The advice I needed when I was 30.

About ten years ago, I gave a bit of unsolicited advice to a college student with dreams of achieving  some pretty big goals by the ripe old age of 30. I took him seriously enough to suggest a plan of action and, a bit reluctantly, he acted on it. Recently, I received a gracious thank-you note from that same man, who is now realizing his lofty dreams. I responded with a second piece of advice that will hopefully be easier for him to follow: “Ask yourself, what kind of leader do I want to be? What’s my brand as a leader? Whatever that is, be authentic.”

When I was a young man, I really wanted people to take me seriously. I wanted to project a no-nonsense image. So, I ordered some very serious letterhead on bond paper with embossed lettering and a serif font and the whole deal. I used emphatic exclamation points in my letters. Of course, the image I was trying to project wasn’t who I really was — a regular laid-back guy who preferred casual clothes, enjoyed a good time, and had a solid midwestern work ethic.  Any leadership skills I possessed had much more to do with an innate sense of empathy than any Machiavellian business school tactics. I wish someone had given me the advice back then that I recently shared with my 30-year-old friend and rising business leader — just be yourself. People respect authenticity.

Here’s something else I shared with him. Humility goes hand-in-hand with authenticity, and the flip-side of humility is vulnerability. Leaders don’t pretend to be something they’re not.  They understand that they don’t have all the answers, aren’t always the smartest one in the room, and that they need help from others. They welcome input. They acknowledge their own mistakes and shortcomings. They keep trying to be better people and more effective leaders.

Today, my personal “note paper” consists of colorful, oversized postcards with big, friendly type. (It’s not ComicSans, but it’s pretty casual.) It’s my hope that when I meet people for the first time, the “real me” matches whatever correspondence or social media we’ve used to connect. Every day, I try to put my energy into being a good leader, not just looking like one. And while I admire and even emulate many wonderful people, I try to stay true to that guy in the mirror — flawed, perhaps, but authentic. That’s the only kind of branding a leader needs.

When you hire the wrong person, own it

I’ve been in business long enough that I have been somebody’s boss, manager, or supervisor for many years. I’ve pretty much enjoyed every assignment I’ve had, but there is one thing I’ve never found easy — firing someone I was responsible for hiring. Especially at an executive level. Let’s face it, this should never be pleasant or even comfortable. But I have learned that there is one thing we should never do — even if it makes it easier on ourselves — and that’s vilifying the person being let go.

I am ashamed to admit that I used to do that. Many people still do. And looking back, the psychology behind this behavior is easy to understand. It’s all about cognitive dissonance. If I hired someone because I thought they were wonderful, capable, and a good cultural fit, and then they didn’t work out, it must be because they either deceived me, took on a radical personality change, or are sociopaths. The thinking is, “I’m a good person and a good manager, so it must be their fault!”

This is not only unfair to the other person, but potentially damaging to your business, because you have failed to identify a problem that needs an effective solution. After all, when you hire someone, it’s because you need a specific job handled. If it’s not being handled, you need to understand why. The best way to approach this is through a debriefing process. Is the individual simply a poor fit with an otherwise effective team? Has the organization or the assignment shifted in a way that requires different skills than that person brings to the party? Did you have unrealistic expectations, hoping that because you admired that person, they would somehow grow into the assignment, or that the assignment itself would evolve? In most cases, you simply hired the wrong person for the job that needs doing right now, and you need to own it. You need to be vulnerable, admit that you tried something that didn’t work, and make the decision to correct the situation. Ultimately, that’s the only fair thing to do for the person separating from the company, and for the company itself. Own the mistake and move on.

There’s another benefit here, too. When people see that you are willing to own your mistakes, they are more willing to tell you the truth, even if it means calling you out on a bad decision. Leaders need their people to tell them when something isn’t working. Sometimes, you may need to debrief with specific members of a team to make sure you don’t repeat the mistake, or try to “solve” the wrong problem. If people trust you, they can help correct or validate your assessment so that you can move forward. With compassion and honesty, the person separating from the company can too.

Why just consume, when you can also create?

One of my favorite things about the annual Maker Faire is not just the scale and scope of the inventions — which are awesome — but how it never fails to inspire me to make something myself. It’s my belief that we all have an inborn urge to create, but it’s become so much easier to just consume that we’ve shut off that part of our soul. It’s as if the process of curating ideas, or aggregating art, or sampling and sharing scientific innovation is as powerful as making something from scratch. But they are different things entirely — and it has everything to do with what you get out of the process.

If I want a fine work of art to display in my home, I’ll visit some art galleries and purchase a piece by a true artist. But if I want the satisfaction of playing with color and form and fabric, if I want to experience and learn from the creative process, I need to jump in without worrying about whether the results will be “good.”  If you want to provide secure shelter for your family, you’ll buy a house from a trusted builder. If I want the adventure of creating something with your kids that they’ll play in for hours on end, you’ll build a treehouse.

The thrill of making something isn’t reserved for artists or engineers or architects. You can bake a cake. Plant a vegetable garden and share your goods with the local food bank. Make up a story for a grandchild. Write a haiku. Join a garage band and make music. Organize a reading club and build a basis for fellowship. Build a team where none existed before.

If we are very lucky, we’ll make something that can be shared and that matters to other human beings. But I suspect that most things get made because their creators gave in to the urge to just do it. The reward is the journey of creation, how it makes us feel when we explore this part of our brain and express a secret corner of our soul.

Making things makes us better people.

A case for standing up for people others put down.

In recent years, we’ve been inundated with news about industries, corporations, athletic teams, colleges and even faith-based organizations who have dismissed leaders because of egregious misconduct.  Many of these transgressions had gone on for years while others turned a blind eye, and I give a lot of credit to the trailblazers who have denounced both the perpetrators and those who protected them. Still, I wonder how much of the ensuing remedial action was for show, and how much was a sincere interest in reparation.  I worry that, as individuals, we are all too willing to abdicate responsibility for abuses perpetrated on someone else, simply because they aren’t happening to us.

I’m always uncomfortable when I hear colleagues talking about horrible things inflicted on  “other people” at places they used to work or do business. Sexism. Racism. Ageism. Entitlement. Intimidation. I want to shout, “And that was OKAY with you? Why didn’t you call them out?” Have we become apathetic about injustices that happen outside our immediate circle? Or are we afraid of what might happen when we speak up for each other? Is “integrity” just something we pay lip service to, but don’t embrace in our personal code of conduct?

The other evening I was going to dinner with some friends when a man near us began loudly pestering a young woman. I told him he was being disrespectful and asked him to stop. Later, the friends I was with told me I shouldn’t have said anything, not because it wasn’t my business, but because the guy could have pulled a gun. Seriously? Have we reached the point that we won’t to do the right thing because we’re that afraid? I only did what I would want someone to do for my wife or daughters. I’d want someone to have their backs by telling him it’s NOT OKAY.

What do you think? Are we justified in calling out someone when they are being disrespectful to another human being? Is it a duty? What if it’s a colleague? What if it’s our boss? My intuition says that, as a society, our moral reprobation has a governing effect on bad behavior.  In that sense, we owe it to each other to police outrageous behavior. Not with “shaming.” Not with righteous indignation. But by simply demanding that people treat others the way we all want to be treated.

Many companies have a stated code of ethics. At Freeman, I think most people can list our key values, even if they can’t recite the entire code of conduct. It begins with integrity — with its implication that we behave in the right way whether or not anyone is watching.  At what point do we take this personally, especially when is it easier to just look the other way? What’s the point of a code of ethics that is subordinate to embarrassment, fear, or ambivalence?

It’s something we each need to consider for ourselves. Especially those of us in leadership positions, where it’s critical to model the behavior we expect see in others.  How do we want people to treat our spouses, our family members, ourselves? The thing with bad behavior, as we’ve seen in all too many news stories, is that the longer people get away with it, the harder it is to stop. Abusive behaviors can become institutionalized anywhere, but only if the people who witness it do nothing. Don’t wait to act, or only do it for legal reasons; let’s do it because it’s the right thing to do. Maybe a word from you is all it takes to turn things around.

#24 Those Who Do Teach — Get Out There And Do

This is the final installment in a series of blogs based on conversations with Bruce Mau, designed to help people working in the brand-experience medium embrace and apply the 24 Design Principles. I believe that spending time with these interrelated, non-linear habits of thinking can help us realize better outcomes – at work, in our personal lives, and in the world at large.

The last of our 24 Design Principles throws sand in the eyes of the old, unkind adage that suggests ‘those who can, do; those who can’t, teach.’ Bruce Mau understands that when we design our processes and procedures in the right way, those who can — especially those who can do specialized work — are always teaching those with whom they work. And in an industry (and business world) in which it’s impossible to know everything, we all have an opportunity to teach and to learn every day.

“Doing is the best learning methodology that we have,” Bruce says. “Instead of teaching by talking about it, teach by doing.”

That’s an added benefit of working in Renaissance Teams — by collaborating with people who have expertise outside our own, we are always learning from the best. And it’s another area where the scope of our industry and our enterprise works to our advantage. “If we think about Freeman,” Bruce notes, “if we learn by doing, no one can learn more than us, because we do more than anyone.”

It’s no coincidence that successful companies build this strategic advantage into their processes, just as we do at Freeman. In fact, it’s built into the design-thinking approach that’s captured in the 24 Design Principles of which this is the capstone. In the events industry, we are privileged to touch so many business sectors, health care practices, lifestyle and entertainment arenas, that acquiring expertise in any one field brings tremendous value to the assigned team. Multiply that by the specialized capabilities an individual might represent — in strategy, creative, digital, event tech or logistics — and it becomes clear that we are all called to be both teachers and learners for the very reason that we are doers.

Bruce becomes animated when he applies this to how we work at Freeman. “This is where the ‘learning’ of all the principles comes into play,” he says. “We are a doing industry. Our product is an experience of doing something.  We’re a verb company. So that puts learning clearly in our business model…. We’ve been doing the Housewares Show for 40 years; we want the next 40 years of Housewares Show to be 40 years of innovation. It’s possible because we’re learning by doing, because we’re applying the Learning Cycle and the Debrief experience that, in every case, drives us forward, and maps out what we should be doing and can be doing with our clients.”

Talk to the best people in the live events industry and ask them how they learned to do what they do. To be sure, their expertise was launched from an academic foundation. They may even have specialized certificates – which is awesome. But most of us can point to the people and assignments through which we gained our most valuable experiences. This is proven out every time I meet with industry colleagues and swap stories. Inevitably, people start sharing tall tales that involve a ‘trial by fire’ experience — or more accurately, an opportunity to jump off the high dive into the deep end of the pool and learn by keeping up with the strongest swimmers.

I remember taking Bruce to a CES planning meeting that’s known, internally, as “the garbage meeting.” It’s one of the best ways to learn about logistics. In addition to helping the team at CES advance its sustainability goals (recycling and repurposing exhibit materials) we have to understand how to remove consumer-generated garbage in a way that prevents log-jams in loading out the show. Our people have developed an expertise that could only be learned by working on a show of such enormous scale. For example, in 2017, more than 1.6 million square feet of carpet were reused and more than 23,000 square feet of paper and mesh banners were recycled. CTA’s booth donation program enabled exhibitors to repurpose raw materials and furniture no longer needed after the show — 285,000 pounds of materials donated to organizations such as Goodwill, Habitat for Humanity, and Opportunity Village.  Bruce was blown away, remarking that a plan of this scale works like a military operation. He’s right, of course. But it’s not the kind of thing you can teach someone without having them be part of it.

“The only way you can do CES is to learn CES,” Bruce says. “Our people who do CES know things that no one else in the world knows…. We would never think of garbage as a design problem, but it absolutely is.”

Freeman is in the process of realigning our organization to make it easier to harness the full breadth of our expertise in service to our customers’ businesses. The idea of learning while collaborating is essential to the premise. So is the notion of flexible leadership. A sales growth person who heads an account may have more client-expertise to contribute early on, but she’ll want to learn early in the process, from her colleagues in design and delivery, how best to bring the customers’ dreams to life.

“The knowledge and experience we have in our people, because of what they do every day, is such an extraordinary asset,’ Bruce explains. “And the way that we’re organizing our work is to get that intelligence into the original conception of the design and, in fact, into the conversation with the client at the outset.”

The implications of this final design principle are pretty far reaching.  The notion of teaching by doing  brings with it an obligation to be a patient, intentional teacher and, conversely, an eager, open-minded learner. Further, once we agree that people learn best from watching their leaders, we have to own that this “teaching” extends beyond the work we accomplish to the values that define us. How we do the work, the trust we extend to our colleagues and earn from our clients, is every bit as important as the actual skill sets we’ve acquired.

Ironically, perhaps, but entirely by design, this final design principle, which instructs us to teach by doing, brings us back full circle to the first design principle: First Inspire. Design Is Leadership. Lead by Design.

When design thinking becomes a matter of habit, we are intentional about what we do and how we do it. We know that success is an iterative process. We are both optimists and realists – we constantly seek data in pursuit of better solutions. We are entrepreneurs. We embrace collaboration because we know we don’t know everything. We despise waste — which is a manifestation of bad design — but we love huge, thorny challenges that present opportunities for massive change.

Design is leadership. You now have 24 lessons in leadership that you can apply to your work, your world and your life. Lead by design.

Early lessons in leadership – #8

If you’ve ever watched toddlers playing in a room full of toys, you may have noticed them trying to pick up a new bauble without putting down the toy they’re already holding. They are curious about the new object, but reluctant to let another child grab what they’ve got. Eventually they walk around holding toys they can’t play with, because their hands are too full.

I’ve seen similar behavior at various companies across my many years in the industry. There always seems to be that one person who is eager to grab a new position with new responsibilities but who refuses to let go of the old one. Even when they can’t possibly do their old job and the new one with any level of success.

Some of this can be attributed to a simple reluctance to give up the known for the unknown, which is perfectly natural. But the situation I have in mind is a situation where all that matters is “who’s got the bigger pile of stuff” at the end of the day.

I’m thinking back several years to the chance I had to promote a high-achieving executive. I was creating a new job that offered huge opportunity and I was taking a bit of risk betting on this guy. He had a reputation as a fixer and the results to back it up, and I felt he earned my confidence. I also knew I could find others to take on his current assignments, which were important but not especially challenging, to free him up for this chance to really define and own the new piece of the business.

I was excited to create this opportunity for him, so you can imagine my dismay when, after explaining the promotion, he took issue with my insistence that we redistribute his current work. He actually became obsessed about what I was “taking away from him” instead of focusing on everything I was laying at his feet. He implied that I didn’t trust him. In fact, the opposite was true — I trusted him so much, I was placing a big bet on his success. But I wasn’t so naive, or so heartless, to expect that he could add another full-time job to the one he already had. (Even though that’s what he wanted.) The new opportunity was huge, but I couldn’t afford to go backward on the existing business.

In hindsight, maybe he thought I was looking for a hero, someone who could carry even more weight without complaining. In fact, I was looking for a leader to come up with a vision for success and inspire the team to win big in a new arena. He thought he could do it all and do it better. I wanted to give him the bandwidth to do more than “better;” I wanted him to take our business to a whole new place.

Sadly, the result was one I’ve seen play out time and again. By acting betrayed, and walking around the office like a kicked puppy, other people picked up on his attitude and assumed he’d fallen out of favor. Because he acted like he’d been taken down a notch (even though he’d been promoted) it became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Our coworkers were happy to listen to his complaints and console him for his “loss” — but they no longer saw him as the top dog.

In today’s fast-change, high-growth environment, we must all expect that our job responsibilities will be continuously reshuffled and redefined. The best way to set ourselves up for success is to rise above our fears and design the next opportunity. To do this effectively, we must make sure the self-fulfilling prophecy in our head is one of professional success, regardless of what we attempt.

Think about this the next time your job is redefined. (Sooner or later, it will be.) Make the decision to jettison whatever narrative —whatever baggage — is holding you back. You may have to get out of your comfort zone, say farewell to favorite clients, go where there are fewer names beneath yours on the company flow chart, or even give up your illusions of playing the hero who can do everything at once.

Only when we let go of these things can we grab the next opportunity with both hands. Only then can we design a better future.

#22 Work On What You Love

This is an ongoing series, based on conversations with Bruce Mau, to help people working in the brand-experience medium embrace and apply the 24 Design Principles. I believe that spending time with these interrelated, non-linear habits of thinking can help us realize better outcomes – at work, in our personal lives, and in the world at large.

At first glance, the advice to “work on what you love” feels a little soft — less like a design principle and more like an inspirational poster in a recruiting office. But the more we think about this principle, the more it’s evident that it should be directed not only to individuals seeking employment, but also to managers and clients looking to optimize their teams.

Companies that want to attract and keep the best talent need to seek out opportunities for their people to contribute to the assignments they’ll find most stimulating. In the brand experience category, we need to arrange it so that gear-heads and auto enthusiasts can work on car shows, foodies support the trade shows for restaurants and food science,  and gamers work on the related tech conferences.

“This might be the most important principle of all,” Bruce says, “because it lets us align talent and energy behind the right opportunity. You want alignment between talent, communities and opportunities — things you can contribute the most to.”

The benefits of this approach to assigning work become exponential when we consider what it means to clients. Imagine a medical association putting a job out to bid that involves strategy and content development. They know they will have to get the new agency team up to speed on everything ranging from government regulations to the obscure scientific issues that are top-of-mind with their target audiences. But when they have the option of working with someone who already has a passion for the medical field — has a ten-year jump on the newbie — they actually save time and money. This is equally true for any event with esoteric appeal. By engaging with people who have a passion for a category, brand or community, there is a much greater chance of finding a new innovation, a new way to be relevant, or a new way to disrupt that marketplace. From this perspective, it’s easy to see that by aligning your people behind brands they feel passionate about, your value to the client is much, much higher.

The beauty of having the kind of scale we do at Freeman is that we serve clients whose expertise runs the full spectrum of business sectors, educational or political causes, and fan-based events. We just need to get better at finding ways to let people raise their hands and say, “I want to work on that — I love that.”

We recently put this to the test by sending one of our senior creative executives to China to help launch a car account for which he had a lifetime’s passion and several collectible models. He walked in knowing the brand’s rich design history, the technical details of each model, and how to lean into its legacy to charm potential buyers. After the event, one of the brand’s largest dealers called our client to tell him it was the best event the factory had every done. Our client was ecstatic — and so was our “brand ambassador,” who contributed so much.

“That’s why we want to organize around sectors,” says Bruce. “The culture of our client — it’s so valuable to us, we can’t overstate it.  It means we understand the language of their culture and immediately add value.”

How does this principle apply to young people who aren’t lucky enough to find employment in their chosen field? Bruce points to advice that the actor Alec Baldwin wished he’d given his 20-year-old self, “try not to need money ‘til you’re in your 30s.” The point is, focus on your craft when you’re young, not on fame or fortune.

While the idea is a bit poetic, Bruce notes that as a much younger person trying to launch his career, he lived like an impoverished student so that he could focus his energy on doing great design work, regardless of pay. He likened working on what he loves to sending out a beacon to the like-minded design-thinkers he felt destined to learn from and work with – people who were also seeking him. “I knew that any time I compromised my work, it would be harder for them to find me…” Bruce explains.  “I found those people…. And it’s only possible because I did that. For me, that’s what working on what you love means.”

If working on what you love puts you in the path of other people working on what they love, the potential for collaborating on satisfying work is huge. For business leaders, it means tapping the passion of your people and aligning it behind your customers’ brands. Creating opportunities for employees to work on what they love creates new possibilities to connect people in meaningful ways and inspire massive change.

That’s what I love about my work.

Early lessons in leadership – #6

One of the most valuable lessons I learned as a young executive was forced on me by circumstances beyond my control. Left to my own devices, I might never have learned that using quiet time to find clarity requires intent.

I’m an extrovert by nature — I always have been — and I love to be around people, share ideas, get feedback, and build that kind of synergistic energy.  So, it took a life-changing event to reveal the power of spending time alone.

As a social person who found that collaboration always worked well for me, I had neither the inclination nor the opportunity to spend much time in solitary reflection. Then, in the early ‘90s, I took an assignment in Japan. My wife had a job she liked back in the states, so the “commute” was extreme. I didn’t really know anyone in Japan except my co-workers, who were anxious to spend weekend time with their families.

This was before social media and the universal adoption of email. It was also before international mobile phones (we had those expensive things the size of a thermos – and I was actually armed with the famous “International Calling Card”).  Even so, scheduling a call with friends and loved ones was challenging, given the extreme difference in time zones. Instead of living out of an American hotel, I rented an apartment, where people pretty much kept to themselves.  And of course, the television and entertainment options were in Japanese, so none of the usual distractions were available. As you can imagine, the combination of these factors proved very isolating.

For the first time in my life, I had blocks of time alone — time spent in my own head — with no one handy to discuss my day, the decisions to be made, or the general trivialities of a life shared with friends and family. I really missed the interaction. But in hindsight, this unlocked the opportunity to spend concentrated time in reflection — something I would never have sought intentionally. And it turned out to be one of the most significant periods I’ve ever experienced.

There’s a lot of power in slowing down, reflecting, not making excuses, and taking the time to be honest with yourself. And you simply can’t do that in the few minutes spent waiting for an appointment or stuck in traffic. Spending time by myself, I was confronted with my own uninterrupted thoughts. I learned a lot about who I was and what I wanted to be.

Today, it’s harder than ever to shut out the rest of the world, which means that time alone is something that needs to be designed, scheduled, and honored. Call it meditation if it helps. Or tell people you need to give your brain time to reboot. But give it a try. I can honestly say that the time I spent in contemplation — even though it was because there were no better options — made a profound difference in my life. I went to Japan as one person and came back another.  I started out as something of a hot-headed, impatient American business guy who thought he had all the answers, and came back as someone more centered, more intentional, more in tune with what was going on in my head and in the world around me.

Of course, I didn’t realize at that time what a profound change it had made. But now I can see it. The great thing about reflection is that, when you take time to know yourself better, you become more discerning about the outcomes and goals you want to achieve, and also what you don’t want. Once you understand the path you’re on, you make better decisions about how to move forward and achieve your dreams for the future. If that’s not worthwhile, what is?

#21 Design the Platform for The Impact Double Double

This is an ongoing series, based on conversations with Bruce Mau, to help people working in the brand-experience medium embrace and apply the 24 Design Principles. I believe that spending time with these interrelated, non-linear habits of thinking can help us realize better outcomes – at work, in our personal lives, and in the world at large.

In the previously published design principle about The Power Double Double, Bruce Mau talked about how massive change happens when improved capability coincides with increased quantity — i.e., exponential population growth. This next design principle — Design for the Impact Double Double — is its mirror. It asks us to consider the impact on our world when the outputs of individual consumption are multiplied not only by increased population, but by social advances that bring both the benefits and excesses of a modern lifestyle to a greater percentage of that population.

One look at the Great Pacific garbage patch, 80,000 metric tons of plastic floating out in the ocean, demonstrates the potential ramifications of ignoring this principle. But it also underscores the opportunity to apply design thinking in ways that create positive massive change. Big challenges equate to big opportunities for innovators and entrepreneurs.  Consider what young Boylan Hatch and 12-year-old Anna Du are already doing to put this principle into action.

What does this mean for our industry? How do we find new ways to create more value with less stuff? “This is a huge opportunity for our planet, our industry and also for our business,” says Bruce. “Every time you take waste out, you capture value. You capture resources. That’s the opportunity!”

There has been a lot of progress made in the expositions industry in terms of recycling and repurposing materials used to create exhibits —but we still have much to do to eliminate the global practice of “build and burn.” One of the primary obstacles is that we are severely restricted by load-in and load-out times. Too often, there simply isn’t enough time to disassemble and repurpose everything, because the trucks are already driving up to unload for the next big show.

How do we design for this challenge of saving both time and the materials we want to recycle or reuse? Chatting with Bruce about The Double Double Impact got me thinking about Moore’s Law – and how the doubling of installed transistors on silicon chips occurs 12-18 months, while the costs are halved.  I tried to imagine this kind of efficiency in our world of brand experiences, but since our cost is largely based on labor hours, it seems impossible. One way we can begin to make a difference, however, is to design from a time standpoint. Bruce urges us to think about shifting where and how labor is used. For example, we can “spend” more of our labor before the show by designing modular exhibit pieces that can be quickly loaded and assembled on site – and more easily disassembled at the end of the show, so materials can be reused.  By preassembling some of the pieces, and making sure everything is sized for a 53-foot truck trailer, we save time and labor cost that we can invest elsewhere. As Bruce puts it, “If it is designed in a modular way to go in, you’d save time on the load-in, and you’d save material on the load-out.”

That’s the thinking behind the beautiful, highly configurable display system that we plan to market as Flex by Freeman™. Its use of modular assembly units means that it’s easier to create attractive,  beautiful exhibits that quickly go up and down. And its aluminum structure means it’s lightweight, can be repurposed indefinitely, and can be recycled much like an aluminum Coke can.

“We have a very limited time to do what we need to do,” Bruce explains. “We can use the labor savings to do more, not less. By reducing the cost in one area, it allows us to do amazing things in others…. What Flex allows us to do is spend more time on things that matter. More time on things that add value to our client. And that’s good for the business, it’s good for the industry, it’s good for our clients.”

Designing for The Impact Double Double may begin with a desire to improve sustainability. But the beauty of innovating for massive change is that the benefits are often greater than we first realize. We’re seeing it in every industry, from bottling companies to agriculture.

“So many of the things that we do now, people said for years, you can’t do it – it’s impossible,” Bruce notes. “And yet people are solving these things. We’re moving to waste-free ecology and a waste-free economy. Ultimately, that’s where we’re going to get to, if we’re going to be here. If there’s going to be 7-plus billion of us, we’re going to change the model of what we do.”

That’s The Impact Double Double. That’s the power of design thinking.

Time is the new currency — how will you invest it?

In the U.S., November brings the celebration of Thanksgiving and a reminder to count our blessings. I am grateful to work on what I love, to enjoy the friendship of so many awesome Freeman colleagues and clients, and to be loved by family members who inspire me every day. Not surprising, each Thanksgiving my deep sense of gratitude evolves into a resolution to design my time better, so that it aligns with my priorities. I vow to spend more time focused on people and opportunities that really matter. I think I’m getting better at this, but I still fail when things that seem urgent displace those that are truly important. Meetings that run long. A stack of email in which I’m one of 100 people copied. Daily inefficiencies. Maybe this is something we can help each other eliminate.

Bruce Mau and I were chatting the other day about how time is the currency of modern marketers. With all respect to Benjamin Franklin, we agreed that his truism “time is money” is no longer true nor timely. Franklin’s “Advice to a young Tradesman” assumes that there is an excess of time that can be converted to ready cash. Work longer hours, make more money. This may have been sound advice 270 years ago, but in the 21^st Century, most people I know would gladly pay any ransom to get back  some portion of their hijacked time. In this sense, time itself is the treasure, and gold the means to redeem it.

We agree to this exchange more than we realize. Every time we pay more for the convenience of having something done for us or delivered to us, every time we use an app to shave minutes off a transaction, every time we choose a higher-priced custom solution over one that requires us to shop for what we want, we are buying time. What we do with that saved time is worth thinking about. Are we allowing people and things to drain away precious minutes that we’ve allotted to more meaningful things? Or can we commit to acting with intent by truly designing how our time is spent? We hear a lot about work/life balance, and it begins with design thinking. Considering our work goals, family goals and our personal goals, how do we want to spend the 24 hours of each day?

Yes, this is totally a #FirstWorldProblem. But the time/value transaction determines how our lives are spent, so it’s worth considering. We are all rushing around. But what are we rushing to? Something worthwhile? Something that helps a customer or a colleague? Or simply a  blurb on the Outlook calendar that insists we scurry off?

Next, consider our impact on others. Are we respectful of their time, or are we in the habit of grabbing as much as we can get? In our industry, we need to design brand experiences in a way that helps both attendees and exhibitors make the most of the time they’ve invested to participate. For attendees, this means helping them quickly identify and experience things that align with their priorities. For exhibitors, it means facilitating the meaningful connections and leads they need to grow their business. For everyone involved, wasting time is tantamount to robbing them of their treasure. So we must design events to purge all the things that waste time: long lines, poor directional signage, pointless general sessions, etc. By respecting people’s time — by making each moment count — we give them more of what they prize most. And that builds loyalty.

Consider this less frequently quoted bit of advice from Benjamin Franklin’s “Poor Richard’s Almanac” — “If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead and rotten, either write things worth reading or do things worth the writing.”

We all want to spend our lives doing things that are worthwhile — things that matter — with  the people who matter most to us. Let’s begin by being grateful for the time we’re given, and being respectful of each other’s.