t of my success would be my relationship with Mark. When I joined, I asked Mark for a
commitment that he would give me feedback every week so that anything that bothered him would be
aired and discussed quickly. Mark not only said yes but immediately added that he wanted it to be
reciprocal. For the first few years, we stuck to this routine and voiced concerns big and small every
Friday afternoon. As the years went by, sharing honest reactions became part of our ongoing
relationship. Now we do so in real time rather than waiting for the end of the week. I wouldn’t suggest

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that all relationships need this much feedback—there is such a thing as asking for too much—but for
us, it has been critically important.

I have also learned the hard way that being open to hearing the truth means taking responsibility for
mistakes. In my first week as chief of staff at Treasury, I had the chance to work directly with the
heads of the department bureaus. There is a right and a wrong way to start a working relationship. I
chose the wrong way. My first call was to Ray Kelly, who was then commissioner of the U.S.
Customs Service and now serves as New York City’s police commissioner. Instead of reaching out to
offer assistance, I called Commissioner Kelly with a request from the secretary. The impression I
made was that my job was to demand and his job was to listen. It was a mistake. Ray’s response was
quick and clear. “[Expletive], Sheryl,” he explained. “Just because I’m not in Larry Summers’s
[expletive] thirty-year-old brain trust doesn’t mean that I don’t know what I’m doing! If Secretary
Summers wants something from me, tell him to [expletive] call me himself!” Then he hung up the
phone. I thought, This is not going well. My first week on the job and I’d angered a man who knows a
thing or two about firearms.

After I stopped shaking, I realized that Commissioner Kelly had done me a huge favor. His
“feedback” was extremely helpful and delivered in a way that I would never forget. I reassessed my
outreach strategy. With the other bureau chiefs, I initiated conversation by asking what I could do to
help them achieve their goals. It’s no surprise that they reacted more positively and with far fewer
expletives. And after I employed my “What have I done for you lately?” approach, they were far more
eager to return the favor.

As often as I try to persuade people to share their honest views, it is still a challenge to elicit them.
When I started building my team at Google, I interviewed every candidate before we made an offer. ¤¤
Even when the team had grown to about one hundred people, I still spoke with each finalist. One day
at a meeting of my direct reports, I offered to stop interviewing, fully expecting everyone to insist that
my input was an essential part of the process. Instead, they applauded. They all jumped in to explain—
in unison—that my insistence on speaking personally to every candidate had become a huge
bottleneck. I had no idea that I had been holding the team back and was upset that no one had told me.
I spent a few hours quietly fuming, which, given that I have no poker face, was probably obvious to
everyone. Then I realized that if my colleagues had kept this to themselves, I was clearly not
communicating that I was open to their input. Miscommunication is always a two-way street. If I
wanted more suggestions, I would have to take responsibility for making that clear. So I went back to
my team and agreed that I would not interview anymore. And more important, I told them that I
wanted their input early and often.

Another way I try to foster a