Up Market

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• You Can’t Hit What You Don’t Aim For
• The doormat, the jerk and the lizard brain
• The Difference Between Knowledge and Action

You Can’t Hit What You Don’t Aim For Posted: 04 Jul 2012 08:00 AM PDT Engaging in what might euphemistically be called a “lively” conversation often gets the better of me. Someone makes a statement I find patently ridiculous, and I feel the need to educate them. As I’m writing, I can already envision their response, to which I’m already formulating my rebuttal. My what? So, I’m already assuming they’re going to argue with me? Well, if that’s my attitude, it’s no wonder what I wrote garners an angry response. Intent is a powerful tool. In the “trust tree” it’s the trunk — the only portion that’s partly invisible, partly visible. Our intent begins inside, then becomes evident to others. The Trust Tree In “The Speed of Trust,” Stephen M. R. Covey uses the illustration of trust as a tree, with two main components: character and competence. Each has two components of its own. Character is made up of integrity and intent. Underground this tree are the roots. They represent the part of trust that’s not visible to others: integrity. Others can’t see, just by looking at us, whether we have it or not. Partially hidden and partially above ground is the trunk: intent. Intentions can be hidden, or signaled by our actions. Competence is made up of capabilities and results. Above are the branches, the visible supporting structure of the tree. That’s our capabilities, our skills. These are fairly evident to most observers. Finally, the fruit: results. Until we deliver results, real trust can’t exist. Aiming the Arrow: Intent If my intent is positive, if my intent is to share my views in a way that might motivate someone to change theirs, shouldn’t that hopeful, positive attitude be obvious in what I write? How can it be, if my real intention is to tell them off? If someone totally cheeses you off with their stupidity, try this (I intend to.) Envision not your words, but their response. Envision the perfect response, where they realize the error of their ways and wholeheartedly come over to your point of view. Now, write words that will get that response. (For extra credit, envision their perfect response, which causes you to see the error of your ways and wholeheartedly go over to their point of view.) You have a much better chance of hitting the target if you… know what it is, and actually aim at it By the way — I’m writing a book about how and why we use and abuse words, and the havoc it wreaks in business communication. It will be called I Know You Think You Understand What I Said But What You Don’t Understand Is That What I Said Is Not What I Meant.

The doormat, the jerk and the lizard brain Posted: 04 Jul 2012 05:00 AM PDT The best reason to be a jerk at work is that of course no one will listen to you or support you or embrace your ideas — you’re a jerk. The best reason to be a doormat at work is that in your effort to get along, to be nice, and to go with the flow, of course you won’t be expected to stand up and shout, “follow me” when your ideas might take you in a different direction. Both extremes are the refuge of the lizard brain, the voice of the resistance. They reward the desire to fit in, not to stand out. “It’s not my job” is a comforting refrain when you’d like to hide out. So is, “they all hate me and won’t do what I say.” Fear is the driver here, it’s fear that pushes people in either of these two directions. That’s because in between the two extremes lies responsibility and opportunity and the requirement that you actually do work that matters. The hard part, the part that gets you rewarded, is understanding that sometimes it is best to use common sense and toe the line, while other times you are facing fear that must be overcome. Linchpins might be afraid, but they know precisely what they’re afraid of. And then they do something constructive about it. Image credit: lizjones112

The Difference Between Knowledge and Action Posted: 04 Jul 2012 02:00 AM PDT I'm the type of person who loves to learn.  I collect information like some people collect comic books, baseball cards, or other… um… stuff you collect.  Unfortunately, knowledge doesn't always turn into practice.  I don't always do what I know. I don't think I'm alone with this.  But does this make sense? Shouldn't knowing something be a bridge to doing something? It's not so simple.  When you're fighting for a national championship, or throwing the game winning touchdown, or delivering a major speech to save your company, you may know how to do it.  But that doesn't mean you'll be able to do it.  Sure, you might have the technical precision to throw a perfect pitch.  You might have completely memorized your talk.  But going out and delivering in the heat of the moment changes the equation. Knowledge doesn't equal action.  Instead, your emotions and your nerves make it difficult to act.  (To make it worse, it's almost impossible to reproduce the level of stress, fatigue, or excitement that comes with doing something big.  It's nearly impossible to practice something big without actually doing something big.  Oh, the irony!) Don't get me wrong — knowledge is great. But just knowing something is never enough.  We have to be able to put it into action.  As the famous philosopher Mike Tyson once said, "everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face." The flip-side is true as well: Action isn't the same as knowledge.  I remember when I was in college (something that is getting admittedly harder to do!) and a professor told me I had a very natural presentation style.  She went on to say that I must have "obviously prepared very well." Of course, I hadn't.  In fact, I threw together that presentation at the last minute. What I took away from her comments wasn't that maybe deep down I had the ability to give a great presentation, or that by working hard, learning more, and gaining experience I could improve my skills.  Instead I took it to mean that I didn't need to put in the long hours of preparation, and instead could just "show up" and act.  I bumbled through presentations that way for years, believing that the more "natural" (i.e., unpracticed) I was, the better the presentation sounded.  I was all action and no knowledge. Natural talent can only take us so far.  And once we hit the limits of those talents — then what? We love a black and white world.  A world that tells us this is good and that is bad.  And while sometimes that's true (seriously, when are Sour Patch Kids ever a bad thing?), a lot of times we need a balance.  In this case, we need both knowledge and action.  One or the other simply isn't enough.  It wasn't until years later when I discovered that the best presenters in the world spend hours upon hours practicing their seemingly natural talks.  In fact, it was their practice that made the talks sound so natural. So where do you fall?  Are you more knowledge or action? Photo credit: Library of Congress

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