Chapter 8      

You know people by what they do, not what they say they do

I think the role of a leader is first to listen, and listen respectfully, before making a decision. The scenarios we played through, though, were challenging. They were nearly always ambiguous and often called upon our inherent sense of what was more valued — this attribute or that attribute. One challenge was particularly insightful.

The penny drops

We were given a list of values that included things like integrity, loyalty, being innovative and being hard-working. The task was to pick the value that was most important to you and then stand up and, in two minutes, convince the group that ‘your’ value was the most important. My immediate gut feeling was that if you've held a value for 30 or 40 years, a value that through role models or your own personal experience you most cherish, then I'm not going to be able to change your long-held belief in two minutes. Nor should I. I have no right to change people's values. So when my turn came I simply talked about integrity and why it was the most important of the seven listed values for me. I didn't try to convince. I didn't try to sell.

Others, though, took a completely different tack, two people taking it to the nth degree. ‘Loyalty! How can you say that integrity is a more important value than loyalty? If people are loyal to each other all else will follow. Without loyalty you can't achieve anything. You're wrong. Completely wrong …’ These individuals got really passionate and heated, and at times aggressive. They did everything they could to convince the others they were right and we were wrong.

As I watched I suddenly realised! ‘This is how they're testing for respect and integrity. Have the respect to listen and affirm other people's views, but have the integrity to simply stand up and say what you believe without tearing down other people.’

All week I had been waiting for the time they would sit each of us down and ask us those magic questions around integrity and respect that I assumed were part of the selection process. Those elusive questions that prompted me to apply for the job in the first place. Those questions that I planned to take back with me so I would know exactly how to recruit for values. In my naivety I guess I was waiting for the question, ‘So … do you have integrity and what does it look like?’

It dawned on me only late in the week that those questions are irrelevant. At best they can be misleading, at worst they can be dangerous. The only way to really answer the question is to put people in a situation where they have no choice but to act according to their core values. The observers had seen us at our most tired, most frayed, most exasperated. By the end of the week the AAD knew everything they needed to know about our integrity and resilience, how we coped with setbacks and difficult situations, how motivated and energetic, innovative and conciliatory we were, and how we coped with authority, ambiguity and stress.

Interview on a double bed

The gender issue raised its head again, and when we were at our worst. We had just returned from our overnight hike. It was 4 pm, we were dirty, sore and very, very tired. One of the selection panel members met us in the mess hall. ‘Right guys, you have 15 minutes to get clean and dressed and then we're going to conduct the formal interview.’

Whaaatt! It takes me 30 minutes just to do my hair! So we all bolted to our accommodation. Our pre-arrival reading pack had informed us that at some point in the week the AAD executive would be meeting us for dinner. I believe it's important to dress for the part so I had brought a nice outfit. I was used to travelling for work, and had packed a simple long, black skirt and blouse that didn't need to be ironed. You know, the ones you can just scrunch up and throw into an overnight case? I figured if we're going to have a formal interview I wanted to present as I would for any job interview — as professional and prepared. I quickly cleaned up, threw my clothes on, pulled back my hair in a ponytail and fronted up to the mess hall. To grumbles and whispers.

I was the only person in business wear. Several of the men were wearing clean jeans and open necked button-up shirts and the rest still looked dishevelled and were wearing outdoor gear. I could see criticism of the way I was dressed in the eyes of several people but stood firm. This is how I want to present, I thought. ‘I'm proud to be a woman and I have no qualms about looking like one.’ My name was called and as I was ushered out of the mess to the interview room I heard behind me, sotto voce, ‘There she goes, playing the gender card again’.

Gender card? It mentally threw me as I walked out of the mess. Yes, I like to look feminine and I wanted to look professional that night. I told myself: ‘I'm a woman and this is a business meeting. I am dressed the way I would dress in any other similar circumstance. I'm far better off being myself and not trying to be one of the men.’ I had learned this early in my career. I had tried all sorts of different things when I first started managing in male-dominated environments. To a large extent, I had been flying blind, feeling my way forward in an effort to define the most appropriate ‘style’. I developed a big voice, only ever wore pants, used assertive if not aggressive body language and talked about the footy. But it never felt right, and it failed every time. No, I had decided early on it was far better to just be myself. If I was to be an inspiring leader, people had to believe me and believe in me. I must be authentic. I could build the skills I was missing, but I would build them around my core self, not someone else's ideal.

The interview itself was surreal! I thought we'd go to an office but apparently there weren't any. I was led to an empty bedroom and shown a seat. Opposite me, three men and a woman sat on the edge of a double bed. It all added to the ambiguity. It was quite odd and I had to stop myself from giggling and blurting out, ‘Well, this is a modern take on the casting couch’.

The first question made me laugh inside. ‘So Rachael, tell us. Why do you want the job?’ I paused, smiled and said, ‘You know what? At this particular moment, I'm not really sure. I mean, I don't think I can quite articulate that’. Probably not the answer they were looking for.

The rest of the interview was mostly logistics: If I was successful when could I start? Did I have a preference for a particular station? Did I understand the salary structure?

It was much later in the year that I received feedback from the panel on the interview. They had noted what I was wearing. They were impressed that I presented as myself, and had made some attempt (albeit a small one) to look professional and not tried to look blokey, masculine or tough. They knew how important it is to keep your audience front of mind whenever you communicate, and that includes dressing for the situation and context. They appreciated that if I was to lead, it would be as me, not as an image of what an Antarctica expeditioner should be like. They also thought I had shown ‘brave leadership’ in addressing the issue with Paul and his disrespect, which made me happy!

Leaving boot camp on a high

One of the last things we did on boot camp was to nominate anonymously who, among our fellow boot-campers (excluding ourselves), we believed would make the best Antarctic Expedition Leader. As we were hanging out in the airport, ready to fly home, one of the guys came up to me and said, ‘Just so you know, I nominated you’. I felt great and thought that was a lovely thing to say. Unfortunately I couldn't reciprocate! Before I knew it, five others had also approached me and said the same thing. I thought, wow, if this is the consensus among my fellow boot-campers maybe the selection panel will be of the same opinion? Oh no! This is getting serious.

Then it was a matter of, gosh, I better start getting my head around this and tell my family I have applied! Up to this point no one knew I had applied for the job, only my referees. My staff, employer, parents and friends were all in the dark.

I had taken a week's annual leave to attend boot camp so none of my work colleagues would know where I was. I was simply spending a week in Tasmania. Before boot camp I still wasn't sure what the AAD was looking for in a leader. Were they looking for someone who was highly experienced in remote dangerous expeditions, someone who had a taste, appetite and history of adventure, someone well versed in Antarctic science (like the American Station Leaders), or someone like me with more generalist skills and background? So I kept it to myself. I was worried it would be more embarrassing if I told everyone that I was applying and then didn't get the job. I thought there might be a bit of, ‘Well, who does she think she is anyway!’ So the whole idea of Antarctica was firmly under my hat and I figured I would work something out if and when the time came.

I returned to my little haven overlooking the beach at Anglesea. It had been a tough but rewarding week. I slept all weekend and tried to decompress. I hadn't reflected much during the week, because we had no time, and anyway, I wanted to stay in the moment and not try to second-guess the process. The single biggest thing I realised as I reflected on the week was that I desperately wanted the job. It was no longer an intellectual exercise about values. I knew I would be heartbroken to miss the chance to live and work in Antarctica. It wasn't about the penguins or icebergs; it was about the opportunity, and my readiness:

• I believed I could do it.
• I believed it would be fun.
• I believed I had the leadership and management skills needed.
• I knew it would be an amazing leadership crucible.
• I knew I could be successful.

In a week I had moved from ambivalence to extremely high expectations!

Breaking the news

Back at work I tried to temper my enthusiasm and hopes. I thought I was in with a shot at the role, but I knew there were other well-equipped leaders in the mix.

But I had to tell Shaz, Loz and the family. As a family we had grown very settled in our ways. Ben had finished his footy career with Carlton and was now happily married to his beautiful Samone and had a great teaching job. Jane was jet-setting around as a flight attendant with Qantas and had a gorgeous boyfriend, Tim. Mum and Dad were working hard and lived to see more of their kids. The pressure was on for grandchildren. The prospect of spending so much time away in what was possibly the twilight of my child-bearing years troubled me. And it would greatly trouble Shaz. To walk away from the chance of finding a partner and potentially becoming a mum kept me awake at night. I really wanted to lead the expedition but I would be almost 37 years old by the time I returned, which was cutting it fine to meet the right fella. It felt like an ‘either/or’ choice: either I work in Antarctica for a year, or I turn down the offer, stay home and keep dating. It felt like a head versus heart decision.

Then the words I'd lived my life by crashed through my thinking: ‘I'd rather regret what I did than regret what I didn't do’. I had to have faith in myself. I had to believe I could take up this amazing opportunity and then return home and meet the man of my dreams and eventually raise a family. Maybe I could do both. It was a crucible moment.

I broke the news as gently as I could. Ben and Jane were great and Shaz put on a brave face. But I knew she was very, very worried, and I think may even have secretly hoped at that stage that I wouldn't get the role.

I requested a meeting with my CEO, Mark Stone, who was incredibly supportive. He saw this would be a fantastic way for me to fast-track my leadership development and return ready to take on an executive role at Parks Victoria. I agreed. He suggested I keep a journal. Not like a ‘dear diary’ where I simply recounted the activities of the day, but more a place to reflect on my interactions and decisions, and think deeply about issues that confronted me. Keeping a journal wasn't new to me. One of our leadership courses at Parks Victoria had recommended it and I had made a couple of half-hearted attempts. Mark reminded me that if I got the role I would be tested beyond what I thought possible. I would go to bed with my head spinning and wake up still without the answer. Mark's advice was that if I got into the habit of reflection, and journaling every day, I would learn faster, make better decisions and importantly learn more about myself.

I took Mark's advice on board, went out and bought a day-to-a-page diary to keep as a journal. My first entry illustrates I had a lot to learn about the art!

I'm ashamed to admit that I still knew next to nothing about Antarctica. I knew the obvious things like where it was, that it was cold and that there were no polar bears down there. But I was now passionate about learning all I could. I found out about Amazon from a friend, went onto the World Wide Web (forgive me, it was still new to me!) and bought every Antarctica book in the store.

The Anglesea winter nights were cold, the weekends wet and I spent each of them devouring history, background information, novels and accounts of this amazing continent. I was staggered by the bravery and tenacity of pioneers like Shackleton and Mawson and reading their stories inspired me even more.