At secondary school, when it came to sports, I was hopeless. As we lined up on the wall, and the team captains picked their teams, I knew that I would be one of the last to be chosen. And if there were an odd number, I knew that I might very well be packaged with another sporting dud – two for the price of one. I treated cross country as a gentle stroll in the country. I could take as long as I liked, nobody expected me to be back early, and sometimes I and my fellow duds could fit in a quick detour into town on the way round. If I was in the top 60 or so getting back, nobody would be disappointed, including myself. The perception I, and others, had of me was continuously reinforced.

Now, this is all very odd. Because I am, by nature, an extremely competitive person (as anyone who ever played Monopoly with me will testify). I was reminded of this when I was driving through Burford yesterday and passed the Cotswold Wildlife Park. “I won tickets to there when I was a kid” I exclaimed, beaming. “For writing a story about badgers.” The event occurred when I was just ten, but I remember it clearly. The class had been given the challenge of writing a story about animals, with three family tickets to the wildlife park to be won by the authors of the best stories. What I remember in particular was my determination to win and my expectation that I could win. I remember too the hard work I put in, dreaming up my story, writing and re-writing it, before finally, handing it in to be judged.

Then came the morning we received the results. The first two ‘winners’ were announced – not me! I recall a growing sense of panic and then, finally, the teacher saying: “If there had been a bigger first prize, this person would have won it…” and the euphoria I felt when my name was called. Some might say that I had a talent for writing but not for sports, and that may be true. But actually, when I reflect back on the stories above, what really strikes me is the difference in my attitude and how that was affected by my own, and others, expectations of me. An extraordinary teacher, Malcolm Emery, had instilled in me from an early age a belief that I could write (even if not very neatly – I was the last in my class to be promoted from pencil to ink pen – I’m an even messier writer now!)

The thing is this. People generally live up, or down, to their own expectations, which are usually the result of other people’s expectations. The two continuously reinforce each other in an upward, or downward spiral. Here’s an experiment you may not wish to carry out. Find a sales person who is just falling short of their targets. Reinforce your mutual expectations by reducing their targets and wait to see what happens. In my experience, invariably, the sales person’s performance will deteriorate so that they’re now struggling to achieve the new, lower targets.