Silence as a Strategic Advantage

I recently spent an entire week in complete silence.

No talking. No verbal communication whatsoever. Doctor’s orders.

Not exactly ideal for a communicator.

Sadly, this isn’t unusual for me. It marked the fifth time in 10 years this has been necessary: a surgery to address abnormalities with my vocal cords.

Previously I tried to work through my recovery – using hand gestures, mouthing the words, using a white board to convey thoughts in the moment, and staying fully connected as best I could.  

But this time was different.

This time I left town for a remote place assured of silence and a focus on healing.

I limited all screened time. I walked a lot.

I did tactile things – mostly painting. I read for pleasure.  

And this is where my brain did something unexpected.

Instead of shutting off or winding down, my brain accessed a gear that is rarely found amid the speed of daily life.

A week of recovery turned into a week of renewed ingenuity brimming with ideas, surprising connections, and new possibilities. Things that would not have happened had I been running on the proverbial treadmill of work.

To be clear, this was different from vacation, from necessary downtime.

It was a mandated stop of verbal communication and a self-imposed limit on digital communication.

That, I learned, was the key to unlocking the floodgate of possibilities.  

When you are not actively communicating you become an observer, a listener – a discerning captive to that still small voice from within that provides a way forward.

IMAGINE THIS:

You have a big project hanging in the balance or a must-win pitch on the horizon.

You could engage as you always do – brainstorm meetings, ideation sessions, check-ins, status updates, work reviews, more meetings – and then “sprint” to the finish line.

Or you could give your team some silence and space. A mandate to think rather than perform. Consider it the opposite of the groupthink brainstorm.

This doesn’t require extreme measures or a full week’s worth of quiet and processing.

But what if you provided the freedom, untouchable increments of time and some space to breathe, think, and ideate in silence away from scrutiny of performance, away from the tyranny of the urgent?

What fruit might that yield?

What might a collaborative session look like when unfettered thinking is brought back to the table, rather than expecting brilliance to strike during a planned 60-minute brainstorm?

You and your team likely won’t find that hidden gear under those circumstances.

It is not how the flood of creative problem-solving is unleashed. 

Every organization wants the breakthrough idea that accelerates the business. Few are willing to give it the time, space, and necessary silence to bubble up from the quiet depths to the surface.

NOW IMAGINE THIS:

Your competitive advantage isn’t about doing more, or grinding, or hustling, failing even faster, or cracking the whip on your team.

In fact, it might look a lot like doing nothing – or appear to be ignoring the elephant in the room.

But you know looks can be deceiving.

Because what you are doing is making space and clearing a path for the best thinking to emerge. To allow for strategic listening to occur and see how ideas begin morphing into solutions.

That’s not only good business, but it also reenergizes teams to think – and then perform – differently.

And it’s also what organizations seek for the good of their business and their people.

Find Joy in Doing the Work

A sketch or an idea isn't the work. It's the start of it.

A post isn't the work. It's the end of it, a summary of work.

Everything in-between is the work — the hard work, the unglamorous work, the I-screwed-up work, the nobody-will-lay-eyes-on-it work, all of the minute decisions that others will never know or appreciate.

To keep alive the dream of the work being worthy or accepted, we have to show up and do the work.

When we do, we might find that our work has the ability to scale walls we’ve constructed inside us, it can be used to tear down old walls, construct new ones, or perhaps become mounted on a wall deemed important. But to realize such a future requires us to do the work.

Too often we focus on the end goal — visualizing to a point of paralysis. We seem more interested in the finish line, the prize, and the accolades without the act of doing the work, regardless of what work we dabble in.

There can be dread at the beginning of the work. It can feel daunting. It can drain.

It can cause feelings of imposter syndrome, of not measuring up.

Which makes us ask — what are we doing this work for?

Why do we do this work?

If your aspirations are greater than your answer, don’t sell yourself short.

If you are “mailing it in” on your employer who believes you enjoy the work, stop.

We are called to work.

You should have a desire to do the work in which you are called.

There should be joy in doing the work.

(not always, but more often than not).

If that's not your experience, go seek it out.

And do that work.

The overlooked value of your unseen audience

How much anxiety does the fear of an unliked post bring?

Plenty.

Study after study confirms the anxiety and depression it wields, especially among young people — perhaps the same young people who are or soon will be running your social media.

And for what? The measurable love of the heart button and that thumbs-up prompt?

Yet we’re told not to get caught up in the “likes” metric.  

That it’s really about engagement — you know, that other metric.

Here’s the thing: I agree with part of that logic. And I agree it can be lonely out there.

But I don’t view any post as a success of failure based on the illuminated heart or thumb.

Nor should you.

Because there are too many factors outside your control once content goes public.

Knowing this, some people will go to extreme measures to avert a low number of likes.

Perhaps you’ve been asked to like posts (even though we’re not getting caught up in that metric, right?)

Maybe you’ve be confronted with this question from friends, colleagues, or even clients:

“Why don’t you ‘like’ my content?”

My answer is: “I see your content and quite often I enjoy it. It’s just not meant for my audience.”

That’s not a slight, it is a reality of navigating a messy, algorithmic socialsphere.

Because when you “like” something, some platforms are compelled to put that liked content in front of your audience, too. And no matter how good it is, it might not be right/ideal/appropriate for your audience.

This is often an overlooked, secondary level of your content strategy — being keenly aware of everything you are putting in front of your audience.

So, back to my response about seeing content, but not reacting to it publicly.

The practice is known as lurking — and it is the bane of analytics teams because it lacks helpful, actionable data. That can push some decision-makers down the slippery slope of “if we can’t measure it, we shouldn’t do it.”

This should be the “a-ha moment” for anyone creating and sharing content.

You can safely assume there could be hundreds of lurkers seeing what you share, who perhaps don’t want to click, get hunted down, or sign up for your finely crafted marketing material — as good as it is.

This isn’t permission to inflate data, but it is permission to accept that a wider viewership exists.

That some of them are thinking about it.

That maybe a few will react to it.

And that perhaps someone will reach out because of it.

If not now, then over time as you continue to provide value.

It is the opposite of instantaneous gratification; opposite of the dopamine hit these platforms reward and we’ve come to crave.

Ask yourself this: during your last scroll through social media are you likely to remember what you liked or who provided value or insight? (it also might’ve been a like).

Proof of the unseen audience

In my other life as a painter, I share my work frequently online.

The vast majority — 80 to 90 percent — of people who have reached out and eventually purchased my work were unknown to me.

They weren’t publicly liking the work.

They didn’t comment on what the read or saw.

And they didn’t sign up to take a voluntary slide down my sales funnel.  

Instead, they were simply paying attention, patiently waiting, lurking…

Until it was time to act (and yes, marketers hate this random waiting and not knowing).

And here’s your takeaway:

We’ve all been conditioned to measure, to be metric hungry.

But conversion – the metric that really matters – comes in ways we can’t always graph or add up on a spreadsheet.

Sometimes – perhaps most of the time – our work is about showing up when it appears nobody is paying any attention.

Show up anyway.

Do the work. Provide value. Repeat.  

Enjoy the likes if/when they come. Engage those people if it makes sense.

But also feed the lurkers by playing the long and often quiet game.

Because when your sales funnel fails to tell you where out-of-the-blue customers come from…

When you’re left to assume they arrived on your doorstep without seeing your carefully curated email drip campaign or gated downloadable content, ask:

Would I prefer this interest and potential to become a right-fit customer come from…

A Google search? (assuming you’ve got a good SEO game going)

A Referral?

The individual quietly lurking but paying attention?

Referral is obvious, but quietly lurking is a close second in my book.

It is unseen, below-the-surface interest before there’s actual engagement.

It is the quiet act of someone building knowledge and respect for what you offer long before there’s an offer on the table.  

Don’t get too caught up in the likes, engagement, and things you can neatly plot as told + sold in a social media playbook.  It’s complicated. And frankly, you have better things to do than play beat the algorithm.

Which is why we can all like and learn to embrace the idea that lurkers exist.

Lurkers, when moved to action, bring a lot more end value than likes.

And that’s a metric everyone can get behind — if you have the patience.

Thoughtful leadership requires more of this overlooked habit

“I don't have time to read – I’m too busy.”

For years I’d hear that kind of a remark from a leader and assume I had no idea the kind of pressure they were under. Being none the wiser, I would give them a pass. After all, it is hard to make time for something that isn’t a priority.

Today I know better.

I get that some people don’t enjoy reading and that it feels like more work on top of the work they already must do. But keep reading (or stick with me through this post). It doesn’t have to be drudgery, and I believe it can become a priority if we focus less on the act of reading and instead look to outcomes reading presents.

Recently, James Clear shared this thought on the value of reading and it struck a chord:

"Reading is like a software update for your brain. 

Whenever you learn a new concept or idea, the "software" improves. You download new features and fix old bugs."

That should push us to think about how many “old bugs” we have that need fixing, as well as how many new ideas that could be of real benefit if we’re open and curious enough. 

Now imagine the leader of your organization working on Windows 98, using a decade-old Blackberry, and sending email from an AOL account. They’ve signaled that these tools are necessary if not important, but refused relevant updates for their tools, processes and practices to advance the business. 

Processing new information, and then applying that which is useful or helpful, is in part the art of remaining relevant — and we need our leaders to be relevant leaders who know where to guide us and our organizations. 

Looking back, I can pinpoint which leaders and mentors of mine were avid readers and curious thinkers, in part because we talked about books and new ideas. It shaped my thinking and encouraged me to dig in and dig deeper.

Conversely, I am also reminded of those whose leadership style was less about curiosity, innovation and new ideas. Instead they held fiercely to rigid views and a “this is how we (meaning you) do it” mentality.  

Still think you don't have time to read?

In the last three years I've nearly tripled the amount of books (ideas) I consume. Like you, I’m still the same busy human — running a business, raising a family, and being pulled and distracted in multiple directions. My consumption of deeper content (vs. social scanning and intermittent browsing) has grown by listening to books — in the car, while exercising or walking the dog. This is not a new idea, but I was slow to adopt it. But I’m choosing to steal back some of that lost time, reclaim bits and pieces of it, while also leaving enough margin to think and also unclutter the mind.

Last year, I completed 71 books. It wasn't a chore. Only a third of the titles were overtly about business. I track them not to “keep score” but simply to remind me of what I’ve read and what I might want to revisit. A log also reminds me if I’m active in my reading and if I’m getting derailed.

I'm continuing to gain perspective on things and people that I was previously ignorant about (software update). And no doubt I'm thinking differently and more broadly than I did just a handful of years ago. My curiosity quotient continues to rise.

Further, a diverse selection of reading material can open us up to becoming more empathetic and aware of those around us. But it requires us to humbly approach new ideas, different perspectives, and unique voices with an “I don’t know what I don’t know” attitude. Although this HBR article isn’t a recent one, it’s still relevant. And it’s comforting to know we’re in good company as we embrace this critical leadership habit.

We owe this kind of upgraded thinking and curiosity to our clients and colleagues, family and friends. We also owe it to ourselves. And it’s as easy as opening a book or pushing play on an audio version.  

So to all busy leaders and those who aspire to lead others: read to learn, read for enjoyment, but also read to lead. There’s no doubt that you, and those around you, will see the benefits of being not just well read, but more engaged and curious in contrast to that time when you didn’t have time to read.  

The hardest talent to recognize is your own

I cannot take credit for the headline. I scribbled it down in my notebook last week while sitting in the audience listening to a talk from Jon Acuff at STORY. The conference explored being in liminal space – that messy middle between no longer and not yet, or what was and what’s next.

We’ve all been there. Remember those teenage years? Liminal space. So is college. Not to mention getting downsized, relocating, and being stuck in a job that you know is the slow track to nowhere in particular. Many of us are there right now.

While there may be many reasons for being between the no longer and not yet, I’m also reminded of that trite but true saying – change is hard.

For that reason, many of us go to great lengths to avoid change and turn that temporary liminal space into our own permanent parking lot. But that prolonged state of stunted sameness is bound to get disrupted at some point — either against our will or perhaps by some divine intervention (sometimes it’s both).

I gave a talk a couple of years ago where i put a simple math equation up on the screen. It had a series of sixteen numbers on it that looked just like this:

1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1

It represented my professional career. I had been in a habit (much like you, I presume) of telling others I had 16 years of experience up until that point. But what I knew to be true was that I had 16 years of the same set of experiences, over and over, January to December, then repeat. I wanted, even expected, capital E experiences while settling for the comfort and complacency of the lowercase version. It was an excruciatingly long period of the not yet.   

Change – even the obvious, you-know-you’ve-got-to-change kind of change – is hard.

Change is hard is one boulder of a statement that casts a dark shadow on the questions the rumble behind it that still cry out for answers: What might I accomplish by taking a risk? What do I have to offer the world through my talents and gifts? What do I really have to lose?

Later in his talk Jon dropped this, which I think gets to the real issue many of us face:

“We’re not afraid of change.

We’re afraid of looking foolish.”

This kind of bold truth, when spoken, is something we cannot unhear. It shines a harsh light into the dark corners of our fragile selves. I started thinking of everything I’ve ever chickened out of because I was afraid… of looking foolish.

Now that you’ve read it – and can’t unsee or unthink it – the challenge is to relentlessly probe your motivations and insecurities to discern if you are more concerned with how you appear in the eyes of others, or how you can impact the lives of others.

When we are willing to believe in our talent, when we muster the fortitude to lead (or confidently walk alongside someone else) with a bold idea or vision or uncommon compassion, when we lean into the hard things together, we learn more about who we are and what we are capable of. We learn about resilience and vulnerability; trust and tenacity.

And we might just discover that those seemingly foolish ideas we've intuitively shied away from are the very things that can spark the change we desire.

Take a cue from Brené Brown, if necessary, and write yourself permission slips to do the bold things you need to do. Give yourself permission to look foolish (should it turn out that way) – if just briefly.

But know that others will likely see that self-labeled foolishness as having courage and the guts to do what many on the sidelines only dream of doing. And soon they too will have to come to grips with not being able to unhear your motivation and unsee your actions.  

We are told and reminded that it is the brilliant thinkers and the talented doers who change the word. And, so, what are you waiting for?

Jon presented this idea to his audience. Steal it, customize it, print it out, put it on a sticky note at your desk:

The world would be more awesome if ____________________.

or

My work would be more awesome if ___________________________.

My relationships would be more awesome if ___________________________.

What is your “if” that’s hanging out there waiting for you to take action?

Think about it and fill it in.

Then go do it.

Invite others along.

Small ideas that aren't fed and watered stay small.

Small ideas, when shared and nurtured, become bigger ideas – much bigger than any of us imagined.

And that hardly seems foolish.