As we now close the books on four (four!) years of dismal economics, I’m reminded of a post I wrote back in early 2009 tied to the launch of When Growth Stalls. It was a little more than a year into the recession and I called it “Uncertainty is the New Certainty”. While I would have thought it highly unlikely at the time, the post has retained its relevance nearly three years on.

Unfortunately, three years is nothing when it comes to lessons unlearned. Have a look at this excerpt from a book of essays written forty years ago that refers to a paper written fifty years ago regarding an event (the Great Depression) that happened eighty years ago:

As Alan Greenspan points out in “Stock Prices and Capital Evaluation“, the obstacle to business recovery did not consist exclusively of the specific New Deal legislation passed; more harmful still was the general atmosphere of uncertainty…Men had no way to know what law or regulation would descend on their heads at any moment; they had no way to know what sudden shifts of direction government policy might take; they had no way to plan long-range.

Sound familiar? Francesco Guerrera thinks so. In a column aptly titled “Reflections From a Year of Tumult” he says, “Hurtling between New York and Washington in a bouncy metal tube seems an apt metaphor for the year that is drawing to a close…For much of the year, investors were dazed and confused by a cacophony of news, rumors and wishful thinking…the Dow Jones Industrial Average swung 100-plus points from open to close more than 100 times.”

Guerrera doesn’t see the uncertainty abating, not only because 2012 is an election year but because of government’s “hulking shadow over capital markets” and a coming “storm of regulation” that will “unleash its full force in the next few months”. His conclusion: we have the choice between “ramping up risk in anticipation of a global recovery, or keeping the hatches battened down on fears of a prolonged downturn.”

Three years ago I think we all would have leaned toward the former. Given what’s going on in the centers of power both in the U.S. and abroad, I fear a continuation of the latter. Uncertainty, we despise thee.

I don’t often endorse books, let alone blog about them. But Les McKeown’s The Synergist is just too good not to share.

The first few chapters set the arc. They chronicle the adventures of working in teams with archetypical characters like “The Visionary (Hold on Tight, We’re Going to Mars)”, “The Operator (Yay, Let’s Build a Rocket Ship)”, “The Processor (Not So Fast. Where’s Your Requisition Slip?)”, and the inevitable result, “Gridlock”. If you’ve every worked in a team environment, you know where this is going. I found myself chuckling throughout the book as I reflected on my own experiences (and crimes against productivity). It was either laugh or cry.

Enter the Synergist, a champion of maturity and progress whose management style I desperately hoped would reflect my own. Alas, I have some work to do. I won’t spoil the punch line; let’s just say every functioning team needs at least one Synergist.

In business we place a premium on intelligence, but high IQ simply isn’t enough in–and in fact can work against–struggling companies when smart, accomplished members of the management team lock horns. The higher the IQs involved, the worse things can get. A considerable amount of emotional intelligence is required to deal with complex conflicts that rear their heads when things go south.

McKeown has done a valuable service exposing why groups are unproductive (or worse) and empowering those of us who wish to head off disastrous outcomes. It’s not that the “how to” is difficult; it’s the “want to” that’s often lacking. That’s where the Synergist begins, and McKeown unlocks the (surprisingly simple) keys to what comes next.

I’m hoping in the coming year that I can enhance my Synergist skills to help the teams with which I work become more productive. But I’m not stopping there—I’m going to get a copy of The Synergist for every member of my staff. I recommend you pick one up, too.

The longer I’m in the business world the more I treasure the rare and refreshing virtue of humility.

We’re all imperfect people, and marketing is an imperfect business where subjective decisions rule the day—unlike science, engineering and even accounting, there are no tenets of physics, mathematics or even generally accepted accounting principles that can definitively determine whether something is right or wrong, true or false, or will or will not work. It’s funny how we all believe that we know what “great” advertising is, yet all it takes is a night in front of the television, a short drive through the billboard jungle or an hour navigating the web to admit that very little great (read: creative and effective) work is actually borne from all of our efforts.

Despite that, certitude bordering on arrogance often rears its ugly head, and it can come from either side of the client-agency relationship. Whether it arises from fear, insecurity or self-deception, clients that lack humility become reflexive and dictatorial; agencies that lack humility get fired. In either case, everyone loses.

That’s not to say that confidence isn’t vital. We have to genuinely believe in what we’re doing in order not to lose our souls. But there’s a clear line of demarcation between confidence and arrogance, and that distinction, I believe, is humility. It’s the ability—a healthy tendency, in fact—to say “I don’t know” or “I’m not sure”.  It’s a risky thing to admit, at least in the short term, because it complicates our lives.  But as with many things, there’s a dichotomy to humility. Admitting we don’t know it all is the surest route to improvement, while believing in our own brilliance mires us in the status quo.

Perhaps one reason great work is the exception is that decisions get made from positions of power, and power tends to breed arrogance. It’s the rare corporate leader, marketing manager, creative director or account supervisor who has the confidence to be humble. But when a business relationship is marked by mutual humility, when both parties are willing to say “I don’t know” or “I’m not sure”, there’s an incredible dynamic at play: People who share the same goals and a common humility lock arms to defeat the enemy of uncertainty and together find a path to success.

Over the course of nearly thirty years in business, I’ve experienced both kinds of relationships. Those marked by humility tend to be long-lasting, creative, rewarding and satisfying. Those marked by arrogance tend to be “nasty, brutish and short.”  It would be nice to know which kind I’m getting into before I do, but that’s not always possible. What is possible is to ensure that those with whom I do business never wonder what they’re getting from me. I’m as far from that as the next guy, but it’s one of the few things I’m increasingly convinced is worth pursuing.