Musings on the science and practice of emotional intelligence from author and Six Seconds’ COO, Joshua Freedman. Features a blend of practical and inspiring articles about why and how to put EQ in action as a leader, a parent, and a person as Josh travels the world teaching these invaluable skills — while working (and often struggling) to learn them himself.
For the past 20 years, my most rigorous exercise has been carrying my laptop around the world. Still, when I went to the doctor for a checkup (finally), I was surprised and dismayed by my blood pressure. [This article was first published 12/21/2005 -- the good news: I've come to like exercise!]
Over the years doctors have been saying, “you’re on the high end of normal, one of these days you’re going to have to deal with this”. In my fantasy, “one of these days” was not coming any time soon.
Since then, I’ve managed to exercise 30 of the last 34 days. It’s not so awful doing it, but thinking about it has been frustrating. Especially at the beginning, I felt trapped and powerless. I’m thinking of exercise as a punishment — how much time will I have to serve before I can go back to living how I want?
So while I’ve been successful at initiating some of the right actions, I haven’t fully addressed the emotional challenge. By force of will I can make myself exercise. I can say, “exercise or die. Let’s go,” and I get on Nordic Track. But internally it’s a battle, and that means I’m making myself a victim instead of a warrior, and it’s not a sustainable model.
At 3 and a half, my son can surely relate. He is somewhat indignant that he can’t do whatever he wants, whenever he wants to — and he makes it unpleasant for those of us who attempt to direct him otherwise.
It’s like the same thing in my head. On the one hand, I know all these benefits of exercising. I like the feeling afterwards, I like sleeping better, I like having more energy. I don’t like not being able to do whatever I want, whenever I want — so I throw these little tantrums.
Just like with Max’s tantrums, it was a great relief for me to realize I could just ignore mine. I could just say, “Go ahead and pout — I’m doing it anyway!” and get skiing. But also like trying to ignore Max’s tantrums, this is an energy drain. Read the rest of this entry »
Perhaps self evident: When people are hurt or scared, we often protect ourselves by becoming spiky or hard – creating a shell or a wall. As we shut down our feelings to prevent more distress, we shut down not just the painful feelings but all feelings. As the spikes get sharper, the walls higher, we shut out not just the source of threat but everyone else.
In those times we have a choice — to be protected, isolated, and numb vs vulnerable, open, and vibrant. While the latter sounds more obviously rich, it’s not a trivial risk. When we “know” that the world is dangerous and people are “going to” hurt us, vulnerability isn’t an easy choice.
The paradox is that no matter how sharp the spikes nor high the walls, we’ll never be safe that way. And, even more surprising – even miraculous – is that softening, opening, accepting… walking into the fires of vulnerability we actually find the deeper safety that we crave.
One of the major issues that surfaced in the 2010 Workplace Issues Report (and the 2007 report for that matter) is being proactive.
You know – that state when you put out the fire before it’s a raging inferno?
Or maybe even take the matches and paper away from your colleague before he starts the blaze?
Seriously though — we all are faced with piles of work, but some of us (not usually me) manage to look ahead, see emerging issues and handle them gracefully. Others of us wait ’till the challenges are in our faces. On the survey, there were a lot of comments about leaders missing simple opportunities to address people-challenges — like giving feedback, expressing dissatisfaction with underperformance, calling someone on it when they don’t follow through… It’s pretty self-evident that work and life would be easier if we took care of these people issues when they’re small… so why is that so difficult?
I suspect it’s because our emotional brains like to focus on threats & challenges — the more immediate and urgent the more attractive. When a problem is not pressing it floats out there in the abstract “maybe important” land.
I also find that as I think through my priorities, I cast a haze of yucky-ness on certain items. I tell myself this will be unpleasant, unproductive, boring, annoying… and somehow that item keeps slipping to the bottom of the pile.
The obvious downside of this inactivity in proactivity is that problems escalate and require more time and attention later. Pay now or pay more later. The less obvious downside is about reactivity. As issues mount, pressure builds. The natural emotional response is to push back. So we miss a few chances to be proactive, and now we’ve got fires burning. Everywhere! Instead of stepping back and carefully managing the process, we come in blasting the fire hose. Instead of a response, we have a reaction — and inevitably our reactivity provokes reactivity from others. Ouch.
So what keeps you from proactively dealing with people challenges? Then what happens?
Patty & I were talking about Abby Sunderland’s press conference and a comment she made. Why is the “big story” the accident and rescue — instead of a 16 year old succeeding to sail 12,000 miles? I don’t know about you, but I heard nothing about the first 11,999 miles… it wasn’t a “story” until she was lost. It raises important questions about where we, the media-plugged-in-world, choose to put our attention.
Is this the norm, and how does that affect the way we see the world?
In our daily lives, and all the ups and downs we face a dozen times a day, where do we each choose to focus? And how does that focus affect us?
In 2005 I was Chairman of the first Emotional and Spiritual Intelligence Conference in the Middle East, a three-day program in Dubai in the United Arab Emirates. I wrote this article on the last day of the conference, May 30, 2005.
We live in a time of turmoil and uncertainty and, if we accept the world that we see in newspaper headlines, it is all too easy to forget that the vast majority of people in the world are good, caring human beings just like us. When we meet as human beings — not as representatives of some clan or creed — there is vast common ground.
Behind the Veil
Preparing to go to the conference center, I am full of unease. I walk through the lobby strewn with rose petals, and feel surrounded by men in white dishtash and women in black abaya. I’ve worked with many Arabs and Muslims, but this is my first time in the Gulf, and I find myself curious at the sight of all this traditional garb — and worried.
I move quickly through the hall and go back stage. At a conscious level, I am telling myself that I am worried about the conference logistics, that I am concerned the audience might not understand our work, that technical glitches might interfere with learning. But none of the technology is my responsibility, and I realize that I’m bothering the technicians as a way of hiding from all these strangers.
I realized I am afraid. Afraid of the unknown. Afraid that I will not be accepted, that I will be judged, that people will not listen – I often have fears like this at the beginning of a program. Here, it is stronger because, underneath, I am also afraid I will be hated or held in contempt as a Jew and an American.
Unexamined, unrecognized, the fear is influencing me on an unconscious level - influencing me to hide away and to rationalize my behavior. Once I recognize that I am afraid, however, I can see what I am really doing and can make a choice. Especially in face of fear, it is difficult to make proactive choices.
Fortunately, in this work I have learned about a lever I can use to move myself past the fear: my sense of purpose.
I am deeply committed to co-creating an emotionally intelligent world, and I can’t do that hiding in the corner. Remembering my Noble Goal (“To inspire compassionate wisdom”) gives me the courage to act. I begin walking around the lobby speaking with some of these strangers.
They do not turn away.
I say ‘hello’ to three men wearing traditional Arab clothes. They are from Saudi Arabia. One must have noticed my effort to reach out past the fear, because he says, “Thank you for coming up to us, I guess this is part of emotional intelligence”. I hear his warmth and appreciation – he recognizes the effort, the risk, and there is something sparked between us. Maybe they too are a little afraid.
These fears are reinforced at many levels. For example, I happened to read an email from my grandmother today saying, “I wish you could stay home from all those dangerous places”. On a factual basis, the United Arab Emirates is one of the safest countries in the world. Diverse, cosmopolitan, accepting, and with hardly any crime (and, in case you’re wondering, they don’t have extreme or violent penalties for crimes). Yet, on an emotional level, many of us have such uncertainty, such fear of the unknown, about a place so different from home.
The conference kick-off is smooth. Daniel Goleman is live via satellite - and I find myself wishing he could see this room full of white-robed and black-robed delegates. He speaks about how we can influence one another on an emotional level as leaders and humans, and it seems so apropos to my experience today.
On the second day of the conference, the sense of connection gets even stronger. In my workshop on Leading with EQ, I share how we apply our Six Seconds model to business, and also to our personal and family lives. The group clearly sees the value of these tools in leadership and life, and something happens beyond the content. We all interact with each other as people and talk; we share perspectives and feelings. From dialogue comes respect and tolerance, appreciation and acceptance.
On the final day in the closing session, the discussion turns to how emotional intelligence can help bridge the gaps between people – in organizations, relationships, communities, and nations. Many of the speakers and audience members have noticed, have felt, how we are no longer a group of unknown strangers.
Danah Zohar suggests that we commit to test the power of this kind of dialogue by developing an EQ/SQ conference with Palestinians and Israelis attending together.
Following her theme, I challenge the audience and myself to consider the action we can each take to move past our fears. We can only truly access the power of our emotional and spiritual selves if we each begin with ourselves. I offer, “I would like to bring my children here”. I plan to say more, but I feel myself on the verge of tears, so I begin to call on someone else.
There is a table at the front reserved for women, all in traditional abaya and sheila (black gowns and veils). They’ve been nearly silent these three days, but now one calls out, “Why?” “Why?” she repeats assertively, “Why do you want to bring your children here?” “Because I want them to grow up knowing Arabs as good, caring people,” I say, “People with the same hopes and dreams we all hold. Because I do not want my two Jewish and American children to grow afraid just because they do not know.”
Later I think to myself, “and because I want them to be friends with your children”.
The power of facing and voicing feelings, especially fears, is profound. Just expressing this fear I can feel the connection forming between us. At the next break, three different men come speak to me: “When you come back to the Emirates,” each says, “I want you to come to my house so your children can play with my children”.
Over and over in my travels, I’ve found that, beneath the infinite variety of human complexity, beneath the cultures and nations, beneath the religions and rivalries, beneath the differences, we are profoundly alike. I keep forgetting, and then I have these experiences to remind me. And, more and more, I am seeing that emotions are at the heart of this similarity. A universal language that both bonds us and liberates us - if we will only find the courage to learn it more deeply, and use it more carefully.
I’ve walked in many places, and often found each evokes a unique feeling. From the spiritual presence of the high Sierra, to the infinite possibility of Cape Point — so at some level I’ve know that our bodies and hearts are connected to the natural world (even when we’ve removed our heads to the curious comfort of unfeeling concrete and steel). But today I re-experienced this connection with such vivid power that I felt compelled to share.
I’m in Nida, a fishing village-turned-tourist haven on the Curonian spit in Lithuania. This morning we walked a kilometer across the finger of land, through enchanted forest, and found our way to the Baltic Sea. Descending the dune bluff, the wind was so strong I staggered.
The beach has been scoured, all footprints wiped clean. Pebbles standing in relief like mini bulwarks feathered by lines of sand.
The kids went to work digging a hole to hide from the bluster. Patty and I collected stones to “paint” on the blank canvas of sand. After a hour we had to abandon the beach. As we retreated, Patty and I paused at the top of the dune to photograph our design. We both walked away feeling literally breathless — as if the wind had taken the air from our lungs.
For the next hour, my body felt electrified, buzzing with a kind of emotional current. Not exactly a pleasant power, but a palpable force like all my emotions were blended and whirring together. We went back into the shelter of the forest and had a picnic on the moss. I lay back and felt the thrum gradually fade back into the earth. Watching the tall trees swaying above me, the energy of the wind flowing smoothly. As I lay there “decompressing,” I considered this experience of my “animal self,” a creature part of and affected by its habitat, by the earth and sky. In my day-to-day life, especially in the days I lived in the city, it was easy to pretend to be something apart from the natural world, but today I experienced that it’s not simply a place in which I walk; I affect the world, and it affects me, interwoven to my very core.
After years of “sort of trying,” I’m almost entirely thrilled to have lost 30 pounds (the “secret” is about love and joy, not suffering, but that’s another article), but there are three big downsides:
1. People don’t know what to say to me. “You look great!” is nice. “Oh, you’re finally losing weight,” not so much. Yesterday @ Men’s Warehouse seeing if suits I bought last year could be tailored, “did this suit actually fit you??” (it was said with an impressed tone.)
2. As alluded above, my clothes don’t fit. Finally cleaned the closet (which looks great empty), but hate to buy many clothes as I’m committed to losing more…
3. Where I used to ignore my weight, now I’m very conscious of how fat I still am.
Patty keeps telling me I look great, and I’ve dropped about 4 or 5 sizes in my slacks, but I don’t quite believe it. Putting on the suit yesterday, I was shocked again. Who’s this guy with the baggy pants? I feel great. And, I’m still overweight (I find “obese” nauseating, but still true according to the annoying little “balance-board guy” in Wii Fit). So there are two stories: huge progress, significant work to do. Which gets more attention? I’ve had decades of thinking myself as fat. And, where I used to just pretend I didn’t care, I’m no longer willing to hang out in Club Denial (though it’s a very comfortable place — they even have cool ‘fun house’ mirrors there).
The thing is, denial is so easy. I didn’t have to think about my choices. Nice warm rolls in a restaurant? Bring on the butter! But now, I see these indulgences as, well, indulgences. Nice to have once in a while, but not a reasonable route for the day to day.
I love how strong I am now — not like I’m ready for a marathon or something, but the other week in Dubai I walked & jogged almost every morning. Voluntarily! I can climb a couple flights of stairs, or do 20 pushups, or other more fun activities and not be short of breath. I’m thrilled that I now actually LIKE exercise (gasp). But at the same time, I’ve become conscious that I don’t like the roll around my middle. So I’ve got this paradox, at the same time loving and disgusted by my body. That might be too strong a word, it’s not self-hate — but almost every day I notice my belly fat and want it gone.
Perhaps the most difficult part of change is that results come slowly. I mean, if I give up on those wonderful indulgences and exercise every day for a WHOLE long week, shouldn’t that produce results? Where’s the payoff?
Intellectually I KNOW that I’m in this for the long haul, it’s a lifestyle change, not a diet. I KNOW I took 30+ years to get into this state and it’s going to take more than a few months to get out of it. I KNOW I should be proud of the progress, and I am pleased with the last six months — in fact last year was one of the best in my life. It’s perplexing. I’ve got more energy than I can remember, I’m eager to get up the morning… and I’ve got a great excuse to buy more clothes! At the very same time, I’m dissatisfied, and I guess I’m afraid to fully believe this “good news.”
Max, Emma, Patty and I regularly listen to audiobooks in the car. There are amazing EQ lessons in these stories, and I find that listening to them creates a strong emotional connection — plus it’s a great way to keep the peace on long drives!
On the plane yesterday, listened to the end of Pam Munoz Ryan’s book, Esperanza Rising, a lovely story of a family and a young woman learning, “never be afraid to start over.” Esperanza is a privileged child growing up in a wealthy family on El Rancho de las Rosas in Mexico. Her father is killed, and for a variety of reasons she and her mother escape to the Central Valley in California where they live in a farmworker’s camp during the Depression. Amidst threats of strikes, illness, loss, fear, and scarcity, Esperanza’s hands harden, but her heart softens. She learns empathy and her optimism is fueled by connectedness to family, the land, and community.
As the story ended, I was sobbing, touched by the hope and strength in these women, their courage, compassion, and openness to life. It’s a beautifully woven tale, a dark and serious time in our history entwined with shining threads of love and resilience.
The narrator, Trini Alvarado, did a beautiful job — I’m sure the book is lovely in print as well — but I highly recommend listening to it.
For teachers, Esperanza Rising would be ideal for discussions of the emotional intelligence competencies of Exercise Optimism and Increase Empathy, as well as for themes of migration, power, and, of course for California history. The fact that the story is based on the author’s grandmother’s real life makes it even richer.
Based on Emma & Max’s reactions, I’d say this is great from ages about 7 and up.
The serious companies with whom we consult worldwide have all spent time, and usually a lot of money, crafting a “vision-mission-values” statement. There seems to be some confusion about why. Sometimes, it seems, they’ve made one because that’s what everyone else does. Something’s just not “clicking” – or maybe I’m just on another planet with this issue?
Clearly it’s difficult for a large organization to stay focused when people don’t have a shared picture of where they’re going. What are we in business to accomplish? To avoid confusion, let’s call this the “What.” Most mission statements I’ve seen have some clarity around the What: To be the best bank in someplace. To deliver world-class hospitality. To deliver technology solutions supporting key government programs.
Then it seems valuable to at least have an idea of strategy – how we’re going to do that (but in my experience good strategy changes rapidly with changing circumstance). This is the “How.” How sounds like: By maximizing lending through blah blah. By touching the heart. By integrating robust services for rapid deployment. These are interesting, sometimes important, but rarely powerful.
The tragically missing ingredient is the WHY.
I am most often invited to do leadership programs for senior executives or for high potentials (upper level but usually younger managers being groomed for senior leadership positions). Occasionally I get to work with both groups in the same organization, and it’s fascinating to see how these groups each relate to the mission-vision-values statement. Often the senior leaders are excited, they’ve been involved in the creation and it has meaning, significance, to them (though sometimes it’s “just something HR did”). I’ve never seen a group of high potentials likewise touched by these documents.
Some executives, particularly finance types, seem very excited about phrases like “being the best in,” and perhaps that is a big enough WHY for them. Perhaps encoded in that phrase is something deeper than financial gain? But it doesn’t seem to translate to a compelling purpose for middle managers, and it certainly leaves me flat.
One of most powerful human drives is to belong to something worthwhile; so perhaps leadership is about enrolling people in a truly significant purpose. To tap this power, we need two ingredients: significance and belonging.
What constitutes significance? A start is “value above and beyond utility.” Something can have non-utilitarian value because it’s beautiful or impressive or makes us laugh. A great statue, an impressive building, a winning team or a compelling story all have value above and utility. That’s part of the human experience from time immemorial and not a bad touchstone for motivation. Maybe “being the best,” if it really happened, would have significance. I suspect that companies that change their domains, like Apple has done with mobile computing, carry significance because of that groundbreaking experience. But there’s still something deeper: meaning.
If significance is about value, then meaning is about purpose. “Purpose above and beyond utility.” In other words, a real answer to WHY.
I suspect that I’m a bit of an extremist in this regard. For me, “to make money” doesn’t qualify because that’s not above and beyond utility. “To be the best” doesn’t qualify because that’s not a purpose (it’s a recognition of something). “Giving 1% of profits to charity” doesn’t work for me because that’s a byproduct of the organization’s success, not the focus in and of itself. When I seek meaning, I am looking for a profound commitment where the work of the organization is threaded in the very fabric of life.
In itself, this kind of purpose, a “real WHY,” is tough to find. But even more difficult is keeping it real in a growing, dynamic organization. I’ve heard there are some that have done this, but in the hundreds of companies where I’ve worked, and in the many thousands my colleagues and I have touched, I’m hard pressed to think of more than two – and both of those are nonprofits where the WHY is clear, but their HOW isn’t!
In the Six Seconds Model, the “capstone” is a competency we call “Pursue Noble Goals,” which enables you to connect with purpose in your daily life — to put your purpose into action.
Daniel Pink’s video about his new book, DRIVE, provides a fun and clear way of talking about this essential topic:
One of the fundamental choices we each make in each moment is to live in that state of fight or in the state of flow. As I’ve written before (in this article and in At the Heart of Leadership):
FIGHT is characterized by power where the goal is the be right OVER another; emotions such as anger are signals of power and sorrow are signals of weakness.
In FLOW being right or wrong are less important; the goal is to connect in a purposeful, significant way.
The film Avatar illustrates this choice on several levels. Perhaps the most vivid moment is when protagonists Jake Sully and Neytiri meet. Sully is in danger on an alien world and, as night falls, he makes a torch/spear and attacks the threatening wildlife. Forest savant Neytiri saves him and throws his torch into a puddle, plunging them into darkness. At first Sully is… not thrilled… by this “help.” But eventually he sees differently.
In the darkness, Sully finds something else — the luminescent beauty of the world is revealed. While he’s in the FIGHT mode he’s cut off from the world around him, literally blinded by his own weaponry. Forced to give that up, he begins a journey to encounter the world a different way.
We all do this — when we’re in FIGHT we tell ourselves that’s the only way, and we’re fighting for our survival. Often actually creating more peril, but it’s all we can see. It takes a leap of faith (or a push from someone else) to drop into FLOW. There’s a huge AHA! as we see that where there used to be one option, now there’s the liberty of choice.
A few months ago Patty had routine physical, and her doctor ordered some tests, which came back positive so she needed a biopsy. While statistically odds were strong that it would be a nonissue, we were both a bit anxious – especially because of her cancer scare a few years ago.
We carefully didn’t say anything to the kids because we didn’t want to worry them. But on the day Patty went for the biopsy, Max asked me in a quiet, serious voice: “Does Mama need surgery again?” (He was about 4 when she had surgery before.)
I was stuck by his ability to observe and “read between the lines.” And, by the way this cancer fear stayed with him.
I suspect that in general kids see far more than we want them to. From an evolutionary perspective it makes sense – there’s survival value in being able to read subtle cues. Left to themselves kids will take those cues and make their own meaning, sometimes accurate, often exaggerated… but it’s important to remember that fear creeps in the absence of information.
What else are they seeing? And what meaning are they making?
PS. Patty’s biopsy was totally negative – which was a relief! This was days before we were leaving for Borneo and South East Asia for six weeks, so it was fabulous to get this resolved before we went!
Last week Emma was “fussing out” about a writing assignment.* So I said, “then don’t do it.”
“But I H A A A A A V E to…” she moaned.
I pointed out that she did not, in fact, have to: She had choice and each choice had consequences.
She cried harder.
Why?
Emma was caught in a classic emotional trap: wishing it were not so (but knowing it’s not).
Many of us squander buckets of energy spiraling around as we avoid directly facing the facts of our current reality, for example:
Frequently leaders I work with will tell me they have an employee that they KNOW isn’t working out, but they pretend (at some level) that it will change. Months and a lot of pain later, they finally pull the trigger and make a change (sometimes still avoiding the real issue by moving the person to be a poor performer for someone else).**
Some of my younger friends tell me about someone they’re dating, “He’d be perfect if only…” KNOWING it won’t happen, yet they hold onto this hopeless hope.
I want to write another book and KNOW that all I have to do is start writing, but I tell myself I don’t have time right now… in three months I’ll have less time, but I may finally become so frustrated with myself I take action.
Yes – change is possible, but denial is sweeter.
When something feels tough, we often defend ourselves by avoiding the truth of the situation. At the extreme, it’s like a scared 3-year-old: “If I cover my eyes you can’t see me!” While it’s “obvious” this doesn’t work, most of us do it regularly!
The paradox is that while we’re “protecting” ourselves and others from the “brutal” truth, while we stay in the trap we continue to feel frustration, fear, and sorrow. Those feelings push us to narrow our focus to dig into a problem:
Frustration – something’s wrong
Fear – something important may be at risk
Sorrow – I’m losing something I care about
While we stay in the mix of the problem, those feelings continue and usually escalate until we finally get serious. Once we confront the situation and make a commitment to deal with the current reality, then the feelings shift.
So the moral is: fire everyone we’re frustrated with, split up with everyone who disappoints us, and forget about projects that stress us out – right?
Er… maybe not. But those feelings are signals – like indicator lights on the dashboard – saying, “Hey – check it out. Maybe it’s time to get real.”
—–
* Emma is now 10, and an amazing student. She’s also a perfectionist and when something is hard and the “right answer” is not clear, she stresses herself out. Familiar to any of you?
** To be clear: Often a poor performer would be GREAT somewhere else because the problem is frequently the match. But then there are people you just know in your heart will not do well anywhere in this organization, and it takes chutzpah to stand up and take the right action.
Lately life has been somewhat tempestuous at home. Emma’s 4-1/2-year-old priorities conflict with Max’s 2-1/2-year-old priorities — add two work-a-holic parents and their own stresses, and voila, you have a powder keg. Recently it got to the point I was looking forward to travelling so I could have a few days of peace. I take that as a bad sign.
The last few days gave me new insight into my job as a parent — and equally essential lessons as a consultant and manager. Most managers tell me their biggest struggles are managing conflicts and relationships — so perhaps this story about managing the conflicts at home will provide ideas even to those without kids.
Last week I had time with Karen McCown, Six Seconds’ Chairman and Founder. We talk frequently about my little family and about her grandchildren. As many EQ Reflections readers have told me, grandparent-hood sounds like the best of parenting: all the love, none of the “hot buttons.”
The next day I happened to talk to a colleague and the psychotherapist sitting next to her. I talked a bit about my struggles at home, and I was struck by the dramatic difference between the therapist’s approach and Karen’s.
The therapist said, “It sounds like you are letting you kids run things in your house, and you can’t do that.”
Somewhat testy, I said, “Actually, I can do it — but I agree it might not be a good idea.”
“You need to be clear about who’s in charge,” she went on, ignoring my frail jibe, “and consistently reward the appropriate behavior and have consequences for the inappropriate behavior. You have to be more consistent.”
Not bad advice for a cocktail party. Then I considered Karen’s advice from the evening before and how different it was.
First Karen asked me what is happening — what’s the pattern. I explained that a conflict escalated, Emma’s behavior got explosive, and I sent her to time out or her room.
“Is that working?” asked Karen.
“Not really.”
“So you probably don’t want to keep doing it, do you?” Under Karen’s clear gaze, there was only one available answer. I shook my head. “Do you and Emma talk about what happened?”
“Emma would rather not,” I say starting to feel a bit pathetic — how did I give a four-year-old so much power?
After a few more minutes, Karen summarized our discussion into this experiment: “Why don’t you try this: Next time you send Emma to her room, say, ‘When you are ready to talk about what happened, come get me.’ Then, discuss what happened and make an agreement about what Emma and you will do differently next time. Write it down where Emma can see it.”
Before I tell you what happened, what’s the difference between Karen’s advice and the unknown therapist’s? Notice who had the power or “right” in the adult-to-adult conversations. Notice how each approach changes the power dynamic between Emma and me — one actually escalates the power struggle, the other side-steps it.
My sense is that Karen’s advice also focuses on the long term vs. short term — Emma needs to make decisions for herself, and eventually these will be fairly serious decisions. What am I doing now to equip her for that challenge?
This weekend when one of the “inevitable” conflicts occurred, I had a surprising experience. While I was caught up in the conflict, I did not feel the need to explode — I didn’t feel hopeless. This is the power of having a new strategy.
I asked Emma if she wanted to talk about what happened, when she grouched, “NO,” I followed Karen’s advice. A few minutes later, Emma was ready to talk. I began my Self-Science process and asked, “What happened?”
I discovered that looking at the whole event was too complex, that Emma really had trouble telling the story. So I began telling what I thought happened, and after each little piece, I asked if she agreed — really asked, not to get agreement but to get her view. We agreed on some parts, not others, and didn’t debate it — we both identified the story from our sides.
Then I identified the part that was upsetting for me: “I felt ignored when I told you to stop grabbing your brother for the second time and it did not seem like you listened. Were you listening?”
“No,” said Emma, and I could see the realization sink in.
We put up a chart paper in her room and I asked what I should write. Emma said, “No Ignoring.”
I was surprised again when the next day there was a minor tussle between Emma and Max. When I asked what happened, Emma told me, and said we need to go write on the list.
I suspect that a large part of my own reactivity with the kids comes from feeling so powerless — from feeling like this won’t end, and I can’t stop it. So the lesson for me as a parent:
keep practicing optimism (it WON’T last forever and I CAN make a difference if I try).
keep experimenting with new ways of communicating.
to stay out of the power struggle — make my job be “help them learn” rather than “enforce.”
Reflecting on the two different styles of giving me advice, I see three key points to remember an “expert,” consultant, and manager supporting others.
Ask, help them see the story, the pattern.
Challenge the “insane” (doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results)
Offer questions, alternatives, and experiments rather than answers.
I need to remember I don’t have the answers to my own challenges, let alone yours! Perhaps the best we can offer one another is a compassionate ear and the encouragement to keep learning. It’s probably harder to sell than “the answer,” but I suspect there’s a lot more value in it.
Three different people told me the same story last week:
I’m too busy keeping my head above water to make progress on my real goals.
On one hand, that’s a practical and realistic way of coping. Look, we’ve all experienced that some days we can barely tread water fast enough… and some days we sink… and on those days it’s “impossible” to put time and energy into the future. How can you invest when you can’t put bread on the table?
All three had practical, legitimate reasons for “treading water,” they were not making weak excuses. There just has not been time.
So that’s the “practical reality.” What about the “emotional reality”? What I noticed in all three conversations was a loss of energy and momentum. There’s an emotional cost to postponing your future, and when you’re calculating the choices of your day and week, this needs to be factored in. I suspect that when you factor in the emotional cost (in the extreme, dying a little more each day), the equation might change?
You’ve likely seen this framework that Stephen Covey offers in First Things First:
Covey points out that we need to avoid QIII and QIV, and shift more time to QII if we want to build the future. Good! Let’s do it!!! How? Well… that’s a problem. It’s a fabulous model, though most of us already know that we need to stop fighting unimportant fires and getting sucked into distractions… but we still do that. We’re choosing to put time in QI, QIII, and QIV, and shortchanging QII. Why?
Because we’re not driven by “what we know.” We’re driven by what we feel.
There’s some set of feelings boiling around this pattern of behavior pushing and pulling us. There are feelings before the choice (to shortchange QII). Then there are feelings the come immediately when we do what we’re doing instead… then there are still more feelings when we end the day saying, “*(@_!_)# another day with no time for QII.”
If I can indulge in a bit of prognostication, I suspect that if your pattern is “do QI &III but miss QII” you’re feeling a mix of stressed, overwhelmed, impatient, excited, and focused (even driven). If you’re getting sucked into QIV then your feelings are likely to be bored, uncertain, distracted, lonely, or lost.
Then, despite the knowledge that QII is the only way out, you still go to another quadrant, and, for the moment it feels good. If you’re QI and QIII focused, you probably get great feedback, maybe overhearing, “He’s so reliable….” “You can count on her….” If you’re escaping into QIII, you get a bit of relief. In any case, there’s a feeling payoff — an emotional benefit. What is yours?
The first, and perhaps most important step, to getting out of the pattern is to recognize the emotional drivers. What’s triggering your pattern, and what payoff are you getting from it? Knowing that is not enough – you need to DO something with those feelings. That’s another article… but I’d love to hear your ideas (post a comment!)
I also noticed that in these conversations, and many others – including many in my own head, there’s a refrain about being busy: “I can’t do this unless I can devote a block of time…” Many a project have lingered on my “to do” list because I told myself I didn’t have the six hours or three days or whatever to complete it. Consider this:
If you had a month you could devote completely to your future, what would you do with that month?
How about if you had one week?
What could you do if you had one day?
How about if you had five minutes?
We all have time, but for most of us it’s fractured — five minutes here, and hour there. While it’s extremely challenging, somehow we have to reclaim those dribs and drabs of time and turn them into a worthy contribution. As usual, I would suggest the challenge lies not so much in the technical achievement of this end, but in the emotional transition we must undertake in order to bring the A game to these momentary matches.
Survive or Thrive
To conclude, here is powerful reminder from Karen McCown, Six Seconds’ Chairman:
If you focus on survival, then your survival is at question; if you focus on thriving, then your survival is assured – and more is possible.
Each week you have but a few discretionary hours to cash in: Will you spend or invest?
So while I’ve been successful at initiating some of the right actions, I haven’t fully addressed the emotional challenge. By force of will I can make myself exercise. I can say, “exercise or die. Let’s go,” and I get on Nordic Track. But internally it’s a battle, and that means I’m making myself a victim instead of a warrior, and it’s not a sustainable model.
Perhaps self evident: When people are hurt or scared, we often protect ourselves by becoming spiky or hard – creating a shell or a wall. As we shut down our feelings to prevent more distress, we shut down not just the painful feelings but all feelings. As the spikes get sharper, the walls higher, we shut out not just the source of threat but everyone else.
There is a table at the front reserved for women, all in traditional abaya and sheila (black gowns and veils). They’ve been nearly silent these three days, but now one calls out, “Why?” “Why?” she repeats assertively, “Why do you want to bring your children here?”
Clearly it’s difficult for a large organization to stay focused when people don’t have a shared picture of where they’re going. What are we in business to accomplish? To avoid confusion, let’s call this the “What.” Most mission statements I’ve seen have some clarity around the What: To be the best bank in someplace. To deliver world-class hospitality. To deliver technology solutions supporting key government programs.
What constitutes significance? A start is “value above and beyond utility.” Something can have non-utilitarian value because it’s beautiful or impressive or makes us laugh. A great statue, an impressive building, a winning team or a compelling story all have value above and utility. That’s part of the human experience from time immemorial and not a bad touchstone for motivation. Maybe “being the best,” if it really happened, would have significance. I suspect that companies that change their domains, like Apple has done with mobile computing, carry significance because of that groundbreaking experience. But there’s still something deeper: meaning.
She cried harder.
Yes – change is possible, but denial is sweeter.
The next day I happened to talk to a colleague and the psychotherapist sitting next to her. I talked a bit about my struggles at home, and I was struck by the dramatic difference between the therapist’s approach and Karen’s.
I suspect that a large part of my own reactivity with the kids comes from feeling so powerless — from feeling like this won’t end, and I can’t stop it. So the lesson for me as a parent:
On one hand, that’s a practical and realistic way of coping. Look, we’ve all experienced that some days we can barely tread water fast enough… and some days we sink… and on those days it’s “impossible” to put time and energy into the future. How can you invest when you can’t put bread on the table?
Because we’re not driven by “what we know.” We’re driven by what we feel.
