New Leeson Life

We don't listen enough. In a world where all of us are broadcasters, content creators, self-promoters, listening has become a lost art. We're too busy trying to saying something smart/witty/provocative/heartfelt, too busy trying to stand out. Ironically, too busy trying to be heard. We forget to listen. We tweet, we Insta, we SnapChat, the old folks still Facebook, recruiters and weirdos LinkedIn. And in those worlds, we are concerned with broadcast. Look at me. Hear me. Read what I have to say. Behold what I had for breakfast. And if I don't want to hear what you say? I can mute you, un-follow you or de-friend you. That way, you have to listen to me, but I can 'la-la-la' your reality out of mine with the click of a button or a swipe of my finger.  And its a problem. Because growth doesn't happen with the volume dial up. Connection doesn't happen without reception. We don't learn anything new while we are talking. No real understanding was ever...

Not another blog post about Leadership. Is there anything left to write? How to be a better Leader. The 10 habits of an excellent Leader. What a great Leader eats for breakfast.  Why is it such an enduring topic? Maybe because its so bloody hard to get right.  Maybe because so many 'leaders' are wandering about day to day trying their best, but mostly making this stuff up as they go along. Making mistakes, learning the hard way. Being assessed by an endless parade of Organisational Development types bringing in consultants with an unintelligible acronym for a name. Being told they need to have more IQ, more EQ, more MI. Do you ever stop to think, "What BS!" ?  Honestly, more often than not, Leadership is an art not a science. It's a continual exploration of embarrassment and mistake-making. Of trial and error. Of being unintentionally pissed off and unintentionally pissing people off. Of pretending you know what you're doing, whilst trying to figure ou...

If you work for me, or with me, you will be well versed in my love for a metaphor. Today for example, I pushed a 'welcome to the party' metaphor so far that, by the time I'd finished, the police had been called and people were outside sitting on the kerb feeling sorry for themselves. One of my favourites stems from a Polish saying "Not my Circus; not my monkeys". I love this, not because I like a slopy-shouldered sentiment. Quite the opposite; because the phrase begs the obvious question: "Whose monkeys are they then?". My team will often find themselves grilled by me on monkey ownership. "Who has this monkey?", "Do we have track of all our monkeys?", "Do you each know which are your monkeys?". Monkey ownership. Its a useful concept. One that organisations undergoing change, or that move at pace, or that have fluid structures often struggle with. I've worked in some organisations (usually German) that have monkey own...

It was a simple Facebook comment that did it. One minute I was scrolling idly through my mum's page. The next I'm kneeling on the floor sobbing. The comment? "Mimi would have been so proud".  Mimi was what we called my beloved grandmother. (Because she felt that 'Gran' was too old and fuddy duddy, and because she'd got it into her head that Mimi was French for Grandmother and, by the time she'd been gently disabused of the notion, it had stuck. It suited her perfectly.). It'll be a year since she passed away on Tuesday.  The comment, made by one of her dearest friends, was in response to a video of me singing a big band song. It had been posted on Facebook and Instagram by my vocal coach, and shared by my mum. (I'll be 40 in 7 months and my mum is still doing that kind of shizzle - what can you do?). I was sobbing because it was a bittersweet compliment. It was a bittersweet compliment because Mimi never heard me sing. She never heard...

Dear Leave Voter, I really like you. No 'but's. Honestly. I do. Your facebook posts make me laugh out loud. I think your dog is adorable and the way you champion your kids makes me wish more children had parents like you. I admire your closeness to your family.  You're kind - I see that. You've been kind to me and I've seen you be kind to other people. I like kindness in a person. The world needs more of it.  I know you aren't racist. I've seen how angry you get when you hear people use racist language. Although I do wonder if you know about my Eastern European family members when you have a little rant about the Eastern Europeans that have moved into your area... And it's a shame we can't talk about how my husband's foreign friend has been told to 'go home' three times in the last week, without you getting cross because you think I'm saying it's your fault, and me feeling sad because, well, it makes me sad. It's compl...

I’m writing this on a flight from Newark to London. I was meant to be on a flight from Washington to London yesterday. Except, United Airlines. This isn’t the story of my delay, my frantic and ultimately futile cab ride across North Carolina, or even my discovery that the United Airlines full tagline is “Fly the Friendly Skies… ‘cause the ground staff are just plain rude”. For that saga, maybe visit my Facebook page where you can see updates of my excursions to various East Coast airports while my mum comments in bewilderment, my husband attempts to keep me chipper and my boss uses social media to inform me he won’t be approving my expenses… I digress. I was in the US as part of a global project. A big, bold, multi-cultural transformation project with huge potential to revolutionise the organisation I work in. Exciting in itself, right? But also exciting because of the diversity of our fabulous team – East Coast, West Coast, Mid-West and Southern Americans. Canadians, Brits, Fren...

I had a Bloody Good Cry yesterday. A 'BGC', if you will. My friends will tell you that I am a pretty good crier.  A sweepstake was taken at my wedding to see how long it took before I welled up (I confounded the lot of them by not shedding a single tear on the day and then bawling like a baby a week later on honeymoon when we renewed our vows with Elvis in Vegas. Go figure.) I cry for many reasons - hormones, tiredness, frustration, happiness, acts of kindness. I used to be ashamed of it. It isn't good to cry, so society will tell you. Big girls don't. Babies do. It's weak, unprofessional, manipulative, selfish, makes other people feel bad and you look bad. So many reasons to bottle it up, keep a stiff upper lip. But these days I am not ashamed of it, and here's why: Science Crying is one of your body's ways of getting rid of chemicals that you don't need, and generating those that make you feel better. When you have a BGC you shed hormones and ch...