"Do you think maybe we should add some dates to this plan?" she asked. She was the internal consultant, the consultant in training, someone who had not done any organization development work before being appointed to assist me on the project. I am not sure why she spoke so shyly, but I think it was partly because I, the senior practitioner, the guy who had spent thirty years in the organization development trade, had made it through a two day planning meeting, had written up the results of that meeting, and had now conducted a two hour review of the plan without once evidencing any interest in having anyone commit to a single date. She could have thought that specific dates and organization development were incompatible.

Of course, they are not incompatible. The plan desperately needed a few dates. The managers at the table recognized that need the moment she said it and without waiting for my approval, or even my cue, they began discussing who would get what done, by when. The reason I had not suggested setting dates is that I never suggest setting dates. I always forget that part. It is one of my incompetencies.

And as with most people I have observed, this incompetency is related to a competency: Whenever I am given an assignment I am desperate to do it now, so dates are useful for me not to speed me up, but to slow me down. I hate having obligations unfulfilled and try to fulfill them immediately. I always forget that other people are not driven by the same obsession.

Early in my career I was part of a team presenting a process to about a hundred or so Honeywell scientists. The senior person on our team was to make the actual presentation. As he got up to speak, he brushed against his stack of transparencies and they blew off the table and floated and slid around the room. A sublime confusion prevailed as audience members began to pick stuff off the floor and try to restore some order. After the presentation, which actually went quite well, I went to commiserate with my teammate. "Tough start," I said. "Well, no," he said, "I rather like it when something like that happens. Everybody gets to be a little helpful. It seems to break the ice."

I wonder if we live in an era in which competence is too much prized. It seems there are lists of competencies made up for every job on earth. I saw one created for my profession and found it most discouraging. I could not argue with anything on the list. To be competent at my profession a person should have every one of those competencies. And I do not have half of them. And yet, somehow, I have managed to stagger along, in a perpetual state of half-competence, not even near-competence, despairing of ever becoming completely competent, because while I am terrible at some things, I am extraordinarily good at others.

But is this not the secret to being really good at anything? To focus on improving the strengths and allow the weaknesses to simply exist?

I have heard of consulting firms that consider themselves as having badly slipped if their client can add anything substantial to the plan they propose. "We should have thought of that," they say, "we are supposed to be competent."

I think the very opposite. We do each other a favor by not being too competent. We leave each other room to exercise thought, offer alternatives, and assist in execution. So I like to work with people who are not perfect and need me for them to be successful and I want to be the kind of person who is reliant upon others to see the holes and fill the gaps.

It is possible to be only so competent. When I see someone more competent than that, I suspect what is seen is not competence, but pretense. So you can pretend that you have covered all the bases. That will only do us good until the end of the presentation and the close of the meeting. Then we must deal with reality. If your incompetence had invited us into the game we could have helped.

I prefer obvious signs of incompetence. They make clear to me what is always true: Without one another, none of us is very competent. And without other people filling in for our weaknesses at some things, we will not have the freedom to become exceedingly proficient at other things.

The author of this essay is John Cowan. He has written two books of similar essays: Small Decencies and The Common Table Each is approximately 160 pages in paperback. To purchase either book by mail send a check for $10 per book to him at 1498 Goodrich, St. Paul, MN 55105. Price will be negotiated for any order over 20 books. If you wish to discuss consulting or speaking engagements or attendance at a workshop he may be reached by e-mail. His address is Johnedie@aol.com

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