the art of leading

If you're new here, you may want to subscribe to my RSS feed. Thanks for visiting!

Imagine a full-grown, 6′3″ 200 lb. man weeping like a baby. Doesn’t sound right, huh? Well that was me a couple of years ago. What made me cry for the first of two times in my life, you ask? In short, my Architecture Design 202 professor. Why? Well, that’s a somewhat longer story.

For those of you who don’t know, architecture is normally taught by critizicing. You draw a design, and a jury composed of architects trashes it. They tell you everything that is wrong with your design. They tell you how you were supposed to do better. They tell you what you can do to make it better.

But believe me, they don’t have to be nice about it. Some try to be tactful. Others just make you feel like you are the single most disgusting human being in this Planet Earth.

After this dehumanizing process, then it starts all over again. New drawing, new jury, same criticism, same professors trying to make you cry (many succeed, by the way).

Then you build the model. A group of professors gathers around you, in front of your peers, and criticize you, and trash your design, and…Well, you get the point.

So it turns out that my specific design for this class went through this same process 11 times in one semester, without counting the dozen or so informal meetings with my professor where he tore apart my model and used it as his little doll house.

The last day of the semester was here. I had slept for about 2 hours in the last 3 days (honestly), mostly for 15-minute intervals, on a 1X4-foot piece of old metal under my drafting desk (remember, 6′3″ 200 lbs.). I had done what I thought was my most impressive work to date in my 1 1/2-year career as an architecture student.

So there I was, in front of all my classmates, in front of my professor, in front of the Dean of the school, who was the guest ‘critic’ for the day.

My professor kicked things off in the right track: “Great work! I’m really proud of you!”

The Dean stepped in: “I like the concept of your design, but I’m not thrilled with the crafting quality of your models, Ivan.”

OK, I thought, I can stand some criticism, especially since he was sort of right. After all, I had to finish last-minute changes on my models with barely any sleep at all.

They kept talking about my drawings, my models, my presentation. They had some problems with my work, but they seemed satisfied. “OK, Ivan, thanks for your presentation.”
Whew! “I passed the class”, I thought. The mental torture would stop. I was thrilled. Summer was next up, and I could look forward to a couple of stress-free months filled with sleeping in a real bed, complete with a pillow.

As I walked away, the Dean held out his hand as if to stop me. “What?”, I asked.

“Ivan, your model doesn’t make sense. It’s out of proportion with your drawings. Here, you see?”

And I saw. He pointed to me how one of the balconies in my building was 5 feet higher in my model than in my drawings. Not only that, but the door that led to that balcony was 4 feet tall in my model. An average-height person would have to be a great limbo-dancer to pass through it, or get down on the knees at least.

At that moment my world collapsed. “After so much work I wasn’t capable of building a stinkin’ well-proportioned model”, I thought.

I went home, tried to relax and convince myself that it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I would pass with a C, perhaps, and go on my merry way. But fear of failing the class for such a stupid reason didn’t go away.

Then came the dreadful day when we would be called upon one by one to meet with the professor, and he would tell us if we passed or failed. What seemed to me like gallons of sweat rolled off my hands as I waited for my name.

“Ivan”, said the professor, “come here. I know how hard you worked this semester to get things just right. But you failed the class, Ivan. After all this work, you failed because you measured a piece of cardboard in centimeters instead of inches.”

And I cried for the first time in my adult life. And cried. And kept on crying ’till I got home. “I had failed for such a stupid reason”, I thought.

Do you want to be a great leader? Then don’t let the little things kill your work of art.

Categories : Failure, Relationships //