dissected the word “amateur”*, but wonder has a similar problem. I think the notion of wonder has this connotation now of being associated with daydreaming or a lack of seriousness, rather than the awe or the curiosity that it actually means. But that wonder, that awe, that curiosity allows you to see people not just for what they produce, but for what they might become. And the best leaders see that and treat their admiration as fuel, not reward.

*Nothing brings attention from the ladies like an etymology lesson

All of this has been validated and proved over and over again in my own career. The managers who did the most for me in my career were exclusively those who recognized my skills and translated that vision into specific feedback that showed gratitude for the attention I gave and work that I did. And that meant the world to me. I’ll call out two phenomenal people in my career who embodied this as leaders: Bev Beeson and Trish Lemley, who saw the potential in me at Turner and pulled me into a leadership position on their team. They saw me for what I could be, not just what I was. That type of vision isn’t as common as it should be.

People rise to meet belief. “Wonderful” is a mirror, not a label.

How do you put this into practice? Over time, both as a leader, but also as someone being led, I’ve found that the best leaders embody a few things.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that people can clearly see their assets*. The reality is that people don’t spend a lot of time thinking about their strengths and weaknesses. They may have a sense of what they do well and what they don’t, but as a leader, you have a unique view into how they work and what they do well. Simply put, don’t assume people know what they’re good at: articulate it clearly to them and do it often.

*Or their opportunities to improve, but that’s a different newsletter

And don’t just say it, but be specific about it: “Your insight reframed that client’s perspective” beats “Good job” every day of the week and twice on Sunday. And using that praise to celebrate in context helps tie recognition to shared purpose: “Your action solved the problem that’s been blocking us.”

My son doesn’t remember that song. We found a video of him singing it and we showed it to him and he smiled, I think largely at the vision of his younger self. He’s in 7th grade now, so his own sense of wonder is beginning to fade in certain spots. I consider it a pretty big part of my job as his father to not let him lose it entirely. And as a leader of teams, I considered it a pretty big part of my job to ask myself what would happen if my teams heard every once in a while that they’re wonderful, not as a song, but as truth?

In leadership, as in life, the simplest phrases are the hardest to say. But sometimes, they’re the ones people remember forever.

And by the way, I’ve been meaning to say: I think you’re wonderful too.

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It goes without saying that I took a little time to recharge my creative batteries and focus on a few other things and that’s been great for me. I’m aiming to keep this going for the rest of the year on a semi-regular schedule. I’ve got a few half-written posts teed up.

In the meantime:

• We’re doing great things on the podcast and over at Cognitive Film Society

• I’m extremely excited about Notes in Motion and you’ll hear more from me about this on LinkedIn and in coming newsletters, but I’d love to see you at our gala in February. Specifics to come.

That’s all for this week. Until next time, friends.