Don’t Ignore the Yellow Lights

The speedometer gets more attention than any other indicator on my car’s dashboard. I generally want to get to my destination as quickly as possible without compromising safety or getting a speeding ticket. 

Focused as the workplace is on speed and productivity, it’s not surprising that businesses have adopted the dashboard metaphor to track the metrics relevant to their functionality and to the people who create it. But how many of the yellow signals—like the “check engine” light or the indicator of low tire pressure—are on the dashboards of business?

Among those metaphorical dashboard lights are those related to emotional awareness. Because they are yellow and not red, we sometimes pay less attention to them. But to ignore them would almost certainly affect the bottom line in a negative way. Here are three reasons why we should learn to give more consideration to emotions, all from The Body Keeps the Score:

  1. Emotions are signals that something deserves our attention (p. 100). Anger, for example, tells us that we need to confront something. It could be someone else’s behavior, a bad process, or something within ourselves. Fear indicates the presence of a threat, which could be real or imaginary. In both examples, it’s clear that emotion alone doesn’t give us clear, reliable information on which to act, which leads to the next point:
  2. Emotions and reason are not opposed to each other. They are simply in some sort of tension, balance, or imbalance with each other. Although they are valuable as indicators of what deserves attention, strong emotions can also hijack thinking. Processing those feelings is a key to clearer thinking and therefore better action. As Dr. van der Kolk writes, “Our emotions assign value to experiences and thus are the foundation of reason.” He goes on to state: “Psychologists usually try to help people use insight and understanding to manage their behavior. However, neuroscience research shows that very few psychological problems are the result of defects in understanding; most originate in pressures from deeper regions in the brain that drive our perception and attention” (p. 64).
  3. Emotions are a source of motivation to initiate action (p. 75). Not only do they point us toward or away from an object. They help us move and do.

The “check engine” indicator on my car’s dashboard often lights up around the time the engine needs an oil change. New lubricant usually results in that light turning off. But I still take my vehicle to the mechanics to perform that simple task because I just don’t know what else they might find.

I journal every day to attend as best I can to the emotional lights on my personal dashboard. It’s certainly a helpful practice. But I know both from personal experience and learning that the effects of emotion can sometimes be so powerful or subtle that they cloud my vision or skew my perception without my awareness. Another person often gives better attention to the complex ecosystem of my thoughts and emotions than I can myself. 

Who else is checking your internal engine?

A Better Process

Some processes are better than others.

Take the process of spring cleaning for example. In time for yesterday’s vernal equinox, I read Marie Kondo’s book on tidying for some inspiration. I certainly found it, but I also couldn’t help noticing that this inspiration came wrapped in process. Kondo’s approach to tidying is energizing, motivating, and inspiring because her principles and process are so good: sort by type, discard first, et cetera.

To improve my craft as a communicator, I also recently read John McPhee’s book on writing. He too shares a great process. But an extra surprise for me in his book was a passage he offered about editors and writers:

…no two writers are the same…No one will ever write in just the way that you do, or in just the way that anyone else does. Because of this fact, there is no real competition between writers. What appears to be competition is actually nothing more than jealousy and gossip. Writing is a matter strictly of developing oneself. You compete only with yourself. You develop yourself by writing. An editor’s goal is to help writers make the most of the patterns that are unique about them.

fromDraft No. 4, page 82

If one substitutes “working” for “writing” in the passage above, it could describe most of us. Just as a writer follows a process in which she submits her text to examination by a cadre of grammarians, fact checkers, and guardians of the style guide, most other professionals also have processes through which others check, critique, or correct their work. 

But for how many of those professionals does the process include the kind of “editor” McPhee describes, someone to help them “make the most of the patterns that are unique about them”? In work and life, there seems to be an abundance of critics to help us make our work better, but far fewer who offer the constructive insight, challenge, and encouragement that help us make ourselves better. 

If you could benefit from a conversation with this sort of “editor”, schedule a time to talk. The only thing it will cost you (and me, for that matter) is time. But isn’t time well spent if it leads you to a better process?

A Path toward Purpose

In a memorable scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, the Black Knight, who has just lost both of his arms, replies quite matter-of-factly to King Arthur that his traumatic injuries are “just a flesh wound.” It’s the knight’s absurd denial of reality that makes the scene so funny. In real life, it’s not funny at all.

Sadly, many people go through life unaware that they have suffered some form of trauma. Physical or sexual abuse of children, for example, can be buried in their consciousness as part of a natural human defense mechanism. And there are countless more who experience emotional trauma both as children and later in life.

One of the lessons from Bessel van der Kolk’s excellent book The Body Keeps the Score is that trauma can rob us of a sense of purpose. If purpose is a connection to something beyond and greater than ourselves, it makes sense that a self wounded and compromised by trauma would have difficulty experiencing purpose, along with the energy and meaning it gives us. If you feel you are lacking a sense of purpose, trauma is one of the possible reasons. 

To connect with a purpose that takes us beyond ourselves, we require some minimal threshold of wholeness and integration. Most people have not suffered extreme trauma and may already be across that threshold. But it is probably safe to say that all of us have been wounded to some degree or another, so for all of us, the path to purpose may very well begin with healing.

If you want to discover or clarify your purpose, a good way to start is with a conversation. I welcome the opportunity to speak with you about purpose, and if I can’t help you, I’ll help you find someone who can.

Listen from Below

Purpose can supercharge an individual or an organization. This has been well documented. Unfortunately, “purpose” can seem like a vague thing, something abstract and philosophical that we’re supposed to grasp through some sort of contemplative process. But it’s really much simpler than that:

Purpose is first and foremost something greater than any one person, something above me or you. And to understand it, we first need to adjust the way we seek it, the way we listen for it. We need to listen from below. Not from above, which is the place of authority, power, judgment, and criticism. And not even at the same level, as we do with friends with whom we’re on equal footing. 

So what does it look like to listen from below? Here are three practices that clarify this idea:

  1. Associate with the humble—These are not necessarily the poor but anyone who exhibits the groundedness and other traits of humility. But this requires a real connection or conversation with humble people. Listening to their perspective can often help us listen from below.
  2. Be curious—respectfully and appropriately, of course. One can begin with Stephen Covey’s classic direction: seek first to understand, and only then to be understood. The great virtue of humble curiosity is that it helps us be less self-centered and more focused on the other. Another way to be curious is to look for the greater story in every conversation and experience we have. Purpose always lives in a greater story, and we have a much better chance of seeing purpose if we’re looking for that greater story. This naturally leads to…
  3. Invite others into a story of greater purpose—This puts some positive pressure on us to live into that greater purpose. After all, we can’t invite someone to a place to which we’re not willing to go. It also creates a community of purpose, which reinforces listening from below.

A story from a commencement address given by Fred Rogers, highlighted in the recent documentary Won’t You be my Neighbor?, brings many of these thoughts together:

I wonder if you’ve heard what happened at the Seattle Special Olympics a few years ago? For the 100 yard dash, there were nine contestants, all of them so-called physically or mentally disabled. All nine of them assembled at the starting line; and, at the sound of the gun they took off—but one little boy stumbled and fell and hurt his knee and began to cry. The other eight children heard the boy crying. They slowed down, turned around, saw the boy and ran back to him—every one of them ran back to him. One little girl with Down’s Syndrome bent down and kissed the boy and said, “This will make it better.” The little boy got up, and he and the rest of the runners linked their arms together and joyfully walked to the finish line. They all finished the race at the same time. And when they did, everyone in the stadium stood up and clapped and whistled and cheered for a long, long time. People who were there are still telling the story with obvious delight. And you know why, because deep down we know that what matters in this life is much more than winning for ourselves. What really matters is helping others win, too, even if it means slowing down and changing our course now and then.

—Fred Rogers, 2001 Middlebury College commencement address

These humble children with special needs had, perhaps because of their so-called disabilities, special vision and special hearing, the kind that doesn’t only see the finish line or hear the gun that starts the race, but which also hears the cries of a boy who fell and sees him on the ground. Because they were so unselfish and aware of the other, they saw more clearly than most that there was a greater purpose and a greater story than winning the race. They followed each other into that story, crossed the finish line together, and inspired by their human greatness an entire stadium of people.

If purpose is about something greater than me or you, then in order to see it, we must place ourselves below—in how we hear and how we act. Listening from below is how humility listens. And it is this humble mindset that gives us the perspective to see, work, and live with purpose.

A Taxonomy of Conflict

Conflict is part of our experience from the earliest years. Consider sibling rivalry, a reality so ingrained in human nature that the story of Cain and Abel appears in a text nearly three thousand years old. And interpersonal conflict continues throughout our lives—at work, at home, and elsewhere.

When we grow up a little, we begin to play team sports. We learn to cooperate with others to defeat a common foe. We learn that victory is even sweeter when we can share it with our teammates. And if we are fortunate, we gain an appreciation for the strengths and contributions of others, as well as an awareness of our own strengths and weaknesses.

But some people never move beyond external conflict to the struggle waged within. Crushing the competition in the marketplace or cheering for their favorite athletic team is the furthest they go. But in comparison with external conflicts, our interior battles are just as real, and in the final analysis, even more important. Some understand this as competing with yourself.

The self-help industry knows how real this is. There are thousands of books dedicated to helping their readers overcome inner adversity, many of which are quite useful. Meditation in the pursuit of mindfulness is also a very helpful tactic. But one of the limitations of consuming self-help or even practicing meditation is that these can remain solitary activities. Even the most self-disciplined people profit from involving others in their inner game.

Two or more heads are almost always better than one, and no one needs to struggle alone. There are many—coaches, therapists, etc.—that can provide the kind of support and challenge we need to grow, thrive, and win within.

Here’s a visual summary of this taxonomy of conflict:

No number of external victories can compensate for inner defeat. True competitive greatness and the most meaningful victories always involve an interior game, not just an external one, and that inner game doesn’t need to be a solo sport. You can assemble your own band of brothers (or sisters) to challenge and support you.

I would be honored to be one of them.

Grateful Winners

I want to be like Mike. No, not Michael Jordan. There’s another Mike I know, who also happens to be a fierce competitor on the basketball court. He’s more than a few years older than me but plays—and works—with greater intensity than people half his age. He also happens to be one of the nicest and most thankful people you’ll ever meet. 

Competitive intensity and gratitude are a powerful combination, providing healthy, humble balance to those who practice them. Without the drive to win, we accomplish far less. Without thankfulness, our accomplishments can lessen us. How? Those accomplishments can easily produce arrogance and fuel greed. Gratitude is an inoculation against those.

To be a grateful winner is a bit paradoxical. Ernest Kurtz and Katherine Ketcham write that a grateful mindset is “the opposite of the stubborn conviction that sees all goods as winnings.” This can be difficult. After all, was it not your effort that produced the results? Was it not your diligence that created something of high quality? Was it not your competitive greatness that resulted in a win? Well, yes—at least in part. But focusing only on our own contributions to achievements can cut us off from others and erode relationships.

So how can one become a more grateful winner? Here are three ideas:

  1. Ask, “Where did that come from?” If you’ve just experienced a win, it may very well be due in large part to your effort, talent, or expertise. But ask yourself, “Where did that (effort, talent, expertise, etc.) come from?” Keep asking that question about every answer to that question, and eventually you’ll almost certainly find someone who gave you a gift. 
  2. Be grateful for your adversaries. After all, without them there wouldn’t be a game. There wouldn’t be a scoreboard. And there wouldn’t be winners and losers. The very experience of victory depends on the existence of an adversary. It doesn’t make any sense to love victory and hate the adversary that makes it possible.
  3. Celebrate your wins with generosity. Winning can isolate you. It separates you from the losers. Sharing the joy of victory with others reconnects us. It also completes a virtuous cycle: having recognized the gifts we’ve received that enabled us to win, we can make our gratitude more real by giving to others. And that feels good.

Sometimes an illustration communicates better than words. At a certain monastery in Greece, there is a beloved icon of the Virgin Mary. If a visitor to this place looks closely, he will find hanging across the bottom of this icon an Olympic bronze medal among the other precious items offered there—clearly given by a grateful winner.

Out of Control

In The Age of the Unthinkable, Joshua Cooper Ramo reflects on how our world is becoming more unstable and difficult to understand, a world characterized by unprecedented disruption and dislocation. His book is a fascinating survey of this theme, ranging from subatomic science to geopolitical strategy.

It’s easier than ever to feel that things are out of control. They actually always have been, but we didn’t feel this as much or as easily as we do now that technological development has magnified and accelerated so much. Although the times have changed, our natural reaction to the sense that things are getting more out of control has probably always been the same: to seek more control. We can do this in lots of ways: through favors done for others, making or saving more money, enhancing physical strength or beauty, acquiring more information or knowledge, et cetera. 

The widespread appearance of the supernatural in popular culture also expresses our desire for more control in a world that seems ever more out of control. Batman, Wonder Woman, Black Panther, the X-men, the Avengers—all of them portray a power we wish we had.

I wonder though about the dangers that may come with this quest for more control. Some are obvious. Ramo writes about the paradox of military deterrence (the arms race): every state wants to feel secure, but it is doomed in this quest because the very steps it takes to feel more secure almost always make other states feel less secure. But how might seeking control affect an individual person?

Imagine a thick, virtually indestructible rubber band. Pulling on one side is the loss of control. Pulling on the other is the quest for more of it. By pulling harder for more control, do we change anything about this reality other than the strain on the band and our muscles? 

What would it look like instead to pull only so hard as we need to care for ourselves and the relationships and work that have been entrusted to us, and to give some attention to staying aware of this natural and enduring tension? One of the paradoxes of our life is that we are both powerless and powerful, helpless and capable. Living in a healthy tension within that paradox will serve us better than increasing the tension and reducing our awareness of it.

Ways to Scale

Scaling is about multiplying something, whether it’s a product, service, revenue, effort, or something else. There are many ways to scale, but whether they entail installing the latest software or hiring new workers, they have one quality in common: functionality. After all, to multiply the ends, you must increase the functional, productive means.

Functionality is critically important in any system or organization. It’s how the work gets done. But an unfortunate result of this reality is that we sometimes treat people more like tools than like people, especially within those contexts or systems in which those people have certain functions. We can easily forget that people are more than the functions they fulfill. 

This brings us to the other way to scale: developing people as people. Personal growth and development cannot detract from how well someone does his or her work. It can only make it better. The person who becomes aware of the wrong belief he had held or the possibility she had not considered can experience a tremendous influx of energy that he or she can bring to every facet of life, including work. But investing in people as people seems less efficient than investing in their functionality. So we drill. We work on sharpening the skills. We increase professional knowledge. All these are useful, but they leave full potential untapped. 

How can we best unlock that potential? A relationship in which a person experiences both high challenge and high support is the most powerful means of his or her personal development and transformative growth. This is what a good executive coach provides. 

In itself, this (and any) relationship does not seem scalable. We can’t multiply relationship in the same way we can multiply a product or service because relationships live in “real” time and have a finite quality to them. Relationships are live and personal. There’s a difference in quality between one of the thousand Facebook “friends” we might have and the far fewer people with whom we actually spend real time. 

But perhaps a relationship does actually scale. Maybe the time we invest in the transformative growth and development of someone else can be multiplied by the greater good they consequently do for others and the greater health they consequently bring to their other relationships. You can’t measure that. You can’t control it. And you won’t even know about it unless someone else tells you. But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing.

Magnified by Meaning

Out of the greatest darkness can come the brightest light.

Such was the story of Viktor Frankl, the holocaust survivor who went on to pioneer a form of psychotherapy that reintegrated what had been lost by so many in the modern world: meaning.

There are many who wake up every day without a clear sense of meaning or purpose for their lives. They may experience a constant boredom or an absence of energy. Often they might seek to numb the low-grade pain of this void in various unhealthy ways—with power, with pleasure, or with something else that allows them to escape for a moment from that draining reality.

The good news is that no one has to be trapped in such an existence. There is a better life available, and Frankl offers us helpful guidelines for how to enter into a life magnified by meaning. Here are three of them:

One of his most important principles is that “the true meaning of life is to be found in the world rather than within man or his own psyche, as though it were a closed system.” In other words, he tells us that as beneficial as personal retreats can be, we will not find the meaning of our lives simply by gazing at our navels in solitude. We will find it rather by engaging with the world around us, with the people around us, with the reality of our past and the potential of our future. Elsewhere Dr. Frankl writes, “I think the meaning of our existence is not invented by ourselves, but rather detected.”

A second critical principle is that there is no such thing as an abstract or general meaning of life. Because every human being is unique and unrepeatable, the meaning or purpose of his or her life must also be unique and unrepeatable. In Frankl’s own words:

The meaning of life differs from man to man, from day to day and from hour to hour. What matters therefore is not the meaning of life in general but rather the specific meaning of a person’s life at a given moment….One should not search for an abstract meaning of life. Everyone has his own specific vocation or mission in life; everyone must carry out a concrete assignment that demands fulfillment. In this he cannot be replaced, nor can his life be repeated. Thus everyone’s task is as unique as is his specific opportunity to implement it.

Even for believers within a spiritual tradition that provides general or abstract principles regarding the purpose of life, they must still apply those principles within the specific contexts and particularities of their lives. Otherwise, those principles remain words without flesh, unreal ideas deprived of concrete expression.

Dr. Frankl adds that meaning is not just found in work, but also in love:

This uniqueness and singleness which distinguishes each individual and gives a meaning to his existence has a bearing on creative work as much as it does on human love. When the impossibility of replacing a person is realized, it allows the responsibility which a man has for his existence and its continuance to appear in all its magnitude. A man who becomes conscious of the responsibility he bears toward a human being who affectionately waits for him, or to an unfinished work, will never be able to throw away his life.

Finally, Frankl calls us to decisive action. Detecting our life’s purpose and meaning is not just a head game of reflection or meditation. Every moment sets before us infinite possibilities. The stories and meaning of our lives are determined by the choices and decisions we make, by what we do and by what we don’t do. Reflecting on his and his comrades’ experience in the concentration camps, Dr. Frankl writes:

We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life – daily and hourly. Our answer must consist, not in talk and meditation, but in right action and in right conduct. Life ultimately means taking responsibility to find the right answer to its problems and to fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual.

If you want to live a life magnified by meaning, remember these lessons from Viktor Frankl:

  1. Meaning is not found within ourselves. It is beyond us, and it is found by engaging with the world and especially the people around us. It lives in the space between.
  2. Meaning is not abstract and general but rather as unique and unrepeatable as a human fingerprint. It is not static but ever-changing.
  3. Meaning is not just understood through talk and reflection. It is also created by the decisive actions that are our answers to the questions and problems of life that confront us.

By living into the truth of these principles, by living a life magnified by meaning, you also can become a reflection of light in a world darkened by its absence.

Failure

Failure is never fun. No one likes to lose.

Yet we all experience defeat from time to time. We don’t hit our sales goals. We get into automobile accidents. We fail in relationships. The list goes on.

But check out this thoughtful reflection by Francis T. Vincent, a former Commissioner of Major League Baseball:

Baseball teaches us, or has taught most of us, how to deal with failure. We learn at a very young age that failure is the norm in baseball and, precisely because we have failed, we hold in high regard those who fail less often – those who hit safely in one out of three chances and become star players. I also find it fascinating that baseball, alone in sport, considers errors to be part of the game, part of its rigorous truth.

“Failure is the norm in baseball.” And perhaps in life. Does this insight take some of failure’s sting away?

Maybe a little bit, but it still hurts. How then do we live in this tension—between the goal of victory and the reality of occasional defeat? 

If we can’t avoid failure altogether, the goal (as Mr. Vincent said) is to fail less often, to get better. There are plenty of exhortations to learn from failure, which is one of the best responses to it. But what about developing a mindset that we can carry ahead of time into any test, trial, or work—a mindset that can help us both to deal with failure when it happens and to fail less often?

There is such a mindset. It’s that state in which we’re grounded and in touch with reality. It helps us remember our failures so that we can also remember the lessons we learned from them. It helps us become more other-conscious instead of self-conscious. It helps the rigid become more spontaneous and the careless become more careful. 

It’s humility. 

How do we develop it? By doing those things that keep us grounded and in touch with reality. By remembering our failures and the lessons learned from them. By intentionally paying more attention to others than we do to ourselves. By inviting truthful and constructive feedback.

Doing these things may be difficult or unattractive in some ways, but they will make our inevitable defeats less difficult and unattractive. And best of all, they will help us fail less often—and win more.