When New People Can't Figure Out How to Fit In

You remember your first few weeks on this team.

Trying to figure out the unspoken rules. When it was okay to speak up in meetings. How much pushback was normal. What "urgent" actually meant here. Whether people really wanted your input or were just being polite.

You probably made a few mistakes. Jumped in too quickly during one conversation. Stayed too quiet during another. Misread the room's energy and either over-contributed or under-contributed.

You were learning the frequency.

Now you watch new people go through the same thing.

You see them testing boundaries. Speaking up hesitantly, then watching everyone's faces to gauge whether they said the right thing. Asking questions like "Is this how we normally handle this?" because they're trying to decode how things really work here, not just how they're supposed to work.

A lesson from my own frequency mismatch:

When I joined the Tom Jones tour, I was replacing a beloved musical director who had suddenly died. Even though I was musically capable, I was completely out of tune with the emotional frequency of the group. They had their own way of communicating, their own rhythms of decision-making, their own unspoken rules about conflict and collaboration.

My mistake was assuming that musical competence would be enough. I didn't invest time in learning their frequency, and the result was months of discord that ultimately made the situation toxic for everyone.

You've felt what frequency mismatch does to a team.

Maybe when someone joined from a very different company culture. They kept operating like they were still at their old place—more formal when you're casual, more casual when you're formal. More direct when you're diplomatic, more diplomatic when you're direct.

The work got done, but everything felt slightly... off. Like a song where one instrument is playing in the wrong key.

You probably do this unconsciously with new team members:

• You assume they'll figure out your team's rhythm by watching
• You get slightly frustrated when they don't pick up on unspoken norms
• You wonder why some new people "get it" immediately while others take months
• You explain what to do but not how you do it here

The frequency revelation:

Years later, when I started teaching at the University of Miami, I had to learn an entirely new institutional frequency. Academia operates on completely different rhythms than Hollywood—different decision-making processes, different conflict styles, different definitions of urgency.

This time, I was conscious about learning the frequency first. I asked explicit questions: "How do decisions typically get made here?" "What does productive disagreement look like?" "When you say something is urgent, what timeline are we talking about?"

Remember that new person who clicked immediately.

They seemed to understand your communication style from day one. They knew when to jump into discussions and when to hang back. They picked up on the team's energy and matched it naturally.

You probably thought they were just a "good cultural fit." But what really happened was frequency alignment.

And remember the one who struggled despite being technically excellent.

They had all the skills but something felt forced. Conversations with them required more energy. They asked good questions but at awkward moments. They contributed valuable ideas but in ways that didn't quite land.

You might have labeled it a "personality clash." But it was probably a frequency mismatch.

You know your team has unwritten rules about:

• How much small talk is normal before getting to business
• Whether people interrupt each other or wait for clear pauses
• How directly you can disagree with decisions
• What level of detail you include when explaining problems
• How much consensus is expected before moving forward
• When it's okay to challenge vs. when it's time to align

These aren't written anywhere, but they're more powerful than any policy manual.

The conscious choice:

When I later worked with different orchestras and film crews, I made it a practice to explicitly share the frequency. Before recording sessions, I'd tell the musicians: "Here's how we typically work together. This is what different kinds of feedback mean. Here's what the energy in the room tells you about how things are going."

This week, notice your team's frequency:

• What are the unspoken rules that govern how you really work together?
• Which team members seem slightly out of sync with the group rhythm?
• How long does it typically take new people to feel comfortable contributing?
• What would help someone understand "how we do things here" faster?

You already know what frequency alignment feels like.

You've been part of teams where everything clicked. Where you understood the rhythm instinctively. Where you could contribute naturally without overthinking every interaction.

Whether you're leading or participating, you can help create that same experience for others.

The question is: when you are in a leadership role are you willing to teach your frequency explicitly instead of hoping people will guess it correctly? Will you be able to adjust to the frequency of the new group you are a part of?

Episode 4: The Selective Hearing Trap

When You Realize People Stopped Telling You Things

You know that sinking feeling when a problem blindsides you.

The client who was apparently frustrated for weeks, but you're just hearing about it now. The process that everyone knew was broken, but somehow it never made it to your attention. The deadline that three different people thought was impossible, but you found out during the post-mortem.

Your first thought was probably: "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

But then you think back to recent conversations.

Was there a moment when someone tried to bring up concerns and you... moved on quickly? Changed the subject to solutions? Focused on the positive aspects instead?

You weren't trying to ignore problems. You were trying to stay solution-focused and optimistic.

A painful lesson from my early career:

During my time working on television variety shows, I unknowingly developed selective hearing. When arrangers would bring me good news about a session or positive feedback from musicians, I'd light up, ask follow-up questions, show genuine engagement.

But when they mentioned problems—tight deadlines, difficult music, budget constraints—I'd get solution-focused immediately. "Okay, but how do we fix it?" I thought I was being positive and proactive.

What I didn't realize was that I was training people to stop bringing me problems until they became crises.

You remember your own experience with selective-hearing leaders.

That boss who would light up when you shared wins but seem to deflate when you mentioned concerns. Who would cut you off mid-sentence when describing problems to ask, "Okay, but what's your solution?"

Remember how you learned to soften your language? How you'd sandwich problems between positives? How you eventually stopped mentioning some issues altogether because they never seemed to land?

Now think about your own reactions.

When someone shares good news, do you lean forward? Ask follow-up questions? Show genuine interest and energy?

When someone mentions something that's not working, do you maintain that same level of engagement? Or do you feel your energy shift slightly? Do your responses get shorter or more solution-focused?

The wake-up call:

Later in my career, when I was working on "Payback" with a large team, I realized that several major production issues had been brewing for weeks without reaching me. When I asked why, one of the team members said, "We tried to tell you, but you always seemed to want to move past the problems to the solutions."

That's when I understood: my "positive" leadership style was actually creating an information filter that hurt everyone.

You've been on both sides of the translation game.

You know how it feels to encode concerns so they sound more palatable:

• "Challenging timeline" instead of "impossible deadline"
• "Resource constraint" instead of "we're overwhelmed"
• "Learning opportunity" instead of "we failed"
• "Could use some support" instead of "this is a disaster"

And you've probably heard your team use similar language, not realizing they were protecting you from the full reality.

You remember leaders who created safety for uncomfortable truths.

The ones who would thank you for bringing up problems. Who asked follow-up questions about concerns with the same energy they gave to successes. Who made you feel like you were helping by identifying issues early.

You felt comfortable telling them everything, didn't you? Even the messy, complicated stuff.

The frequency shift:

When I started working with successful directors on film scores, they had a completely different approach. They'd actually get MORE engaged when people brought up problems. "Tell me everything that could go wrong," they'd say. "I'd rather know now than be surprised later."

Working with them, I learned that the people who bring you bad news early are often the ones trying to save you from worse news later.

That moment when you realized people had stopped telling you things.

Maybe during a crisis when you discovered that multiple people had seen warning signs. Or when you found out about a problem through someone outside your immediate circle. Or when someone finally said, "We've been trying to tell you this for weeks."

You weren't deliberately ignoring them. But somewhere along the way, you'd accidentally trained them to filter their communication.

The conscious practice:

Now, whether I'm leading a project or participating as a team member, I make it a point to signal that I want the hard truths. I ask questions like: "What should I be worried about that I'm not?" and "What problems are you seeing that we haven't talked about?"

This week, notice your listening patterns:

• How does your body language change when hearing good vs. concerning news?
• Do you ask more follow-up questions about successes or problems?
• Which topics do you pursue and which do you move past quickly?
• When did someone last bring you bad news before it became a crisis?

You already know what full-fidelity listening feels like.

You've experienced people who made you feel heard regardless of what you were sharing. Who seemed genuinely interested in understanding reality, not just receiving positive updates.

You felt more valuable and more trusted in those relationships.

Whether you're leading or following, you can create that same experience for others.

The question is: do you want to hear what people think you want to hear, or what you actually need to know?