We are CrisMarie Campbell and Susan Clarke, life and business partners who have been coaching from the center of conflict for more than fifteen years. While we work, live, and even write together (this book, for example), we are also different people with unique reasons why we embrace conflict as central to our lives. Throughout the book, we will write from a cohesive we, but we will also tell you our personal individual stories. But before we go any further, we want to offer some insight into who we each are and why we chose to build our lives around using conflict in relationships and teams.
CrisMarie Campbell
I’ll be honest, I hate conflict! I have been a professional conflict avoider most of my life. My definition of a good relationship used to be one where everything was smooth.
My father was an Army colonel. Every night at the dinner table I ran the gauntlet hoping he wouldn’t get upset. Bad things happened when Dad was mad. Each evening at dinner, my mom, brother, sister, and I knew he would ask us, “How was school today?”
He expected a status report outlining all our achievements. My older sister’s mission was to buck the system. Her answer was often an insolent, “Fine!” This ignited the flame of anger in The Colonel.
Yikes! I was so afraid of his reaction, I took it upon myself to jump in the middle of the fray to put out the fire. Some nights, I’d offer a rephrase: “I think what she meant to say is.…” Other nights, I’d distract my dad by focusing on something good: “I got an A on my math test!” Or I’d ask a question to change the subject: “Dad, what chores do we need to get done this weekend?”
Defusing conflict became my superpower. When I got older, I was even better at defusing conflict. By adulthood, I could pull a group of people together to keep the peace and accomplish amazing things. It led me to my passion—teamwork, which really came to light in sports. I wasn’t an athlete in high school, but I took up rowing at the University of Washington in Seattle. I was team captain and stroke (the leadership role in the boat) for the 1985 National Championship Team.
I went on to compete at the elite level and made the USA 1987 National and 1988 Olympic teams. The difference between those two boats was night and day, and I learned the importance of teamwork.
In 1987, the Russians had been dominant players for years, and none of the competing teams were expected to do well against them. When our USA team arrived at the World Championships in Denmark, we were ranked lowest and put in the outside lane. Water in the outside lane was choppy water, a deterrent to speed in rowing. The Russians were on the other side of the course in protected, smooth water. Halfway through the race our coxswain called out, “We are moving on the Russians!” I was shocked, and I could feel the energy swell in the boat as we surged with power and grace. I remember the sound of our oarlocks and the splash of our blades hitting the water in sync. We cut through the water like a hot knife in butter, moving through the Russians until they were behind us.
In the end, Romania won gold, and our USA team won silver. Even though my team didn’t come in first, we were all ecstatic to have toppled the mighty Russians. A large, blonde Romanian woman picked me and another US teammate up in celebration.
In 1987, we were a team that was connected and aligned. I was slated to be the stroke but was young and inexperienced. I gladly moved to the other end of the boat, the bow position, so a more experienced stroke could lead us. We all trusted each other, we got through conflicts well, and we bore general goodwill.
In the 1988 Olympics, we were expected to medal, but instead we came in at a disappointing sixth. It wasn’t because our athletes were weak. Both the 1987 National and 1988 Olympic boats had high-caliber rowers. The problem wasn’t skill; it was lack of teamwork. That year, we had factions and egos. One gal seemed to be in it for herself, fascinated with making it on TV. As for me, I had been injured but had passed the tests to make the boat. When the last-minute decision was made to use an experimental boat, I remained silent, even though I didn’t like the idea. I just felt lucky to be on the team, so I didn’t speak up. Later, after our loss, the boat we used was scrapped due to a defective design. This poor result was the first clue that my childhood strategy of not speaking up wasn’t working.
The difference between those two teams was palpable. In 1987, one plus one equaled eleven; in 1988, one plus one equaled minus one. It was then when I learned the difference between a championship team (1987) and a boat full of champions (1988).
After the games I went on to work at Boeing as a mechanical engineer and was assigned to a test project for the design of the 777, a major redesign of the 757. We were a cross-functional team representing the complete design functions, manufacturing, technology, operations, and more. At the time, computer-aided design (CAD) was new.
Since its early days, Boeing designed and built airplanes by first creating a life-size physical mock-up of the plane in cheaper materials. If there was a design problem, we engineers would go to the mock-up together and figure out a new solution.
On this project our cross-functional team, which trusted each other, had a risky but innovative idea. We suggested to the leadership at Boeing that we scrap the physical mock-up and do the entire design on the computer.
That decision was controversial, because Boeing is risk-averse as a culture; yet they agreed to support us.
Throughout the project, our computer-only process delivered. We had fewer design issues, and it revolutionized how Boeing now builds airplanes. This was a powerful lesson for me about what great teams can produce in business. It was another lesson for me in the power of teamwork.
Despite my positive experience at Boeing, I was a misplaced people-person who wound up in engineering. I went back to school for my MBA and got a job at Arthur Andersen. I was the on-site manager for a team of six on a project for a software client. The senior manager from Arthur Andersen stopped by to give us the project strategy plan. I listened and thought, this is not going to solve the client’s problem. Rather than say what I knew, I asked, “Do you think this is going to solve the client’s problem?”
The manager’s face tightened. “Of course it is,” he replied. “Get to work!” I was catapulted back in time to my dad’s dinner table. I shut up and followed the plan.
At the end of six months, the partners at Arthur Andersen wanted more work with this prestigious client, so they brought in the client VP for a conversation. Here we were: my three bosses, Arthur Andersen partners, the client VP, my senior manager, and myself. I sat along the wall, while the others all sat around the table.
The partners asked the client, “Tell us, how can we help you more?”
The VP turned and pointed to me. “Well, you know that project CrisMarie led? That was a disaster. A complete disaster.”
That was one of my career oh, sh*t! moments, and a clue that my childhood strategy wasn’t working.
I knew then and there that I wanted the courage to speak up and be brave and bold so nothing like that would happen again. It turned out that my superpower had serious limitations.
Shortly thereafter, I met Susan who worked with conflict very differently. She was helping groups transform into teams by dealing with their differences creatively. The innovative solutions that emerged on those teams were phenomenal. Plus, Susan herself was so alive. I wanted what she had. We officially joined forces professionally in 2002, and I’ve been in conflict ever since—in a great way!
Susan Clarke
At the age of twenty-four, I was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin lymphoma. Immediately, I began fighting the good fight against cancer. I became fully engaged in being positive and doing whatever was needed to handle an aggressive treatment protocol. Nine months in, I finished my cancer treatment scorecard of testing, and I felt confident that I would beat cancer and get on with my life.
You can imagine my surprise when I walked into my doctor’s office and got my grade: F.
Now, of course, that is not how she delivered the news. In fact, her words landed harder, “The treatments aren’t working.”
“The cancer is advancing.”
“We don’t have another option.”
“You probably have six months to live.”
“You might want to get your affairs in order.”
Oh, sh*t! I thought. How did I get here? And, what the hell do I do now? I was stunned into silence. I mumbled under my breath and left.
That was a turning point in my life. There was no Hail Mary pass that would get me out of this game alive.
On my way out, I saw a flyer: Life, Death and Transition. Without really thinking, I took a copy and walked out of the office. Once outside, I looked at the flyer. It was by a woman named Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, and I had no idea who she was. Life, death, and transition were not subject matters to which I had given much thought. Heck, I was only twenty-four years old.
Still, I needed help. So I wrote to her:
Elisabeth,
Apparently I’m dying and fairly soon. I don’t really know how to deal with that. I don’t have any money. I have no real clue who you are. But I picked up your flyer and wanted to see if there was any chance that I could come to your workshop.
Thanks for considering,
Susie
I added my phone number to the bottom and stuck that little note in the mail. (Yes, this was long before email.)
That was my first conscious experience of opting in and facing an oh, sh*t! moment. I dove in head first. I could have opted out, gotten angry, and found someone to blame. I could have given up. Or, I could have taken the path of least resistance and continued to live my little life the same way I always had and let the cancer take me.
I chose something different. Writing that letter was my first step toward a better journey that gained positive momentum.
She said, “Come.”
I attended Kubler-Ross’s workshop, during which she presented me with a challenge. “You and I are not really that different,” she said. “Someone just told you when you were going to die. Now you are focusing on dying or not dying, and that is not living!”
Living, I learned, is turning toward whatever life presents and diving into it. It’s being curious. It’s not about fighting cancer, rather, it’s about engaging in life. It’s facing whatever there is to face, throwing myself into the mess and swimming my way through it.
Kubler-Ross launched me on a path that helped me discover the guiding motto of my life: Choose to live. Choose to be curious. Fearlessly or fearfully face whatever is in front of you. Do not step away from chaos, conflict, and uncertainty. Instead, step in and reap the magic and the miracles.
My life journey didn’t end in six months, and for that I am eternally grateful. But I won’t lie, it wasn’t easy.
The next step landed me at The Haven Institute, a personal and professional development center in British Columbia, Canada, in a program called Come Alive. The Haven offered a different path, which was to consider that my tumors had stories from my past that needed to be told and felt. As I followed that path, I also engaged other alternative healing methods. My doctors thought I was nuts, yet I got healthier.
The tricky part was, I still needed the doctors on my team along with the alternative healers and psychologists. My vision was to be healthy again. I needed these smart, opinionated people to work together on Project Susan. I had to face my crazy past, the questions, and the chaos of doing a little bit of everything while throwing myself into that conflict in conjunction with staying curious.
It was extremely difficult and humbling to discover just how stubborn, defensive, and resistant I could be. But I kept coming back to that choice point: Am I in? Or, am I out? Choose!
I learned to listen. I learned to speak up. I learned the incredible value in differences and the possibility that comes from making space for the new and different. I also learned about the miracles created when people who have different points of view collaborate on a common problem they both care deeply about and want a successful outcome.
My experience at The Haven was a foundation on which I could challenge myself to keep opting in, even when it was not life or death. This book is about how to opt in, not because you are dying, but because it awakens your creativity!
Now, years later, I apply that learning to the challenges facing leaders every day. My work with my partner, CrisMarie, revolves around helping leaders, teams, and organizations face and embrace their Oh, sh*t! How did we get here? moments.
Leaders need this kind of guidance today more than ever. We could all stand to step up our games and quit fighting and blaming each other.
Opt in. It may get messy, but if you stay curious and interested in all the possibilities, especially the ones far afield from your own, I do believe you will discover something totally new and magical.