Blueprint for Effective Leadership in Old Age

How the hell do you lead the United States government in the midst of a pandemic, frighteningly high unemployment, declining health care enrollment, and accelerating climate change?  How do you manage a workforce of 2.79 million employees, some in agencies that have been hollowed out over the past four years, others facing increasing financial and psychological burdens, while symbolically “reporting to” a dangerously polarized citizenry?  How can you possibly succeed without everyone’s cooperation, and a continual flow of well-summarized accurate information from cabinet members and department chairs.

I can’t imagine myself taking on these monumental responsibilities, especially since I’m a man of a certain age, with fewer memory cells than I once had and far less stamina.  But I’m not asking this question rhetorically.  Someone has to lead, and that person needs to work within a leadership style that optimizes their strength and minimizes their weaknesses.  And I do have some thoughts about what an effective approach might look like.

Let’s begin with the cognitive bent that characterizes old people.  It’s called “crystallized intelligence.”  According to research, young people excel at “fluid intelligence,” the ability to solve novel problems, independent of accumulated knowledge.  This is the stuff of logical, mathematical, and technical problem-solving.  It is the form of intelligence tested by I.Q. exams, and generally peaks in our 20s.

“Crystallized intelligence,” on the other hand, is acquired through experience and education, and emphasizes pattern recognition and the ability to see the big picture.  Here’s researcher Richard Nisbett: “…(w)hen it comes to intelligence, experience can outrun biology… Older people make more use of higher-order reasoning schemes that emphasize the need for multiple perspectives, allow for compromise, and recognize the limits of knowledge.” Despite a decline in “fluid intelligence,” complicated reasoning that relates to people, moral issues or political institutions improves with age.”

If this is so, then it raises the obvious question: What leadership posture, and what set of activities lend themselves to crystallized intelligence?  Among the most critical for our next President, and other older leaders, are the following:

Determining the guiding vision.  Healthy aging leaders should focus on broad analysis of the nation’s problems and opportunities, on the development the nation’s vision and the large strategic plans by which that vision can be realized.

Selecting key personnel.  Second, they can and should focus considerable attention on the selection of key personnel, like cabinet members and their immediate deputies, and Supreme Court justices and other federal judges.  These are the people who will implement the leader’s vision.  Assuming that the mature leader has built enough confidence in themselves over the years, they should be able to appoint outstanding deputies who know far more “content,” and have a deeper understanding of the contemporary zeitgeist than they do in almost all arenas.

Delegation and accountability.  Once strategic plans and key personnel are selected and their tasks assigned, the President needs to step back and let them do their jobs—and not micromanage. Then, in the broadest possible way, leaders need to hold their managers accountable, regularly asking: Have you accomplished the job I have assigned to you?  What kind of adjustments need to be made, and how do you propose to achieve those adjustments?

One essential message good leaders insist on goes like this:  “Don’t come to me with problems; come with solutions.”  They must insist that subordinates are not sycophants, not passive underlings.  Within the established strategic directives, they have to be strong, creative, and proactive.

Reflecting on the current Presidential campaign, I think we can already see Joe Biden’s ability to make delegation work well.  The success of the Democrats’ virtual convention is a clear illustration.  Years ago, successfully assigning Ron Klain, Biden’s Chief of Staff, to the Ebola pandemic was another instance.

Learner-in-chief.  These are extremely challenging times and no one, even the most committed, intelligent and committed leader, has answers to all the problems the nation faces.  It is critical, amidst the multiple crises, to develop a culture of learning, experiment, and humility.  Having watched many ‘breakthrough’ ideas come and go over decades of participation in the public sphere, the aging leader knows how to listen, challenge, and synthesize.  Humility plays a large role here, and not every leader, as we see with the current occupant of the White House, has it.

Soliciting expert advice; mobilizing and integrating relevant, contemporary data of all sorts; and generating innovative, bold solutions…that’s all best assigned to young people and their “fluid” intelligence.  But the crystallized intelligence of old leaders, who have seen ‘new’ ideas come and go over the decades, lends itself to sorting through the proposals, identifying the several with particular promise, given the existing institutional structures and relationships.  This process then moves through subsequent rounds of discussion, modified with a give-and-take that credits both kinds of knowledge.  Staff then translate the resulting best bets into concrete action steps.

Partnership with youth. The need for this kind of partnership should be obvious when dealing with issues like institutional racism, climate change, health care and the Covid-19 pandemic. Young people are knowledgeable about so many things that older people are not.  They tend not to be as weighed down by history and past failures or, for that matter, by past experience, in general.  Rather, at their best, they are filled with ideas, exuberance, and a relatively fearless perspective on the future.  The best of the aging leaders will take pleasure and be enhanced by youthful knowledge and exuberance. And the potential complementarity of youth and age that far surpasses the danger of competition.

Passing the torch. Everyone in leadership needs a succession plan—aging leaders most of all.  If nothing else, they need to plan for disaster—just in case they are unable to complete their expected leadership terms.  Passing the torch can be an active project from Day One, as we have seen modeled brilliantly in the choice of Kamala Harris as Joe Biden’s running mate.  He has demonstrated that he wants a Vice President who largely shares his values and is most likely to an effective steward of the national civic workforce.  Biden has chosen someone who seems to find his leadership style at least relatively compatible—so that radical changes are not required with the transition.

And in general, it is good practice to select a successor with the potential to do a better job, be a better leader, than are you.  That takes courage, but it demonstrates a commitment to the enterprise – the organization, the mission, the agency, the political unit, the country – that is admirable. 

Succession planning is integral to leadership, taking the form of well-designed apprenticeships. Joe Biden asked Barak Obama to be “the last person in the room” for important decisions, so that he could learn about, and weigh in on those issues.   He has vowed to “return the compliment” to Kamala Harris.  She will be an insider.  She will be informed.  She will practice decision-making at the highest level of authority in this country.

Spending your time wisely.  I have a leadership mantra that I ask all those I have coached to try to practice: Figure out what only you can do and only do that—as well as you can—and leave the rest to trusted staff.

Easier said than done.  You have to figure out your strengths and your limitations—and the strengths and limitations of your office.  You must determine what the symbolic power of your office lends to your action and where it is unnecessary.  This means you have to understand the public-facing requirements of leadership.  You must determine the strengths of your staff and what they do better than you.  You have to figure out what is necessary in the moment and what, over the long haul, builds the confidence and abilities of those you manage.  You have to know yourself and those you work with.

We are always working with fewer resources than we need.  The special sauce of leadership is learning how to select, align, and deploy the ones we’ve got.

 

 

 

A Life of Plenty

My mother, long a vibrant and optimistic woman, was in her early 80’s. It was just before we eased her into Independent Living, and she was feeling down, maybe on the verge of depression.  I, in all the wisdom of my 60 year old prime, challenged her to think more positively.

I had traveled to her home in Silver Springs, Maryland, to cheer her up and help with her medical treatment.  We were sitting in her comfortable, beautifully furnished apartment.  Even when life was failing her, she had remained an aesthete.  My practical mission that day was to help with her medication.  She had grown forgetful and couldn’t figure out which to take, when.  So I had taped the pills, one by one, in the right order, noting dosage and timing, on her kitchen cabinets.  She wasn’t happy that I was “messing up” her cherry wood cabinets but accepted that my intention was good.

Then we moved to the living room, sipping martinis, as we often did, and began to talk.  I sat on a sofa, she settled into her new lift.  Her legs had grown so weak that she could hardly stand up by herself.  After a few pleasantries and reminiscences and some time to criticize the politics of the day—a subject that always united us—I came to my purpose.

“Mom, I know that everything is getting harder.  And I know that you can’t see your friends as much or go to theaters and museums, except in the wheelchair you hate.  But you’ve lived an extraordinary life.  You came from nothing and beat the odds.  You’ve had a good family, kids who love you still, maybe even more than ever.  And you’ve had deep and enduring friendships.  I wonder if you ever try to rise above the hard times and reflect on your good, long life?”

She looked at me, partly puzzled, maybe a little irritated, and thought for a minute or two before responding.

“No I don’t.  I don’t like my life now and don’t try to talk me out of it!”

I continued anyway. “Do you ever grow philosophical and see the long span of your life and come to a place of acceptance, maybe even peace?”

Suddenly, I saw the irritation melt away and, with a twinkle in her eye, she imparted her wisdom: “Barry, you know that’s not how I think.  I like to do things.  I like to be with people. I feel what I feel. I thought I brought you up smarter than that.”  She was, as always, just herself, and I was clearly talking to myself.  I had a hard time bearing her pain, but she was comfortable in who she was, with all the variety and intensity of feelings that moment engendered.

People tell me that I am more like her than I have generally acknowledged but I wasn’t prepared to see that then.  More importantly, I couldn’t see that, while I was trying to share my wisdom with her, she was offering hers.

Throughout my life, I have been unwilling to settle on just who I am or, more generally, to bear the pain of being human.  To combat that pain, I have steadfastly, fiercely pursued two, sometimes antithetical strategies.  First, I have canceled the noise of the present by focusing on the future.  Second, I have tried to rise above the clamoring present to minimize its power over me.  I’ll explain.

Whenever I struggle, I tell myself that, in time, I will solve my problems, improve myself, find people who love or appreciate me more, find or build work that better fits my temperament and skills.  And for the most part, I’ve succeeded.  I’ve always thought of this approach as a great gift given to me by my parents and by the American spirit of the 1950’s.

But I haven’t entrusted my happiness entirely to the future.  I’ve known that there are wells of uncertainty and fear that remain untouched by most external events and intentional problem solving.  There’s nothing I could do, for instance, about my father heading to the army when I was three, and then dying at 50.  Not much I  can now do to offset the seclusion and chaos brought on by the Covid-19 pandemic.

Unless, of course, I found a way to let them go or to rise above them.  So I’ve written in my journal for 50 years, trying to understand and come to terms with myself.  I’ve meditated off and on for those same 50 years, trying to gain that perspective I had recommended to my mother.  Or, as Buddhism has taught me, to see negative thoughts as just that —  thoughts of my own construction—then to let them go and to live more vibrantly in each moment. And I’ve imagined myself, particular as I have aged, as above it all, like William Butler Yeats’ wise men whose “ancient glittering eyes were gay.”

All of these practices—meditation, problem-solving and self-improvement—have succeeded pretty well but only partially.  And now at 78, when the future is no longer a balm to my pain, I find myself still in search of comfort.

A few years after my visit to help my mother achieve greater peace of mind, I visited her again, this time in a memory unit in Alaska, where my sister lives.  It was quite a scene.  One woman carried 5 dolls, each one a child who she still talked with.  Others wandered aimlessly.  The sense of loss and disorientation was everywhere, and sadness lurked in so many eyes.  My mother was often lost  and sad herself.  She couldn’t take the walks she had loved or sip her martinis or really make friends as she always had.  And she was grumpy about having to live only with old people.  She had always loved being with my friends – young people with the special kind of vitality they bring.

But she did find the time and inclination to flirt with Bobby, the handsome 30 year old attendant in that unit, and to me, her eyes still seemed alive, responsive.  One day, months later, my wife Franny, who was visiting, announced that she had to get back home to Massachusetts to vote in the upcoming Presidential elections.  That seemed to awaken my mother from whatever dementia-induced quiescence had gained a foothold: “Is that shithead, Bush, still in office?” There was no peace and serenity in that tiny, old lady.

I’m now close to the age when I arranged my mother’s medications, and I finally know that the future won’t rescue me.  I’ve been meditating and contemplating long enough to know the limits of their power to bring me to some other, more peaceful place – to an appreciation of the present.  My leg is injured, which stops me from those long, lingering walks that have become a hallmark of this period for Franny and me—a real pain in the … leg.  I sometimes wander around the house, suffering a lack of purpose, worried that I will die before I get to be truly useful again.  But we just returned from a lovely couple of weeks with our family in a house by a lake in New Hampshire, filled with the buzz and activity of children.  Standing atop Mount Washington was thrilling, offering a glimpse of the expansiveness and possibilities all around me.  And now we’re home, healthy, and back in the long, leisurely routines of our pandemic lives.

If I understand my mother now, it must and it can be enough.  If I understand that it is the life I have, it can be very good.