Practice Library · Lesson 2.1 Conversation
A worked example from my own practice Before any of you post, I want to do the practice myself. So you can see what I am asking of you, and so you have something to follow rather than a blank page to fill. This is my own answer to the brief above. It is the moment I keep coming back to. The site was in the north of England. The job was a confined space entry, midway through a planned shutdown. The worker was a man named Jim — I will not use his full name — who had been on tools for the best part of forty years. Quiet. Steady. Not a complainer. On the Wednesday morning of the shutdown, Jim approached me by the access point. He said — and I am paraphrasing only because the exact words have softened in my memory — he said something like "Paul, the brief on this one has changed three times this week. I am not sure anyone is actually leading this entry." I defended. I told him the brief had changed because the conditions on the line had changed, that the iteration was a sign of the system working, that the supervisor team were in close coordination. All of which was technically accurate. None of which was what Jim had asked. What he was telling me was that the worker who was about to make the entry could not feel a coherent leadership presence behind the plan. He was telling me that the man going into the confined space did not know whose call this was. He was, in his quiet way, telling me that something had drifted in the leadership of the job — and he was hoping I would do something about it before the entry happened. I did not. Not in the conversation. Not in the forty-eight hours afterwards. I clarified the brief in writing, I sent an updated permit, and I moved on to the next priority on my list. The entry happened safely. Nothing went wrong. Which is the worst possible outcome of a missed conversation, because it teaches the leader that the defence was vindicated by the result. Here is what I would do now. The silence. When Jim spoke, I would stop walking. I would put down whatever I was carrying. I would turn fully toward him. I would say nothing for three or four seconds — not a calculated pause, just enough that he knew I had heard the seriousness of what he had taken the trouble to come and tell me. He had walked thirty metres out of his way to find me before the entry. The silence acknowledges the deliberateness of that walk.