How I used one question and a 10 letter word to save an organisation thousands of pounds.
‘Noticing’ as an adaptive advantage in the age of AI and automation.
It had been 90 minutes and the meeting was no closer to creating a resolution. I could tell people were getting frustrated but their desire to remain ‘professional’ meant no-one was saying anything directly. Sentences were becoming clipped, questions were sharper, responses teetering on the edge of defensive. People were also beginning to get fidgety: tapping feet, pens, fingers on tables.
I could also tell people were bewildered about why more progress wasn’t being made — the conversation had been solid for well over an hour, so why were they still talking about this? Their confusion was becoming more evident in the questions they asked and the responses they gave.
Eventually, someone said that they needed to go — the best course of action, they suggested, was to schedule another meeting for another discussion on another day. I saw nods of agreement and I could tell the meeting was going to draw to a close.
I’d been there as an observer and normally when I’m in ‘observer mode’ my role is to listen in, watch and analyse — not just for content, but for process too. And people often want recommendations after, rather during interactions.
So, I don’t often say anything in these moments, because seeing what happens when people have forgotten I’m there is usually where the best insights come from. But I could see where this was going and I knew how much it was costing, not just in time, effort and energy, but financially too. The collective salary of the people in that room ran into the hundreds of thousands: this 90 minute meeting was costing the company a fortune and the only thing that had been decided was that they needed to discuss the issue further.
This isn’t always a problem, of course. Discussion is an important function — one which can be easy to hurry past in a desire to act. But on this occasion I knew it was a problem. And I had a theory about what was causing it. And - if I was right - I knew that it would be repeated in the next discussion. And probably the one after that, too.
Because my theory was that the conversation people thought they were having was not the one that they were actually having, but if anyone realised it, no-one was saying anything.
So, on this occasion, I decided to intervene. I politely interjected and asked if I could pose one question before the meeting was concluded. As I’d been invited there to understand the project and why things weren’t quite going to plan, my request was granted.
Everyone waited to hear what I was going to ask and to whom.
I asked one question to two people — the two people with the most power in the room and in the project. As an outsider to the project and the organisation, I can often do that more easily than those who are inside it.
The six words I asked were like the first domino in a run. Once I’d knocked it over, others tumbled too.
My question was straightforward: what do you mean by ‘engagement’?
One executive looked at me like it was obvious, and responded, “we ask people what they want and then we decide whether and how we’re going to give it to them”. The other looked taken aback. “Oh!”, he said. “To me, engagement is deciding what we are going to do and then sharing it with people to get their views”. People began to get animated again, but this time in a positive way. The next meeting was scheduled but I was confident that the conversation would be different.
My theory had been correct: 1 word, 2 meanings, 1 shared assumption. Who knew that a 10 letter word could cost so much money?
What would AI have made of this?
This discussion happened before AI meeting transcription became the norm, but I’m intrigued about what it would have noted down. I suspect that it wouldn’t have recorded the increasingly fraught energy of the meeting, the frustration or confusion of meeting participants, and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have been able to identify the discrepancy in the subtle ways that people were using the word ‘engagement’.
I could be wrong, of course, but even if it had been able to do those things, I don’t think it would have been able to ‘read the room’, decide whether or not to interject, and then ask a question that positively disrupted the conversation — not just this time, but for subsequent conversations too.
Because artificial intelligence is incredible at lots of things — and I think AI meeting transcription services are incredibly valuable — but I don’t think it can fully replace the capacity to notice and interpret social life in all its glorious and nuanced detail (at least not yet!)
When we think about in-person interactions, the skill of noticing becomes even more vital.
It’s not just machines, humans miss things too.
“What are you doing now?”, I ask. That was question 1. I have so many more: ‘Why are you doing it? What is it for? What happens after? What needs to have happened before this?’. This is the stage of my work where I feel a bit like a curious pre-schooler. 
“I’m taking these forms to complete”, she tells me, shuffling a large stack of paper into a neater pile.
“How long will it take you?”
She takes a moment, looking towards the ceiling as if reading a calculator overhead. “Probably about 2-3 hours for these”.
We talk more as I accompany her along corridors, moving further away from where the action of her normal working day is. Me asking questions, her answering them. We bump into 3 members of staff en route to where we’re going. Everyone wants something from her; all require a small amount of her time. The paperwork wins. But she doesn’t want it to and as we continue walking she shares her frustrations about having to prioritise paperwork over people.
We arrive at a locked room. It’s tucked away around a corner of a corridor and there barely looks like there’s enough space for it be a room, at all. It’s also so hidden that it wouldn’t have surprised me if she’d opened the door to the cleaning cupboard, rather than an office. Unlocking the door she tells me, “This is why I have to use my colleague’s office. She’s not in today, so I use her hidden office to hide from staff so I can get these done! Otherwise people come and ask me things every 5 minutes”, she laughs but it’s not in a way that indicates she actually finds it funny.
…
I’m here doing observational work to understand how things operate on a day-to-day basis and then to find opportunities to build on what’s working, as well as areas for improvement.
I always think of this kind of work as a bit like doing a jigsaw. Until I’ve put the puzzle pieces together, it’s not always possible to know which details I’m gathering are describing normal every day work, and which are the ones that will stand out as pivot points for organisational learning. But when I ask my next question, her answer tells me immediately that I’ve found a ‘corner piece’. I also realise that the jigsaw I’m putting together won’t match the picture on the front of the box.
…
“Who uses these forms?”, I inquire. She drops the thick stack of paper down in front of her, and the deadened thud they make as they land on the desk seems like the perfect auditory expression of the task at hand.
She gives a wry laugh, an amused acceptance of a ludicrous situation. “Oh, no one uses them!”, she replies. I wait. I sense her irritation and I pause my response — it’s an invitation to tell me more, to share her frustration. She does.
“A couple of months ago, management realised that these forms weren’t being completed all the time. So now they set them as a target for team leaders and we are measured against them — if we don’t do them, the team scorecard looks bad”.
“But no one really uses them?”, I check again.
“No, because we already have this information in another form that we complete earlier in the process, and that one’s actually useful.”
I can see that she needs to get on, that she has a lot to do. So I thank her for her time and wish her luck with getting through the large stack of paperwork in the time she has available.
I return to the hustle and bustle of activity and I hear her name mentioned on repeat… ‘where is she?’, ‘I need her for this!’, ‘she’s the only one who can do that’, ‘do you think she’d have time to talk to me about that thing I need help with?’. But she’s not here to help with any of those things.
Because every week senior members of the team spend hours each week hiding from their staff members in the hope of having enough to time to complete paperwork that no-one looks at, except to say whether it’s been done or not.
It’s not just in this team either. It’s in every team. And as I write up my notes, I wonder if leadership realise the impact of their intervention: whether anyone knows the cost of improved form-completion metrics? Sees the impact of mandating hours of paperwork completion by highly skilled and experienced members of staff? Or knows that for several senior team leaders, for several hours each week, their job is getting in the way of their work.
What we think is happening is not always what’s really going on (and that’s not always a bad thing).
My name is Dr Natasha Hardicre and I have a Masters in Social Research and a PhD in Sociology from the University of Leeds. I am a ‘noticer’ and analyser of social life. My academic research focused on understanding the shared narratives that organise how people experience themselves and others — and the impact it has on what they think, how they feel, and what they do. I’ve also spent over a decade in various roles utilising many different approaches to understanding what’s going in complex organisations and systems, then working out how to make improvements based on those insights. I have published in several national and international peer-reviewed journals and books, most recently on a model for setting the conditions for inclusive cultures.
I provide independent advisory and development services to individuals, businesses and organisations. All of these are based on four key capabilities:
Noticing
Inquiring
Contextual understanding
Reframing
I do this to help people see the familiar in new ways.
My work focuses on transformative change that starts with the ‘adjacent possible’ — that’s because I want people, teams, companies and organisations to be able to learn from who that already are, what they’re already doing, and using the capacities and capabilities they already have to deliver change as quickly and as cost-effectively as possible and in ways that are aligned with their values and vision. I do that by finding the hidden challenges and latent potential in every day work.
There are two main ways that businesses and organisations can work with me:
Adaptive Partnerships:
These focus on working with companies on an ongoing basis to:
Understand challenges,
Find hidden problems,
Identify unintended consequences,
Support strategic decision making,
Facilitate effective communication,
Help people develop approaches and solutions that fit.
(This is the page you’re reading now)
Adaptive Perspectives:
These are discrete pieces of work delivered through keynotes, workshops, and training.
More information about that work can be found here.
Working with individuals
I also work with individuals directly through ‘whole-of-life’ coaching. This is an annual coaching programme which uses narrative inquiry, alongside evidence-informed approaches to help people achieve ambitious change, whilst also feeling like the rest of their life matters and is being attended to, too. It is designed to help people gain greater insight into their patterns of perception and feeling, actions and ambitions, interaction and communication, relationships and connections across all areas of their life. It uses an experimental design based approach to help people work on their ambitions and areas of challenge in every context of life, and in in ways that work with, rather than against their existing capacities, capabilities and preferences. More information about that can be found here.
Stories for Flourishing in Challenging Times
Using the power of narrative inquiry and research to help businesses and organisations work adaptively and change effectively.
It’s 4.36pm and I’m sat in the car park outside a small complex of flats that were built a few decades ago. The surface of the roads and pavements show its age in a way nothing else does: cracks and broken slabs dominate; dandelions and daisies opportunistically sprout through the gaps regardless. I look out of the car window, considering how unfortunate it is that the walkways are so damaged given every resident of these flats is an older person, living here because they need additional help to live independently. I feel disappointed that the very thing designed to help people live safely could contribute to their injury; I lament a little at how hard it is to build and maintain things that truly facilitate flourishing.
I’m not here to survey the road though. I’m here to visit Gerald. In fact it’s the last time I’m going to see Gerald and I’m already feeling a little sad about it.
At precisely 4.44pm, I make my way out of the car to his front door and check my watch. I wait until 4.45pm to press the bell; he likes me to be on time. The bell makes a dramatic sound but it’s one I haven’t heard before. Gerald’s house is full of sounds, but they all seem to change constantly. His door bell plays a different sound on rotation (hence my unfamiliarity this time), his clock plays a different bird song on the hour every hour, and his mobile phone sounds like a warning siren, because it’s set to max volume on account of the fact that he never knows where it is because it’s under piles and piles of what Gerald calls his ‘stuff’.
I can hear Gerald shuffling to the door and he’s already talking to me, even though I can barely hear him over the sound of the door bell, which still seems to be ringing. Gerald pulls the door open and beams at me, instructing me to come in and sit down, moving piles of paper from the sofa cushions, which are adorned in newspapers and advertising brochures — the kind that sell novelty door bells and clocks that make bird noises.
I spend over an hour with Gerald, talking about his health, his life, his family and his past. He’s just started telling me another story — I’ve already heard it, but even if I hadn’t, it’s time for me to go. He knows it too… that’s why he started telling it. I interrupt as kindly as I can and ready myself to say “goodbye” — I’m emotional at the best of times, but I know this goodbye is going to be especially hard.
Gerald looks down at his hands. They’re balled into fists as if they’re trying not to lose something precious. In barely a whisper, Gerald says, “Is that it then? Do you have to stop coming now?”. “Yes”, I say. “This was the last session”.
I remind him that I’ll be in touch again to let him see the write up of the research study he’s taken part in and I thank him again for being so generous with his time as a study participant. Gerald looks up, loosening his grip a little and I see that he’s been holding onto a handkerchief. Tears start streaming down his face and I realise that he’d prepared himself for this goodbye too — readied his handkerchief to wipe tears that he knew were going to come. “You don’t need to thank me,” he mumbles. “I need to thank you. I never thought I’d ever get to tell my stories to anyone again. I didn’t think anyone would want to listen to me.” He pats me on the shoulder and I know it’s his equivalent of a hug. “Thank you for making an old man very happy.”
I smile, swallow what feels like an enormous lump in my throat and fight back tears — I’m trying to stay professional. But I’m such softy, it’s taking every ounce of effort; I do one of those strange inhales where you feel you like you’re being breathed rather than breathing. “You’re most welcome,” I say, and it comes out as more of a squeak. I tell Gerald to take care of himself and then I take a long, deep exhale as I let myself out like I have done every other time I’ve visited. The birds have just started tweeting from the clock and it’s definitely time for me to go home.
And as I close the door I realise that as bittersweet as it is, I feel so privileged to have been able to hear Gerald’s stories, to hear anyone’s stories — to be given the opportunity to find the wisdom in a situation, an experience, a life. That as a researcher I get to translate those stories into something which can be used to design change: change that creates better processes, more effective systems and services, improved experiences. I recall the times I’ve wondered if I’m doing enough; worried about whether qualitative research can ever make the difference that it needs to in such complex and challenged systems as the ones we live and work in.
But as I walk back to the car, over cracked and broken pavement slabs, which I know no story will ever be able to mend directly, I realise that the power is not just in what participants do in their contributions to our studies, it’s never only in the findings that I produce from them, or the recommendations for change that come from them. The power is also in the potency of the process. In the carefully crafted questions and the intentional inquiry; in the deep and analytical listening to capture every spoken and unspoken thing; and in the witnessing of someone’s experience, without judgement or verdict. So research may not be able to mend paving slabs, but:
the stories people tell because they are invited to,
the experiences someone shares because someone asked,
the tender spot that was cared for because someone listened, and
the change that can happen because someone gathered them carefully
They are like the daisies that I step over carefully as I make my way back to my car. They exist despite the challenges and broken systems, they’re evidence of hope breaking through the cracks.
Like the flowers, stories are the evidence of life flourishing anyway.
What’s this got to do with organisational effectiveness or business delivery?
Stories are everywhere — we don’t always call them that, though.
Sometimes we call them market research; job interviews or exit interviews; development sessions; a one-to-one line manager meeting; a complaint letter or feedback form; a retrospective or a project debrief; a staff survey; a wellbeing initiative; leadership coaching; or just ‘word-of-mouth’ experiences.
There are several ways to do these activities, various methods of generating data about the places we work, numerous approaches to understanding how people experience things. And there’s value in so many of them. I believe there’s something incredibly unique and powerful about doing it through inviting and sharing stories — especially in a world of automation, artificial intelligence, and increasing uncertainty due to technology.
Gerald’s experience of participating in research highlights how powerful it can be to create human connection through storytelling.
Gerald’s story, alongside many others, also formed a key part of a major National Institute of Health Research funded programme of work to improve safety and experiences of older people leaving hospital. There are so many occasions where qualitative research (aka stories) play vital roles in improving services, organisations, businesses and whole-systems.
But stories shouldn’t have to be commissioned as formal research to be able to have the powerful impact I know they can have.
The difference stories can make: the benefits of using narrative approaches.
I think we leave a lot on the table when we sideline the stories of peoples’ lives and experiences, whether that’s people inside our teams, companies and organisations, or those we interact with and serve.
Staff:
Many places invite their team members to ‘bring their whole selves to work’ but what space is made to hear peoples’ stories of joy, struggle, adventure, or ambition? Many places design these opportunities OUT in favour of productivity and efficiency, especially in meetings and gatherings.
Every member of staff tells a story about what it’s like to do their job in the place they work - how well do you listen and gather those stories? What information might you be missing by focusing on survey results and staff questionnaires? How confident are you that you’d like the story they tell?
Leaders:
Every leader has a story about what leading means to them and that story is likely to have a massive impact across the whole organisation — how much time has your organisation dedicated to understanding that story, what shaped it before and how that story might change in the future?
Every person responsible for making decisions, leading in complex situations, navigating change and uncertainty is also living those stories too — how much opportunity do they have to share their experiences in a safe space, where they don’t need to worry about how their experiences will be interpreted by those they lead and manage?
People served:
Every person who interacts with your business, organisation, or service has a story they believe about it — that might be one they’ve heard from others, an impression they’ve got from seeing and hearing about it, or their own experience. That story might determine whether they even interact with you in the first place! How confident are you in the stories people would tell?
Each experience and interaction is a story played out, which then creates an opportunity for a story to be retold to others. Do you think you’d know or like the stories your customers or service users would tell about you? What do you think you might be able to do differently and better if you meaningfully heard the stories of the people you serve?
These reasons are why I think that stories can and should remain central to all services, businesses and organisations.
And sometimes this just means taking a slightly different approach to the work that’s already being done…
You might have participated in workplace coaching - but have you ever got to tell your stories to someone who inquired about your life holistically and attentively - not just one slice of it, but all of it?
You might have offered staff development and wellbeing initiatives - but have you ever experienced or offered the power of being listened to by someone who is there to understand your experiences, thoughts and feelings in ways that helped you feel seen, understood and empowered?
You might have received negative feedback - but have you been able to experience those stories as daisies that have grown through the cracks of the challenges experienced and overcome?
You might have had communication training - but have you had the the opportunity to be a story-hearer? To experience the privilege of inviting and hearing the stories of others in ways that are connecting?
You might have invited feedback and designed complex improvement projects - but have you ever experienced change because of the stories you’ve gathered for yourself or those around you? Used them to get new insights, think about familiar things in different ways, or to design change that honours every chapter so far, whilst helping you or your organisation write your next ones?
That’s what I’ve designed my work to do.
Because I want everyone to be able to experience the amazing and very human-focused power of story-led inquiry and analysis. Not by having to become a qualitative researcher, but by applying some of the key approaches and then accessing them through individual, team and organisational development work.
Whether that’s through understanding your own story in depth in coaching and leadership development; listening to other peoples’ stories and learning from their experiences; gathering the stories of others to help understand problems and then design fitting solutions; or using narrative approaches in strategy, policy and communication development.
I’ve spent decades listening to and collecting stories. It’s a thread that’s run through my many jobs, interests and hobbies.
For example, I’ve done this as:
A Researcher, where designing ways to invite people to share their stories-with-a-purpose was literally my job!
An Organisational problem-solver, where I gathered experiences and information about what was going on from multiple perspectives, so that problems could be understood and solved.
As a Speaker, where I use stories and experiences to help people think about things in new ways.
As a facilitator and trainer - my workshops always contain an invitation for people to share their experiences and stories, especially when they’re working to create new stories through collaboration.
A Scholar - my Masters and PhD studies were both exploring how people make sense of complex emotional experiences through shared social ideas, and how that impacts how they think, feel and what they do.
As a Dance Teacher and Coach, when I am helping people work with the stories they create through their bodies and movement, together and with others.
As a Doula - where I have helped people to design a story about how they want to experience welcoming new life into the world - and then supporting them to hold the meaning of the story in ways that create the best start to their new chapter.
I don’t provide this list as any kind of CV — in fact, for years, I worried that my long list of ‘things I’ve learned, trained in, had a job as’ could make it seem like I was flaky and distractible! But here’s the interesting thing… nothing could be further from the truth. Because even though these activities and roles may look different, they all share the same through-line:
They have all focused on understanding what’s going on, what a specific situation needs, and then helping people to see what’s familiar in new ways, rethink what’s possible because of that, and then design change that fits — their vision, their context, and the people involved.
This happens in lots of different ways, but gathering and telling stories are central to the process. My approaches combine rigorous inquiry with human-centric narratives:
Understand deeply, through inquiry and cultivating the conditions for people to share their stories and experiences.
Identify the ideas and themes that are meaningful to people, teams and organisations, including what is already aligned with where they are and what they want, alongside finding the things that may need to shift as they change and grow.
Find the patterns in their stories that are shaping and organising their experiences, through seeing connections and distinctions across stories — particularly where these share a function but differ in form.
Reframe peoples’ understanding in ways that open up new possibilities because they have new ways of seeing things.
Support people, teams and organisations to design change, through providing advice and helping them to design experiments that use and apply these insights.
This is not an alternative to using and implementing AI into businesses and organisations — they can provide incredibly valuable tools. Nevertheless, I think it’s vital that we remain focused on the importance of people and the lives they lead, they experiences they have, and the impacts that businesses and organisations have on the stories of peoples’ lives.