Owning up to mistakes and learning from them can make a world of difference in the development of your career.
When asked about the meaning and impact of the French Revolution, Mao Tse-tung is reputed to have said, “It’s too early to tell.” He might have been right, but in 1989 no one wanted to wait. Like all big anniversaries, the bicentenary generated a lot of television programs, and it seemed like I was in charge of most of them.
I was a producer at the BBC, had made history films for years, and was a self-confessed French Revolution buff. No assignment could have pleased me better. A documentary series shot on location, a drama series featuring Alan Rickman and Simon Callow, a conversation with Simon Schama, even a comedy. And that was just the recorded shows. Also scheduled were hours of live TV covering fantastic celebrations across France. Jean-Paul Goude, Grace Jones’ collaborator, was in charge of the parade. He'd never done anything like this before. French TV was in charge of the live broadcast; they'd never done anything like it before. And, as if that weren't risk enough, I'd never done live television before.
After a few trips and meetings I went to my boss and begged for mercy. I had 10 programs to complete before Bastille Day. That was fine. But I couldn't possibly oversee the live coverage as well. Even if I had the stamina, I definitely lacked the expertise. “I can’t do this,” I said. “You need to find someone else.”
At which point, he put his arm on my shoulder, looked me in the eye and said, “Oh, Margaret, you just lack confidence. I know you can do this.” And, like a ninny, I demurred.
The live coverage was a disaster. Everyone's ignorance was on display — for hours and hours and hours. At times, there was nothing to see on the screen but black screens accompanied by a near-incomprehensible commentary describing scenes of unimaginable (and, at home, invisible) splendor. It was poor radio and terrible television for two solid, commercial-free hours. When I flew home, my boyfriend met me, and his first words were, “What a stinker.”
He was right. The whole thing had been a ghastly mistake, of a kind that a more experienced producer of live programs would have averted. I had goofed, big time, on network television in front of millions of people.
The first thing I did was admit failure. My mistake hadn't been hours of awful TV; my mistake had been in letting myself get talked into producing something for which I had no experience. No one had let that happen but me. I'd been weak and I said so.
But I didn't hide. At the time I didn't know how important that was. Because often, in the face of a public failure, that's what we all want to do — and it's especially what women want to do. We want to retreat somewhere we can lick our wounds and not have to see all those eager faces saying, “What a stinker.”
Instead, I went to all the meetings where the program was discussed. No one was as tough on it as I was. Many other producers had had similarly traumatic experiences working with French television. Live TV always was a risk. I found support and encouragement from people I'd never even met.
Could the show have wrecked my career? Possibly. If I'd gone around blaming everyone else (especially my boss), it would have. If I'd insisted the show had been great, I'd have lost all credibility. If I'd hidden away, I would have lost confidence and resilience.
The moral of the story? When you make a mistake — hopefully not quite as public — own up at once. You don't need a hair shirt, but 'fess up. Get it over with. Don't hide; talk to people about it. Try (this can be hard) to laugh about it — not because it's trivial, but because it's history. If it's over in your head, it'll be over in theirs.
I've worked with many people who can't do this. They can't acknowledge mistakes. Sometimes they can acknowledge that you were right but never that they were wrong. In denying their error, they fail to learn from it. And they isolate themselves. Usually in business, everyone knows who goofed. You don't get close to the ones who hide.
It's not the mistake, it's the recovery that matters. I think I can honestly say that, since the French Revolution, I haven't been talked into anything I seriously believed I could not do. As for my ability to work with French television again — well, it's too early to tell.