This wasn't in the course catalog: A lesson about feedback and failure

It was an embarrassment to the university, a sad omen for the future of corporate America. Those were perhaps the gentlest words that my professor used.

In the last year of my MBA program, I took a logistics seminar that felt easy. There were no quizzes or homework assignments. The lectures were loose and breezy, full of the professor's anecdotes about his consulting experiences. Our entire grade was based on two group projects, the first of which was to analyze a local company's supply chain.

My academic strategy involved waiting until the night before something was due, panicking, pulling an all-nighter, cranking out a few pages of stream-of-consciousness writing that I'd be too embarrassed to re-read later, and earning a B, or an A- if I was lucky.

My group included two guys like me: deadline driven (i.e., procrastinating), busy people with full-time jobs and a heavy courseload. One of them even had a kid. We split out the work: one guy would research shipping costs and times, I'd build a database to compare vendors and track the inventory, and our third teammate would work on our presentation. Divide and conquer. Easy. Done.

The day of our presentation, I arrived at class an hour early to meet my group, my data sheets still warm from the office printer, ready for that heroic feeling of delivering in the nick of time. My teammate said there was no PowerPoint, he had been busy, but he could wing it. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. It was titled "Things to talk about" with a few messily scrawled bullet points below.

What followed was the longest class of my academic career. For 5 hours, we watched each group present their supply chain recommendations to the local business owners and the professor. Mostly, they were the type of lightweight, surface-skimming presentations I had seen at work, at conferences, and in other business classes. Only this time, instead of the polite acknowledgement I was used to, the professor ripped them to shreds. He asked detailed questions and watched the students falter. He told them their presentations were boring, shallow, obviously thrown together at the last minute.

We went last. I nervously rambled through my database, and it was obvious I didn't really understand the data. When my teammate produced "Things to talk about" and started rambling, the professor interrupted us.

"That was the stupidest thing I have ever heard," he said. "Sit down. Your paper had better be f*ing brilliant."

Paper? We were supposed to write a paper?

The professor apologized to the business owner for wasting her time, excused her, and delivered an impassioned, obscenity-laden admonishment to us. Several students, myself included, were in tears by the end. I jotted down every insult and swear word so I could prepare a letter to the dean the next morning.

My first reaction was outrage. How could he talk to his students like this? Where was his professionalism? If every group failed, then didn't he share some accountability? The assignment wasn't clearly written, there weren't enough checkpoints, and the lectures didn't tie to the project.

The other feeling, the one that took longer to surface, was my knowledge that he was right. We had blown off the assignment. As MBA students, we should have had the intelligence to dive deep into the subject matter, the discipline to produce high-quality work in a loosely structured course, and the leadership skills to collaborate and hold our teammates accountable.

He let us redo the assignment. I set aside the database and volunteered for the part of the project that aligned with my strengths: I wrote the paper. And I wrote the hell out of that thing. I compiled my teammates’ detailed research, I did multiple revisions, I sent it to my team a week before the due date, I even made my husband read it as an objective third party. He needed a glass of scotch to get through it - well-written or not, supply chain management just isn't that fun to read about.

On a Saturday morning, we took another shot at our presentation. We had collaborated on the slides and practiced beforehand. We stood in front of the class and confidently shared our knowledge. We answered the professor's tough questions. We got an A. We immediately got to work on our final project and got an A on that, too.

I don't remember much about logistics, but I remember exactly what it felt like to be called out for performing below my potential. It was humiliating and it was physically uncomfortable (I can pinpoint the spot in my abdomen where I felt the shame) and it motivated me to do and be better. If he had politely applauded our presentation and given us a B-, we might have turned up our effort a little bit for the final, but probably not by much.

My professor gave me a gift wrapped in a rough, ugly package. He showed me the power of honest, critical feedback.

The hardest part of receiving feedback is rising above our natural, defensive reaction to criticism. If the criticism is delivered poorly - as it was in my classroom - it's easy to demonize the person who delivered it and brush it off altogether. We frame it as an either/or proposition: He was rude, and therefore his criticism of me was unwarranted. More often, it's both/and: He was rude, and I did a poor job on the assignment.

I wish I could say that I never procrastinated another assignment, or that I became a maestro of group work and team projects. It's not true. My professor shined a harsh, glaring light on a piece of myself that I am still working on, 10 years later.

This, I learned: Applauding and accepting mediocre work perpetuates it. Giving honest feedback in a respectful way is a skill that every leader must hone. And, if a message is so hard to hear that it hits me in the stomach, I best sit up and pay attention – because there’s something valuable in there.

Cognitive Dissonance and Employee Motivaton

Even if you've never heard of cognitive dissonance, you're already familiar with the concept.

It's what happens when you experience something that just doesn't fit with your ideas or beliefs.

Imagine that you spent your life savings on a custom-built dream house. After moving in, you realize that the kitchen layout is awkward, the gorgeous bathroom tile you picked out is too cold for your feet, and morning traffic has tripled the length of your commute.

Cognitive dissonance is the difference between your expectations and your actual experience. Nobody can live like this for long. You have two options:

1. Abandon your original vision of the dream house and stick a "For Sale" sign on the lawn.

2. Change your behaviors (cook more efficiently, wear slippers in the bathroom, leave for work an hour earlier) so that your actual experience matches your original dream house vision.

Unless the house is ridiculously defective, most people will choose option 2. They will also rationalize their behavior ("I love being a morning person!") and not even notice that they have changed themselves in the process.

So, what does any of this have to do with employee motivation?

Cognitive dissonance is usually an internal, individual experience. But what if there is dissonance between two people, an employee and a manager?

Favorable Dissonance

When I started my job as a payroll tax representative, I was a 22-year-old, clueless, recovering journalist who (in my own mind) had no business filing anybody's tax returns.

However, I had a boss who seemed to think I was the most brilliant tax representative she had ever met. She signed me up for projects, enlisted my help with presentations to upper management, and assured me that, someday soon, I would make a great supervisor.

My manager's expectations of me were higher than my own. Dissonance. I had to resolve it. I could either convince her that she had overestimated me, or I could rise to the occasion and be the employee she already thought I was.

Most people will resolve cognitive dissonance in the way that it most beneficial to themselves. It's not a bad thing. It's our self-preservation instinct.

I couldn't stand the thought of disappointing my boss, so I jumped in. I worked harder. I signed up for classes outside of work. I forgot that payroll wasn't a field that originally interested me. I filled in the gaps between my boss's perception and my version of reality.

I was so motivated that I didn't even notice the changes in myself. That is, until I was promoted to supervisor and decided it was time to create the same experience for others.

Unfavorable Dissonance

Manager/employee dissonance is as strong as a weapon. It can spark an employee's best performance, or it can destroy it in one fell swoop.

Imagine working for a boss who is oblivious to your skills and potential. Maybe it's not even your direct boss, but someone up the corporate ladder has decided that you're lazy, have a bad attitude, or are just plain mediocre.

At first, you might scramble to make your talents known. You might speak up in meetings, volunteer for extra assignments, do anything you can to get on the manager's good side.

Sometimes, that just doesn't work. Sometimes, it backfires. Some managers look down on employees who appear too ambitious - even though those employees are just trying to resolve a very real and reasonable dissonance.

When you're stuck with unfavorable dissonance, there are, again, two choices. You can dismiss your boss's opinion as entirely irrelevant (this usually requires finding a new boss), or you can allow your own performance to slide until it matches his or her perception. If your boss already thinks you're lazy, why not buy housewares on e-Bay or sneak out early on Friday?

Bridging the Gap

In an ideal world, managers would hand-pick their teams and only select employees for whom they felt favorable dissonance, or no dissonance at all.

Unfortunately, corporate restructurings and organizational changes are a fact of life, and managers seldom choose all of their subordinates. As a result, many employees languish in situations of unfavorable dissonance, watching their own motivation decline until their actual performance matches the low standards (unknowingly) set by their managers.

How can an organization reap the motivation that comes from favorable cognitive dissonance?

1. Acknowledge the inevitability of bias and dissonance in management. Many managers claim to treat every employee equally, even though this is practically impossible. Policies can be administered equally, but the nuances of manager-employee relationships always contain subjectivity. They are, after all, human relationships.

2. Promote managers who tend to see the best in others. For some people, this is a natural gift. For others, it is a skill that can be learned. It is a core leadership competency that should be considered in both hiring and training leaders.

3. Change the relationship before giving up on the person. Employees who struggle with one manager are often "black-listed," stuck in their position until they either quit or get fired for poor performance. Before punishing an employee, try pairing that person with a new manager or mentor who might have a favorable dissonance effect. Remember to pay attention not only to immediate employee/manager relationships, but also to managers higher up the corporate ladder.

4. Create a culture in which it is acceptable to talk about dissonance. This is the bookend to Step One. Now that you have acknowledged that employee/manager relationships are inevitably biased, and that motivation comes from favorable dissonance, teach your employees what you have learned. Make self-evaluations and open discussions about manager and employee perceptions part of your corporate culture. It's a big change for many organizations, but one that's worth making.

Worth the Soup

I don't like sandwiches.

There is just something about them that turns me off. Maybe it's the amalgamation of ingredients and merging of flavors that I always felt should be distinct, like meat and vegetable matter. Maybe it's the presence of creamy and vinegary dressings, which just feel wrong. Maybe some forgotten childhood trauma stuck me with the culinary sophistication of a 7-year-old.

When I entered the corporate world, I was discreet about my anti-sandwich bias. As an ambitious young tax rep, I wanted to make the best possible impression. I didn't want to come across as ungrateful or a fault-finder, so when sandwiches were offered to me, I politely declined them.

For better or worse, our managers used food as motivational currency. We welcomed new team members with potlucks. If a team hit an important goal, the manager brought in lunch. If the accomplishment was really big, the team of honor went to a restaurant.

One spring day, the managers wanted to simultaneously thank and appreciate our entire department. The reward: Picnic lunches delivered to our desks by our supervisors, each customized with our favorite foods. A few days before, the managers passed out surveys inquiring into our food preferences.

I dutifully filled out my survey, mentioning my affection for Cheetos and anything chocolate. I stared at the line that said "Favorite sandwich." I didn't know what to write. Should I mention that I didn't like meat and bread to touch? My mother had always warned me that my "weird" food issues would embarrass me someday. I wrote, simply, on the form "No sandwich please. Thank you." I drew a little smiley face so the managers would know I wasn't sore about the subject.

Picnic day came, and happy chaos erupted as the supervisors tried to pass out 100 personalized lunches to 100 hungry tax reps. I was handed my thoughtfully decorated picnic basket, just a little bit lighter than everyone else's. An apple, a bag of Cheetos, and a Snickers bar - it seemed balanced enough for my tastes, and I went back to work.

I was sitting at my desk when I heard my manager sneak up behind me. She handed me a little paper bag and whispered "I wasn't supposed to do this, so please don't tell anybody." I opened the bag to find a cup of chicken noodle soup, a spoon, and some crackers.

There was something else in that paper bag. My boss had just acknowledged me as an individual, quirky and perhaps difficult, but valuable to her and the organization. She acknowledged that it was OK for me not to fit into the rubric of what worked for every other employee. She respected and honored my individuality, and she made an extra effort - going outside of the lunch purchasing policy - to make sure that I felt appreciated. That gesture made an indelible impresson on me. Eight years later, I can still taste the soup.

I crafted a long and effusive e-mail to her that afternoon, thanking her for the lunch, her generosity, and her consistent personal and professional support. I thanked her for always believing in me, having my back, and caring about me. I told her that she was the reason I wanted to grow my career and get into leadership. My message was long and rambling, but her response was concise and unforgettable:

"You are worth the soup."

I have never forgotten those words, and I have never forgotten her message. People are not numbers on a spreadsheet or answers on a form. The extra effort of getting to know a person and embracing his or her differences can change that person's life. I could buy 1000 sandwiches for 1000 people, and not have as much impact as a single cup of soup.