View the results of our study in the infographic below or download a copy for yourself.

Everyone has an awkward conversation they are avoiding. Perhaps you have a co-worker who smells bad, a boss who’s impossible, or a regular, well-paying customer with outrageous demands. Sometimes the situation is temporary, or we don’t deal with it very often, so we don’t address it. Sometimes we bottle up our feelings in situations we deal with regularly—and do so for extended periods of time. Instead of finding a way to deal with an awkward situation in a healthy way, we endure years of pain and torment. In the hit 90’s sitcom Seinfeld, Elaine, along with Jerry, George, and Kramer, lock away their darkest secrets in the vault ("I’m putting it in the vault! I’m locking the vault!"), a place where their confidences—too awkward or damaging to tell—were supposed to go to die. Sometimes we do the exact same thing. So, why do we do this? Because we focus on the immediate risks involved in speaking up, but completely ignore the certain and ongoing costs of not speaking up. We recently conducted a study of 1,409 participants asking about their "vault" (this study is the latest subject of our new BS Guys video). Fifty-six percent of respondents stated they have been safeguarding toxic secrets or workplace grievances for more than a year! Keeping these secrets "in the vault" creates problems that are decidedly non-comedic and can be costly to an organization. We asked people to imagine that we just handed them a "magical free pass" that would allow them to say anything they wanted to one person at work—with immunity from any consequences. Then we asked them what they thought would happen if they could actually follow through and hold that conversation. These were the surprising results: • 66% believed their organization would be helped • 57% believed everyone who interacts with this person would be helped • 43% believed the person themself would be helped • 39% believed a huge emotional burden would be lifted We were amazed at the things employees have bottled-up for years, and were dying to tell a colleague, and yet were too scared or worried to discuss. For example, one school principal longed to tell her aging school media specialist: "You need to retire. You’re overpaid, unhealthy, and out of touch—you can’t move well enough to even answer your phone. Oh, and you have a serious problem with hoarding." In spite of the enduring and substantial cost to the school, the principal, the students—and likely even to this employee—the principal’s concerns have stayed locked in "the vault" for more than a year. People’s suppressed concerns ran the gamut, from terrifying to disgusting to heartbreaking. Common examples included: • Speaking truth to those in power (50%): "You are the worst boss I’ve ever had. I used to fantasize you’d get into a car wreck on the way to work. My heart goes out to anyone who has to report to you." • Criticizing a peer’s performance (31%): "Your fake, sugar-sweet ‘kindness’ tinged with sarcasm and bullying to everyone, as well as your lying and backbiting, has made me not trust you or believe a word you say." • Talking about the elephant in the room (2%): "Your hygiene and habits are repulsive and offensive. No one wants to hear or smell your bodily functions. Stop leaving food garbage at your desk and using the bathroom sink to wash up like a squirrel at a birdbath." The most surprising finding of this study is how much pain we are willing to endure and for how long—for years and years in many cases—rather than open the vault. We are so intimidated by the initial conflict that could arise, we risk losing the incredible payoff of resolving the awkward issue. This study uncovered another problem—these secrets are not truly locked away. When it comes to frustrations, if you don’t talk it out with the person and resolve it, you’ll act it out in unhealthy ways. Consider all the people who hate their managers. More than half of the respondents stated that they had either shared their resentments with others or have hinted about it to their boss. So how do we open up the vault? Here are some tips to help you have "serenity now and avoid insanity later" as you follow through with that awkward conversation you’re avoiding: Assume people can change. More than half of respondents haven’t spoken up because they don’t believe the person could or would change. But people do change all the time. Ask yourself, "If I were in the other person’s shoes, and I had a true friend who knew what I know, would I want them to tell me?" Most of us say "Yes!" because we care and have confidence we can change. Do the person the favor of letting them try to change. Determine what you really want. Many of people’s grievances sound like, "You are a jerk!" These are accusations, rather than aspirations. Before speaking up, ask yourself what you want to accomplish—not just for yourself, but for the other person and for your working relationship. Use this long-term, inclusive goal to make the conversation constructive rather than destructive. Approach as a friend, not a foe. We live in a low-accountability culture, where speaking up is often seen as an attack. Avoid this misconception by explaining your positive motives up front. For example, "I’d like to discuss a concern. My goal is to support you and to help us achieve the metrics you’ve set for our team . . . " Stick to the facts. Concerns that have been in the vault for months or years grow big and hairy. Specific incidents and facts are hidden beneath layers of conclusions. Avoid broad conclusions such as, "you don’t care" or "you’re incompetent." Instead, focus on specific incidents, events, and actions such as, "The last three staffing decisions were made without input from the managers in the affected areas." I hope these tips help you have the courage to step up to the awkward conversation locked away in your vault. Sincerely, Joseph

http://static.vitalsmartscdn.com/kerryingon/The%20Bombs%20Bursting%20in%20Error.mp3 If you’ve ever watched Pawn Stars, then you’ll appreciate where this story is going. With each new episode, Rick Harrison (co-owner of the Gold and Silver Pawn Shop) along with a few family members and colleagues, haggle with customers over how much a Civil War wooden leg is worth—or it might be a Picasso print. Either way, the show doesn’t really hit its stride until Rick and crew barter for a blunderbuss, pistol, rifle, cannon, or some other ancient explosive device. Then the real fun begins. After they’ve purchased an antique firearm, the pawn team gleefully piles into an SUV and hotfoots it to a nearby shooting range where they test the worthiness of their recent purchase by firing it at cans and boxes filled with gunpowder. With each new explosion, the pawn stars leap with joy. The day they touched off a mortar that shot a bowling ball several hundred yards, the entire team fell to the ground in a paroxysm of laughter. Their joy was so contagious, it took all I could muster to keep from running out and buying a bowling-ball mortar of my own. I mention this because here in America, we’re about to enter a period of patriotic devotion manifested by the time-honored tradition of blowing things up—the Fourth of July. Similar to Rick’s crew, which is drawn to cannons like moths to a flame, many of us will be drawn to roadside firework stands. There we’ll purchase large bags filled with colorful pyrotechnics sporting names such as "The Punisher," "Nuclear Sunrise," and "Red, White, and Boom." We’ll buy these celebratory explosives because the skill of blowing things up provides humans a genetic advantage that has been passed on by their prehistoric predecessors and it simply won’t be denied. Plus, admit it, we’re comforted by the knowledge that a panel of experts examined the fireworks and deemed them to be legal (and presumably safe) for use in our neighborhood. But what is it about the ability to blow something to smithereens that inclines us to abandon basic common sense? Don’t get me wrong, I love fireworks shows. I attend them regularly. I love fireworks. I buy them regularly. As a kid I made rockets and bombs. If I could get permission to do so today, I’d shoot flaming bowling balls at abandoned greenhouses filled with gunpowder. And like Rick, I’d fall over in a fit of joy with each shattering explosion. But now I have children and grandchildren, so let’s get serious. There isn’t a twelve-year-old kid in the country who can’t transform legal fireworks into weapons of destruction. Twist this, bend that, (and now for the real secret) wrap seven layers of duct tape around this part and voilà—what was once an innocent, sparkling pinwheel now has the potential to earn you the nickname of "Lefty." I’ve heard friends’ stories of bottle-rocket races (humans run, rockets follow) and activities so bizarre and dangerous I don’t dare mention them. Even when you don’t grossly abuse fireworks, they present a serious risk. I, of all people, know this. On July the fourth, 1960, my friend Ed Biery’s parents dropped the two of us off at the Lummi Indian Reservation where all manner of fireworks were legally sold and detonated. I started the day by casually lighting and throwing firecrackers at rocks and pieces of beach wood until I grew bored (roughly four minutes). Next, Ed brought out the sacred Revell plastic model planes and boats he had built, treasured, and protected since he was old enough to hold a pair of tweezers—the same plastic models he had meticulously glued together and fastidiously painted for several hundred hours. Now, at age fourteen, the two of us callously blew up his masterpieces—like mad bombers on a rampage. At one point during the destructive frenzy, I lit a firecracker and forgot to throw it. Silly me. Eventually the firework reminded me that I hadn’t released it by exploding in my hand. My right index finger and thumb throbbed for two days. They still throb when I think about that painful explosion. But this setback didn’t stop the insanity. The escalation continued until Ed and I placed a three-shot aerial bomb on a log. The first shot flew an explosive fifty feet in the air where it detonated with a frightening roar. It also knocked the remaining firework to the ground. The second "aerial" shot (now aimed at my head) zipped past my right ear and landed under a passing police car, which took the full force of the explosion. Two officers leaped out of the vehicle and headed our way until the third and final shot ricocheted off a log and landed next to me and Ed. It lay a few feet away from us on a patch of seaweed for what felt like a week—the fuse spitting and hissing like a snake. Suddenly it detonated with a force so concussive it knocked the two of us off our feet. The police officers quickly scanned the beach, concluded that we weren’t attacking them (after all, we had nearly blown ourselves up), and chastised us for using sloppy ordinance-handling techniques. What else could they say? The fireworks were legal. The damage was temporary. And we’d been extremely lucky. This year, as Independence Day approaches, I wish you the best of holidays. Go ahead and be independent. Refuse to give in to British domination. Don’t listen to One Direction, Adele, or Mumford and Sons. Refuse to pay excessive taxes on tea. Go nuts. Just don’t become independent from all vestiges of reason and logic. Try establishing ground rules before the first fuse is lit. Start with Mutual Purpose. "I know we all want to have a safe experience, so why don’t we set up some rules to ensure our safety?" Ask others what they want to avoid and then jointly create guidelines. Better to set expectations before people act unsafely than to deal with infractions after they occur and others become defensive. As I tell my children, when you or your neighbor comes up with a crazy firework idea, ask yourself: "What would Dad do?" Then don’t do it anyway. And finally, to all you blunderbuss and cannon lovers out there—stop referring to your left eye, hand, and foot as "spares." That’s just asking for trouble. If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love Kerry’s new book, The Gray Fedora—a collection of stories from Kerrying On. The book is now available on Amazon.com.

The following article was first published on March 12, 2008. Dear Al, A relatively new male hire in my wife’s company invited the other men out to a "male bonding lunch." He asked a female coworker at equal level for advice on where to go and to call in their reservation. While the men were gone the women discussed this occurrence and felt it was rude and sexist. Some of the men were embarrassed as well when they realized none of the women were invited. Now, there is a sexual discrimination feeling that did not exist before. What crucial conversations need to happen and who needs to be involved? How can these conversations be handled sensitively? Signed, What To Do? Dear What To Do, Knowing when to speak up and how? And who needs to be involved? Ah, those are the tough, life-changing questions. Let me address a couple of points. First, who owns a crucial conversation? And, how do you know when you should own it? Over the years, I have found two principles that help answer these questions: 1. That little voice in your head either screams or won’t go away. When the "new male hire" asked the question, the "female coworker" probably had a little voice that said, "Male bonding lunch? Is this a good thing?" or "Me call in the reservation? This is not a good thing!" She could have brought up one or both issues right then. She could have also caught herself getting ticked and asked the humanizing question ("Why would a reasonable, rational, decent human ask this?"), concluded he was new, and then simply asked if they could talk about both issues. Or, the male hire could have noted his female coworker’s subtle non-verbal signals (rolled eyes and white knuckles wrenching a budget document) and noted that she seemed upset and asked why. Either person could have owned the conversation in real time, which is the ideal situation. 2. We start acting it out, instead of talking it out. This is another indicator that we are failing to own up to a crucial conversation. When this happens, we talk about people instead of to people. The two biggest ways we act it out instead of talk it out are 1) gossip and 2) non-verbal signals like avoidance, frowning, sarcasm, etc. Bystanders can defuse the situation by helping others realize that their gossip or non-verbals are a sign that they are avoiding a crucial conversation. In this case, instead of keeping her conclusions to herself and talking to her male cowoker, she talked to others about the issue. She opened that proverbial can of worms and now everyone is dealing with numerous trust and respect issues. Any colleague could have stopped her by saying, "Whoa. He’s new. Let’s help him understand when he comes back," but that also didn’t happen. Second, how do you start such a conversation? Since both of the coworkers failed to catch the mistake before lunch, it needs to be addressed as soon as it is safe. To create safety, she must first master her story by reminding herself that she doesn’t really know why he did what he did. This will help her control her emotions and conclusions. The first crucial conversation needs to be a private conversation between the female coworker and her male coworker. She must lead with observations and questions, rather than emotions and conclusions. This one step alone can make a huge difference. The second crucial conversation should be with the entire company. To help defuse the tension that has been introduced into the culture, gather the entire company together and set clear expectations around what behaviors are and are not acceptable. Make sure you reach complete agreement between everyone before concluding the meeting. This conversation is the first step to avoiding future instances, creating guidelines to hold others accountable to, and ensuring that everyone operates under common expectations. Make sure to communicate these expectations to new employees upon hire. I have only scratched the surface. But what I have covered is powerful. Anyone can own a crucial conversation—whether it’s real time (the best) or next time (which is still good). Best wishes, Al

Dear Joseph, One of my direct reports has a very thick accent. His job is to define business needs for our customers and hand them off to our database techs. When he does this orally, none of us understand much of what he is saying. I sense he is exasperated as well because he is trying his best and cares about his work. He has good writing skills, but he is not confident and resists writing anything unless pressed. The rest of the team tries to be patient, but gives up after a point. He is also very sensitive and feels hurt when we ask him to repeat himself. How can I tell him he needs to improve his communication skills? Signed, Lost in Translation Dear Lost, This will be much, much, much easier than you think. And as soon as you believe that—it will be much, much, much easier! You are making two mistakes here that are easy to fix: 1. You are having content conversations when you need to have a relationship one. 2. You are feeding his defensiveness with your own. First, it sounds like you are talking about database requirements when you need to talk about your working relationship. One of the most common mistakes in crucial conversations is talking about the wrong thing. If your real concern is, "we need a more efficient way of communicating," but what you’re discussing is, "what kind of user interface does the client need?"—the real issue will drive everything. You’ll be discussing screen designs but underlying it will be nervousness, defensiveness, and hyper-sensitivity, because you’re not talking about what’s truly going on. Everyone senses it. Everyone knows it. But no one is saying it. So set aside a special time to have this very specific relationship conversation. Don’t wait until there is another frustrating interaction about customer requirements. If you do, then the conversation will be clouded and confused with the content issue on the table. Second, stop focusing on your fears and start focusing on your goals. One of the reasons he is defensive about this issue is because he senses your fear of it. Research shows that when you feel fear, your body language telegraphs it to others—causing them to become protective. For example, if as you approach him, your voice is tight, you blink a bit too fast, and your arms are crossed over your stomach—he picks up these little behavioral signals and senses there is looming danger. It’s kind of like when you watch someone walk face first into a closed glass door and you reflexively put your hand to your own nose. Specialized neurons in our brains enable us to empathize by triggering shadows of the sensations we would feel if our bodies were in the same circumstances as someone we are watching. The same is true of emotions. You know what embarrassment feels like. It’s when you deliver the opening joke to your speech and no one laughs. Crickets. In fact, most break off eye contact with you and begin looking at their mobile phones. It’s painful. We feel something similar when we watch it happen to someone else (I call it ex-barrassed). Your stomach turns in knots even though it’s not you at the front of the room. This principle works in reverse during crucial conversations. When you show up all in knots, others sense it and begin to feel protective about the topic you are now stammering your way into. So how can you avoid making the conversation harder than it needs to be? Focus on your goals. This is a mental exercise first, and a conversational one second. Ask yourself, "What awesome, wonderful, out-of-this-world gift can this conversation give to the other person if it goes well?" Get that goal clear in your mind. For years, I marveled at Kerry Patterson’s ability to give me incredibly direct feedback without making me feel defensive. I remember the first joint writing project I did with him twenty-five years ago. I handed him my first draft. He read it and basically said, "This is awful." But it didn’t hurt. I wondered why. Over time, I came to realize it was because he had a clear vision in his mind of how good a writer I could be. And he wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of helping me get there. When he approached me, he wasn’t fidgety, worried, or clenched up. He was open, excited, and optimistic. He’d start peppering me with instructions about how to improve it, and since he didn’t seem to think the current dismal state of the piece was a big deal—I didn’t either. You have an incredible gift to offer your colleague. Come into the conversation enthusiastically. Focus on the thought, "I want to have a fabulous and productive working relationship with you for many years. And I want you to be able to succeed with every other English-based team you work with in the future. This conversation can help you do that—isn’t that awesome!" Then get to the point. Don’t beat around the bush or you’ll telegraph fear. Say, "Our unfamiliarity with your accent makes it really inefficient to communicate sometimes. I want to find a way to make it much, much easier for you and all of us to get things done. Let’s talk!" I can promise you that if this is your attitude coming in, you’ll generate safety rather than sensitivity. Best Wishes, Joseph

http://static.vitalsmartscdn.com/kerryingon/KerryingOn_201508.mp3 In the fall of 1952, I faced the prospect of attending school for the first time. The whole idea of going to school made me weak in the knees. My older brother had filled my head with bullying stories that gave me second thoughts about ever leaving home, let alone sharing the playground with a bunch of three-and-a-half-foot thugs. "They better not beat me up," I muttered under my breath as I started the long, lonely walk toward Larrabee Elementary School. Stupid second graders. They were the ones to watch out for, or so my brother said. Second graders, proud of their recent grade advancement and reeling from the abuse they experienced in the first grade, would be the hard-core bullies. It would be second graders who would steal my Twinkies, tear up my artwork, and give me a wedgie. "Let’s see, I’ve got my marbles in my pocket," I reflected. They were for recess, of course, but if I could make it safely to the playground, I could display my maturity by being good at shooting aggies. Then the bullies would leave me alone. I was wrong. The second graders didn’t take my marbles by force, but they did cheat me out of them. I’d get ready to shoot my second-grade opponent’s aggie, and he would shout, "‘cover-zies’ for me and ‘non-cover-zies’ for you." What? Then, he’d cover up his aggie with gravel from the playground and force me to shoot my prize ball bearing at the pile. Next, because I had "non-cover-zies," I couldn’t cover my ball bearing and he would uncover his shooter, shoot my steel marble, and put it in his pocket. By the end of the afternoon recess I had nothing left. As much as I worried about the first days of grade school, when I finally graduated from the sixth grade, I worried ten times more about the first days of junior high school. I’d heard eighth graders wantonly stripped you naked during PE and threw you into the girl’s side of the gym. Or they locked you in your locker. Or they burned up your metal-shop project. Plus, there was always their favorite trick—"pantsing" you. In 1958, wearing pants slung low and loose on your hips was all the rage. For a seventh-grader, it was also dangerous. Particularly if you were riding the city bus home while standing with one hand holding your French and history textbooks and the other hand clinging to an overhead strap. Just when you thought you were safe—wham! An eighth grader would yank your pants down to your ankles. The girls would scream, the boys would laugh, and you would be mortified. Heaven forbid your shorts had a hole in them—you’d have to move to Canada. Given these hideous possibilities, the prospect of entering junior high school worried me a great deal. I was sure to be bullied the day I stepped onto the grounds of Fairhaven. I could feel it in my bones. But first came summer. To keep me from fretting myself to a frazzle, my mom signed me up to pick strawberries. The job consisted of riding a berry bus filled with thirty or so twelve- to sixteen-year-olds far out into the country. Then, for eight hours you’d bend over a row of strawberries and pick the ripe ones in the blazing, life-sucking sun. And for all of this effort, if you were lucky, you’d earn five dollars a day. I didn’t get lucky. I made just under two dollars my first day. At one point during that day, one of the berry bosses said I was suffering from heat exhaustion and forced me sit in the shade for an hour. I made no money during that time. We were being paid by the flat, not by the hour. Today, if you treated a twelve-year-old this way, you’d be charged with callous indifference or the illegal use of fruit. Maybe something worse. But all wasn’t lost. At the end of the day, and to my total surprise, Hades quickly turned into heaven. The berry boss blew his whistle and we stacked our flats, boarded the bus, and headed home. Within seconds, someone started singing "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt" and we all joined in. Throughout the entire ride home we joyfully belted out every camp song imaginable. Like warriors returning after an exhausting and perilous battle, we celebrated our victory by singing songs about beer bottles on a wall and a girl walking into the water. It was splendid. I’m not sure I’ll ever eclipse the happiness I experienced those glorious days singing in the berry bus as we rode home after an exhausting day of harvesting strawberries. As the season continued, and we pickers jointly faced chilling rain, the scorching sun, and shrinking berries, we bonded into a team of genuine field hands. Unlike sissy kids who did heaven-knows-what all day long, we pickers earned our way. And we helped each other. Boys helped carry girls’ heavy flats filled with berries. Girls taught boys how to pick faster. We were one in unity and purpose. Eventually, the season ended and I had to face the dreaded seventh grade. As I read through the class rosters posted on the wall near the school entrance, I finally found my homeroom. Listed were the kids with whom I’d be sharing three classes a day. I knew only one other person on the list. One. It was going to be a lonely, scary year. And then came the eighth-graders. A pack of four of them started walking menacingly toward me. "Hey #&% face!" one of them taunted. I grabbed the waist of my low-slung pants as the hoods inched forward. And then, just when I was about to be pantsed or worse, I heard someone shout, "Kerry! Aren’t you all cute and dressed up for school." It was a ninth grader—not just any ninth grader—it was a berry-picking ninth grader. And she was a cheerleader to boot. Soon a bunch of us pickers from the seventh, eighth, and ninth grades were gathered in the hall and reminiscing as the older students helped the younger ones find their way to their first classroom. It had never occurred to me that the older kids I had met and bonded with in the fields would show up at junior high school and be the star quarterback, or the head of the chess club, or a member of the cheer squad. Nor did I think they would be my advocates. But that’s exactly who they were and that’s exactly what they did. I wasn’t bullied that year. I was welcomed. The next year as the eighth grade unfolded for me, I too became an advocate and protector. Like our predecessors, my classmates and I wouldn’t dream of bullying kids who had worked alongside us. We shared their dreams and fears; we had fought the berry wars together. And so it should be everywhere. Building a sense of community helps us humanize others. We recognize ourselves in them, and treat them with the respect and kindness we all deserve. And that makes the world a better place. Oh yeah, and one more thing. Thank your lucky stars that you never had to pick strawberries in the searing sun. For eight hours a day. Up hill. Both ways.

New research by Joseph Grenny and David Maxfield reveals a discouraging communication gap between parents and teachers that has potential to affect a child’s success. Teachers feel parents don’t communicate major changes in the home and parents feel teachers don’t share revealing details about their child’s behavior in the classroom. To bridge the gap between what parents and teachers want to hear and what the two parties actually communicate, Grenny and Maxfield suggest both take action at the beginning of the school year. For Parents 1. Over-communicate. Use the beginning of the school year to build and strengthen your relationship with the teacher. Share your child’s interests, talents, and background that will help the teacher connect with and best serve them. During the year, update the teacher on any changes in their life, home, or friend group that could affect the mental, emotional or physical health of your child—such as illness, death, marital status of parents, etc. 2. Swap contact details. Make sure the teacher knows the best time and method to contact you. 3. Partner with your child’s teacher. Reach out. If you have a concern about your child, don’t wait for a teacher to bring it up to you. If you have a question, ask. Teachers work incredibly hard to provide the best for students and often must look after hundreds of them. And don’t forget: a simple thank you goes a long way in strengthening the partnership between teachers and parents. For Teachers 1. Make a call. Use calls or home visits before the school year begins to build and strengthen the relationship. Introduce yourself and share something specific and positive about the child’s academic and character strengths. Share your vision of the teacher-parent relationship as a partnership that is crucial to the child’s growth. Invite parents to share critical information with you and explain the best time and method to get in contact with you. Consider giving the parent a postcard or visual reminder. 2. Send a family survey. Collect essential information about both the student and the family. Learn the student’s strengths, hobbies and unique talents. Ask about the parents and other adults in the child’s life. Learn about family history and family priorities that will help you better connect with and serve their child. 3. Invite parents. Don’t wait until report card conferences to invite parents into the school. Plan a family academic night, math night or literacy night. Increase attendance at these conferences by planning early and using all available methods of communication—the school website, newsletter, etc. 4. Share gratitude and praise with parents regularly. Use quick texts, notes, and emails of gratitude or praise. These build a deepening sense of trust. Keep an open mind about family situations and intentions. View the results of our study in the infographic below or download a copy for yourself.

Dear Joseph, Our twenty-five-year old son is living on his own for the first time. He has a good-paying job but still lives paycheck to paycheck and frequently borrows money from us. We have bailed him out a number of times and just can’t do it anymore. He has asked if he could move back home to save for a year. He manipulates us and often plays the "feel sorry for me" card. As a mother, I hate to refuse helping him. Is letting him move home a good idea? How can we help him learn to control his spending without controlling him? Signed, Apron Strings Dear Apron Strings, You are asking the age-old question: "Am I helping in a way that helps?" When we attempt to help others, it is wise to stop and ask which of two kinds of problems they are facing: 1. Situational 2. Behavioral A situational problem is one that is caused by some external agent. For example, I can’t pay my rent because I lost my job. Or, I failed my final because I caught a virus that kept me bedridden and incapable of studying for three weeks. When someone suffers from a situational problem, it’s easy to help in a way that helps. Usually we do it by solving others’ lack through gifts. We take from our abundance to provide for their lack. For example, I give you $200 to help you make your rent payment. The second kind of problem—behavioral problems—are trickier. These are problems we create through our own choices. For example, I can’t pay my rent because I lost my job . . . because I am unreliable and unpleasant to work with. Or, I failed my final because I got sick . . . because I drank and partied with friends to the point of exhaustion. As you can see from these two examples, situational problems often occur in combination with behavioral ones. As the saying goes, fortune favors the prepared. The converse is true as well—misfortune favors the misbehaving. If you want to help in a way that helps, look for contributing behavioral causes even in clearly situational problems. My principle for helping others is to always ask, "How will my potential help influence their future behavior?" This question is crucial because if you really want to help, your goal should not just be to alleviate present suffering, but future suffering as well. Your compassion should direct you not just to immediate relief, but to total pain. Otherwise, you might act in a way that makes you and them feel good now, but produces much more pain in the long term. So, be clear about what you really want! In 1978, Muhammad Yunus, an unknown economics professor from Chittagong, Bangladesh trudged through a famine-ravaged village trying to find a way to help his starving countrymen. After days of discerning conversation with dozens of villagers, he discovered that most were caught in a cycle of poverty because they lacked access to just a few pennies in capital to sustain their simple income-producing activities. For example, one woman who produced beautiful bamboo stools was forced to borrow the equivalent of twenty-five cents from a village loan-shark at 1000% interest in order to buy her supplies. This exorbitant rate kept her from accumulating the twenty-five cents that would liberate her from this exploitative relationship. Yunus was tempted to reach into his pocket and simply gift the money to this woman. But his social science training caused him to pause. He recognized that while the situational famine was a significant cause of the woman’s suffering, his gift might influence her behavior in a way that would hurt her in the long term. The thought struck him, "The one thing this woman has that I am about to steal from her is her responsibility." A rich outsider solving her problem might cause her to feel less capable of solving her problems on her own. Instead, Yunus loaned her the money. And he charged her interest so she could feel that this was a business relationship. The rest is history. To date billions of dollars of tiny "micro credit" loans have been offered—and repaid—by the poor around the world. Where gifts create dependence, these loans—and the dignity that comes from repaying them—have influenced planning and investing behavior among the poor in a way that has produced a lasting benefit. The most important gift you can hope for your son is not relief of his current suffering but a sense of efficacy, or in other words, a capacity to solve his own problems. You are wise to consider whether one more gift is truly helping or hurting. In fact, your gifts likely come with the message that you don’t believe he can solve his own problems. You may well be influencing his behavior in a way that contradicts your own stated intentions. I wish you the best as you attempt to help him in a way that helps. Good Luck, Joseph

Dear Emily, I lead a support group for single/widowed/divorced individuals for people aged forty to eighty. Meetings are informal and focused on sharing, so an agenda is not usually necessary. However, lately we have had a problem with sidebar conversations. One member in particular, who has little or nothing to say when it is her turn, will make a statement to the person speaking that has nothing to do with the topic. Or she will have a sidebar with her neighbor during another person’s turn. This being an informal support group, I don’t want to establish a lot of rules that would harm our purpose of listening to each other and to offer suggestions when needed. How can I address this without offending the "offenders"? Sincerely, Fed Up Dear Fed Up, As your question demonstrates, leading informal groups is often far more challenging than holding a formal leadership position. It’s often difficult to strike the delicate balance between leading and participating. In a situation like this, I would first consider whether this should be a public or a private conversation. If the problem is pervasive and many people are having sidebar conversations, it may be best to hold the conversation as a group. If the problem is limited to one or two members, it may be better to simply address your concern with those individuals. A couple of suggestions for both situations: Group Conversation If you decide to hold the conversation with the entire group, consider carefully what your intent is and make sure to clarify that up front. Then, describe the behavior you are noticing and its impact without identifying specific people by name. Calling someone out specifically will damage your efforts for building safety. Finally, ask the group for their perspective. For example, you may consider starting with something like this: "When we started this group, our goal was to provide a safe and respectful place where we could listen and learn from one another. Over the past few months, I have noticed that our group has started a pattern of side conversations that may distract from the person speaking. I am wondering if others have noticed this and felt the same impact that I have. What do you think?" With that, you have successfully handled the easy part of the conversation. Now comes the hard part: waiting for, listening to, and discussing the meaning that others share. At this point, the conversation could go in many different directions. Everyone could remain stoically silent, unwilling to speak up and address the behavior. Some could become defensive, thinking you are publicly criticizing them. Others, who agree with you, could start calling people out by name for having sidebars, destroying safety. So, what is your role at this point? You have initiated the topic and it is up to the group to add meaning. Your responsibility will be to maintain the conditions of safety that will lead to a productive discussion. If others become defensive, make sure to point out that this is not about specific people, it is about a group pattern and ultimately about how the group wants to interact. If others don’t see it as a problem, accept that you may be alone in your feelings and be grateful that the group is still working well and serving its purpose for the members. Above all, remember that your intent is to start a dialogue and maintain the safety people need in order to add their perspective. Individual Conversation Should you decide that the issue is only with one or two individuals, you may choose to discuss this privately with them. Doing so naturally creates more safety for the other person. Not surprisingly, the approach is similar: focus on your good intent, share your observations about the behavior and what you see as the impact on the group, then ask for their perspective and be open to hearing their point of view. Two cautions with this type of conversation: 1. Don’t overrepresent what you have heard from others. Your focus should be on sharing what you have noticed. For example, "I noticed last week that you were talking with Todd while it was Suzie’s turn to speak. Ann and other members of the group seemed distracted by your conversation and weren’t able to fully listen to Suzie." What you don’t want to say is, "Lots of people have talked to me about this and are concerned about how distracting it was when you were talking to Todd last week." Share your perspective and leave it at that. 2. Consider both what is occurring and what is not occurring. Sometimes we get over-focused on the impact of the behavior—in this case, that group members are distracted and feel disrespected—and fail to understand what is not happening because of the behavior. Here, the group is neither hearing from this person, nor gaining the benefit of her experience and perspective. When she shares comments primarily in sidebar, everyone is losing out on her insights. Make sure to point out not only what is happening but what is not happening as well, and how that impacts the group. Whichever way you choose to hold the conversation, with the group or with the individual, let us know how it goes! Best Regards, Emily

The New Year is quickly approaching, which makes it the perfect time to define yourself as a leader as a resolution for 2014. In a world where it’s easy to lose footing, it’s good to have a guide to get back on track. Forbes has shared several key aspects that you should look for, not only in yourself, but also for the people leading you into the future. Leaders should have a singular identity and a sense of urgency, but they should always be someone you can count on. A great leader should be sure of him or herself and know how to lead. Having someone who lays expectations out ahead of times and sticks to them is a hot commodity. Staying ahead of the game, promoting continuing education and having a knack for seeing unforeseen circumstances also are key aspects of a great leader. Great leaders also know that they didn’t get to the top without help from someone. Recognizing teamwork and how each cog in the wheel works most effectively is a sign of someone who can engage their employees and work best not only as an individual, but also within a team. Charisma may be something one is born with, but passion can be taught. Passionate leaders stand up for beliefs, bravely explore the unknown and shun complacency. They drive their employees to search for the same excitement level. Finally, the best leaders lead by example. They have that "thing" that people are drawn to and make others want to be better. Having a defining presence in a room and being a champion of others, and not just yourself, is a great way to succeed as a leader in 2014.