This article is adapted from Ted's Smart Thinking podcast Episode 392: Be Coachable.
How coachable are you? Be honest. How open are you to the tips and tricks that could make you better at work, at home, and in life? And how hard is it sometimes to coach the people around you?
I haven’t always been good at this. Not even close. And I’m guessing you haven’t either.
Some people make it tough to talk about improvement. They put up walls because they don’t like your style, your politics, or, let’s be honest, you. Other people can’t get enough feedback, and that can be a little much, too. So where’s the sweet spot? It boils down to one simple statement:
Coachable people are hungry for personal improvement.
The key word is hungry. They have an unsatisfiable desire to be better, for themselves and for others. They thrive on tips and tricks. And they can take a compliment and take a note, quickly and equally.
Watch any sport and you’ll see players and coaches who can scream at each other one minute and love each other the next. That’s a dual relationship. The player understands their role, the coach understands theirs, and they both work toward a common goal: getting better.
All of it is driven by choices. The coach chooses to coach. The player chooses to be coached. Great coaches never quit on people. They’re resilient like the buffalo. And great coachables are risk takers who choose the advice and support of others, knowing it will make them better. Here’s the deal: every one of us lives in both roles, every single day.
If I could outlaw one phrase, it would be this one: “I’d like to offer you some constructive criticism.”
What the heck is that? The term cancels itself out. Criticism means disapproval and fault finding. Nobody likes it. So why lead with it? Can’t we just leave it at constructive?
I’d much rather operate in a constructive, strengths based world. Being coachable means being hungry for helpful ways to use your strengths so you can be better.
Okay, you know I’ve got to tell you a story.
For the past two months, I’ve been having the time of my life on weekends working on my son’s new house. I worked on a remodeling crew in college, so when he bought a hundred year old house with “good bones,” I was proud. When I saw it needed literally everything, I got excited.
Most weekends, I had my AirPods in with noise canceling on, sanding floors, redoing electrical, and listening to audiobooks, or taking coaching calls. (I haven’t listened to a book on tape since the eighties in my Ford Escort.)
One call sparked this whole post. I was up on a ladder installing a light fixture when I asked, “What’s the most important thing you want to talk about?” I wasn’t being rude. I just wanted to get to it before I got electrocuted.
This leader was struggling with someone she had to evaluate. Every conversation was hard. He gave her the thousand mile stare. He nodded along, then slowly got agitated. Halfway through, he’d ask how much longer this would take. He defended every behavior, questioned her abilities, and when she asked for his ideas, he’d just say, “I don’t know.”
Before I offered anything, I asked her what she needed from me: coaching, collegial empathy, or just someone to listen. She said, “I didn’t call you to vent. That’s what my husband’s for. I need ideas, Ted, and I need them now.”
So we picked one behavior. When he says “I don’t know,” what do you do? She said she moves on quickly. Perfect. Let’s change that one, because the only way to change someone else’s behavior is to first change your own.
My suggestion: next time he says “I don’t know,” pause and say, “I’m going to give you five minutes to think about this. I’ll be right back.” Then step out, grab some water, offer him one, too, and come back in six minutes. Stop letting him off the hook.
Her response? “That’ll never work.”
Okay. We tried another technique. “That’ll never work either.” After about 30 minutes of this awkward ping pong, and me installing another light without getting electrocuted, I stopped on the ladder. I looked out the window at the squirrels feasting on black walnuts in the yard, and I asked her, “Are you coachable?”
She said, “I already told you he’s not coachable.”
I said, “I wasn’t talking about him. I was talking about you.”
Dead silence. I thought she’d hung up. Then she said, “I didn’t even realize I was doing this.” We reran the tape, she picked which ideas she was willing to try, and we ended with a good chuckle about the irony of calling to get coached and refusing to hear it. Oh, and I installed five lights during that call.
Coachability is a hunger to get better. It is not a desire to be right. The most coachable people recognize their wrongs, want to make them right, and admit when they don’t know how.
After that call, I grabbed the piece of cardboard holding my paint can and started writing. I made these four groups up from experience, but naming behaviors helps us claim them and tame them.
I jotted this list while sealing maple floors. A quick note before we start: sometimes these behaviors aren’t just their issue. Sometimes they’re ours.
Nobody has all of these, thank goodness. But many of us, me included, slip into a few when feedback comes our way.
Now for the good stuff. If you see yourself in about four of these, you’re coachable. Only one? We’ve got some work to do.
Is that you? I’m probably six of them. The rest, I’m still working on. And honestly, recognizing that is part of what makes us coachable.
The brain constantly seeks structure and status: What are the rules here, and what’s my role? Predictability creates safety. So ask yourself:
Let me take you back to 1992. I was 20 years old, with an ego that was pretty fragile. After a presentation in my educational psychology class, my professor called me into her office. She spent a few minutes sharing what went well. All positive. And what did I do? I launched into a long narrative about everything I could have done better.
She stood up, firmly closed the door, and said, “I want you to listen to me carefully, and I do not want you to respond.” Then, like an athletic coach, she gave me four directives:
Then she opened the door and said, “Now go and have a good day.” I still think about that moment all the time. She saw something in a vulnerable college kid and spoke truth into it.
When we’re coached, we need to remember the person doing the coaching. Remember the courage it takes. The kindness in their candor. The worry they likely carried before stepping into our space. Coachable people do three things consistently: they show gratitude for the risk the coach took, they implement the ideas, and they share the impact back so the coach knows it mattered.
And if you rarely get coached, ask yourself why. Are you safe to talk to? Are you willing to be vulnerable? Are you hungry to be better?
We are all buffalo looking for a way through the storm. So be the buffalo that’s coachable. Recognize there’s more than one way through, and then be a great coach for the rest of the herd.
Because if we’re not coachable, we’re in a coma of our own making, sleeping through a world full of people who want us to be our best. Turn, face the storm, go to it, and be coached through it.