Overlooking Intent

 I remembered the plastic bag incident today. I don't know what made me think of it--is there something about sleep deprivation that brings to mind events from three decades in the past? Perhaps it was the sight of random objects trailing up our staircase that brought me back.

I must have been about seven years old at the time. My grandmother had tripped on the stairs while watching my siblings and me. I don't remember the fall itself; what I do remember was that she had slipped on a plastic bag that had been left halfway up. My parents told me that I had done it intentionally; that I was a terrible, thoughtless person; that I must have been trying to hurt my caretaker. No one cared that I couldn't even remember handling a plastic bag that day, let alone leaving it in the middle of the staircase. Was I forgetful enough to have done it? Probably, but that made me careless, not evil. Yet nobody cared.

Thinking about it now, this may be why I bristle when I come across management articles and leadership training sessions that tout the worthlessness of intent. Results matter, they say. Intent doesn't get things done. Intent doesn't fix outcomes. We don't care about intent.

From one perspective, I can understand: regardless of intent, the outcome is one that you'll have to live with. My grandmother slipped and fell, whether I meant to trip her up or not. Yet that false accusation, that feeling that my own family thought I was a monster--that stayed with me, evidently for thirty years. It has colored my relationship with my parents, one where I am constantly on the defensive. I have caught myself lashing out at the slightest whiff of criticism, because regardless of how they respond, I still feel like I'm unheard.

During the ice storm, my husband turned on the stove to heat the house. Thankfully, I smelled the gas, and the carbon monoxide detector went off. One could argue that the end result was what mattered: we could have gotten carbon monoxide poisoning and died. Even so, I would say that there is a big difference between a mistake and attempted homicide. One is cause for a discussion; the other would be cause for a restraining order.

This pervasive feeling of being maligned has affected how I parent. People have given me strange looks when I verbally validate my son's feelings. When he spills water, my next course of action is based upon how it occurred. An accident means I will refill his cup. Deliberately dumping it out with a grin on his face? The cup goes bye-bye. In both instances, he is expected to help wipe it up (which means a cursory swipe with a towel) but he hardly needs an added penalty for poor coordination.

Intent matters, not just the outcome. Recognizing the worth of the one does not negate the value of the other. What it does is show that you can appreciate individuals for who they are--their thoughts, dreams, ideas, values--rather than their level of robotic perfection. Mistakes will happen, and people need to be given the space to learn from them. Otherwise, you create fear to try anything new because it may go wrong.

Intent alone will not complete a task. Without intent, however, you'll never get started in the first place.