I should start by saying “The Kind Leader,” by Karyn Ross, is a significant book.

In terms of the traditional leadership and management models, which can often be underpinned by competition and fear, Ross offers a fresh perspective that has been staring us in the face for many centuries. In the face of adversity, we always have the opportunity to act kindly.

Action with empathy is what the author encourages us to take; to act kindly; speak kindly, and think kindly. Neither are these empty platitudes presented as an argument against a perceived status quo. The book offers many well-designed exercises that force deep reflection for those brave enough to hold up the mirror.

The message of kindness is also backed up with countless interviews, case studies, stories, and examples of occasions where kind leadership has created breakthrough circumstances and improvements.

The book’s structure is compelling, and one idea is linked seamlessly to the next. These concepts begin with the five characteristics of a kind leader, which tie into three kind leadership practices and behaviours. I was particularly impressed with The Kind Leadership Continuum, which offers the opportunity to constantly assess the behaviours you see around you, whether your own, your team’s, your department’s or even those at an organisational level.

At a systems level, kindness in leadership creates a reinforcing loop. There is no reason for the workplace to assemble a battleground brimming with zero-sum games. Those who receive kindness within the workplace are more likely to pass kindness on. The shift, as the book describes it, comes with disconnecting the mental model that links kindness with vulnerability. Authenticity cannot exist under layers of tough veneer.

What is clear is that Karyn Ross has delivered a work of passion. There is a belief and a love within each and every page, and it is both infectious and inspirational. It is for this reason that this book excites me, and for this reason that I believe it deserves to be on millions of bookshelves across the world. This book is just that important. I heartily urge you to purchase and read a copy. Kindness starts with each one of us individually.

An easy five-stars. Buy the book at this link.

All links used on this site are affiliate links and may generate a small reward for the site owner, at no additional cost to you.

It has been a while since I have posted to my blog, and I would like to talk a little about the personal journey that I am on and the reflections it has led me towards.

A few months back, I was diagnosed with lymphoplasmacytic lymphoma, a type of slow-growing blood cancer. Let me say at the outset that the prognosis for this condition is quite favourable. Although it cannot be cured, given current knowledge, it can be very well managed, even to where it can no longer be detected within the human system. It is possible that remission could last many years before treatments are needed again.

And so it was, a few weeks ago, that I found myself in a chemotherapy chair in the day unit of my local hospital. During that first day, I was given several different drugs designed to help and protect me in different ways. These drugs included two chemotherapy treatments delivered via a pump and intravenous drip. These went by the names of bendamustine and rituximab.

There is a fair bit to reflect upon already, but for today’s article, I would like to fast forward ten days past that initial treatment and into the recovery phase. Around about a week to ten days after treatment, the body is at its least able to fight any infections. Patients are told that if their temperature exceeds 38 degrees, they should ring the provided emergency number.

So it was that last Wednesday morning, I came over very cold. I took myself off to bed and slept almost straight through to Thursday morning. Even at this stage, my temperature was tracking towards 38 and was in the high 37’s. Had these readings been coming from an automated machine system onto an SPC, I would almost certainly have been planning an intervention. This was my first mistake:

I ignored the data.

Whether it was under the guise of “I don’t want to bother anybody” or “I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” I effectively buried my head in the sand and hoped the problem would disappear. Even when my partner measured my temperature, guess what?

I ignored her data too.

So now we arrive on Thursday morning. I drag myself out of bed and go across to have a shower. Looking down at my torso, I am aware that all is not well. My chest and stomach are covered in hundreds of red spots. My first thought is that I have chickenpox or measles. Given my lowered immune system, it is not beyond the realms of possibility, but it can’t be. Where would I have got it from? Again, in my mind, I convince myself that it is nothing to worry about because that is the easiest thing to do.

As 5S practitioners, we are taught that 5S helps us identify deviations from the standard so that we can take immediate corrective action to return to the defined standard.

This seems like an open-and-shut case. My standard skin condition is to have no spots. This morning, I have spots. There is a deviation from standard. Surely, I would phone the hospital and let them know?

Wrong! I ignore this new visual data.

That evening, my partner returns from work, and I show her the rash. She seems to be much more concerned about it than I do and takes my temperature. It is now over 38. I need to go to the hospital. So do we pretty much jump straight into the car?

No!

I manage to gain another night of denying the data by presenting the “let’s see what it looks like in the morning” defence. Stubborn to the end, and in the face of an ever-growing body of data, I refuse to accept that there is a problem!

We can seek to explain this phenomenon in any increasing number of ways, but I guess I have to be courageous and face up to the truth finally.

I was afraid.

I didn’t want to admit something was amiss because that was an uncomfortable mirror to look into. I only took action when inaction was the least painful option.

By Friday morning, it had become clear that something needed to be done. The rash was much worse, and my temperature was spiking. I phoned the helpline and spoke to a very knowledgeable nurse. She requested that I send some photos by email to see what my rash looked like.

Within minutes of receipt, the decision-making was no longer mine. The data was irrefutable, and now, in the hands of a medical expert, the action was demanded of me. My phone rang, and I was told to go straight to the hospital.

And this is where the problem-solving investigations began. I have no way of knowing, but had I taken action sooner, would the outcome have been different? Perhaps not, but my human system would have returned to standard far sooner.

Throughout, I had been adamant that I did not want to go to the hospital. Only now, it was inevitable, and I was to stay there for three nights.

I had allowed fear to convolute clear-decision making in the face of the evidence. I had ignored all data that did not fit my worldview and desired outcome. I had also bullied others into accepting my version of events under the “it will all be alright” argument.

I had access to experts and was ignoring them because, deep down, I knew what they would say.

I did what felt easy, and I did it without courage.

I take no pride in sharing any of this, but hope just one person might stumble across this article and find it helpful. Whether in a personal or work-life capacity, the first step of problem-solving can sometimes be admitting that there is a problem.

This might require swallowing some pride. It will undoubtedly take courage.

So, as I say, I didn’t want to go to the hospital. My obstinance led me to stay there for three nights.

In my next article, I will reflect on the time I spent there, but for now, thanks for reading!

Let us begin this review with the riddle that this book presents. It shouldn’t really exist, or rather, it should not be as good as it is.

The author himself cites some of the reasons why. Problem-solving, by its nature, is incredibly difficult to teach and, therefore, by extension, write about. That would be, of course, if you were to produce a work that concentrated on technique-based approaches and tool kits.

Gladly, Mr Flinchbaugh does not attempt to do this, and the recognition is right there in the title. A fishbone never solved a problem. People, however, do.

What this book does very well is help steer us towards an environment where problem-solving can flourish, and this requires real effort.

In the not too dim and distant past, problem-solving was carried out to keep us alive. Problem: there is a sabre-toothed tiger up that tree. Solution: run away, quickly.

Speed of thought was, therefore, of the essence. The famous experiment by Daniel Kahneman reveals this, where many of us jump to the obvious conclusion about the relative prices of the bat and ball. It feels right to do so, but we often miss something. In the case of the bat and ball problem, it is the rigour of a cross-check. (Thinking Fast and Slow: D. Kahneman, 2011, p44.)

Flinchbaugh serves us by describing the cultural conditions required to value the slowing of thought, the formation of a robust problem statement, and the scientific-style thinking that will lead us to resolution. Yes, templates can give us structure, but they are no substitute for the coaching questions “What are you planning to do next?” and “What do you expect to happen?”

The success metric of leaders is not how many problems they solved but rather how many people did they coach to solve problems? Better to ask the question, “are my team better problem-solvers than when I found them?”

Flinchbaugh addresses these sorts of topics deeply, plus some that you would not expect to see. For instance, I was delighted to see a chapter called “Integrating Intuition.” Data isn’t always important if your gut is telling you something. Try it – though try with the structure of PDCA and hypothesis testing. At the very least, you will learn.

I learned so much from reading this book. Mr Flinchbaugh succeeded in getting me to have another look at my attitude towards band-aid style solutions, as well as challenging other truisms that I held. Life, like problem-solving, is very rarely black and white – though, in both endeavours, people always come through in the end.

I would thoroughly recommend this book to anyone involved in problem-solving, from the expert to the novice. I will certainly be reading it a second time to deepen the learning, but, as ever, the actual test comes from going out into the field, trying, failing and learning.

Fall over seven times; get up eight. An easy five stars.

Follow this link to purchase your copy of this book.

“Start With Why” by Simon Sinek is a remarkable book.

Not because it is complex or high-reaching, but because it is simple, down-to-earth, yet potentially game-changing.

It is also rewarding to see the audiobook read Mr Sinek himself. While this isn’t possible for some writers, I do not think Sinek could have chosen any other option. Had he not delivered his own message, it would have undoubtedly lessened the impact.

Sinek communicates a straightforward message with straightforward language, aligned with compelling examples. He has not uncovered a long-lost truth, but he has rediscovered something for himself that many of us missed. And he has converted this knowledge into a practical framework that he calls the Golden Circle.

As the book is called “Start With Why”, it will not be giving away too much to say that Sinek urges us to begin our communication – particularly in terms of advertising – with why?

On the “About” page of this website, I set out my target condition:

“To create empowered, learning individuals growing within empowering lean learning systems.”

This is my “why.” I want to help businesses by helping to grow people.

Sinek describes a hierarchy of communication where I would lead off with this statement. People with similar “whys” are often drawn together, and this type of language resonates at the brain’s emotional centre. It is the emotional brain centre that makes decisions – and it does so without language. Connecting at the emotional level is the key.

From this point, you can talk about the “how” and “the what.” How do I intend to grow and empower people within lean learning systems? What is the call to action at the end of my communication? Do I want you to read an article, take a course, or engage my services?

Sinek calls this the inside-out approach. If you follow this blog, you might have an idea as to why this audiobook resonated so much.

“The Inside-Out Revolution” is the title of a book by Michael Neill, which I read some time ago. We have also looked at “Clarity” and “Results” by Jamie Smart. If you recall, these works are ultimately based on the thinking of Sydney Banks. By exploring the three principles of thought, mind, and consciousness, we are encouraged to view life from an inside-out perspective. If much of what we experience in our worlds is generated by thought, it makes sense that those who think similarly are drawn together.

This is Sinek’s observation. The people who do business with us are those that share our motivations and mores. Our beliefs should lead off the communication – not the product we have to sell.

For the lean thinkers among us, being challenged to communicate this way may be truly transformational. If we begin our nemawashi (pre-aligning with stakeholder groups) by stating why our proposals our essential, perhaps we will gather more momentum to overcome the initial resistance and inertia.

An enthusiastic following is a compelling promise for any change agent, particularly if that vision extends into the organisation’s upper echelons.

As I discussed in my book “Super Lean – Unlock Your Company’s Million-Dollar Edge”, our team members arrive to receive our enthusiastic urgings carrying emotional actions based on thought. Attempting to smooth an emotional response with an intellectual explanation of what must be done is doomed to failure. Starting your communication with “why” ensures that you are reaching the same area of the brain that is fuelling any emotional resistance that your team have.

Perhaps we can get past “I’ve seen this all before” to “I want to come along and try” when we deliver our call to action at the end of the piece. Such engagement has to be the hope.

What makes interacting with this book so rewarding is the call to action. Just go and experiment, starting your communications with “why?” Sometimes you’ll forget; other times, the result won’t be very good, but practice is the key, as with any skill.

I’m going to try, at least. I’d be interested to hear how you get on.

“Black Box Thinking” accompanied me to and from work for a few weeks and greatly enhanced my journey.

We will go into a little of the content later, but this was a book that very much spoke to me at the time, and it almost felt fortuitous that I was listening to it at the moment that I was.

I think I had been aware of Matthew Syed for some time – even having vague memories of him playing on television as part of the Great Britain table tennis team during one Olympics or another.

For some reason, I also felt that I knew of him writing some very well-received books with applications in both individual and business performance – but I knew I had yet to encounter his work in detail.

I recalled an instance on a course a couple of years ago where, as a delegate, I had just finished presenting on the human side of lean. Shortly after I had finished, the trainer turned to me and said: “Have you ever read “Black Box Thinking” by Matthew Syed?” Something in what I had described had resonated and caused her to link the two messages in her mind.

I had to sadly shake my head and confess that I had not – though I would answer the question in the affirmative now.

But what became apparent when I was experiencing this book was that it had become almost inevitable that I would – and exploring this will become the main thrust of this review and its associated thinking.

I want to float a concept, which I am calling Circles of Thought.

My experience interacting with “Black Box Thinking” was that Matthew Syed and I had been on similar thought journeys.

Although Syed had started on his course long before I, there were clear parallels. Many of the references that Syed was citing were very close to me because I had encountered them only recently. This level of proximity made me consider that the book was speaking to me personally – so I engaged with it at a much deeper level.

It is clear that in compiling “Black Box Thinking,” Matthew Syed’s research was both thorough and extensive.

The work begins with two examples of disaster, one from the medical field and one from aviation. The book’s central premise is the reaction observed in both areas during the reflective opportunity of the aftermath. One profession, with a collective cognitive dissonance, shuns the chance to learn and improve. The other discipline embraces it. Excellence, it seems, necessarily sits upon the shoulders of many previous failures.

This belief in learning from failure sits at the centre of everything that I believe about both personal growth and business operational excellence. Reading “Black Box Thinking” feels like an affirmation of everything I hold true. However, I must also consider that my views are fragile and can be rendered obsolete at a moment’s notice. The level of discipline required to achieve this level of intellectual freedom is the tricky bit – and one we may not even be wired up to reach.

But back to the sources – because this is what I found fascinating. I forget the exact chronology of my own journey, but let us see if we can sketch it out a little.

My forays into personal development eventually led me to buffer up against Jamie Smart. For those unaware of his work, Jamie has written two best sellers describing the benefits of inside-out thinking, entitled “Clarity” and “Results.” It was Jamie Smart that first made me aware of Nasim Nicholas Taleb. In turn, Taleb introduced me to the philosopher and thinker Karl Popper.

Simultaneously, a colleague spoke to me about a book called “Thinking, Fast and Slow” by Daniel Kahnemann. This is a book that I am currently reading and have been for a while.

While reading the authors above, I began to recognise circles of thought. Taleb quotes Popper and Kahnemann, Kahnemann quotes Taleb, and Syed draws extensively on all three.

There is no question in my mind that “Black Box Thinking” owes much to Kahnemann, Popper, and Taleb. And that is to be celebrated.

The current understanding of any critical topic in the world is based on previous thinking. Syed makes this point very clearly. Where there is no recognised failure, there is no progress. When theories are held as holy and unchallengeable, there is no learning. Growth becomes stifled and dies.

It was an exciting recognition, from my perspective, that Syed was drawing from many of the sources that I had recently found fascinating. But I have also had another moment of insight – where are my checks and balances coming from?

Syed inspired me to think this way, even if that was not a central theme. Am I personally at risk of closed thinking and cognitive dissonance because my current learning is drawn from a specific circle of thought? Would I be open to reading something outside of that circle with an open mind?

Maybe we will discover the answer together as this blog continues to unfold. It will be rewarding to see where the future of lean thinking heads and how we continue to leverage and expand people’s abilities.

What is clear is that learning must be built on quick experiments and hypothesis testing underpinned by the PDCA cycle. Syed expounds this view in “Black Box Thinking” – a book that does not come directly from a lean perspective but is an excellent read for anyone who comes from that worldview.

“Black Box Thinking” is highly recommended with telling examples and stories throughout. Have a read or a listen – I think you will find it rewarding.

If you’re familiar with me from one persona, welcome to my other online presence! For the first time, I am writing a piece of content that will appear simultaneously on both my fiction author and business improvement professional websites. It feels like an exciting experiment – so let’s see how it works out! I hope you enjoy the below.

Occasionally, in online spaces, such as Twitter, someone will ask about audiobooks. The query might be framed similarly to the following:

“Does it count as reading a book if you listen to it as an audio piece?”

I have to say that it is an interesting question and one that I would like to think about across the span of both my blogs.

The first problematic term is, of course, “read.” I think that we can get around this one quite easily. In the past, “reading” the book was the only way to extract the author’s intent so that you could find the space to ponder it.

Because, depending on what you are reading, the experience comes to life in the space between reading sessions. This is where you genuinely internalise the work. So, firstly, if we argue that a book is enhanced through the act of thought between exposures, does it matter in what format those exposures are?

In this multi-media age, perhaps it would be more accurate to ask, “Does it matter how I experience a piece of content?” But this question is still wanting because it only conveys half of the relevant information. The piece that is missing is one of intent.

So let’s look, in turn, from the different intents that I have experienced.

In my professional life, I am constantly looking to learn about improvement and how people interact with progress. However, if I am truthful, I do sometimes find it challenging to find the time to sit down and read. In this event, the ability to leverage my commute to and from work by listening to an audiobook presents a golden opportunity. In this case, I intend to gain knowledge and understanding. We will return to the question of whether this is an effective strategy shortly.

Back during lockdown, I became quite nostalgic for some of the books I had read during my childhood. I was much more of an active reader back then and am old enough not to have had my golden years interrupted by the pull of a games console. On the days when we weren’t at the park, playing football from dawn til dusk, my mind was more often inside something like “The Lord of the Rings” or similar.

One author that had a huge impact on me was the remarkable Roald Dahl. People just don’t seem to live lives like his anymore. He was a fighter pilot, spy, inventor, and beloved author. As a teenager, I pored over stories like “The Wonderful World of Henry Sugar” and the darker yarns in “The Tales of the Unexpected.” To my delight, I was also given a relatively thin tome, called simply “Roald Dahl”, written by Chris Powling. I devoured it – learning about the extraordinary life of one of my heroes. Even while writing this, I found it on the shelf behind me and flicked through the foxing pages. It is still a great treasure to me.

But back to the article in hand.

One of Dahl’s novels that always haunted me was “Danny, the Champion of the World”, published in 1975. For me, it is just beautiful and evocative. The reds, golds, and greens of the woodland seep into every page. Colour, aroma, texture and feeling is everywhere. I wish I could write something close, and it was very much in mind when I wrote the childhood scenes in my second novel, “Thryke: The Man That Nobody Knew.”

Isolated from the world, I wanted to see if I could recapture the magic. I downloaded the audiobook, and over the following evenings, I delighted in listening as a form of bedtime story. I will not lie; I loved every second. In interacting with this audiobook, my intent was escapism, entertainment, and nostalgia. The audio version of the novel adequately achieved all of these things, as I could just close my eyes and let the words flow through me.

But, one intentional aspect that was missing from my reacquaintance with “Danny, the Champion of the World” was understanding. Had I been listening to a complex murder mystery, my need for understanding would have undoubtedly been greater. This is one area where the physical book has a considerable advantage over its audio cousin. Books, whether on paper or e-reader, are much easier to review. It is easy to forget just how much we do skip back in the process of reading any document or piece of work, particularly when the level of complexity of the material is high.

This draws back into focus the question I asked about listening to professional or fact-dense texts. How much of it am I really taking in? Alternatively, we could ask, how much do we take in when reading? My understanding of the Pareto principle would lead me to assume it is roughly 20%. Perhaps this is why some textbooks repeat, add, and draw a series of upturned cones around a few central themes? Review loops are built in to address the fact that many of us don’t quite get things the first time around. I would certainly put myself in that group.

However, there is no doubt in my mind that audiobooks are a very important medium. And let’s be clear, they are not new. It is just that today I do not need to carry around a box of cassette tapes or compact discs. Maybe I have to consider that there is an element of nostalgia colouring how I am thinking about this. I love books.

When studying English Literature in college, I recall that we were actively encouraged to mark important passages in pencil so that we might refer to them later. I was horrified! To me, the paper book was sacrosanct! One simply could not mark it in any way. I still regard books with a similar level of piety. The thought of throwing one away upsets me, and the idea of buying one pleases me. The impact on the number of books that I own should be obvious. Secretly, I think it drives my partner to despair.

But before we close, let’s consider one more aspect where we can champion the audiobook. I have authored books in both fiction and non-fiction and have also produced audio material in both genres, some of which can be found on YouTube.

Audiobooks are very adept at revealing a pleasing cadence and texture in delivery. Not only, I would argue, do they make us better writers, but they also make us better presenters. If we, too, in both our spoken and written word, can better modulate with more attractive colour and timbre, our messages can become much more emotive and memorable.

In this sense, audio texts can help calibrate our ear, helping us to write and speak musically. Sometimes it is not what is written or said but how it is delivered. In this way, as content consumers, our experience of the media is enhanced, and we are more closely aligned to our intent, whether that be learning, understanding, or just sheer joy.

So, in drawing these threads together, I am sure that the audiobook can be impactful, in much the same way as reading the same material can be. True, it is more difficult to go back and review, but I wonder if we lose much of the subtlety anyway. Maybe the optimum learning mix is to listen to the audio and follow in the book simultaneously – but this buffers us up against the remainder of our senses. The fullest experiences engage all of our senses, touch and smell included. This is why we learn best by doing. Book learning is great, but exposure out in the world is exquisite. No, perhaps in this way, the audiobook is best when we just want to switch the world off for a bit and escape into a reality of someone else’s creation. Here, the audiobook has that other distinct advantage. We can close our eyes and give our imaginations full rein, at least for a while.

Now that is something that we all need, isn’t it?

“The Toyota Way – 14 Management Principles for the World’s Greatest Manufacturer” is Jeffrey K. Liker’s legendary contribution to the canon of lean thinking.

In it, he unpacks the various principles that underpin and power the Toyota Production System – one of the most envied people-based thinking systems in the business world.

“The Toyota Way” is one of those books that you cannot unread – by which I mean it is impossible not to find echoes of the principles in nearly every life situation – even if you are not at work.

In my last post on this blog, I reflected on the experience of purchasing and receiving a new pair of glasses. There I thought about my eyesight as a quality system. Poor eyesight had caught up with me over time, despite the constant feedback loops being received by my brain. I chose to ignore the signs that my vision was fading and ended up with an expensive corrective measure – in this case, a sparkling new pair of varifocals.

But it was during the fitting of these glasses that the eighth Toyota Management Principle floated back into my consciousness: Adapt and adopt technology that supports your people and processes.

As mentioned above, I was being fitted for my new pair of glasses. It was a grey, blustery and rainy Saturday afternoon and outside, the light was fading fast.

Meanwhile, during the previous hour, I had been subjected to a battery of tests, many using the latest in expensive technological equipment. The pressure in my eyeball was tested by a pulse of air, and a photograph had been taken of the back of my eye to check my retinal health. My peripheral vision was also tested by a machine that randomised a sequence of small, white lights. The idea was to depress a small clicker whenever you spotted a light. I am not sure if I did not just fall into a rhythm on that test, but it was impossible not to concede that a very thorough examination had taken place.

It was then that I went in to see the optician. While technology was still in evidence, the next round of tests revolved chiefly around reading letters from the chart. This was no longer the paper version but an image that the optician could change and manipulate. Here, the technology could definitely be seen to be supporting the process. The problem with an unchanging chart is that it can be memorised, potentially skewing the measurement system. It would also require a physical transaction to change it for something else. In a lean sense, the changeover time between facilitating one test and another had been minimised. There was also some exciting elements of ECRS, as one system could be used throughout the process, hence maximising the value-added time of the optician.

Eventually, the optician shook her head sadly and explained that my prescription had changed significantly. Varifocals, she said, were now my best option to ensure that I could interact with a world that was not blurry around the edges. The next stage was to choose some frames, back in the main shop.

This I duly did, selecting a pair of highly bendy Japanese frames. I reasoned that this model would stand up to all of the rigours that the wearer would throw at them, plus they were incredibly light and comfortable. I was now ready to proceed to the next value-added process step, which was to have the frames measured and adjusted to optimally fit my head.

It was here that the eighth Toyota principle was apparent.

As I was purchasing varifocals, knowing precisely which point of the lens my pupil was looking through was key. If it was in the wrong place, I might not have been looking through the distance power of the lens when I needed it. Similarly, the reading element of the lens also needed to be in the correct position – in this case, towards the bottom. I would need to look down to read.

The lens transition point was marked with a white pencil. The alignment was done by eye by the highly trained assistant. The frames were then removed and placed face down on a card, where further pen marks were carefully placed in the pre-existing measurement grid.

It was fascinating.

After the technical wizardry of the previous stages, I was moved to remark upon this manual process.

“Well,” said the assistant, “we could use the machine over there, but this way is just as easy.”

And there it was: Adopt and Adapt Technology That Supports Your People and Processes.

The fact there was a technological aid for this process drove the point home even more. The assistant felt that she could replicate the outcome with at least the same or greater degree of accuracy and ease by applying the manual process.

In this case, the technology delivered to take the perceived pain out of this process was not being used. The expert had returned to the tried and tested method with which she felt comfortable.

It was a wonderful reminder of the eighth principle concerning the application of technology. The system must add some value that was not previously there. Technology for technology’s sake is doomed to failure.

I imagine that many of us can think of familiar processes where the artisan can comfortably outperform the machine. Let us be sure, however, that technology can be remarkably liberating. One only has to recall the beauty of Sakichi Toyoda’s automated loom and the concept of jidoka to understand.

But what is clear to me is this: the human is still the ultimate technology. We are wonderful creatures capable of achieving remarkable things. For all that is negative in the world, we must never lose sight of that.

I have an unshakeable belief in human ingenuity. I see it every day in the fantastic people that I work with. All it took was a humble pair of glasses to bring that back into sharp focus.

As I type this, I am sitting in front of my screen wearing a new pair of glasses.

I have been a glasses wearer for many years, but if I am honest, it has been some time since my last eye test. Far too long, in fact.

In the intervening years, my sight has slowly degraded to a point where I am now enjoying the benefits of a brand new pair of varifocals. Apparently, they take some getting used to, but, fingers crossed, I appear to be coping quite adequately so far.

In retrospect, many of the signs that my vision was fading were present, but I chose to ignore them. Why? Perhaps there was an element of denial. In our culture, the slow loss of vision is linked to the gaining of years. Perhaps, in a sense, this was a truism that I did not wish to face, but over time I would also like to consider that I have become wiser and more experienced. My knowledge of lean systems has undoubtedly matured and become more nuanced with increased exposure – and I would like to think that I am less prone to jump in and announce to all what must be done.

As the detail on my long vision became blurrier, I began to rely on the information I was gathering from a smaller and smaller visual data-set. Without realising, I become focused on ever-decreasing slices of the world. What was fortunate was that I was not exposed to an event whereby my shrinking field of awareness became problematic. Perhaps, thousands of years ago, I would have been picked off by a stealthy sabre-toothed tiger – but today, I do have to face the fact that my ability to drive safely was also starting to come into question. When I visited the optician, I was on the right side of legal, but only just. I count myself fortunate that I had not had any tell-tale near misses.

So it seems we are describing sight as a system that degrades over time, if imperceptibly at first. Then come the feedback loops. Maybe they begin with the sensation of having tired eyes or not quite recognising the friend coming towards you. If you remain in familiar surroundings, the brain may take over and begin filling in the detail, providing you with a picture that is convincing but not entirely real.

The trouble with these feedback loops, at least initially, is that they are closed. You forget what your previous best vision felt like (on the day you received your last glasses) and falsely assume that all is right with the world. In this way, you do not have to expose yourself to the uncomfortable truth that you are drifting towards a crisis that not only will shake your confidence but will require immediate action. Regular eye tests, it seems, will help you check in to the standard of sight that you expect and correct for much smaller deviations from the target condition.

Eventually, you happen across a more open feedback loop. This tends to be when a friend or colleague reads a distant andon screen with ease and asks, with barely disguised incredulity, “can’t you see that?” Here then, like a poor quality product, is the first external warning sign.

If you are spotting a clumsy metaphor here, your intuition serves you well. With hindsight, it is easy to see the signs of a business crisis as it slowly forms on the horizon. The trouble is that it is easy to create a compelling narrative when wise after the event. Perfect retrospective insight is the domain of the faux expert – the reality is that humans do not feel these narratives apply to them and do not see them in the moment. It is always another person or business that makes that mistake; it could not happen to me.

This blindspot to our own weaknesses is one of the reasons that we need a compelling set of KPIs. The prescription given to me by my optician is great, but it is a lag metric. The downturn in my eyesight has already taken place. Lead metrics, i.e. early warnings, could be my ability to read comfortably and without fatigue or how fully I can enjoy a hobby, like mine of playing darts.

But here is where my metaphor breaks down. My slow loss of vision was inevitable. All I can do is react at shorter intervals to maintain near-optimum performance. The more tests I have, the smaller the difference between prescriptions and the smaller the noticeability of my decline. While the lenses become stronger, I have to face the fact that the natural, unmodified eye is becoming weaker. That, I am afraid, is a fact of life.

The good news is that this same relationship is not mandatory with a lean business system. Yes, we will experience fluctuations in fortunes, but it is possible to become what Nassim Nicholas Taleb describes as “antifragile” – e.g. an organisation that becomes improved regardless of circumstance. Furthermore, such an organisation welcomes temporary failure and harm, as it knows that it will only fuel more significant and more robust growth.

Such learning and growing organisations recognise that success is built upon the sands of adversity. Failure is recognised as temporary and is welcomed with open arms. Foundations, such as standardised work, improvement and coaching katas, and training systems, such as TWI, are embedded and endemic. Quality and customer orientation are the watchwords of everybody within the business. Perhaps 5S is not even formalised, as it is within the DNA and daily standards of everybody at every level.

With these daily habits, a deviation from the standard is immediately seen. I did not receive my coaching today. My 5S adherence has decreased. I do not need to wait for the lag metric of another eye test. My vision is already twenty-twenty.

So, I shall embrace my new glasses and inevitable ageing with zeal. I will enjoy the best vision that I have had in years, and, hopefully, I can apply it to see best where I can aid others. That is the measure of a lean coach and helper.

In his classic book, “Antifragility,” Nassim Nicholas Taleb describes the Lindy Effect. The following quote, while stripping away some of the academic detail that Taleb goes on to apply, gives us a decent enough starting point for this article:

“If a book has been in print for forty years, I can expect it to be in print for another forty years. But, and that is the main difference, if it survives another decade, then it will be expected to be in print for another fifty years. This, simply, as a rule, tells you why things that have been around for a long time are not “ageing” like persons, but “ageing” in reverse. Every year that passes without extinction doubles the additional life expectancy.” (Antifragile, Taleb, p318.)

In other words, what was a good idea will pretty much always be a good idea.

This concept is undoubtedly true of Lean in general and some lean tools specifically. The difficulty comes when lean is deployed as a set of “must-have” initiatives, without reference to specific problem-solving. Kanban is fantastic and was just what Toyota needed to pull value through their system, but that doesn’t mean that it is necessarily the answer for my or your organisation. The clue is in the word “answer.” The term “answer” implies that there is a question. Tool deployment for the sake of tool deployment will give benefits, but they may not last. What is the problem that we are trying to solve?

Taleb’s argument is based around a statistical probability that, at any time, most things are approximately halfway through their life cycle. It is the safest guess, based on the numbers. In terms of lean methods, my intuition (the least scientific approach) is that lean, particularly here in the West, is still very young. I base this assertion around my feeling that, for much of its existence, lean has been misunderstood by many of its practitioners. I also wonder if the concept or system under focus needs to be in its steady, almost “adult” state?

Each of us, as children, changed on an almost daily basis. It is only in adulthood that our paths become more statistically predictable. I follow a lot of lean thinkers on various social media platforms, and I feel that there is a much more consistent message and body of knowledge spread over a wider area. There are more leaders and experts, and crucially, they give a much more consistent message.

TPS was always the Toyota Production System. But now, more often than ever, you will see references to the Thinking Production System, a much more accurate moniker, in my view. Lean giant, Mike Rother, has for some time been heavily endorsing the Toyota Kata, with its coaching and improvement routines. Link personal growth, through coaching, with the lean tools as problem-solving methods, and you have something far more sustainable and effective.

However, there is one approach that has been on my mind for a while – and which certainly springs into my consciousness when thinking about the Lindy Effect.

I refer to the Training Within Industry “J” Programs, which we have talked about on this blog before.

Given that these programs are now over eighty years old, could we expect them to be around in 2100? Like lean methods, the TWI “J” Programs were born out of necessity. In the case of TWI Job Instruction Training, the four-step method was designed to train people quickly and effectively, to add skill and value to the US war economy. When this urgency was removed, the programs fell out of favour, in the West, at least. However, they were taken up with some vigour in the rebuilding of Japan, and history has told us many times how that story ends, particularly in the automotive industry.

I sit writing this in January of 2022, in a post-Brexit and, hopefully soon, a post-pandemic UK. In the run-up to Christmas 2021, skill shortages were very high on the agenda of many sectors and organisations. It is straightforward to put together a causal narrative that highlights the influence of both Covid-19 and Brexit on this turn of events, but history may judge that view to be overly simplistic, particularly as similar hurdles are being reported both in Europe and the US.

What we do have, however, are the beginnings of an interesting problem statement regarding a shortage of skills in many sectors, with employers coming under increasing pressure to secure the brightest talents.

When we have greater clarity into this evolving problem and the root causes have been examined and measured for veracity, I begin to suspect that Training Within Industry will enjoy something of a renaissance.

One of the best texts on the topic is “The TWI Facilitator’s Guide: How To Use The TWI Programs Successfully,” by Donald. A. Dinero.

Within the work, Dinero describes how each of the TWI Programs addresses a different human motivational factor. Job Instruction Training addresses our need to be competent and through that the natural work ethic of most people. Put simply; there is a human need to add value. Job Methods give us the opportunity to work with autonomy and find the best way to do our work. Finally, Job Relations helps us to navigate how we all work with one another in harmony. Ally these to the five needs of the supervisor, and we a perfect way to tap into the thinking side of our thinking people systems. When we add lean tools, which are now trained as part of problem-solving, rather than deployed for the sake of it, we achieve a potent mix. Throw in scientific thinking nurtured through coaching, and the alchemy becomes unstoppable.

But the first step, of reducing variation during initial training, remains a potent foundation stone. If the Lindy effect is broadly correct, expect to see Training Within Industry being rolled out for many decades to come as the cornerstone of standardisation, standard work, and 5S.

Simon D. Gary is the author of “Super Lean – Unlock Your Company’s Million-Dollar Edge.” Further details are available here.

In his 2012 book “Antifragile: Things That Gain From Disorder,” author Nassim Nicholas Taleb describes iatrogenics as “harm done by the healer, as when a doctor’s interventions do more harm than good.” Then, in expanding this idea, Taleb defines general iatrogenics as “the harmful side effects of actions by policymakers and activities of academics.”

We shall use this description of general iatrogenics as the jumping-off point for this article and see what avenues we can explore together.

Imagine the scenario: the manufacturing plant where you work is experiencing issues with its quality, cost and delivery metrics. People around you are scratching their heads, as these challenges seem to have appeared from nowhere, and none of the myriad charts, graphs and reports predicted this strange turn of events.

Across the business, kaizen teams are being hurriedly pulled together to address the perceived glitches in the corporate machinery. Again, no one quite knows what these glitches are, but there must be some special cause variation, mustn’t there? After all, data has never been known to lie.

We must do something! Busy support staff caught up in the fervour, and each kaizen group, driven by their work ethic, plus a bit of healthy competition with the other teams, begin to intervene in the system with the adjustable spanner of their lean techniques. A few days later, the problems have got worse.

Our heroic improvement teams retire to the meeting rooms that are free and ponder a little bit more. Then something miraculous happens. Whilst the Powerpoint presentations are being tweaked, the problems begin to recede. Equilibrium and stability follow shortly behind, and our teams relievedly conclude that their probings were ultimately successful. Congratulations abound, and all return to normal life to await the next crisis.

Of course, the difference for the next crisis is as follows: our now experienced interventionists exclaim, “I have seen this before!” and deploy the trusted methods that were so successful on their last foray. This time, things get somewhat worse than they did before, though again, during some hansei on the sidelines, the problems curiously disappear. More mental data is gathered on the importance of interventionism, and the next cycle is primed.

There is a quote, often attributed to Albert Einstein – of which one of the variants looks a bit like this:

“If I had only one hour to save the world, I would spend fifty-five minutes defining the problem and only five minutes finding the solution.”

In lean circles, we assign this thinking to the habit of going to the gemba with humility, thoroughly understanding the problem and asking “why?”

When we happen upon an improvement opportunity disguised as a problem, there is an overwhelming desire to immediately spring into action – if only to show that we are actively working on the topic.

In the decade I have been working with continuous improvement, I have certainly fallen into this trap. Like a bull at a gate, I have charged in, forgetting to document the current condition and delivering an “improvement” that negatively impacts someone further downstream.

But age and experience have mellowed me. Like many, I now take the time to understand the process that I am looking at. I slowly draw up a hypothesis of the problem root cause and carefully design experiments to test my thinking. I measure at the beginning and end of each PDCA learning cycle, and I ask myself three questions: what do I expect to happen, what did happen, and what did I learn?

And it is the learning that is the key. Sometimes though, I will apply an experiment, and what I expect to happen does not occur. Puzzled, I will stroke my chin thoughtfully and return to my Ishikawa to interrogate another potentiality.

But what if there is no deeply embedded special cause variation or combination of special causes? What if the right thing to do is to do nothing?

One indicator might be if you cannot recreate the problem you are looking at and simply keep coming up against dead ends.

There is no shame in not knowing and taking a step back.

On occasion, that ailment I take to the doctor will disappear faster without treatment than with the aid of the pills and the creams.

The human body is a remarkable machine. It can fix itself, especially if we treat it with care and the autonomous maintenance of good exercise and nutrition.

The same is true of your processes and business systems. The lifeblood of those systems, the experts that run them, will find a way. Sometimes the expert facilitation and tweaking are not required. Trust the machine. More often than not, it will fix itself – not every little thing requires a sticking plaster.

When that desire to do something, anything, surfaces, consider sitting on the sidelines just a little longer. The outcome might surprise you.