The Owl and the Pigeon
The Importance of Perspective
by Joseph Slattery
In my Ten Principles for Data-Driven Success, the number one pole position belongs to a very non-quantifiable idea: perspective.
My American Heritage Dictionary (5th edition) defines perspective, in this context, as “An understanding of how aspects of a subject relate to each other and to the whole."
Lest that be too abstract for some of my data-driven readers, I’ll shift to an analogy conjured up from nature’s wild kingdom. The scene features two of our feathered friends: the proletariat pigeon and the regal owl. The owl, as every schoolchild knows, is blessed with extraordinary vision, a job requirement for a nocturnal bird of prey. Its large eyes are narrow-set on a flat face, in sentinel position, enabling ultra HD vision through a field of about 70 degrees. That leave 290 degrees of safety for critters that fear the owl.
The pigeon has a streamlined, tapered face with eyes angled outward. Its best, forward looking binocular vision covers only about 30 degrees, and is as pixelated as a Y2K-era digital camera compared to owl’s military-grade optics. What the pigeon has going for it is the ultimate wide-screen monitor -- a whopping 330 degrees. A nice, performance-enhancing feature for those in a perpetual state of high alert.
In business, there are owls and there are pigeons, but in proportions opposite the aviary world. Big, complex organizations need lots of owls. Owls who are specialized, experts who understand complex systems and functions. This focused attention comes with a trade-off. Some can peer deep and others can peer wide, but it takes extraordinary talent or effort to do both. CEO s, of course, must be pigeons.
My first job at Holland America Line, back in the early ‘90’s, was Product Manager for Caribbean cruises. The Caribbean trade contributed about 20% of the company’s revenue. For me, it was 100%. I was hired as an owl. All of the product managers were owls. At the weekly commercial meetings, we’d take turns presenting to senior management. For most of the meeting any one of us was out of the spotlight. Those waiting to present crammed in their figures and notes. Afterward, when the baton was passed, the temptation to daydream and check emails was hard to resist.
That’s when I learned to be a pigeon. Some people, like me, are natural pigeons, but the opportunity is open to all. What it takes is curiosity (Principle No. 2) and effort. For any global cruise operator, each product (destination) has its own quirks. The learning curve can be surprisingly steep. At HAL, the crown jewel was, and still is, Alaska. Compared to the Caribbean, the product is incredibly complicated -- a Byzantine network of interlocking cruise and land operations. The reporting was voluminous, page after micro-type page of numbers, codes and acronyms. I was at one point convinced that those who really understood this stuff belonged a secret society. At these meetings, outsiders treated the Alaska “deck,” – the weekly, 200-page compendium of data -- as if it were radioactive.
Not always but more than most, I’d follow the Alaska discussions. I tried to make sense of the data. Outside the meetings I’d quiz my Alaska colleagues. I’d study the deck in my free time. All that effort was of absolutely no practical value until one day, less than 2 years in, the position of Planning Director became available. Planning involved all products, but supporting Alaska was about 60% of the job. The Caribbean guy was prepared.
Often, especially in silo-ed organizations, whole departments act like owls. In the commercial sphere, the marketing, revenue management and sales teams typically spend countless hours together, but how effectively can the senior leaders of each department, let alone the rank and file, stand up in a pinch and give a concise explanation of another departments functions, priorities, and challenges?
Later in my career, in those same commercial meetings, I got into the habit of glancing around the room to see who was tuned in. Who was listening, questioning, and collaborating -- even though the discussion was peripheral to them — while others tuned out, checking their phones or working on their laptops. Over the long haul, I found a very strong correlation between the latter behavior and the tendency to view data, challenges and opportunities through a narrow, owl-like lens, making ill-informed conclusions and short-sighted decisions from one’s territorial perch.
I love to mentor young people, especially in the context of data and analytics. Some very smart folks with fresh MBA s or data science degrees come in, and with their acronyms and their Greek-symboled algorithms start making statistical mincemeat out of old-school Excel tinkerers like me. But all too often they discover that their new Porsche won’t go as fast as it did in the classroom. They need perspective, the product of curiosity, effort, and time.