In any construction project, all of the technical experts work hard in their own areas of specialty. But without a generalist who can see the big picture, coordinate the various technical aspects, and keep everyone focused on the needs of the owner and end user, sometimes the entire project suffers. I experienced such an example recently at a new medical center and emergency care facility near my home.

I was scheduled for a medical test at the center, which had been open only a short time. I’d driven past the facility during construction and observed people gathering for a tour just before it opened. However, without a need to visit, I hadn’t actually seen the facility up close.

I pulled into the parking lot in plenty of time for my appointment and drove toward what I assumed to be the main entrance. However, as I neared it, I saw that it was marked by a stone pillar with a large, red, illuminated “EMERGENCY” sign.

Life experience says that one never takes up space associated with emergencies (or handicapped access) when not necessary. So I drove to the other end of the facility in search of the medical center entrance. All I saw was a small, unmarked door on the side of the building. I drove across the front of the building a second time and found no other entrance.

Since the emergency entrance was the only obvious public door I could find, I returned to that area and parked. All told, I had wasted ten minutes trying to find the entrance. And if people can’t figure out how to enter a building, why build it in the first place?

When I walked in, no one greeted me; the reception desk was unattended. I saw no signage indicating where to report for the test I had scheduled. Looking through a glass partition to my left, I could see a sign saying “Emergency Triage” over a glass window. Clearly that was not where I wished to be. So I waited ten minutes until someone returned to the reception desk and asked to assist me.

Upon inquiring, I learned that, yes, this was the correct entrance (there is only one). And I wasn’t the only patient to have trouble figuring that out. I was told that some individuals had used the unmarked door on the side of the building, unexpectedly entering physicians’ offices by mistake because of the unclear signage.

Apparently, the general contractor had allowed the signage contractor to design and install signage without a Three Bears test. By that I mean the process of analyzing proposed solutions and judging which one is “just right” for the intended user. (Read more about how generalists use the Three Bears test.)

The signage chosen for this facility may have been the right choice for paramedics and people needing emergency care. But it didn’t address the needs of another key group of users—patients like me, who come to the facility for tests and other appointments.

This construction project could have used someone with strong generalist skills to advocate for the end users, place a high priority on their needs, and ensure that those needs were met. One would think a “general” contractor would be able to coordinate (read “generalize”) at a high level. Good ones do!

In a recent meeting, the managers of a construction project discussed making a change requested by the property owner. The owner wanted to install a fence to protect part of the perimeter. The construction manager directed a subcontractor to execute the change, in spite of the subcontractor’s concerns that installing the fence could harm several mature trees on the site. Because the project had been contentious, with more delays than one would prefer for a project on a fast track, the senior project managers were inclined to direct the fencing subcontractor to simply do as he was told and be done with it.

But a young project manager at the table saw it differently. He recognized that in this situation, landscaping and environmental concerns should take a higher priority. He knew that the success of the overall project would be compromised if the facility opened with large, dying trees along one side of the property. Because surely when the owner saw them, he would focus on the problem, not the improvement he had requested. And he would rightly ask why his construction manager did not tell him of the risks and propose an alternative solution.

The young project manager was less seasoned than his colleagues, and perhaps he was viewed as less educated, since his degree was not in engineering. However, out of all the professionals in the room, he was the only one who “got it.” Instead of narrowing his focus to what initially seemed to be the most important issue—how to meet the owner’s desire for a fence—he was able to step back and see the bigger picture. He understood the need to address all aspects of the issue and achieve the best overall outcome. In other words, he has the skills of a generalist.

This young man consulted his confidants in the project and the industry to determine how he, as a junior professional, might help facilitate a better solution. Working through his superiors, he ultimately was able to get a recommendation from the fencing contractor outlining the risks and forcing everyone to see the forest, not just the trees (no pun intended).

This generalist approach to the problem will result in a more successful project. And throughout his career, this young person will be a leader by using generalist principles and approaches to solve problems.

In other words, project managers need to stay focused on managing the project rather than doing the project. Managers who can’t resist the urge to jump in and fix things can get “stuck in the weeds.” They spend their time and attention on tasks that should be left to other team members. Meanwhile, the project drifts off course or stalls due to lack of leadership.

Outstanding project managers in any venue—construction, IT, engineering, or everyday life—have skills beyond technical expertise. They see how all the pieces fit into the big picture. They stay focused on the ultimate goal. They have clarity about their own role as leaders.

In other words, they are generalists.

We all remember the old story of Goldilocks, who wandered into the home of three bears during a walk in the woods. On the kitchen table she found three bowls of porridge. One was too hot; one was too cold; but the third was just right, and Goldilocks ate it all. Then she walked into the living room to rest in a chair. The first chair was too big, and so was the second. The third and smallest one was just right, but as Goldilocks settled into it, the chair broke into pieces. Still tired, she wandered upstairs to the bedroom and found three beds. She tested them all as she had the porridge and chairs, finding the third bed just right.

This story illustrates a key analytical process that supports generalism: using all of one’s senses to determine which process, outcome, product, or individual seems to be the best fit. It’s about “wearing” (or owning) your decisions. It’s about making the choice that best fits you because it must serve you.

Papa Bear’s porridge was fine for him. Mama Bear’s chair was best for her. But not for Goldilocks. She had to make her own decision based on her own needs and desires. She had to find which porridge suited her best, which chair was most comfortable and sturdy, and which bed provided her the best nap.

This is a crucial process for good generalist. Which suits? Which lasts? Which works best? Given all the analytical and quantitative measures, the final test should be that of the Three Bears story.

The Academy Award-winning film is based on actual events in the lives of King George VI and an Australian speech therapist, Lionel Logue. The future king (at that time known as Prince Albert, Duke of York) turns to Logue as his last hope in overcoming a severe stammer. The rest of the movie shows both the progress of the therapy and the development of the two men’s friendship over the course of several years.

It’s a compelling film on many levels. But as someone who’s interested in empowering non-specialists to work more confidently with specialists, I was particularly struck by what The King’s Speech has to say about expertise, confidence, and self-worth. Here are four truths we can learn from the movie.

Specialists are no guarantee of success

An early scene shows the Duke of York being treated by a specialist (evidently the latest in a long series of them) whose treatment includes placing marbles in the duke’s mouth. This expert no doubt had impressive credentials, but his techniques were of no help at all.

I don’t mean to imply that specialists aren’t useful. As the movie goes on to show, another specialist (Logue) not only helped the king, but changed the course of his life.

Just remember that the act of bringing in a specialist, all by itself, does not guarantee success. You need to do your part. That includes carefully choosing a competent expert, asking plenty of questions, making your desires known, and holding the specialist accountable. Otherwise, you may end up with a mouth full of marbles.

Even kings have confidence issues

The film portrays a future king who is not only justifiably terrified of speaking in public, but overwhelmed, at least momentarily, by the prospect of bearing the burdens of monarchy while global war looms on the horizon. Most of us, thankfully, don’t have such an enormous level of responsibility. But many of us lack confidence in our own knowledge and abilities.

One of my goals in writing about generalism is to help you develop that confidence. Whether you’re taking your desktop computer to be repaired or asking for an update on a multimillion-dollar construction project, don’t let yourself be intimidated. As the owner of the computer, or the manager of the construction project, you’re the “king.” Square your shoulders and, as George VI eventually did, demand the respect that is your due.

Success is measured by results

One of the crucial scenes in the movie occurs in Westminster Abbey on the eve of the coronation ceremony. The Archbishop of Canterbury, believing that Logue is not an appropriate person to treat the king’s speech impediment, has had the commoner’s background checked. The archbishop informs the king that Logue lacks proper credentials—in fact, he’s not even a doctor.

The king, who from the beginning has unwittingly been addressing his therapist as “Dr. Logue,” is quietly infuriated. After dismissing everyone else, he confronts Logue, accusing him of fraud.

Logue responds by citing his true credentials: experience. He discovered his calling by helping soldiers who returned from the Great War shell-shocked and unable to speak. Logue pressed beyond traditional muscle therapy and relaxation, empowering the soldiers to find their voices by giving them confidence that a friend was listening. His success was unprecedented.

When recruiting a specialist to help you succeed, remember that credentials do matter—but they’re not always found on a piece of paper. Proven results are more valuable than any diploma.

We all have voices

After Logue defends his qualifications, the king, unconvinced, turns his back and walks a short distance away. He bitterly describes what he envisions as the inevitable outcome of Logue’s supposed fraud: a voiceless king who will let his people down in their hour of need. Once again, the reluctant ruler reveals his inner lack of confidence.

Turning back, the king is shocked to see Logue casually perched on the coronation throne as if it were a lawn chair at a garden party. Furious at this outrageous breach of etiquette, the king sputters at Logue, ordering him to get up at once. Logue stays put. He makes light of the throne and the monarchy, goading the king into becoming more and more angry. Finally Logue asks, “Why should I waste my time listening to you?” The king bellows, without no trace of a stammer, “Because I have a right to be heard—I have a voice!”

“Yes, you do,” Logue quietly responds, rising from his seat on the throne. He assures the monarch that he will, indeed, be a good king.

King George VI literally found his voice by overcoming his stammer. The film paints a portrait of a man who also found his metaphorical voice: his confidence. Before he could rule, he had to see himself as worthy of commanding others’ respect.

We all have that same right to be heard. Don’t let specialists intimidate you, belittle your knowledge, or brush aside your needs and concerns. Find your voice—and use it to get what you want.

Society steers us toward specializing, and specialist skills are certainly in demand. But success is also highly dependent on our generalist skills.

A study released in January 2012 reinforces this point. It shows that college graduates who scored relatively high on a test that measures general skills, such as critical thinking and problem solving, were three times less likely to be unemployed than graduates who had relatively low scores.

The test in question is the Collegiate Learning Assessment (CLA), which presents students with realistic problems. To solve them, students must analyze complex materials and evaluate whether they are relevant and credible. According to the test’s developer, the Council for Aid to Education, student’s responses reveal “their abilities to think critically, reason analytically, solve problems and communicate clearly and cogently.”

The study–—published by the Social Science Research Council under the title “Documenting Uncertain Times”—followed up with recent college graduates who had taken the CLA as seniors. Among those whose CLA scores were in the highest one-fifth of the group, a little over 3 percent were unemployed, compared to 9.6 percent of those whose scores were in the bottom one-fifth.

Richard Arum, the study’s lead author, was quoted in a USA Today article as saying, “Students would do well to appreciate the extent to which their development of general skills, not just majors and institution attended, is related to successful adult transitions.”

The study doesn’t dispute the value of being a specialist. But it suggests that in today’s highly competitive job market, developing strong skills in generalism can give you an edge.

Just as important, I learned how to command respect from specialists. As a woman and a non-specialist, I often faced questions like “What’s your engineering degree in?” (I don’t have one) or skeptical glances that seemed to say “What do you know about this, little girl?” But in many cases, I was the one who prevented mistakes and got the project back on track by asking the common-sense questions that the “experts” had missed.

Through these and other experiences, I gradually developed the skills and strategies that I’m sharing on this website. For years I didn’t know how to explain what I do for a living, but now I have a name for it—I’m a generalist.

At one point, the architect asked me about the wall separating the great room from the bedroom wing. Did I want 5/8-inch or 3/4-inch drywall installed, and did I want it screwed or nailed? My stomach lurched—a familiar sign that I had no idea what he was talking about.

After that momentary gut reaction, I replied that I simply wanted a wall like the one next to me in his office, one that I could paint or wallpaper and that would separate the great room from the bedroom area. He snorted at me, and we went on from there.

I don’t really remember what wall specification we eventually decided on. But I do know that the architect was not as smart as he thought he was. When the house was complete and I moved in, I discovered that the noise from the large, high-ceilinged great room echoed into the bedroom area. This terrific entertainment space was unusable if someone was trying to sleep at the same time.

It became obvious even to me—the dummy homeowner—that the architect had not asked the right questions. The pertinent question in that situation should have been, “Do you want this wall to be soundproof?” The architect, while well trained and having a good reputation, simply didn’t design a space that was usable for its purpose.

This incident taught me valuable lessons about working with specialists. The next time you’re in a similar situation—faced with an expert who overwhelms you with decisions about details—remember these principles:

• Take ownership. Anytime you call in an expert, remember that he or she doesn’t “own” the situation or problem—you do.
• The owner’s needs come first. Experts have specialized knowledge, but that doesn’t make them superior. The owner’s needs—your needs—are always of prime importance.
• For the owner, deliverables are more important than details. What mattered for me was not the specifications of how the wall was built, but the characteristics of the finished product. If the specialist starts with details, steer the conversation toward the describing the desired results.
• Don’t let the specialist drive your expectations. Experts may not have your full interests in mind. After all, they’re only human and, like all of us, operate from their own frame of reference. Only you can determine which considerations—price, sturdiness, durability, soundproofing—are most important to you.
• Hold the specialist accountable for all of your needs. Let the expert know what you want and what your priorities are. Make it clear that you expect the finished product to meet those needs.
• Ask questions. Once you’ve explained your needs, ask the expert for help in understanding which materials and methods will best meet them.

After my experience with that architect, I’ll never build another house that doesn’t include proper sound insulation where needed. More important, I’ll never again believe that an “expert” knows more about my needs than I do.