Sometimes the most painful leadership lessons come from knowing exactly what we should have done... and choosing not to do it.
During COVID, like many people, I decided to take on a home renovation project.
Well...
When I say decided, I probably mean I was HEAVILY influenced by my wife.
We'd picked up an old cubby house from a local trading site, and as the professional renovators like to say, it had good bones.
It just needed a little love.
And by a little love, I mean a considerable amount of work.
Now, I've always been the sort of person who looks at a renovation challenge and thinks...
"How hard could it possibly be?"
As it turns out, that's a question I've asked myself on numerous occasions throughout my life.
Sometimes with wonderful results.
Other times...
Well, you'll see.
The Grand Design
The plan was actually pretty exciting.
We were preparing to renovate our own home, and the cubby house would become a miniature version of the style we had in mind.
A little prototype, if you like.
The boys would get their own beautiful little house, and we'd get to experiment with some of the design ideas before tackling the real thing.
I loved it.
Although, to be completely transparent, it was my wife's vision.
I was simply the bloke responsible for turning that vision into reality.
A familiar arrangement in our household.
So, armed with enthusiasm and a perhaps inflated belief in my own building abilities, I headed off to the local hardware store.
Remember COVID shopping?
Masks.
Social distancing.
Trying to navigate aisles that were never designed for people to remain 1.5 metres apart while simultaneously examining timber and power tools.
Those were interesting times.
Anyway, I needed a table saw.
The Right Tool... Almost
Now, I'm a firm believer in buying quality tools.
I knew exactly what I wanted.
A beautiful, professional-grade table saw.
Something substantial.
Something powerful.
Something that would make me feel like I knew what I was doing.
There was just one small problem.
This was a cubby house.
And there was a practical reality to spending a small fortune on equipment for a project that was, quite literally, child's play.
So I compromised.
Instead of buying the saw I wanted, I bought the one I told myself would do the trick for now.
Mistake number one.
I got home, unpacked it and began setting everything up.
Now, there's a famous scene in Jurassic Park where the camera focuses on a car's side mirror as a rather enormous T-Rex approaches.
"Objects in mirror are closer than they appear."
Well, I experienced something similar.
Except in reverse.
What had looked like a T-Rex-sized piece of equipment in its box turned out to be considerably closer to a chicken.
It was tiny.
I looked at it.
Looked at the timber.
Looked back at it.
Surely this would still do the trick?
Of course it would.
Or so I told myself.
Safety Is Slowing Me Down
After setting up my new toy, I began cutting some old pallet timber that I was recycling to build an awning for the cubby house.
Everything was going reasonably well.
Until I discovered that some of the saw's built-in safety features were making the job a little more difficult.
The blade guard was getting in the way.
It was slowing me down.
Making it harder to feed the timber through.
And I had a lot of boards to cut.
So, in a moment of what can only be described as spectacularly poor judgement, I decided to remove the blade guard.
Mistake number two.
Now, before anyone writes to me explaining why removing the safety guard from a table saw is a terrible idea...
I know.
Believe me.
I know.
But at the time, I convinced myself that I knew what I was doing.
After all, I'd used power tools before.
I was careful.
I was experienced enough.
And without that pesky guard, I could work so much faster.
Famous last words.
Just One More Board
About thirty minutes later, I was making good progress.
The timber was being cut.
The awning was taking shape.
And I was feeling rather pleased with myself.
Then one of my boys appeared.
"Mum says dinner's ready!"
I looked at the timber still waiting to be cut.
There was only one piece left.
Just one.
"Tell Mum I'll be there in a minute, my love. Just one more board."
Mistake number three.
Now, this last piece of timber wasn't particularly good.
It was old.
Dry.
Flimsy.
The sort of timber that, had I stopped for a moment and thought about it, should probably have gone straight into the bin.
But I was almost finished.
And dinner was waiting.
So I picked it up and fed it through my now rather unsafe table saw.
What happened next took considerably less time than it has taken me to tell you this story.
The timber didn't behave as expected.
And neither did my hand.
Before I knew it, my finger had developed several new holes, a few broken bones and the rather unexpected opportunity to grow a new fingernail.
Oh dear.
Actually...
I may have used slightly different language at the time.
An Unexpected Lockdown Excursion
I looked down at the damage.
It wasn't pretty.
I walked inside and informed my wife that our renovation project had encountered a slight complication.
To her credit, she responded considerably more calmly than I probably deserved.
Within minutes, I was bundled into the car, children in tow, and we were heading to the emergency department.
She dropped me off, then headed off to take the boys to Grandma's before returning.
And there I was.
In emergency.
During COVID.
With a finger that looked like it had lost an argument with a piece of industrial equipment.
Which, technically, it had.
There was, however, one small silver lining.
During lockdown, leaving the house for more than an hour was something of a luxury.
I'd just found myself a completely legitimate reason to do so.
Although, in hindsight, I probably could have chosen a less painful excursion.
Surgery followed.
Then rehabilitation.
Then a considerable amount of laughter from colleagues when they heard what I'd done.
Apparently, there's something deeply entertaining about a leader who spends his working life talking about risk management, sound judgement and decision-making...
...only to lose an argument with a table saw in his backyard.
Fair enough, really.
Thankfully, the surgery went well.
The finger healed.
The nail grew back.
And apart from a scar and a story that gets brought up from time to time, everything works pretty much as it should.
But the experience left me with a few lessons that have stayed with me.
Lesson One: Safety Isn't an Inconvenience
Looking back, the most obvious mistake wasn't buying the wrong saw.
It was deliberately removing something designed to protect me.
Why?
Because I thought it was slowing me down.
And the uncomfortable truth is that we sometimes do exactly the same thing in leadership.
We become so focused on getting results that we start seeing safeguards as obstacles.
We skip the conversation.
Rush the decision.
Ignore the warning signs.
Assume people will be fine.
Convince ourselves that the process is getting in the way of productivity.
But some things are there for a reason.
Good leaders don't simply ask how to make people more productive.
They ask whether they've created an environment where people can perform safely, confidently and sustainably.
Where they can speak up.
Challenge decisions.
Admit mistakes.
And raise concerns without fearing the consequences.
Because removing the things that protect people might make us faster for a little while.
But the eventual cost can be far greater than the time we thought we were saving.
Lesson Two: Know When Enough Is Enough
"Just one more board."
Those four words have stayed with me.
Not because they were particularly profound.
But because they represented a decision I didn't need to make.
I could have stopped.
Dinner was ready.
The work could have waited.
There was absolutely no urgency.
Except the urgency I'd created in my own mind.
How often do we do that in leadership?
Just one more email.
One more meeting.
One more task.
One more problem to solve before going home.
We convince ourselves that stopping is somehow a sign of weakness.
That productivity means squeezing every possible minute out of the day.
But sometimes the wisest thing we can do is recognise that we've done enough.
Tomorrow is another day.
The work will still be there.
And sometimes the greatest productivity decision we can make is knowing when to put the tools down.
Preferably before someone needs surgery.
Lesson Three: Scars Tell Stories
I still have a scar on my finger.
It's not particularly dramatic.
Most people probably wouldn't even notice it.
But I know it's there.
And every now and then, I look at it and remember.
The saw.
The timber.
The decision.
The consequences.
And the lesson.
I've come to believe that scars can be some of life's greatest teachers.
Not because the pain was good.
And certainly not because we should seek it out.
But because what we do with our difficult experiences matters.
Some scars are physical.
Others aren't nearly as visible.
A failed business.
A lost opportunity.
A relationship that broke down.
A decision we deeply regret.
A leadership mistake that hurt someone.
We all carry scars of one kind or another.
And while we can't always change what happened, we can choose what we do with the lessons.
One of the greatest privileges of leadership is being able to share those experiences with people who haven't yet walked the same road.
Not to frighten them.
Not to impress them with how much we've endured.
But perhaps to help them avoid some of the pain we've experienced ourselves.
I've learnt that some of the most valuable advice I've ever received hasn't come from someone's greatest success.
It's come from their willingness to show me where they got it wrong.
Sometimes our scars become someone else's warning signs.
And that's not a bad legacy to leave.
Lesson Four: Get the Right Tool for the Job
After my finger healed, I went back to the hardware store.
This time, I bought the table saw I'd wanted in the first place.
The proper one.
Bigger.
More substantial.
Better suited to the work I was doing.
And the original saw?
Well, let's just say that a piece of equipment stained with the red fluid that's supposed to remain inside the human body was no longer particularly welcome in my workshop.
It was retired from service.
Permanently.
But here's the important distinction.
The cheaper saw didn't cause my injury.
My decisions did.
I could have purchased the most expensive table saw in the world and still hurt myself if I'd ignored the safety precautions.
The right equipment matters.
But so does knowing how to use it.
And I think that's true of leadership too.
We can invest in the latest systems.
The best technology.
The most sophisticated frameworks.
The most impressive training programmes.
But none of those things replaces sound judgement.
Sometimes we need better tools.
Sometimes we need better skills.
And sometimes...
We simply need the humility to recognise that the problem isn't the equipment.
It's the person operating it.
In my case, that person was me.
The Finished Masterpiece
Now, despite all of this, the cubby house was eventually finished.
And I have to say...
It came up a treat.
The photo accompanying this story is the actual finished cubby house.
I'm still rather proud of it.
The boys had their own miniature home.
My wife had seen her vision come to life.
And I'd managed to produce something that looked remarkably close to what we'd imagined.
Admittedly, at a slightly higher personal cost than originally budgeted.
But we got there.
And the boys loved it.
For about three months.
Yep.
Three months.
After all the effort, the timber, the painting, the decorating, the surgery and the rehabilitation...
They gradually lost interest.
And some six years later, the cubby house had to be torn down.
Gone.
All that work.
All that effort.
All that blood.
Quite literally.
And now?
Nothing but memories, photographs and a scar.
There's probably another leadership lesson in there somewhere.
Something about investing enormous amounts of time and energy into things that eventually outlive their usefulness.
Or perhaps about how quickly our priorities change.
But that's a story for another day.
What Remains When the Project Is Gone?
The funny thing is, I don't really regret building the cubby house.
Despite everything.
We made some wonderful memories.
The boys had their fun.
I learnt new skills.
And I came away with lessons that have stayed with me long after the cubby house disappeared.
The older I get, the more I realise that not everything we build is meant to last forever.
Projects finish.
Roles change.
Teams move on.
Businesses evolve.
Even the things we pour our hearts into sometimes come to an end.
But the lessons?
Those can stay with us for a lifetime.
I still love a good challenge.
I still look at renovation projects and wonder how hard they could possibly be.
And my wife still has an extraordinary ability to turn a simple idea into a rather substantial project for me.
Some things never change.
But these days, I like to think I'm a little wiser.
I buy the right tools.
I leave the safety guards where they belong.
And when someone tells me dinner is ready...
Well...
Let's just say I pay a little more attention.
Because sometimes the difference between a job well done and a trip to emergency...
...is knowing when to stop at just one more board.
Reflection
Before your next big project, decision or challenge, consider:
Where am I sacrificing safety, quality or people's wellbeing in the name of speed?
What am I continuing to push through when I should recognise that enough is enough?
What scars from my own experience could help someone else avoid making the same mistakes?
Do I have the right tools, skills and judgement for the challenge I'm facing?
And perhaps most importantly, am I willing to slow down long enough to recognise the risks before they become consequences?
Because experience can be a wonderful teacher.
But it can also be an extraordinarily expensive one.
And if we're willing to share what we've learnt, perhaps someone else won't need to pay quite the same price.