When “Doing the Right Thing” Becomes Inconvenient

What do you do when your core values go against the grain of ethics?

Here’s an example: Imagine that your mother calls. You chat for a while, and then your mother asks to speak to your spouse. You know that these conversations never go well. They end with your spouse venting in frustration about your mother’s antics. 

“Tell her I’m not here,” your spouse whispers.

You value your spouse. You certainly value peace and harmony.

But the ethics of it require you to lie. You are challenged to either violate your own values or violate the code of ethics.

Azamat Tazhayakov, Dias Kadyrbayev and Robel Phillipos found themselves in a values-versus-ethics situation when they removed and disposed of a backpack from Dzhokhar Tsarnaev’s dorm room.

Dzhokhar Tsarnaev was the suspected Boston Marathon bombing suspect who was killed during the search for the perpetrators. His roommates were later sent to jail for destroying evidence in Tsarnaev’s backpack.

They certainly mistook the value of friendship as more important than the ethics of honesty and reality. At the time, though, they probably thought they were doing the right thing.

Their situation is obviously more severe than the hypothetical mother-versus-spouse situation I asked you to consider.

But does the severity of an ethical violation matter? Is it okay to abandon ethics when we are talking about little things, so long as you stay ethical when it truly counts?

I argue that the little things define you. If you are willing to abandon your ethics when the consequences are minor, imagine what you will do when the consequences are major!

This is a common theme in my work as a CPA. Accountants value their clients. They want to serve them well. And every day, accountants are given an opportunity to cheat a little here and a little there. 

But cheating a little bit is a slippery slope. It makes cheating easier and easier, until one day, cheating becomes the norm. What do these folks do when they are presented with a major ethical decision, one that could either result in a major boom or a major consequence?

Why they cheat, of course!

Your ethics are a code by which you decide to live. They define what type of person you are. If you decide that you are going to be honest, except when it is inconvenient to do so, you have decided that you are comfortable being a dishonest person.

A true test of your commitment to living an ethical life is when you behave ethically when it is inconvenient to do so.

What do you think? Is it this black-and-white, or is there some gray area here?

Does Praising “At Level” Employees Lead to Mediocrity?

Most of us are doing employee reviews all wrong. You’ve got an employee who does his job well, so you tell him that he is exceeding your expectations.

But aren’t employees supposed to do their jobs well? Should they really be receiving accolades for doing what they are paid to do?

I think not. June is employee review month at Rose, Snyder & Jacobs. It is a month of reflection, recounting, and projection. One of the tasks of all managers is to evaluate the performance of each of their team members. We have a descriptive grading scale. The top end of the scale is “Outstanding” and then “Very Good.” The middle descriptor is “At Level.” At level is for people who are meeting the expectations for that position in all respects. Here is where some of our managers have a hard time: They want to reward their good employees with some sort of reward. “At Level” doesn’t seem like enough. Those of us who were in the helicopter-parenting era are used to rewarding any positive behavior and results with vocal reward. Even "mediocre" got some sort of ribbon or trophy. As employers, though, we never hire people in hopes that they are mediocre. We pay them to do their jobs well. This is what it is expected. “At level” means that you are far, far better than mediocre. Do you give your employees who are merely doing a good job—what is expected of them—a better review than you should? If so, here is a tip: Sleep on your evaluations and reflect. Does this person exceed the expectations you had when you hired him or her? If so, that upper scale is appropriate. But if they are merely doing the job you paid them to do, then they are At Level. And by the way, being At Level is a good thing! It means you are satisfied. It means that you have no problems with their performance, and that they will probably keep their jobs for their foreseeable future. But let’s be clear with your employees. You can’t earn an “At Level” standing unless you are doing a good job. Your mediocre employees are not performing “At Level.” They are doing worse than your expectations when you hired them. When you develop a common and mutual understanding with your team, you can begin having useful discussions about how your employees can be more productive. But if you reward what should be expected, mediocrity can become the status quo.

Katie's Perspective

In the past months, so many of you have shared in my family’s sadness of losing our beloved Jon. While a huge tragedy for us, it has also been an incredible learning and growing experience. We have seen how the concepts of human and social capital come into play in good times and especially in bad. In a strange way, we have become rich even in our loss.

Many of you know my daughter, Katie. This is from a piece she composed for one of her friends. I thought I would share it with you.

By Katie Rose

I have always been trapped in my head—trapped by fears and social anxiety. I felt so trapped that
there came a point in which I boxed myself in and withdrew. Being around other people became so torturous for me that I began hiding in my room.

It wasn’t that I failed to recognize that I had these issues. I was well aware, which made them even more frustrating. My mind was telling me one thing, but it always lost to fear and anxiety.

Then I suddenly and unexpectedly lost my brother. Jonny’s death made me question everything I ever knew, and though I would give just about anything to rewind to July 26, 2015, so I could save his life, I have experienced more personal growth within the last year than I have ever had.

After Jonny died, I began asking myself questions like: If I died tomorrow would I be satisfied with my life? Did I want to live in my pain and misery? Am I living the life I want to live? Do I know what it means to be truly happy?

The answer to every single one of these questions was no. In a terrible yet beautiful way, my brother’s death lit a fire under my belly. His death has given me a whole new perspective on life and the way I live. The lessons I have learned in the past year could fill an entire book. Here are few of my favorites:  

1. When one story ends, another begins—and that story always has a silver lining. The silver lining in the new story of my life is that I have learned to never take any days for granted. I took my brother’s death as a point of reflection: Did I want to live in pain everyday, or did I want to love life, and have it love me back?
2. I do not hide from my emotions anymore. If I am scared, I acknowledge that I am fearful and move on. If I am sad, I let myself cry and keep going. I now invite myself to feel every emotion I can (fear, happiness, anger, sadness). These are the emotions that force the most personal growth. They give us insight into where our minds are. They tell us that something is missing in our lives, and they call for us to find a way to resolve these needs.
3. Being vulnerable with one another is the most beautiful thing we can experience as humans. In a society with so much competition, vulnerability equalizes us. Vulnerability allows us to show our imperfections without shame. 

When tragedy happens, you can either let it overcome you, or you can sit with the pain that you feel long enough to harness it and turn it into power. I’ve chosen to harness my pain.

Leveling Up Your Business With Tony Rose

I am grateful to have been invited back on Smashing the Plateau with David Shriner-Cahn. 

Whether you’re an entrepreneur just starting out or have an existing business, this podcast is a great resource.

In my recent appearance on April 21, 2016, David and I discuss business coaching, which is something I find extremely valuable. Coincidentally, it was one of my coaching communities that connected me with David in the first place.

As always, thank you for listening and please share your feedback.

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Please, Oh Please: Let the Air Escape!

I have always been a loud talker. The employees who sit in cubicles outside my office can attest to this. Why, just this morning alone, they heard more than a few expletives that escaped from the walls of my office.

Many of them probably know personal details I have confessed only to a few close friends—albeit it very loudly.

In my defense, though, they also have likely benefited from a good number of jokes that I tell behind closed doors only.

 If given the choice between a loud talker and a quiet talker, though, I will take the booming loud and invasive voice every single time.

Part of this preference is based on the fact that I need hearing aids (thanks to the music I blasted in the sixties), and that I refuse to wear hearing aids because the ambient noise is so disruptive.

Yet, a larger part of this preference is based on the subtext of what I believe it means to be a loud talker versus what it means to speak very quietly.

Is what you are saying important enough to make sure that people hear you? If it is, then for the sake of all of hearing-impaired mankind, speak up! If you say it in a soft, docile voice, then I assume you are simply adding ambient noise and cluttering my peace and quiet with drivel.

I was in a meeting with several colleagues recently, and I spent the entirety of the sixty-minute meeting confused about what one of my colleagues was saying. I simply could not hear him, so I kept asking for clarification. This man happens to be brilliant. He has quite a lot to say, and at each interaction, I become a better-informed employer. But if I did not know him, I would assume that he was lacking confidence about his opinions. Otherwise, why wouldn’t he want to be heard?

As I was trying to listen to him, I began wondering about the ancient Greeks. What the hell did they do before electricity? Before microphones and speakers? They had a lot of theatre back then. Could only the first two rows of audience members hear them?

Was some seventy-year-old sitting in the back row turning to his neighbors and asking, “What? What did he just say?”

No. They used the power of their thoracic diaphragms so that even the hearing-impaired folks like me could hear them.

So I beg of you: Let the damn air escape from your mouth, and say it! 

I have always been a loud talker. The employees who sit in cubicles outside my office can attest to this. Why, just this morning alone, they heard more than a few expletives that escaped from the walls of my office.

Many of them probably know personal details I have confessed only to a few close friends—albeit it very loudly.  In my defense, though, they also have likely benefited from a good number of jokes that I tell behind closed doors only.

If given the choice between a loud talker and a quiet talker, though, I will take the booming loud and

invasive voice every single time.

Part of this preference is based on the fact that I need hearing aids (thanks to the music I blasted in the sixties), and that I refuse to wear hearing aids because the ambient noise is so disruptive.

Yet, a larger part of this preference is based on the subtext of what I believe it means to be a loud talker versus what it means to speak very quietly.

Is what you are saying important enough to make sure that people hear you? If it is, then for the sake of all of hearing-impaired mankind, speak up! If you say it in a soft, docile voice, then I assume you are simply adding ambient noise and cluttering my peace and quiet with drivel.

I was in a meeting with several colleagues recently, and I spent the entirety of the sixty-minute meeting confused about what one of my colleagues was saying. I simply could not hear him, so I kept asking for clarification. This man happens to be brilliant. He has quite a lot to say, and at each interaction, I become a better-informed employer. But if I did not know him, I would assume that he was lacking confidence about his opinions. Otherwise, why wouldn’t he want to be heard?

As I was trying to listen to him, I began wondering about the ancient Greeks. What the hell did they do before electricity? Before microphones and speakers? They had a lot of theatre back then. Could only the first two rows of audience members hear them?

Was some seventy-year-old sitting in the back row turning to his neighbors and asking, “What? What did he just say?”

No. They used the power of their thoracic diaphragms so that even the hearing-impaired folks like me could hear them.

So I beg of you: Let the damn air escape from your mouth, and say it!

On Grieving During the Holidays - The First Thanksgiving Without My Son

My 28-year-old son died in July.

Writing these words stops me. I sit in my seat, staring at them.

How can they be true?

It is hard to move past these words today, in particular. It is one day before Thanksgiving, and I am wondering how I will make it through tomorrow—the first big holiday without my son.

Jonny would have turned 29 in August. My wife, my daughter, and I survived his birthday with tears and memories and laughter, and then with more tears. Yet, there were fewer expectations on his birthday, fewer customs, and fewer traditions to uphold.

Whereas his birthdays have morphed throughout the years, and we have spent many without him, Thanksgiving is supposed to be a certain way. There is supposed to be turkey and wine and football. We are supposed to be loud and boisterous. We are supposed to be surrounded by family.

We are supposed to be thankful—thankful for the blessing of our children.

And Jonny is supposed to be there.

My wife, my daughter, and I will have Thanksgiving at my house, along with a handful of friends and family.

I wonder: Who will sit in Jonny’s chair? Will anyone sit in his chair, or will it sit empty—a loud vacancy reminding us that things are not as they are supposed to be?

We are certainly not the first family to face the fear of that first Thanksgiving. So many others have survived the holidays after a divorce, the first Thanksgiving after the collapse of a business, or the first Thanksgiving after the death of a spouse.

Today, it feels impossible to simultaneously grieve and celebrate—and yet, that is what so many of us are being called to do tomorrow.

A couple of weeks ago, I had lunch with a friend. We spoke of Jonny, and I told her that I was worried about the holidays.

Felice said something that has stayed with me.

“Remember that Jonny doesn’t die again on Thanksgiving,” she said.

Jonny died on July 27, 2015. On that day, we began to grieve. We began processing the fact that we would never again hug him or laugh with him or share a joke with him. He died on a hot day in July.

It happened once. It will never happen again.

It already happened, and it will not happen tomorrow.

I remind myself of this over and over because I want to give myself permission to move forward. And I want this for all of Jonny’s friends and family members: my wife, my daughter, Jonny’s girlfriend, and his many, many friends.

I do not want us to feel compelled to relive all of our grief, afraid to create new moments because we are so tragically lost in the past. I want us to make new memories, discarding this notion of what is supposed to be, and mindful that although we are grieving, we are also recovering.

Jonny does not die again tomorrow, and we are recovering.