Tag Archive for: Learning

Worth a Second Look

On a break the other morning in Perth, I took a brisk walk down the big hill beside the Aviva offices to get some exercise and fresh air.
As I rounded the corner at the traffic lights, I noticed a 10p coin on the ground.
I walked past it – it was just 10p after all.
Then curiosity got the better of me, so I went back and picked it up.
It turned out to be a 2019 James Bond 10p.
I had never seen one before and thought was it even real?
A quick check online confirmed that it was, and because it is one of the rarer ones still found in circulation, it could be worth around £10.
Not exactly a fortune, but definitely much more interesting than I expected!
I think I’ll hold on to it, simply as a curiosity. 😊
It also left me with a simple leadership thought.
In leadership (and in life), we are often moving quickly, oftentimes far too quickly.
There are conversations to have, decisions to make and plenty competing for our attention. In the middle of all that, it can be easy to move past something before we’ve really noticed what it might hold.
A second look might mean asking one more question, listening a little longer, inviting the quieter voice in, or revisiting an idea we had not fully explored.
Slowing down is so important.
Not everything valuable announces itself immediately.
Sometimes good leadership is simply having enough curiosity to slow a little and look again.
And perhaps that is what I liked most about finding the coin: I nearly walked past it because I thought I already knew what it was worth.
What might be worth a second look for you today?

The Courage to Answer

The photograph below was taken last week in Perth, with the latest cohort of our Lead the Way programme with Aviva.

It captures much of what I love about facilitating: warmth, laughter, conversation and people learning together.

But behind the smiles, there was also a great deal of thinking going on.

At various moments, I’d ask the group a question and the room would fall silent. People looked at their notes. Some stared thoughtfully into the distance. Others suddenly became fascinated by the pattern of the carpet!

I’d wait a wee while for a response—usually about three seconds.

Although, as a facilitator, those three seconds can sometimes feel remarkably like twenty minutes!

Yet I’ve learned that when someone doesn’t answer immediately, it doesn’t necessarily mean the question has failed. Quite often, it means the question is working.

They may be searching for words or examining something uncomfortable. They may be trying to separate the answer they think they ought to give from the one they actually believe.

That takes time.

My own experience of giving radio interviews and appearing on podcasts has reinforced that lesson.

When I am coaching or facilitating, I usually occupy the relative safety of the questioner’s chair. I can ask a nice, concise question, lean back and look thoughtful.

During an interview, however, I am in the other chair!

The presenter asks a short, apparently innocent question—and suddenly I am expected to produce an answer that is clear, concise, interesting and preferably finished before the programme ends.

Oscar Wilde observed: “Questions are never indiscreet; answers sometimes are.”

Muhammad Ali offered some reassuring advice too: “Silence is golden when you can’t think of a good answer.”

Perhaps—but silence feels slightly less golden when you are live on the radio!

All of this has reminded me that asking a thoughtful question takes curiosity; finding an honest answer takes courage.

The question may take only a few seconds to express. The answer may require us to look beyond our habits, explanations and carefully rehearsed stories.

Sometimes the first answer is the safe one, the second is the sensible one and then, after a little more silence, comes the honest one.

That is often where the real learning begins.

Rainer Maria Rilke counselled: “Live the questions now. Perhaps then… you will gradually come to live yourself into the answer.”

I know that some answers cannot be hurried, they simply need room to emerge!

What question might you need to give yourself a little more time to answer?

A Matter of Manner

Recently, Monic and I met with a doctor about a medical matter.
We left however feeling a little less reassured than we had hoped, not because we questioned his expertise, but because something in the conversation didn’t quite connect for us.
We also recognise that medical professionals carry pressures we cannot see, and that one brief encounter never tells the whole story. Even so, it prompted me to reflect on how much the manner of a difficult conversation matters.
The experience got us thinking about the phrase 𝒃𝒆𝒅𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓.
It has very little to do with the bed and almost everything to do with the manner: how someone speaks, listens, asks questions, explains difficult things and responds to another person’s vulnerability.
And it struck me that bedside manner doesn’t belong only to medicine.

Leadership

𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 leader has one too.
It shows up when we have to share difficult news, challenge someone’s behaviour, address poor performance, navigate uncertainty or simply sit with someone who is struggling.
There may be no hospital bed in the room, but the other person can still feel exposed, worried or vulnerable.
On our Lead the Way programmes with Aviva, we spend a lot of time considering leadership behaviours such as crucial conversations.
We explore respect, active listening, empathy and thoughtful questions. We consider not only what needs to be said, but how we help another person feel safe enough to hear it and able to respond honestly.
The image below looks like a professional toolkit—but it contains no ordinary instruments. Instead, there is an ear for listening, a question mark for curiosity, a speech bubble for honest conversation and an open hand for empathy and respect.
Expertise matters. So does authority. But neither automatically creates trust.
Whether we are doctors, lawyers, leaders, call handlers, coaches or colleagues, difficult conversations call for the same human tools.
Trust is often formed in the manner we bring to the moment: in our tone, our questions, our willingness to listen and the care we show when the conversation becomes difficult.
People may forget the precise words we use, but they rarely forget whether they felt heard, understood and valued.
What do people experience in the “bedside manner” you bring to crucial conversations?

Hearts Lighter. Minds Clearer.

Over the last few months, I’ve found myself listening to a few people once again in several coaching sessions – I love it!
Different conversations, different circumstances, different challenges and yet afterwards I noticed something very familiar.
Nothing dramatic had happened. I hadn’t produced a clever answer or found the perfect coaching question. Mostly, I had listened, asked a few questions, shared some observations, slowed things down and helped create some space for each of my coachees to think.
And somewhere in those conversations, something shifted for each of them.
Their challenges hadn’t necessarily disappeared, but somehow, they seemed a little less heavy.
𝑻𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒅 thoughts became clearer. Perspective returned and a way forward began to emerge.
Hearts felt a little lighter. Minds became a little clearer.
I’ve seen that happen so many, many times over the years, whether it be in coaching conversations, leadership programmes, workshops, mentoring sessions and frequently in quiet one-to-ones.
People often arrive carrying a lot: a difficult decision, a challenging relationship, an overwhelming workload, uncertainty about what comes next, or simply a feeling that something isn’t quite right.
I’ve learned that our instinct to fix things for people is rarely what they need most. Often, they simply need somewhere to think, someone who will really actively listen, so that they can be heard, and enough space for their own answers to emerge.
Empathy really helps.
That, for me, is at the heart of coaching and facilitation. It isn’t about having someone else’s answers; it is about helping them find clarity, possibility and the confidence to move forward.
My purpose has gradually become very simple:
𝑻𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒓, 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑰 𝒈𝒐.
Perhaps that is one measure of good leadership too: Do people leave our conversations feeling a little lighter, thinking a little clearer, and seeing a way forward?
And if your own thinking feels a little tangled just now, perhaps a good conversation might help.
Sharing thoughts and emotions with someone you trust in a safe space, leads to actions.  Oftentimes, that’s where change begins.
I asked AI to help me capture what it can feel like when tangled thinking begins to loosen, unravel and clarify in a coaching conversation – see the image in this post.
Whose thinking could you help untangle simply by listening well?

One More Turn

Yesterday, I stumbled across this photo.
I received it three years ago from a group of sister missionaries serving with us in the Belgium/Netherlands Mission.
Behind their laughter were the daily rhythms of missionary life: praying, studying, planning, teaching and serving – then getting up the next morning to begin all over again!
The photo however, carried me back more than thirty years.
In July 1994, Monic and I were newly married and living in the Netherlands. Despite my limited language ability and in between my studies, I still had to find a part-time job; otherwise, even though I was married, I’d be deported! That was the law!!
The solution? A kaaspakhuis, or cheese warehouse, in Woerden.
Dutch cheeses are left to ripen for many weeks, sometimes for more than a year. To prevent them from drying out, they are covered with a yellow plastic coating, applied layer upon layer, and regularly turned so they mature evenly.
For several weeks, coating and turning cheeses became my work – row after row, with shelves stacked twelve high. It was heavy, smelly and repetitive.
Eventually, I became rather good at it.

Another Lesson

At the time, I thought the lesson was simply that repetition enhances learning. Yet, looking at this photograph again, I wonder if another lesson was waiting among those rows of cheese.
The cheese was not only being handled; it was quietly maturing.
One more layer was added. One more cheese was turned. There was no dramatic moment when everything changed, yet beneath the yellow coating, something was happening.
Now I know that’s how our spiritual growth takes place too.
We pray, study, worship, repent, forgive and serve – again and again. Perhaps God repeats certain lessons not because we fail to learn them, but because He is helping them become part of us.
Like those cheeses in Woerden and those sister missionaries faithfully living the routines of missionary life, we are shaped layer upon layer.
The scriptures teach us: “…be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great.” – Doctrine and Covenants 64:33
Heaven’s work is usually found in quiet, consistent goodness – not in occasional bursts of busyness that everyone can see.
It’s found in the missionary who offers another invitation, the parent who keeps loving, the friend who keeps listening and the weary soul who gets up and tries once more.
Nearly thirty years after I worked in that kaaspakhuis, these happy sister missionaries brought the lesson back to me. And now, three years later, their photograph has done so once again.
What quiet and repeated act of goodness may be shaping who you are becoming?

A Scotsman, a Tongan and a Hat

One of the funniest moments of our recent Mission Preparation Tour happened, as I stepped onto the coach one morning wearing my favourite cap.

Brad Wilcox was sitting near the front, spotted it immediately and said:

“Daryl, I like your hat.”

Without even thinking, I replied:

“It’s my favourite. You’re not getting it!”

Brad burst out laughing.

Now, the other mission leaders travelling with us were from Tonga, so Brad without missing a beat said: “What’s the difference between a Scotsman and a Tongan?”

There was just enough of a pause for me to wonder where on earth this was going.

Then came the punchline:

“He’d just give you the hat!”

That was it. We were gone. Absolutely helpless.

I’m not sure it did much for the international reputation of Scottish generosity, but it was one of those wonderfully spontaneous moments when the timing, the friendship and the sheer silliness of it all came together perfectly.

And every time I look at this photograph of Brad and me in Nauvoo, I think about that hat.

Thankfully, I still have it.

Brad still doesn’t. 😂

But perhaps there is a little Sunday lesson hiding somewhere in the laughter.

Paul reminded the Saints of the words of Jesus:

“…It is more blessed to give than to receive.” – Acts 20:35

The truth is that discipleship continually invites us to loosen our grip.

Sometimes on possessions, or our time, our opinions, comforts or convenience.

Perhaps generosity begins when we stop asking, “What am I going to lose?” and begin asking, “What could I give?”

Even if, apparently, the answer is your favourite hat!

Although Brad…

you’re still not getting mine. 😄

What is your “favourite hat” – the thing you find hardest to let go of?

A Flurry of Facilitators

A group of lions is a pride.

A group of geese is a gaggle.

And apparently, a group of facilitators may well be a flurry — at least according to one of my colleagues.

I heard the phrase a week or two ago while working alongside several fellow facilitators, and somehow it feels pretty accurate.

Facilitation often begins quietly.  There is thinking, pondering and preparing to be done. Plans are made, activities discussed, flipcharts arranged, PowerPoint slides adjusted and everything carefully set in order.

Then the participants arrive and suddenly, the flurry begins.

Ideas are flying, conversations are flowing, chairs are moving, and carefully prepared timings are being treated as gentle suggestions rather than firm commitments.

There is always energy, laughter and the occasional moment when everyone looks towards the facilitator as though we should know exactly what is happening — and have the answer to everything. Naturally, we smile confidently.

Eventually comes the familiar task of gathering everyone back together (which happens several times on any given day), a process often described as herding cats.

Cats, of course, are not natural herd animals. Unlike sheep, horses or cows, they generally prefer to go their own way, follow whatever has caught their attention and return only when they are good and ready.

Much like participants on a Lead the Way programme.

Some are finishing their coffee. Others are making another loo trip, answering an urgent email, or becoming absorbed in a fascinating conversation that has absolutely nothing to do with the session.

And then there are usually a few who appear to quietly wander off altogether.

Cat Herders

Thankfully, my fellow facilitators are not only thoughtful, skilled and experienced — they are also expert cat herders.

It may not appear on the formal facilitator job description, but perhaps it should:

Essential skill: the ability to gather independent-minded adults back into a room without appearing to chase them.

And then, almost as quickly as it began, the room grows quiet again. The participants leave. The flipcharts remain. The facilitators pause, reflect and ask the traditional post-session question:

“Did that go the way we planned?”

Usually, the answer is: “Well… not entirely.”

And often, that is where the best learning happened.

So yes, a flurry of facilitators feels just right: moments of stillness and thought, followed by a wonderful burst of movement, creativity, conversation and barely controlled chaos.

All held together by a small group of people who know how to ask good questions, follow the energy in the room — and gently herd the occasional cat.

What collective noun would you use for a group of facilitators?

Off You Go Then…

Earlier this week, Annmarie and I were preparing to welcome a brand-new cohort to another Lead the Way programme with Aviva in Perth.
We really enjoy working together and we’d taken a wee bit of time to prepare a plan for the session by dividing up the sections and agreed who would lead each part.
Everything was organised, or so we thought. 😉
As the session began, Annmarie and I stood at the front of the room and looked at one another.
There was a brief pause.
“Off you go,” I thought.
But she didn’t start.
Instead, she looked back at me with a slightly quizzical expression, which I interpreted as her perhaps needing a little encouragement.
So, I gave her what I imagined was a wonderfully supportive leadership signal: a gentle tilt of the head, raised eyebrows and an encouraging look that clearly said, “You’ve got this.”
Still, she hesitated.
Eventually, I added the words: “Off you go then.”
And off she went.
She welcomed the group, introduced the session and got us underway nicely. Nobody in the room appeared to notice that anything unusual had happened.
A few minutes later, during a short break, Annmarie leaned towards me with a big smile and whispered:
“You were supposed to start… Check the plan.”
Naturally, I did and she was right! I hadn’t checked the plan carefully enough!
We laughed about it and carried on. No harm was done, the session had begun well, and in fact, the little incident probably helped us to relax as we started working with a new group.
It was a small moment, quickly forgotten by everyone else, but a useful reminder for us.

The Leadership Lesson

In leadership and coaching, we can easily assume that a plan, a look or a subtle hint has made everything clear.
Sometimes it has. Sometimes it really hasn’t.
Often, the warmest and most helpful thing we can do is simply ask the question rather than rely on raised eyebrows and hopeful head tilts – although that can be fun too!
Where might one simple clarifying question prevent a bigger misunderstanding for you this week?

Finding North

Last week, during another Lead the Way programme, a small theme quietly appeared in the room.

Early one afternoon, my co-facilitator Melody had referenced an image of a compass and spoke about the significance of direction.

A little later, during an activity on change, one of our participants, Greta, used the word compass again.

That caught my attention.

I always carry a small compass in my backpack. It was a 60th birthday gift from my brother and sister-in-law last year, and for me it has become more than a lovely keepsake.

It is a reminder to keep asking myself: What direction am I choosing?

An activity sprang to mind.

In that moment, I asked all 27 participants to stand, close their eyes, and point north.

Whilst their eyes were closed, I placed my compass on a table to reveal true north.

When they opened their eyes, the room was chaotic.

Fingers were pointing in almost every possible direction. One person was even pointing confidently towards the ceiling!  There was a fair amount of uncertainty.

Only a few were actually pointing north.

It made us all smile, but it also made us think, because leadership can be like that.

We can be in the same room, part of the same conversation, facing the same change, and still have very different assumptions about where “north” actually is.

That is why direction matters.

In Lead the Way, the compass is also part of our programme branding, and perhaps that is why the moment landed so well. It was no longer just an image on a screen or a symbol on a wall, it had become a lived metaphor in the room.

A central theme on the programme is when we ask our participants shape to their “I am” statements, where we hope they are not just writing words, but creating a compass for the kind of leader they are choosing to become, in order to literally Lead the Way.

A reminder of what they stand for.
A guide when change feels disorientating which can happen regularly.
A way of noticing whether their behaviour is aligned with their intention.

The compass is a simple symbol, but it carries a deep leadership question:

Do you know where you are heading, and are you helping others find direction too?

Sometimes leadership begins with exactly that, by simply finding your true north.

Faith for the Climb

Over the past 18 months or so, I have had the privilege of working with Brigham Young University (BYU) in Utah, helping to place students in internships across Scotland and Ireland.

It has been a joy to get to know these young people as they step into new workplaces, new cultures and, for many of them, a very different way of life.

This week, Tony Brown, who leads BYU’s international internship programme, was visiting Scotland. Monic and I enjoyed sharing a meal with Tony and a few of the students currently based in Edinburgh: Reagan, Will and Brook.

There was plenty of laughter as they spoke about new responsibilities, unfamiliar accents, Scottish weather, different foods and all the little surprises that come from living far from home.

Later that evening, two of them decided to climb Arthur’s Seat.

Their footwear (see featured image) was not, perhaps, what any experienced Scottish hillwalker would have recommended!

Yet up they went.

Looking at the photograph afterwards, I found myself thinking that life and faith can sometimes feel a little like that.

We do not always feel fully prepared for the path ahead. We may not have all the answers, the perfect plan or even the most suitable shoes. Sometimes we simply take the next step, trusting that the way will become clearer as we climb.

The Apostle Paul wrote: “For we walk by faith, not by sight.”- 2 Corinthians 5:7

Faith does not always mean knowing exactly where the path will lead us. Sometimes it simply means moving forward with enough courage for the next step.

These students have travelled far from home, entered unfamiliar workplaces and learned to adapt to new people and cultures. Along the way, I know they are discovering more than just some professional skills. They are learning resilience, confidence, humility and the importance of relying upon others.

Perhaps that is true for all of us.

God often teaches us beyond the familiar. He invites us to leave comfortable places, to meet different people, to stretch a little further and to see life from a higher perspective.

And thankfully, we rarely climb alone.

So, to all those making this journey: Keep learning, keep trusting and keep climbing.

The path may occasionally be steep, but the view often changes when we are willing to take a few faithful steps onwards and upwards.

Although next time, perhaps check the footwear first!

Where might God be inviting you to trust Him before you can see the whole path?

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