Many years ago, I received an expensive birthday present from someone I was in a relationship with at the time.
It was a beautiful pair of white gold and diamond earrings.
They were perfectly nice. They sparkled. They were well made. They looked expensive. I thanked my partner and put them away, but if I’m honest, they weren’t something I would ever have chosen for myself. I rarely wore them.
Years later, while sorting through some old boxes after moving house, I noticed the original receipt tucked inside the packaging.
Those earrings had cost $945.
NINE-HUNDRED AND FORTY-FIVE DOLLARS!! 🤯
Now, I don’t know about you but for me, that seems completely wild. In fact, I don’t think the value of the entirety of the rest of my personal jewellery collection would even come close to adding up to that.
What surprised me even more than the price though was the timestamp at the top of the receipt.
They’d been purchased at 1:05 pm on my birthday.
For whatever reason, that little detail hit me harder than the price tag ever could. Not because there was anything inherently wrong with buying a present on the day, but because it confirmed something I’d never quite been able to articulate.
The gift wasn’t chosen because it reflected anything about who I was or what I loved.
It was chosen because the occasion had obviously been overlooked, someone needed a last-minute birthday present and they hoped that spending generously would save the day.
Looking at how much those earrings had cost all I could think about was everything else that money could have been spent on. A weekend away together. Concert tickets. A camera. Books. Experiences. So many possibilities for things that would have been more meaningful and reflected the person I actually was.
I knew though that the problem had never been the earrings because I’d have been just as happy with a pair purchased for a fraction of what they’d cost.
It was the absence of curiosity behind them.
Before too long that relationship had come to an end, but of course the breakup wasn’t about the earrings or any of the other well-meaning and generous, yet off-base gifts I’d received from my partner. It was never really about presents at all. It was about recognising that it’s difficult to build a meaningful relationship with someone who isn’t interested enough to understand what matters to you. Feeling seen is part of feeling valued.
Recently I happened upon the gift box in my wardrobe and it got me thinking about that story again and how often I see a similar dynamic at play when I work with organisations.
Managers will tell me they have someone on their team whose performance is inconsistent, whose communication is frustrating, or who just doesn’t seem to be living up to their potential. Before long they’re talking about accountability, capability or attitude.
Sometimes those things are absolutely part of the picture, but I always find myself wondering something else first.
How well do you really know them?
Not what role they perform. Not their personality type. Not the version of them that turns up in meetings.
Do you know what gives them energy? What drains it? What kind of work they naturally gravitate towards? What environments help them think clearly? What situations consistently trip them up? What support helps them do their best work?
Or have you simply assumed that because they’re employed, they should be able to work the same way everyone else does?
Too many workplaces remind me of my earrings.
They’re often willing to make significant investments in people. They’ll spend money on training, coaching, wellbeing initiatives and performance management.
What they’re less willing to invest in is curiosity.
They skip straight to solving the problem they’ve assumed exists, instead of taking the time to deeply understand the person in front of them. That’s why so many organisations fall back on generic performance conversations, productivity tools, training courses or reminders to “communicate better” and “manage your time.” Sometimes they even resort to a formal performance management process – the dreaded PIP.
And occasionally those interventions do help, but often they don’t.
Not because the employee doesn’t care or because there’s something inherently “wrong” about them, but simply because the solution doesn’t fit the person.
This is especially true when someone is neurodivergent, but it certainly isn’t limited to neurodivergence. Every person brings a different combination of strengths, motivations, experiences and ways of working. The more complex the work, the more those differences matter.
Great leaders don’t assume. They get curious.
They ask better questions before they reach conclusions. They look beyond the behaviour to understand what’s creating it. They spend time learning how each person performs at their best instead of expecting everyone to succeed under identical conditions.
That curiosity isn’t a “nice to have”- it’s one of the most practical and fundamental leadership skills there is.
Because if you’re responsible for someone’s performance, but you’re not genuinely interested in understanding who they are and how they work best, then what exactly are you trying to optimise?
People don’t consistently produce their best work because someone manages them harder.
They do it because someone cares enough to understand what brings out their best.
So perhaps the question isn’t whether someone on your team has more potential to give.
Perhaps the better question is this:
If you can’t be bothered getting to know someone, why are they on your team?