01/15/2024
I thought “Crucial Conversations Tools for Talking When Stakes Are High” by Kerry Patterson, Joseph Grenny, Ron McMillan, and Al Switzler was a pretty good book. Here are some of the notes I took which might be helpful to some of you out there:
Consider a typical crucial conversation. Someone says something you disagree with about a topic that matters a great deal to you and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The hairs you can handle. Unfortunately, your body does more. Two tiny organs seated neatly atop your kidneys pump adrenaline into your bloodstream. You don’t choose to do this. Your adrenal glands do it, and then you have to live with it. And that’s not all. Your brain then diverts blood from activities it deems nonessential to high-priority tasks such as hitting and running. Unfortunately, as the large muscles of the arms and legs get more blood, the higher-level reasoning sections of your brain get less. As a result, you end up facing challenging conversations with the same intellectual equipment available to a rhesus monkey. Your body is preparing to deal with an attacking saber-toothed tiger, not your boss, neighbor, or loved ones.
We act in self-defeating ways. In our doped-up, dumbed-down state, the strategies we choose for dealing with our crucial conversations are perfectly designed to keep us from what we actually want. We’re our own worst enemies—and we don’t even realize it. Here’s how this works. Let’s say that your significant other has been paying less and less attention to you. You realize he or she has a busy job, but you still would like more time together. You drop a few hints about the issue, but your loved one doesn’t handle it well. You decide not to put on added pressure, so you clam up. Of course, since you’re not all that happy with the arrangement, your displeasure now comes out through an occasional sarcastic remark. “Another late night, huh? I’ve got Facebook friends I see more often.” Unfortunately (and here’s where the problem becomes self-defeating), the more you snip and snap, the less your loved one wants to be around you. So your significant other spends even less time with you, you become even more upset, and the spiral continues. Your behavior is now actually creating the very thing you didn’t want in the first place. You’re caught in an unhealthy, self-defeating loop.
Not only does a shared pool help individuals make better choices, but since the meaning is shared, people willingly act on whatever decisions they make—with both unity and conviction. As people sit through an open discussion where ideas are shared, they take part in the free flow of meaning. Eventually, they understand why the shared solution is the best solution, and they’re committed to act. Conversely, when people aren’t involved, when they sit back quietly during touchy conversations, they’re rarely committed to the final decision. Or at home we may play Freeze Your Lover. With this tortured technique, we give loved ones the cold shoulder in order to get them to treat us better (what’s the logic in that?).
FIRST, FOCUS ON WHAT YOU REALLY WANT. In order to move back to motives that allow for dialogue, you must step away from the interaction and look at yourself—much like an outsider. Ask yourself: “What am I doing, and if I had to guess, what does it tell me about my underlying motive?” As you make an honest effort to discover your motive, you might conclude: “Let’s see. I’m pushing hard, making the argument stronger than I actually believe, and doing anything to win. I’ve shifted from trying to select a vacation location to trying to win an argument.” Once you call into question the shifting desires of your heart, you can make conscious choices to change them. “What I really want is to genuinely try to select a vacation spot we can all enjoy—rather than try to win people over to my ideas.”
Here are some great questions to ask to ensure you remain on track: What do I really want for myself? What do I really want for others? What do I really want for the relationship?
First, clarify what you really want. You’ve got a head start if you’ve already Started with Heart. If you know what you want for yourself, for others, and for the relationship, then you’re in position to break out of the Fool’s Choice. “What I want is for my husband to be more reliable. I’m tired of being let down by him when he makes commitments that I depend on.” Second, clarify what you really don’t want. This is the key to framing the and question. Think of what you are afraid will happen to you if you back away from your current strategy of trying to win or stay safe. What bad thing will happen if you stop pushing so hard? Or if you don’t try to escape? What horrible outcome makes game playing an attractive and sensible option? “What I don’t want is to have a useless and heated conversation that creates bad feelings and doesn’t lead to change.” Third, present your brain with a more complex problem. Finally, combine the two into an and question that forces you to search for more creative and productive options than silence and violence. “How can I have a candid conversation with my husband about being more dependable and avoid creating bad feelings or wasting our time?”
Break free of Fool’s Choices by searching for the and. Clarify what you don’t want, add it to what you do want, and ask your brain to start searching for healthy options to bring you to dialogue.
Can you remember receiving really blistering feedback from someone at some point in your life, but in this instance you didn’t become defensive? Instead, you absorbed the feedback. You reflected on it. You allowed it to influence you. If so, ask yourself why. Why in this instance were you able to absorb potentially threatening feedback so well? If you’re like the rest of us, it’s because you believed that the other person had your best interest in mind. In addition, you respected the other person’s opinion. You felt safe receiving the feedback because you trusted the motives and ability of the other person. You didn’t need to defend yourself from what was being said— even if you didn’t like what they were saying! On the other hand, if you don’t feel safe, you can’t take any feedback.
Remember the last time someone gave you difficult feedback and you didn’t become defensive? You must have believed he or she cared about you or about your goals and objectives. That means you trusted his or her purposes so you were willing to listen to some pretty tough feedback. Crucial conversations often go awry not because others dislike the content of the conversation, but because they believe the content (even if it’s delivered in a gentle way) suggests that you have a malicious intent. How can others feel safe when they believe you’re out to harm them? Soon, every word out of your mouth is suspect. You can’t utter a harmless “good morning” without others interpreting it in a negative way. Consequently, the first condition of safety is Mutual Purpose. Mutual Purpose means that others perceive that you’re working toward a common outcome in the conversation, that you care about their goals, interests, and values. And vice versa. You believe they care about yours.
To succeed in crucial conversations, we must really care about the interests of others—not just our own. The purpose has to be truly mutual. If our goal is to get our way or manipulate others, it will quickly become apparent, safety will be destroyed, and we’ll be back to silence and violence in no time.
If you try to see the other person’s point of view, you can often find a way to draw the other person willingly into even very sensitive conversations.
Mutual Respect is the continuance condition of dialogue. As people perceive that others don’t respect them, the conversation immediately becomes unsafe and dialogue comes to a screeching halt. But if you take respect away, it’s all that people can think about. The instant people perceive disrespect in a conversation, the interaction is no longer about the original purpose—it is now about defending dignity.
Without Mutual Respect, the conversation tanks. The supervisors now take shots at your proposals. You add insulting adjectives in describing theirs. As attention turns to scoring points, everyone loses. When people feel disrespected, they become highly charged. Their emotions turn from fear to anger. Then they resort to pouting, name-calling, yelling, and making threats.
Stories provide our rationale for what’s going on. They’re our interpretations of the facts. They help explain what we see and hear. They’re theories we use to explain why, how, and what. If we take control of our stories, they won’t control us.
When experiencing strong emotions ask yourself: What story is creating these emotions? Next ask: What evidence do I have to support this story? If you tell yourself a story that your violent behavior is a “necessary tactic,” you won’t see the need to reconsider your actions. If you immediately jump in with “they started it,” or otherwise find yourself rationalizing your behavior, you also won’t feel compelled to change. Rather than stop and review what you’re doing, you’ll devote your time to justifying your actions to yourself and others.
Don’t confuse stories with facts. Sometimes you fail to question your stories because you see them as immutable facts. When you generate stories in the blink of an eye, you can get so caught up in the moment that you begin to believe your stories are facts. They feel like facts. You confuse subjective conclusions with steel-hard data points.
The statement “He doesn’t trust me” is a conclusion. It explains what you think, not what the other person did. Conclusions are subjective.
The "clever" stories we tell ourselves allow us to feel good about behaving badly. Better yet, they allow us to feel good about behaving badly even while achieving abysmal results.
Story Types:
1. Victim Stories—“It’s Not My Fault” The first of the clever stories is a Victim Story. Victim Stories, as you might imagine, make us out to be innocent sufferers. The theme is always the same. The other person is bad, wrong, or dumb, and we are good, right, or brilliant. Other people do bad or stupid things, and we suffer as a result. When you tell a Victim Story, you intentionally ignore the role you have played in the problem. You tell your story in a way that judiciously avoids whatever you have done (or neglected to do) that might have contributed to the problem. Parts of the story you might intentionally leave out because, hey, he/she made you feel bad.
2. Villain Stories—“It’s All Your Fault” We create these nasty little tales by turning normal, decent human beings into villains. We impute bad motive, and then we tell everyone about the evils of the other party as if somehow we’re doing the world a huge favor. In Victim Stories we exaggerate our own innocence. In Villain Stories we overemphasize the other person’s guilt or stupidity. We automatically assume the worst possible motives or grossest incompetence while ignoring any possible good or neutral intentions or skills a person may have. When others do things that hurt or inconvenience us, we tell Villain Stories in which we invent terrible motives or exaggerate flaws for others based on how their actions affected us.
3. Helpless Stories—“There’s Nothing Else I Can Do.” In these fabrications we make ourselves out to be powerless to do anything healthy or helpful. We convince ourselves that there are no healthy alternatives for dealing with our predicament, which justifies the action we’re about to take. In helpless stories we explain why we can’t do anything to change our situation.
Clever stories get us off the hook. More often than not, our conclusions transform from reasonable explanations to clever stories when they conveniently excuse us from any responsibility—when, in reality, we have been partially responsible. The other person isn’t bad and wrong, and we aren’t right and good. The truth lies somewhere in the middle. However, if we can make others out as wrong and ourselves out as right, we’re off the hook. Better yet, once we’ve demonized others, we can even insult and abuse them if we want.
What transforms a clever story into a useful one? The rest of the story. That’s because clever stories have one characteristic in common: They’re incomplete. Clever stories omit crucial information about us, about others, and about our options. Only by including all of these essential details can clever stories be transformed into useful ones. What’s the best way to fill in the missing details? Quite simply, it’s done by turning victims into actors, villains into humans, and the helpless into the able.
To turn victims into actors ask: Am I pretending not to notice my role in the problem? This question jars you into facing up to the fact that maybe, just maybe, you did something to help cause the problem. Instead of being a victim, you were an actor. This doesn’t necessarily mean you had malicious motives. Perhaps your contribution was merely a thoughtless omission. Nonetheless, you contributed.
To turn villains into humans, ask: Why would a reasonable, rational, and decent person do what this person is doing? This particular question humanizes others. As we search for plausible answers to it, our emotions soften. Empathy often replaces judgment, and depending upon how we’ve treated others, personal accountability replaces self-justification. Doing this provides a variety of possible reasons for the other person’s behavior.
To turn the helpless into the able, ask: "What do I really want? For me? For others? For the relationship?" and "What would I do right now if I really wanted these results?”
Tentative statements can be effective. Instead of saying, “Are you upset with me? What did I do?” say, “I’m beginning to feel that you are upset with me. Did I do something to make you angry?” The response to this question opens the door to the real issue at hand.
Tell the Rest of the Story Ask: • Am I pretending not to notice my role in the problem? • Why would a reasonable, rational, and decent person do this? • What do I really want? • What would I do right now if I really wanted these results?
Start with facts (not stories) when having crucial conversations with others. Most people do the opposite and communicate accordingly (hurtful comments, accusations, etc.). And starting with our ugly stories is the most controversial, least influential, and most insulting way we could begin. Facts are the least controversial.
Facts provide a safe beginning. By their very nature, facts aren’t controversial. That’s why we call them facts. For example, consider the statement: “Yesterday you arrived at work twenty minutes late.” No dispute there. Conclusions, on the other hand, are highly controversial. For example: “You can’t be trusted.” That’s hardly a fact. Actually, it’s more like an insult, and it can certainly be disputed. Eventually we may want to share our conclusions, but we certainly don’t want to open up with a controversy. Facts are the most persuasive. In addition to being less controversial, facts are also more persuasive than subjective conclusions. Facts form the foundation of belief. So if you want to persuade others, don’t start with your stories. Start with your observations.
Facts are the least insulting. If you do want to share your story, don’t start with it. Your story (particularly if it has led to a rather ugly conclusion) could easily surprise and insult others. Let others see your experience from your point of view—starting with your facts. This way, when you do talk about what you’re starting to conclude, they’ll understand why. First the facts, then the story—and then make sure that as you explain your story, you tell it as a possible story, not as concrete fact.
A good strategy involves describing both facts and stories in a tentative, or nondogmatic, way. For example, “I was wondering why . . .” Talking tentatively simply means that we tell our story as a story rather than disguising it as a hard fact. “Perhaps you were unaware . . .” suggests that you’re not absolutely certain. “In my opinion . . .” says you’re sharing an opinion and no more.
Share in a way that expresses appropriate confidence in your conclusions while demonstrating that, if called for, you want your conclusions challenged. To do so, change “The fact is” to “In my opinion.” Swap “Everyone knows that” for “I’ve talked to three of our suppliers who think that.” Soften “It’s clear to me” to “I’m beginning to wonder if.
One of the ironies of dialogue is that, when talking with those holding opposing opinions, the more convinced and forceful you act, the more resistant others become. Speaking in absolute and overstated terms does not increase your influence, it decreases it. The converse is also true—the more tentatively you speak, the more open people become to your opinions.
The reason we should speak tentatively is because we, indeed, are not certain that our opinions represent absolute truth or our understanding of the facts is complete and perfect. You should never pretend to be less confident than you are. But likewise, you should not pretend to be more confident than your limited capacity allows. Our observations could be faulty. Our stories—well, they’re only educated guesses.
How Did We Get Like This? It starts with a story. When we feel the need to push our ideas on others, it’s generally because we believe we’re right and everyone else is wrong.
Often all it takes to break an impasse is to seek to understand others’ views. When we show genuine interest, people feel less compelled to use silence or violence.
Paraphrase: Rephrase what the person has said, and do it in a way that suggests that it’s okay, you’re trying to understand, and it’s safe for him or her to talk candidly.
Ask what he or she wants to see happen. Asking people what they want helps them engage in a way that moves to problem solving and away from either attacking or avoiding. It also helps reveal what they think the cause of the problem is.
As people sat silently fuming, the executive did his best to get them to talk so that they wouldn’t walk away with unresolved feelings. He mirrored, “I can see you’re upset—who wouldn’t be? Is there anything we can do?” Nothing. Finally, he primed. That is, he took his best guess at what they might be thinking, said it in a way that showed it was okay to talk about it, and then went on from there. “Are you thinking that the only reason we’re doing this is to make money? That maybe we don’t care about your personal lives?” After a brief pause, someone answered: “Well, it sure looks like that. Do you have any idea how much trouble this is going to cause?” Then someone else chimed in and the discussion was off and running. Now, this is not the kind of thing you would do unless nothing else has worked. You really want to hear from others, and you have a very strong idea of what they’re probably thinking. Priming is an act of good faith, taking risks, becoming vulnerable, and building safety in hopes that others will share their meaning.
Keep in mind we’re trying to understand their point of view, not necessarily agree with it or support it. Understanding doesn’t equate with agreement. Sensitivity does equate to acquiescence. By taking steps to understand, we are promising that we’ll accept their point of view. There will be plenty of time later for us to share as well. For now, we’re merely trying to get at what others think in order to understand why they’re feeling the way they’re feeling and doing what they’re doing.
To help remember these skills, think of your ABCs. Agree when you agree. Build when others leave out key pieces. Compare when you differ.
A. AGREE: I agree with the part about... is a good technique.
B. BUILD: You can then build on by saying "in addition, I noticed..."
C. COMPARE: Compare where you differ. So, instead of pronouncing “Wrong!” start with a tentative but candid opening, such as “I think I see things differently. Let me describe how.”
Get in the practice of being curious, interested in, and exploring the other side’s perspective.
Summary: Start with an attitude of curiosity and patience. This helps restore safety. Then, use four powerful listening skills: • Ask. Start by simply expressing interest in the other person’s views. • Mirror. Increase safety by respectfully acknowledging the emotions people appear to be feeling. • Paraphrase. As others begin to share part of their story, restate what you’ve heard to show not just that you understand, but also that it’s safe for them to share what they’re thinking. • Prime. If others continue to hold back, prime. Take your best guess at what they may be thinking and feeling. As you begin to share your views, remember: • Agree. Agree when you share views. • Build. If others leave something out, agree where you share views, then build. • Compare. When you do differ significantly, don’t suggest others are wrong. Compare your two views.
Once you’ve become angry, it’s not always easy to calm down. You’ve told yourself an ugly story, your body has responded by preparing for a fight, and now you’re trying your best not to duke it out—only your body hasn’t caught up with your brain.
In the moment, I felt my son was rude, cold, ungrateful, and manipulative. That was my story about him. That story generated a potent emotion that was threatening to cause me to say something hurtful to him. He wasn’t behaving the way I wanted him to, and in the zeal of the moment, I felt an insane certainty that a well-aimed tirade might help him reform his life beginning this instant. In fact, I felt it was my moral duty as a loving parent to lay into him! I have become more and more aware of (1) how true emotions can feel during crucial moments and (2) how false they really are. I have learned to be suspicious of my convictions during these moments of strong emotion and more confident that if I use the tools I’ve learned I can create an entirely different set of emotions. The second thing I have learned over and over again is how much these emotions can corrupt my view of those closest to me. When I am in the grip of Victim, Villain, and Helpless Stories, when my motives degenerate and I am driven by a desperate need to be right—I don’t see others as they really are. Even my precious son can look like a monster. As my brain tried to force an unhelpful sentence out of my mouth aimed at the heart of my son, I did what we’ve advised you to do in similar circumstances. I asked myself, “What do I really want?” I challenged my story. I asked why a reasonable, rational, decent person would do what my son had done. I examined my role. In a matter of seconds I started to relax. As this happened, my son was no longer a monster—he was a vulnerable, beautiful, precious boy. Whereas moments earlier I was thoroughly convinced my view of him was just and true, I now had an entirely different view that felt even more just and true. Our emotions are incredibly plastic. In crucial moments they are almost always wrong. With practice, we can gain incredible power to change them. And as we change them, not only do we learn to change how we see those around us, but we learn to change our very lives as well.
