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We view control the same way we view pregnancy – it’s an all-or-nothing condition. Either you are in control, or everything is out of control. We would all be wise to rethink this – to look at how to handle and even embrace some lack of control.
The slightest loss of control often feels like it will lead to anarchy and disaster, but the challenges of managing, leading, and delegating require the ability to occasionally give up some control. Giving up control doesn’t necessarily lead to disaster. Far from it – sometimes giving up control will get you superior results in surprising ways. A slightly risqué – but absolutely true – story illustrates my point.
Many years ago, in the days of my wayward youth, someone told me about a nude beach here in New England. I confess I was thoroughly intrigued with the concept of observing young ladies frolicking in the surf au naturel. So a friend of mine and I packed up the car, and we drove down there to see what was what.
Now at this point I should mention that I had approached the whole affair with a bit of trepidation. The normal “controls” – rules pertaining to bathing suits, for instance – were all completely lifted, and there were no security guards of any kind. I had simply assumed that the entire beach would be one huge Bacchanalian orgy of lascivious behavior.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Sure enough, here was a beach filled with naked people. But while the average beach has lots of people who are running around, screaming, yelling, and stepping other people’s blankets without too much thought, this beach was like a library. Everyone was quiet, reserved, and painfully polite. Then it hit me: Because the normal boundaries did not exist, the collective sense of heightened vulnerability led to much greater mutual respect and general decorum, one that I had never seen on a suits-required beach. The supposed “loss of control” had spontaneously led to much greater mutual respect and, in a sense, even greater “control.”
I observed a similar phenomenon when I played the bass in major symphony orchestras. The less-talented conductors always wanted to be in total control, but the top conductors always gave up control. That way, instead of 100 people being limited by the narrow permissions given from one individual conductor, the capabilities of each player shone through to their maximum extent. If the set drummer was playing, he was in charge. If the oboes were playing the primary melody, they were in charge. When I played bass for Broadway shows, I was in charge of the rhythm. This power was not an opportunity to commit mayhem. I was being granted an enormous responsibility. The “team” depended on me, and I always responded by playing my best.
