Presenting: The Value of Vulnerability
At age twenty-six, two years after finishing my doctorate in organizational psychology, I was asked to
teach senior military leaders how to motivate their troops. The military was trying to transition from a
command-and-control model to a more collaborative approach, and I happened to be doing research
related to the topic. My first assignment was a four-hour class for twenty-three colonels in the U.S.
Air Force. They were former fighter pilots, having logged an average of more than 3,500 flight hours
and 300 combat hours. Their aircraft of choice: F-16s carrying rockets and precision-guided
munitions. And just as Top Gun had taught me, they had badass nicknames.
Striker was in charge of more than 53,000 officers and a $300 million operating budget. Sand
Dune was an aerospace engineer who flew combat missions in operations Desert Storm, Iraqi
Freedom, and Enduring Freedom. Boomer was running programs that cost more than $15 billion,
including unmanned aircraft that could be flown from New Mexico to Afghanistan by remote control.
The colonels were in their forties and fifties—twice my age. They had spent their careers in an
organization that rewarded seniority, and I had none. Although I had some relevant knowledge and a
doctorate, I was way out of my league, and it showed. At the end of the day, the colonels completed
course feedback forms. Two comments were particularly revealing:
Stealth: “More quality information in audience than on podium.”
Gunner: “The instructor was very knowledgeable, but not yet experienced
enough... slightly missed the needs of the audience. The material was very
academic... I gained very little from the session. I trust the instructor did
gain useful insight.”Others were gentler, but the message still came through loud and clear. Bomber said, “The
professors get younger every year,” and Stingray added, “I prefer that my professors be older than I
am or I start to believe that I am approaching middle age and we all know that is not true... don’t
we?”
I had started my presentation to the colonels with powerful communication: I talked confidently
about my credentials. This wasn’t how I usually opened in the classroom. In my role as a professor,
I’ve always felt a strong sense of responsibility to give to my students, and I tend to be more
concerned about connecting with students than establishing my authority. When I teach
undergraduates, I open my very first class with a story about my biggest failures. With the Air Force
colonels, though, I was worried about credibility, and I only had four hours—instead of my usual four
months—to establish it. Deviating from my typical vulnerable style, I adopted a dominant tone in
describing my qualifications. But the more I tried to dominate, the more the colonels resisted. I failed
to win their respect, and I felt disappointed and embarrassed.
I had another session with Air Force colonels coming up on my schedule, so I decided to try a
different opening. Instead of talking confidently about my credentials, I opened with a more
powerless, self-deprecating remark:
“I know what some of you are thinking right now:
‘What can I possibly learn from a professor who’s twelve years old?’”