What do I mean by “jerk?”

I believed that what I wanted came first. I believed that what I thought was more important that what other people thought. I believed that I was entitled to tell them that I was right and they were wrong. I believed that it was okay to be “honest,” regardless of how the other person felt about it.

What brought this to mind?

I was sitting looking at my wife, and wondering why she stuck it out. Truly. She met me when I was pretty much at my peak of jerk-ness, and survived all it took – including martial arts and a heart attack – for me to learn how important other people are. And for me to start taking responsibility for my own feelings and behavior.

(If you get the impression that I think my wife is a remarkable woman, you’re right.)

I’m still a jerk sometimes. I still forget to think first, and think in the right way, about the people around me. It’s true – I’m imperfect.

Like you.

One of the hardest lessons of my life has been learning to stop, think, look, and think again before I speak. In fact, I’ll include writing emails in “speaking.”

When I write an email, I read it through and edit it at least three times.  Because I’ve made too many mistakes by making too many assumptions or by not stopping to think.

At least with an email, the other person can take their time before dealing with their reactions and responses.

In person, the impact is frequently much worse.

Can you stop being a jerk?

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It got me to thinking about carrying grudges, and the way we label and categorize each other.  Okay – I don’t know for sure that you do it too, I just know that I’ve done it and that your behavior leads me to think you do it too.

You always…

Do you find yourself saying that to someone you know? Do you find yourself behaving in a way that is based on what you expect them to do, rather than what they’re doing?

Perhaps you’ve labeled them. They’re afraid, insecure, rude, lax, mean, silly, absurd, too friendly, not friendly enough, too outgoing, too inhibited, careless, thoughtless, inattentive, self-absorbed,…

How will you know when they change?

If you hold onto the image you hold firmly in mind, you won’t.  Not only that, you will inhibit their ability to change.

If you won’t give me a chance, then who will?

I’ve certainly heard words like that – from my wife, and from my children. Even recently, as I’m on my endless journey towards evolution and perfection.

If I keep an image, an identity, a label in my mind as though that’s who you are, then I may be unable to recognize that you are no longer that person.

Forgiving is not forgetting

I’ve heard too many people say “I can’t forgive that.” I disagree.  You can, you just don’t choose to. You’re holding onto the pain, the anger, the hurt for some reason that seems to make sense. Why? What’s the value in hanging onto it.

Sure – I can learn from sticking my hand in a fire, and yet realize that the fire doesn’t care about me at all. Which is not to say that someone who does something that leads to you feeling hurt doesn’t care about you.  But if you believe, as I do, that their behavior is about them, then it’s possible to forgive, to let go, without letting go of the lesson. You can learn how someone has behaved and base a certain – hmm – caution on that.

But it’s not necessarily who they are.

Let go, let…

In the twelve step programs for families and friends (Al-Anon, Co-Anon, Nar-Anon), they teach “Let go, let God”.

Since I don’t know whether there is or is not a sublime, omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient entity, here’s what it means to me:

It’s done. It’s not within the scope of my control. Perhaps I’ll be happier, or at least have more peace, if I just let it go and worry about me.

I’m responsible for me, for my behavior. Beyond that, I do the best I can for my family. Outside of that?

You’re up to you.

Let it go.

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The challenge for most of us is that when we feel vulnerable, we also feel the need to protect ourselves – to be defensive.

Defensiveness can take on a number of different aspects: classic defensiveness (explaining, justifying), counterattacking, withdrawal, redirecting. Sadly, none of these is effective when it comes to having an effective discussion and maintaining a healthy relationship.

There are two sides to dealing with vulnerability: our own, and others’.

In dealing with my own vulnerability, I have to decide whether I think it is good to expose and accept my vulnerability or not.  After all, we are all truly vulnerable. Whether it’s in work (someone else has control over my fate), romantic relationships (if I reveal my feelings, what if the other person doesn’t reciprocate), family relationships, or elsewhere, we’re always vulnerable.

I suspect that you know some of the same kinds of people I do, those who choose to try never to reveal vulnerability. These are the people who are depriving themselves of the richness and joy (along with some of the pain and sorrow) of fully explored relationships. You know them. You might say “he always seems to have a shell, a barrier” or “no one ever seems to really get to know her”.

I’m mostly at the other end of the spectrum. My barriers are – at best – permeable, where they exist at all.  I’d rather be vulnerable – and honest – than worry about hiding things and protecting myself. I believe that by being willing to share who I really am, I gain a tremendous amount from the community in which I move.

Being vulnerable is frightening. Really. Revealing your inner self, your real feelings, your flaws and foibles – this puts you at risk of having someone use that knowledge to their advantage and to your detriment, right?

So what.

If they try to use what they know about me to their advantage, that’s about them, not me.

If they try to use what they know to my disadvantage, that’s also about them, not me.

Yes, others can cause me trouble by knowing about me. I accept that, because what I’m talking about is what’s really me.

I believe that it’s easier to move about as the real you than as some image you create for your use.  Yeah, I’m talking about me and about you.

Let me not forget about addressing others’ vulnerabilities. It’s simple – if I treat others with respect and honor, if I behave with integrity, if I do NOT use what I know about others to my advantage or to their disadvantage, then vulnerability… isn’t.

In the public speaking community, one of the bits of wisdom is that the most successful speakers are real and vulnerable. They share their own stories, including their own failings and missteps. This is true of public figures in general – we tend to like and trust people whom we think of as real.

How about you? Are you willing to be vulnerable and real?

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Let’s say we’re having a conversation, and you say something about my mother, and I get angry.

Why do I get angry?

I’m not a psychotherapist, in spite of my education in psychology and a family full of psychotherapists*. I am a student of human nature, so I’ll take my best guess.

I’d say there are some good possibilities: I feel disrespected; I feel that I – through what you said about my mother – am being judged; I love my mother, and feel that you’ve disrespected her.

All of these are valid. Yet why angry? Why would any of these lead to me feeling angry?

I believe that it comes down to my sense of self-worth – that somehow, by disrespecting and/or judging me and/or my mother, you have also called into question my value on this planet.

Okay – I get that, too. Having someone question your value could be annoying.

But why? Why does someone else’s opinion, belief, or random thought matter?

Because I don’t want to – or can’t – acknowledge or deal with my own fear of being less valuable. And you’ve just put it out there in words!

So I blame you.  Internally, I believe it’s your fault. Externally, I take action on that belief.

I’m lying. I’m lying to myself and telling myself that I’m angry because you have disrespected me. I’m lying to you in the same way.

Perhaps the real problem is my self-image and sense of self-worth. Perhaps if I felt more comfortable with who I am and what I do and all the rest of it, instead of feeling angry, I’d feel some pity and/or sympathy.

In retrospect, this is part of what happened with my friend the other day in our email exchange that I mentioned in Learning to type. It would have been very easy to react to his hostility and his hurtful words. It was tempting now and then.

Fortunately for me, I’ve been working on not lying to myself, not lying to others, not taking responsibility for others’ feelings and behaviors, and not assigning responsibility for my feelings and behaviors.

He didn’t make me angry, nor did I feel angry, because I recognized what was going on. It was like a rain storm – nothing I can do about it, it’s got nothing to do with me, and I just have to wait and it’ll end.

Being honest with myself is hard. Being honest with you is harder. And both are worth doing.

I refer to myself as the white sheep of the family.

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Cory Haines' post http://is.gd/im5f reminds me of learning to type.
You never learn until you stop looking @ the kb

Followed by this:

Stop looking at the keyboard, speed goes *way* down immediately.
Then, you get faster than you were at hunt n' peck...eventually

My response was this:

@ajepst there's some profundity in that beyond just about typing,
 isn't there?

It really got me to thinking about how hard change is, because that’s what this exchange is really about: change.

In fact, my entire series of posts in this category, Coping and Communicating, is largely about change.

Learning to see my own behavior as my own, to see your behavior as being about you and your feelings, and understanding that we only interact at the external, behavioral level – that’s all about changing.

Change isn’t instant. Change takes practice and commitment. Change usually involves some failures and some frustration and exasperation, and strong temptation to give up and go back to what we know that is comfortable.

Like learning touch typing. It’s easier to look at the keyboard and take your time, if that’s what you’re used to.  In fact, I’ve seen some hunt-n-peckers who are blazingly fast. But their focus is on the keyboard, not on what they’re typing, if they have to look to find the keys.

I was fortunate, in that I was required to learn touch typing in Junior High School in NYC. I was less fortunate when it comes to personal development.  There were no requirements, and I was able to self-delude into believing that there were no consequences.

It took a long time for me to embrace the ideas that I’ve been sharing here, and longer to actually be able to put them into practice.

Just this week, I had a lengthy email exchange with a dear friend. He was very angry, frustrated with me, and hostile. He swore at me, was accusatory, told me how much he’d done for me, and so on. I was able to listen, pay attention to what I saw as being most important (our relationship, and his difficulties, and  how I might help), and respond without taking any of it personally.  It felt really good.

Like when I realized that I could, in fact, type without looking at the keys (95 wpm, btw ).

Thanks, Anne.  Thought-provoking.

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Personally, I catch myself at it far more frequently than I’d like. I catch myself asking questions like “Whose fault is this?” rather than the question I much prefer: “How did we get here, and what did I do or not do that contributed?”

The idea of taking personal responsibility is an essential one in my life. It applies in my personal life, when dealing with family, friends and acquaintances.  And it applies in my professional life, when dealing with co-workers, colleagues, and business associates.

Assigning fault and/or blame is relatively easy to understand as a motivation – if it’s someone else’s fault, then it’s not mine, and maybe I can feel better about myself. Of course, in taking that approach, I abrogate responsibility for my own behaviors or inactions, and disguise my own contributions.

Sadly, it doesn’t really work. I don’t actually improve my self-image by passing off the fault. All I do is mask my own feelings of fear/inadequacy/responsibility/guilt.  Really, it doesn’t work.

What it does is build up a backlog of self-deception. That backlog will come to bite me. I will become defensive, aggressive, and hostile when I am approached – even kindly or lovingly – about any incident where I might have some responsibility. Why? Because I feel challenged to own up to my own dishonesty, and that’s just freakin’ hard.

Note that I say “responsibility”, not culpability, fault, or any other word that has judgment implied in it.

Responsibility is a good thing, and there’s no judgment attached to taking or accepting responsibility.  Only to denying or declining responsibility for my own behaviors.

The next time you find yourself looking for someone to whom to assign fault and blame, stop and ask yourself my question: “How did we get here, and what did I do or not do that contributed?”

Then, take action on your answer first before looking for someone else.

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I find myself thinking “I did X. I didn’t do Y. Debbie* will probably be upset that I did/didn’t.”

Do you do that?

When I catch myself, I stop, take a breath, and think “When’s the last time Debbie got upset about that? Hmm. Never, maybe? So why are you getting yourself all worked up about it?”

This ties back to the idea that we all live in our own heads, and interact with the world through behaviors – speech, action, results. I define results as the things I observe that can reasonably and rationally be assumed to be the result of someone’s behavior. Like coming home and finding that the bed is made. I didn’t make it, so someone must have. My wife was the only one home, so it was probably her. “Thanks for making the bed, Sweetie!”

In Crucial Conversations: Tools for Talking When Stakes are High, Patterson et al (yes, I’m going to keep referring to this work – I think it’s seminal) talk about the Stories we tell ourselves, and understanding our Paths. In the example above (I did/didn’t whatever), my Path was the thinking that led me from what I did or didn’t do to assuming something about Debbie’s feelings, with no evidence to support that.  Assumptions – you know about assumptions.  Once I recognize my Path, and I can see my Story: “Debbie will probably be upset.” What happens when I tell myself that story? I feel angry/defensive/upset/hurt. That leads to me stepping out of the shower/kitchen/living room and acting on those feelings towards Debbie.

Poor Debbie is then sitting there wondering what she might have done to lead me to feel that way, or what kind of an ass am I for treating her that way, or…

The thing is, for a moment – just a moment – whatever is in my head seems to be real. What I expect, what I think someone else has/does/will feel, and therefore my emotional, mental, and physical reactions are based on that pseudo-reality that exists only inside of my head.

The challenge, therefore, is to stop and think in STATE terms: what has actually happened. Not what I think will happen or interpret, but what has actually happened. Has Debbie actually gotten upset? Do I have evidence to expect that she will feel upset? If so, I can choose my behavior, informed by what I know of her.

But thus far, it’s all in my head. Reacting based on what is in my head is something I can take control over. Now. Right now.

* Debbie is my amazing wife of 32.5 years. She hasn’t killed me or dumped me yet, so I’m hopeful that is’ going to last.

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I had coffee with a friend this morning. We’ll call him Pete. When I originally met him, Pete was married and living with his wife and three children. During the course of our relationship, we talked about business (where we had originally connected, although we discovered we lived down the street from each other), life, relationships, the works. Several years ago he and his wife (whom we’ll call Joan) divorced in a very non-amicable fashion.

At one point, while he was still married, I gave Pete copies of three of my favorite books: The Art Of War by Sun Tzu; The Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi; and The Unfettered Mind: Writings from a Zen Master to a Master Swordsman by Takuan Soho. I’ll talk about these books and why I think they’re valuable in another post. The importance is that my friend said to me today that the gift of those books changed his life, allowed him to discover a whole new realm, and in some ways contributed to his divorce. Wow!

He finished this by thanking me with tears in his eyes.

That’s not why I feel sad.

The Meeting

I ran into Joan a while back. She was with her new husband, whose name is also “Pete”. Once we figured out how we knew each other, we did all the small talk stuff, and she mentioned that they had five children – her three and his two.  I said I understood what a challenge that was, having four children myself, even if they were all from the same two parents. Just a bit of commiseration and fact.  Little did I know…

Later that same evening, I got an email from Joan. In that email, Joan assaulted and condemned me for having been condescending and judgmental when we spoke. “If we hadn’t been about to go into the event, I would have told you to F*** OFF right there and then. How dare you!” and so on.

Different Universes

I was stunned. She and I had apparently been in different universes. In my universe, I’d had a pleasant meeting with someone I didn’t know well, caught up just a little bit, met her present husband, and went on my way.

In her universe, someone she considers to be a friend of her anti-christ bastard of an ex-husband was rude and judgmental and condescending in totally unacceptable ways.

I read Joan’s email to my wife, who offered to get in her car, go find Joan, and begin torturing her for speaking to me the way she did.

Joan and I exchanged a few emails. I began by being conciliatory and trying to understand how she misunderstood and misjudged me. It did no good – she got meaner and more caustic with each message.  I stopped the exchange after three back-and-forths.

What I feel sad about is that she jumped right to a conclusion about my motivations and feelings that had nothing to do with my reality.

The Question

In Crucial Conversations: Tools for Talking When Stakes are High, Patterson et al suggest asking oneself what I think of as “the question”: “Why would a rational, reasonable, decent human being do that?” Frankly, it took me two readings of the book before the import and power of that question sank in. Think of it as the benefit of the doubt on steroids. Not just “I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt”, but “I wonder what might be going on with that person that, if they are in fact rational and reasonable and decent, would have led them to say/do that. Maybe the story I’m telling myself isn’t what’s going on, and maybe I should think about it more.”

I was teaching a workshop on this subject in Pune, India, and told them about “the question.”

“Here’s an example: you’re sitting there, and I’m walking by, and I slap your cheek. What would you do or say?”

A lovely young Indian woman said “I’d punch you in the face!” The rest of the group, after looking shocked, started laughing.

“Can’t you think of any acceptable reason for me to slap your cheek?”

“No. I’d hit you back.”

So I turned it to the group. “Anyone?”

Silence for about two minutes. I just sat there. Then one fellow timidly raised his hand and said “Maybe there was a wasp on her cheek?”

I felt joy, because he was learning to think. Not react or even respond, but think.

And that was the problem with Joan – she did what she thought of as punching me back. Whereas there was a wasp on her cheek.

Stop and ask “the question” – even if the other person really is an unforgivable ass, it may be enough to let you apply STATE or at least respond thoughtfully.

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There are some interesting implications to that.

For instance, all that time I spend feeling guilty for “hurting someone’s feelings” is time wasted. I’m not saying that I think we shouldn’t be aware of others’ feelings. I’m not promoting insensitivity or callousness or meanness.

What I am promoting is the idea that I am not responsible for your feelings. Your response or reaction to my behavior is just that – yours.

That said, I do believe that we can learn what behaviors lead others to feel certain ways, and choose to behave or not behave in those ways.

And yet, I can’t spend all my time thinking about how my behavior affects you. More importantly, I can’t go back and change the way you feel.

Have you ever known someone who – no matter what you did – always seemed to get upset with you? Always blamed you for what you did, didn’t do, or the way in which you did or didn’t do it?

Sadly, too many of us use our (supposed) feelings as weapons and tools to manipulate others.

• You hurt me
• You made me angry
• I only did it because I knew that you would be upset if I didn’t
• Why are you so mean?

Guilt, manipulation, control.

So what happens when I say “I’m not responsible for your feelings. How about if you take responsibility for your feelings, I take responsibility for mine, and we talk about why you’re upset about this?”

Of course, I wouldn’t say it quite so directly. I’d probably do a STATE thing.

The point is, I believe that being a mature human being, being an “adult”, means taking responsibility. I take responsibility for my feelings, for my behavior, and for being committed to my relationships. Relationships include any situation in which I have a connection with another human being, no matter how close or distant.

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The reality is that we can never know.  All of us live inside our own heads.

So my premise is that I can never know what someone else is thinking, feeling, or what motivates them.

If that’s valid, then it means that time spent trying to figure it out is time wasted.

How can I use that time to find/create more value?

How about looking at the other person’s behavior, and wondering what the behavior means in terms of our relationship?

I can ask.

In Crucial Conversations, Patterson et al propose an approach to initiating a conversation they call STATE: State the Facts, Tell Your Story, Ask for Others’ Paths, Talk Tentatively, and Encourage Testing.

State the facts is pretty straightforward, if you can remember it’s about facts – not assumptions, interpretations, motivations, feelings, or anything else. Just the facts – what happened, what behaviors you observed.

Tell your story is about sharing your interpretation of the facts in the context of your relationship.  Things like “I felt like that meant you didn’t respect me” or “I took that to mean you were angry with me.”

Followed by Asking – “Is that anything like what was going on?” or “What was going on for you?”

Note that it is critical, in this approach, to avoid putting responsibility for my feelings on the other person.  I tell my Story as MY story – what I feel, what I interpreted.

Not “Why are you angry at me?’ or “You hurt my feelings.”

So rather than spending time trying to figure out what you’re feeling or thinking, I share what I know, what I’m feeling, my interpretation, and then I ask you for yours.

A conversation.  A dialogue.  A sharing, rather than conflict.

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Yes, I believe that I can choose to feel angry or happy or patient or hurt. Getting to that point is a process.

Let’s start in what I think of as the worst case: “You made me angry and I’m still angry!”

Whether it’s angry or hurt or happy or sad or serene or whatever doesn’t matter. What matters is the point that (a) I put the responsibility for my feelings on you and (b) I hold onto both the feeling and the blaming/assigning.

The first change point is way out there where I am holding onto all of this: I begin by acknowledging that my feelings are my own, and that they come from within me. “You didn’t make me angry – I felt angry because your words/actions were the trigger for me to feel angry. Maybe I can choose not to feel angry now. Maybe I can see that my feelings are about me, and your words/behavior are about you, and I can let go of the anger.”

[event]..[anger]...................[still angry]...[change]


The first timeI do this, it’s just hard. I’ve been conditioned by my experience, by the people around me, and even by society to assign responsibility for my feelings – and sometimes my behavior – on others. “You made me…”

The second time I do this, just like with any learned behavior, it’s a bit easier. The next time, even easier, and earlier.

[event]..[anger]........[still angry]...[change]

As I progress, I get closer and closer to the moment when I actually feel angry.

[event]..[anger]..[change]

And as I get closer, I begin to change myself. Not just my behavior, but my feelings.

“That behavior used to make me angry, now I know that I was becoming angry, that my feelings are about me, and I don’t need to feel angry.”

Over time, I find that the anger is a short blip, as I change and realize that I don’t have to feel angry at all.

[event]..[ang..change]

My goal for myself is to evolve to the point that the anger never manifests within me. My goal is that I reach the point where I accept that your behavior is about you, my feelings and behavior are about me, and you don’t have any control over my feelings and behavior.

[event]

What happens then? You do something that I used to get angry about, and I just smile (maybe only on the inside, just in case you’re some kind of violent maniac ) because your behavior really only says something about you, not me.

My good friend Scott Bellware (blog) once asked me “Don’t you ever get flustered, Doc?” That was one of the moments when I realized that this stuff was working for me. I said “I don’t know – I guess you’ll just have to keep trying.”

How about you?

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• We are all born selfish.
• For our first few years, selfishness/self-gratification drive us.
• Society teaches us to socialize our selfishness.
• At our cores, we remain selfish.

Does that sound negative or cynical? I don’t think of it that way. I think of it as an “is” – just a fact of nature.

Those of us who are unusually unselfish – focusing on the needs and wants of others – do it because it feels right/good. If you don’t want to call that “selfish”, pick the term that works for you. I’m not saying that the unselfish among us (too few, sadly) get specific, immediate gratification out of each unselfish, generous act. Rather I’m saying that the condition of being unselfish gives them pleasure and satisfaction.

Yes, there are some who do unselfish things out of commitment to something larger, obedience to something larger, or otherwise. Those actually support my belief.

So if you accept my premise that we all start out selfish, and are all fundamentall selfish, then what are the implications for human interaction?

It’s all about me.

Why am I writing this? Because I have something to say, I hope that it will influence others, and I will feel good if it does.

How about my individual interactions? What am I listening to when I talk to you? My thoughts.

What is driving my behavior when I talk to you? My beliefs about what you feel, my feelings about what you said or did, my physical condition, my mental condition…

It’s all about me.

In future posts, I’m going to explore this in terms of specific behaviors and beliefs, and how we can change them.

Did I mention that It’s All About Me?

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Everything I say and do is about me. It doesn’t matter if I talk to you, at you, about you, or through you. It’s still about me.

The other side of that is that what I say and do is not about you, it’s about me.

If I say “that was ridiculous” or “you make me angry” or “you’re just stupid” (not that I would actually say any of those things, of course), what I’m really saying is “I think that was ridiculous, because it doesn’t match with my view of the world.” or “I’m feeling angry about what you just said/did, but I’d rather that you be responsible for my feelings, because I don’t like them.” or “I don’t think that was a very thoughtful/clever/reasonable thing to say, and I know that if I call you stupid you’ll feel bad. Maybe you’ll also think about what you’re going to say before you say it next time.”

Sigh.

The difference between the first and the second is this: in the first, I push everything onto you; in the second, I take ownership. I even take ownership for my own “bad” behavior. I even take ownership for my own feelings.

This is at the heart of what I believe about how I relate to the world I live in and the people in that world.

• I believe that I own and am responsible for my behavior.
• I believe that I own and am responsible for my feelings.
• I believe that I can only know you through your behavior and your words.
• I believe that the only interaction we have is through our behavior and words.
• I believe that I cannot know your feelings, your motivation, or your history (except my experience of your history).
• I believe that while hearing and understanding your motivation/feelings/history enhances my ability to have a good relationship, it is not necessary in order for me to have a healthy and happy relationship with you.

Everything else comes from these beliefs. I state them as beliefs because while they are Real and True for me, I don’t know that they are for you.

In a series of posts, I plan to explore this framework.

I give credit to Larry B, a therapist in Austin whom I saw with my wife at one time, and to the four authors of “Crucial Conversations” and “Crucial Confrontations”. Without them, these thoughts might never have penetrated my barriers to make it into my brain.

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