Dear Crucial Skills, How do you respond to work colleagues who complain that management never asks our opinion? I agree it’s good to get insight from management on how and why things are the way they are. But my coworkers seem to forget there are some things administration just can’t get everyone’s viewpoint on—because a consensus would never be reached. I feel our administration does keep us in the loop as much as they can, and these childish attitudes from my coworkers are more frustrating and demoralizing than what they’re complaining about. Signed, Done with Complainers Dear Done, Charles Kettering is often credited with the saying, "A problem well stated is half solved." When it comes to crucial conversations, knowing what conversation to have, and whom to have it with, is more than half the battle. The situation you find yourself in plays out hundreds of thousands of times a day in offices across the world. A coworker has a problem with someone else—whether with management, other coworkers, or a direct report—and rather than addressing that concern with the person, they come to you. There are a lot of names for this: venting, complaining, whining, etc. At VitalSmarts, we call them "drive-bys." Rather than getting to the heart of the difficult conversations they need to have—in this case, expressing their concerns with management about hearing employee input—they drop into your office, share all their concerns, and look for sympathy. Then they leave, feeling they have said what they needed to say. In reality, they have completely dodged the crucial conversation they are responsible for having. The question then is: what do YOU want to do about it? You have a few options and which one you choose will completely depend on what you really want—for yourself, for the other person, for your relationship, and for the organization. Option 1: Commiserate This is the easy option. You nod your head, and say soothing things like "I know. That is so tough." You listen, and listen, and listen . . . until the other person finishes speaking. Then, you sagely say "It is what it is," and you both go back to work. The obvious downside of taking this option is, nothing changes. Ever. The pattern will repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And worse, you sacrifice your integrity as you pretend to agree with something just for the sake of keeping the peace. Option 2: Defend This option can be almost as easy, and certainly more fun, than option number one. In this scenario, you get to become the standard bearer of an administration done wrong. When you next see your coworker headed toward your office with a couple of tall, skinny, caramel macchiatos and a need to vent, you can gather together all of your righteous indignation and explain to your coworker that they have it all wrong. Management is great. They are doing their best. We as workers need to grow up and accept our role in the grand economic schema. The obvious downside of this option is that you may end up alienating your coworkers and probably won’t be getting any more caramel macchiatos. Worse, you have taken on a responsibility that isn’t yours—defending management. Your responsibility is to own your voice and share your views. You don’t need to play defense just because a coworker chooses to play offense. Option 3: Coach In this option, you recognize that the real conversation that needs to be had—the right conversation—is between your coworkers and leadership. You are not a player in this conversation. But you can be an invaluable coach. As a coach, your job should be to share a different point of view (in this case, yours) and suggest that your coworkers would benefit from having a direct conversation with management about his or her concerns. Now, we all know what the response will be: "Management never listens to us so what is the point of talking to them about how they never listen to us?" This is where a great coach makes the difference. Most of us would say: "You’re probably right." But a crucial conversation coach would help them see that this "management never listens" line is a story he or she is telling themselves. Help your colleague consider what it is he or she really wants and how best to share it, while listening to the other side as well. Too often we think only about using crucial conversations skills in our own crucial conversations. We fail to recognize the power we have to teach, coach, and support others in using these skills. So, don’t get caught up in thinking this is your conversation. It is not. But, it is a conversation you can help someone have. Understanding what the right conversation is, and whom it is with, will often get you more than halfway to a successful resolution. Good Luck, Emily

http://static.vitalsmartscdn.com/kerryingon/Kerryingong201411_LawofTheHog.mp3 When David Maxfield and I pulled up to the plywood mill, we were surprised to see an ambulance parked out front. We had come to study the impact of an upcoming leadership training program, but I must admit it was difficult to think about research as we walked by a vehicle that had "Sisters of Mercy Hospital" painted on both sides in large, red letters. Our guess was that an employee had suffered an accident. After all, the place sported gigantic saw blades, menacing debarkers, and a terrifying machine known as "the hog." Which, by the way, you’re not allowed to go near, unless you’re wearing a safety belt that keeps you from falling into a hole in the floor that leads to an assortment of razor-sharp, spinning blades. It turns out, there had been no accident. According to Tony, the HR manager who was now taking us on a tour of the facility, a supervisor on the graveyard shift had confronted Max, an hourly employee who wasn’t following correct procedures. Max disagreed. One thing led to another until Max pushed Tony, who pushed back, and then Max fell and cut a large gash in his forehead. "But we’re trying to turn that around," explained the HR manager. "That’s why we’re implementing a leadership training program. We want you to help us determine if the instruction we’ll be providing actually works." As Max was loaded into the ambulance, David and I walked to the main conference room just down the hall. There, scattered around a table, sat eight randomly selected employees who had been scheduled to talk with us about what it was like working in a plywood mill. This was to be the first of two dozen such group interviews. As I cleared my throat to start the conversation, as if on cue, the ambulance driver sounded the siren. Everyone turned to the window to watch the emergency vehicle haul their coworker away. Then, in unison, the eight employees turned their heads back toward David and me and shot us a look that said, "What do you think of the place so far?" By now I was aching to know what these employees thought about the shoving match that had just occurred. So I asked, "What happens around this place if you dislike how you’ve been treated by one of your leaders?" After a brief pause, a fellow looked me in the eye, smiled contemptuously, and uttered two words that to this day reverberate in my mind. "The hog!" As the blood drained from my face I managed to ask, "You mean that machine with the nasty blades that you use to cut up scrap veneer?" "Exactly!" he replied. By now I was envisioning a team of angry employees wrestling their foreman to the ground and stuffing him into that frightening hole in the floor. "So, precisely what do you mean when you say ‘the hog’?" I continued as I prayed for an answer that didn’t involve death and dismemberment. "When our boss leaves our work area, we take perfectly good veneer and throw it into the hog," one of the interviewees answered politely. "That’s right," another employee chimed in. "The hog is used for chopping up scrap. When someone grinds up good veneer, it hurts the foreman’s numbers. That gets the foreman in trouble with the plant manager." "Absolutely. If you want to get even with a supervisor who just insulted you or tried to jerk you around," explained still another interviewee, "you feed the hog." It was from this incident that David and I created the expression "The Law of the Hog." It means that if you talk with someone who has disappointed you or behaved poorly, but you do so in a way that is less than professional, others may find a way to get even—i.e., "feed the hog." Over the years, we’ve learned that every organization has its own version of feeding the hog. In one freight-shipping company, employees who become upset at being mistreated have been known to throw perfectly good parts into the deep blue sea. At a computer chip manufacturer, disgruntled associates flush gold chips down the toilet. At a software company, angry code writers purposely write errors into the program. These acts of sabotage are a means of seeking revenge on the leaders. Of course, not everyone who believes he or she has been treated poorly seeks such direct and active revenge. The most common method of feeding the hog takes the form of lost focus, energy, and engagement. After being harshly treated by a leader, employees spend time talking about what just happened rather than doing their job. Next, they refuse to put in extra effort. Eventually they disengage. But there’s more to the hog story. Years later I asked David (who had talked extensively with Tony, the abusive supervisor) how Tony felt about the incident. "Actually," replied David, "he was devastated. He had worked at the mill for years. When he was finally promoted to foreman, he discovered that it was difficult to get people to listen to him. He desperately wanted employees to follow procedures and meet deadlines, but they often ignored him. With time," David continued, "he learned to rely on intimidation but he hated doing so. It was a small town. Some of Tony’s direct reports were neighbors, others relatives, and now they all saw him as the enemy. Tony’s own wife refused to go to church with him or otherwise be seen with him in public." So this wasn’t merely a story of aggression followed by revenge. Tony wasn’t the bad guy and the employees weren’t innocent bystanders exacting justice. It was a more complex tale about creating a culture of accountability. Fortunately, the leadership training we were hired to study actually did teach foremen how to hold others accountable. By learning best practices, Tony and the other leaders discovered what many skilled leaders had known for years. When you carefully study how to hold others accountable, and then actually use the skills you’ve learned, you don’t have to rely on intimidation, threats, and abuse. You can deal with deviations and disappointments without feeding the hog. And, unless you’re the hog, that’s a good thing. You can also go to our YouTube channel to see a video version of The Law of the Hog.

New research by Joseph Grenny and David Maxfield shows that a few small changes in how parents talk about Christmas makes a huge difference in whether Christmas traditions make kids selfish or generous. "We wanted to find out whether parents were unwittingly undermining their own goals," said Maxfield. "Specifically, we wondered if the way parents talk about Christmas has a significant influence on whether kids become self-centered or empathic during the holidays." In the study conducted in October, twenty-seven percent of parents said they talk to their children more about giving than getting, yet eighty-six percent want their holiday traditions to support generosity and gratefulness. So how can parents and families close the gap between what we say and what we do? Joseph Grenny and David Maxfield offer the following six tips: 1. Take children shopping for presents they will give. 2. Expect them to use some of their own money to buy gifts. 3. Involve kids in doing some kind of charitable work to get into the holiday spirit. 4. Help kids write a "gift" list as well as a "wish" list—detailing things they want to make or do for those they love. 5. Collect presents for a "Sub for Santa" or other holiday giving cause. 6. Make a donation of a valued toy or other possession for someone less fortunate. View the results of our study in the infographic below or download a copy for yourself.

In our newly released video, Santa’s Elf holds out two tantalizing foil-wrapped chocolate Christmas bears to Emma and Alex. One chocolate bear is a wonderfully chubby eight inches tall. The other is tiny—the size and girth of a clothespin. "Sorry," the Elf says, "we only have one big bear left." He turns to Emma, the subject child: "Here, you choose—which do you want?" Will Emma take the big one and stiff Alex, or in the spirit of the season, will she decide it’s more blessed to give than to receive? Words matter. A lot. The words you choose to frame a problem powerfully influence the way you and others feel about it. For example, if Ethan takes a cupcake without asking, a parent who begins with, "Ethan, you disobeyed Mommy," sets up an entirely different conversation than one who says, "Ethan, you have broken my trust." A boss who says, "We have an unacceptable error rate," has framed the problem as meeting the boss’ expectations. One who says, "Our error rate is putting patient lives at risk," has framed it as a moral imperative. Research shows that small tweaks in verbal frames can provoke resentment or invite commitment about the same issue! Reviewing that research made the VitalSmarts research team wonder, "What about Christmas?" Each of us could think of Christmas mornings where kids had behaved like ravenous hyenas, tearing through wrapping paper to get at the next indulgence. Yet, we could also recall instances of sweet, selfless generosity, where a child sacrificed hard-earned cash to bring a smile to someone they loved. After surveying our various memories, we were left asking, "Overall, does Christmas make us naughtier or nicer? Or is it the way we talk about Christmas that determines the influence of the season?" So we invited roughly sixty kids, ages six to eight, to a Christmas party. After enjoying a rollicking good time decorating, eating cookies, and playing holiday games, the children were invited to visit with Santa, two at a time. The first child was a subject, and the second was a confederate—our secret scientific helper! In the first condition, Santa used his age-old script, "What do you want for Christmas?" Kids have been preparing for this dialogue since they were in diapers. All of them were armed with a Christmas shopping list for the Jolly Old Elf. When they finished, Santa said, "Thank you for visiting me! If you’ll go over there and see my elf, he has a surprise for you!" The kids gleefully complied. The pair of tots faced the elf who announced sadly, "Oh no! I’m almost out of big chocolate bears. I only have one big one left. One of you can have the large one and the other will get the small one." The elf then turned to the subject child and said, "Here—you choose. Which do you want?" Few deliberated for long. Over two-thirds snatched the big one. One little guy didn’t even wait for the elf to finish. When his eyes landed on the gargantuan bear he seized it, exclaimed "I’m out of here!" and fled. In the second condition, the children had the exact same experience but with one small change—just a few words. Santa greeted the kids warmly and asked, "What gifts do you want to give this Christmas?" Most of the kids couldn’t even hear him! They began to recite wish lists like a kidnapper dictating ransom terms. Santa would smile and say, "Those sound like great wishes! And are there any presents you want to give to someone?" After two or three attempts to clarify his bizarre departure from the sacred Santa liturgy, their eyes would widen, and they’d offer a few thoughtful ideas. Now came the moment of truth. The subject and confederate would approach Santa’s helper. The elf would sadly announce the tragic chocolate bear situation. He would offer the choice to the subject child. This time, not only did most kids answer more slowly, they responded more generously. One little girl removed both bears from the elf’s hands, examined them closely, reading the label, "Hmm . . . melted chocolate. Hmm . . . . Here—you take the big one!" She smiled, gripped the little bear and skipped out of the room. Simply changing the Christmas "frame" influenced over forty percent of kids to behave more graciously! When you’re talking about problems at work, decisions with family members, or goals with colleagues, the words you choose to frame the issues are very influential. We at VitalSmarts hope the words you use this holiday season will bring you great joy, meaning, and connection with those you love. Sincerely, Joseph

The following article was first published on November 2, 2004. Dear Crucial Skills, As a manager, I resist micromanaging at all costs; it’s not the way I want to be managed and it’s not the way I want to manage. However, I may well be a manager who can be taken advantage of, and that doesn’t feel particularly good. I’m in higher education where there is high value placed on collegiality. This translates most often into a great deal of autonomy at the expense of accountability. If I’ve ever had to have a crucial conversation, I feel I can only do so with extreme delicacy. How can managers find the proper balance with employees? Sincerely, Dr. Delicate Dear Dr. Delicate, As I respond to your question, I want to extend it to other situations. I don’t think people want to micromanage or be micromanaged anywhere. Micromanagement is not desirable even in tense environments such as airport towers, nuclear power plants, or emergency rooms. It’s certainly not what people want at home with partners or with children. "Take out the garbage. Did you put in a new liner? Did you put the lid on the garbage can? Did you close the garage door?" All of this sounds like nagging. It certainly minimizes autonomy and initiative. And, as you noted, it minimizes collegiality and other positive forms of relationships. On the other hand, particularly in high-risk situations or where there is a track record of performance problems, managers or leaders don’t want to say, "I don’t want to micromanage, so I’ll just trust you to perform and get back to me when you find it convenient." So what can be done to hold people accountable without micromanaging? Here are a few suggestions. Excellent performance begins with clear expectations. As you set expectations with individuals or groups, make sure you not only include what the desired results are, but also get agreement about how you will talk about issues or problems that come up. Talk about the process of accountability and about how you define management vs. micromanagement—from both sides. It could sound something like this: "We’ve agreed that the proposal will be submitted for review to me by next Tuesday at noon. Can we talk for a few minutes about what each of us should do if we run into problems or barriers?" In this discussion, you can talk about what the other person will do to keep you informed in advance if there is the possibility of a delay, or if he or she needs additional input, or whatever. Also, you can get agreement about how you’ll check in with the person. The outcome of this conversation is that both of you should feel comfortable with and clear about the outcomes and the process you’ll use to ensure accountability. Ask specific questions such as, "Do you feel okay about the process?" and "Are you comfortable with our plan concerning accountability?" These questions give you opportunities to make sure that your intention is to get results and not to micromanage. To emphasize this point, you need agreements about how you hold others accountable. What is your comfort level about frequency and specificity? What is the other person’s comfort level? The balance comes from the dialogue you have up front. Look at your story. Too often people tell themselves that if they confront someone, the person will see it as micromanaging. This can be a "Sucker’s Choice"—a choice where we see only two options—both of them bad. For example, "If I confront people, they’ll see it as being ‘on their case’; or I can not confront them and let the results suffer." In reality, there is often a third, better alternative; you can confront the issue of accountability AND not micromanage. So you mentally push yourself to find the AND. "How can I confront this issue so the results are achieved AND avoid having the other person think I’m micromanaging? In fact, how can I deal with performance issues AND strengthen our relationship?" Such questions, of course, help you to focus on what you really want for you, for the other person, and for the relationship. You don’t have to choose between performance and relationship . . . you can get both. Describe the gap. If you need to discuss a performance issue, you can create the safety needed for a helpful discussion by describing the gap. Describe what you agreed on and then what you observed and how it differed from what you expected. The gap between these two is what you are going to talk about. If you can begin well, the rest is often easy. Make sure you start with facts, not emotions or conclusions. You begin with an observation, not an accusation. When you can do this well, you send a message that says, "I’ve noticed this and I’m interested in learning what happened—I have not pre-judged you or the issue." Also, when you have an agreement upfront about how accountability discussions will be held, there are no surprises. With no surprises and lots of safety, holding talks about performance is not seen as micromanaging. I hope these three points help. I also hope that you and others can see how they can be applied at a college, in manufacturing, other businesses, and at home. Best Wishes, Al

The following article was first published on December 21, 2005. Dear Crucial Skills, I am a divorced father of two young children. The separation occurred two years ago. We are doing a very good job of co-parenting. My ex-wife, "Sue," and I had agreed from early on that we would NOT be introducing people we are dating into the lives of our daughters unless it was well into the relationship (e.g., six months with the possibility of remarriage). This is to protect the children from the revolving door of people coming and going in their lives. That lasted for about a year. The last two Christmases, my daughters have woken up to two different men in Sue’s house. It’s almost Christmas, and I am afraid it will be yet another man on Christmas morning, creating more confusion for the children. While I can’t control what Sue does, I would like her to know that this could be harmful to our children as well as their future values or opinions of their mother. But by confronting her on this, I feel like I would come across as way too judgmental, and would open myself up to her criticism of my parenting, just like I am being of hers in this regard. Sincerely, Perplexed Dear Perplexed, Let me start by acknowledging you for the spirit of your question. I’m sure that everyone who reads it will be inspired by the pure desire it shows to put your children first. I’m grateful for adults like you—and your ex-wife—who are willing to suck it up when their own emotions are raw and do what’s best for the most vulnerable people involved—the children. Bless you. With that said, let me re-frame the problem. This isn’t about what "may or may not happen." This is about what has already happened. You had an agreement. She appears to have broken it. That’s the conversation you need to have. You are rightly sensitive that if you appear to be throwing rocks at her she might defensively throw some back at you. In other words, if you come across as moralistic, judgmental, or accusatory, you will be incapable of focusing on the real issue: the agreement the two of you made in the best interests of the children. So be sure to be hyper-attentive as you begin and as you proceed in the conversation to creating safety for her. She needs to be affirmed, respected, and appreciated enough that she understands this is not about you judging her, but about you wanting to have a strong relationship with her while you attempt to do what’s best for the kids. Remember, people feel safe when they know that a) you care about their interests and problems, and b) you care about and respect them. So you might begin like this: "Sue, I want to discuss a concern I’ve got when it works for you to do so. I want you to know I have no other agenda than to keep the air clear between us so we can continue working well together for the children. First and foremost, I want you to understand how much I appreciate your efforts to work with me over the past two years. I know it hasn’t been easy. But you’ve been wonderful to work with. Thank you for all you’ve done." Next, move into "Describing the Gap" between what you expected and what you got. Again, do so in a way that ensures she feels safe—that she interprets your intent correctly. Also, focus on the facts—not your interpretations or judgments of the facts: "The issue is this: two years ago I think we agreed that we would not introduce new people to the children until we had a relationship that looked close to marriage. Is that right? I think we both felt at the time that this would help them appreciate the importance of commitment and would minimize instability in their lives. The past two Christmases the children have said that when they woke up in your house on Christmas there was a man who had slept over, greeting them in the morning." Now that you’ve laid out your concern—it’s time to encourage dialogue and reassure safety: "Now, I realize that I might have some facts wrong. I realize also that even if this is what happened, your feelings and needs are an important consideration. I don’t want to be judgmental at all—or to keep you from something that’s important to you. But I want to be clear on our agreements with each other and continue to put the children first. So am I seeing this wrong? Is there something I’m missing here?" At this point you follow the dialogue where it needs to go. Remember though, to keep the conversation focused on what you really want—what’s best for the kids. Not on your need to punish Sue for her behavior, or jealousy, etc. This is a conversation about a broken commitment, not a moral code. Thanks again for your splendid example to me and others. I wish you the best in this accountability conversation and have every confidence your good heart will lead you right. And I wish you a Merry Christmas as well. Joseph

http://static.vitalsmartscdn.com/kerryingon/KerryingOn_201412.mp3 One brisk December morning as my five-year-old son Taylor and I skittered across the local mall’s icy parking lot in search of gifts for his two older sisters, Taylor turned to me and asked, "What was your bestest and most favorite Christmas present ever?" I have contemplated the answer to that question over the years since. Despite the fact that as a child I had perched over the toy section of the Sears catalogue (much like a monk musing over a sacred manuscript), my favorite gift never made it into Mr. Sears’ marvelous book. In fact, it was never sold in any store. More curious still, it sat in a box, unopened for almost fifty years. To appreciate this magical gift, you have to know a little bit about how the human mind works. Although nobody completely understands how anything as complicated as the brain actually functions, I like to think of it as thousands of tiny shelves that sit in long rows inside our head. On these shelves sit millions of even tinier boxes. And inside these boxes you find memories. Some of the boxes remain unopened and unattended for years and the thoughts left inside evaporate like dry ice on a hot summer day. Other memories remain active and vital because we pull a box off the shelf, open it, and relive the experience. Of course, every time we crack open a memory box we change the contents ever so slightly. That’s because when we visit a memory, we add a little here and snip a little there. With each new peek into the box we make subtle alterations until one day, all that is left is the memory of a memory of a memory; little more than a faint and blurred copy. The original is gone forever. But not always. Every once in a while the most amazing thing happens. A mysterious force knocks a box off one of our memory shelves—a box that has sat untouched for years suddenly bursts open. And when it does, you relive a precious moment—unchanged and straight from your childhood. That’s what happened to me one December morning a few years ago. I was preparing for my granddaughter who would soon be making a Christmas visit. As I fussed and fidgeted and tried to make the house safe for a curious child, I spotted a small shiny object on the floor, just under our living room couch. As I drew closer I could see that it was a dime. "We can’t have that lying around!" I muttered to myself, as I dropped to my hands and knees. At that very moment, a song that I had learned in the first grade started playing on the radio: "Christmas is coming; the goose is getting fat. . . ." The image of the shiny dime coupled with the haunting melody of a childhood song pushed an untouched package off my memory shelf. Whoosh! As the lid from this tiny box popped open and the contents tumbled out, I was suddenly six years old. The dime I had been staring at under the couch magically transformed into a dime lying under my grandfather’s candy counter. When I was a boy my grandpa owned a corner grocery store and every day on the way home from elementary school I’d stop by to see him. Grandpa was always as interested in the characters portrayed in my childhood primer as I was. "Spot ran away, and Sally and Puff are looking for him," I’d explain. "Really?" he would ask with genuine interest. "Do you think they’ll find him?" Grandpa always wore a lime green apron that looked clean and stiff and official. As the sole proprietor of our only neighborhood store, I thought he was about as important as any person alive—maybe as important as a brain surgeon, a judge, or even a fireman. I loved my Grandpa as much as I loved anyone or anything. Grandpa loved me in return. He was proud of everything I did. When I earned a gold star at school, he acted as if I had invented penicillin. Even when I didn’t do very well he’d smile warmly and tell me not to worry. Sometimes Grandpa would use me as a prop. On rainy days (which was most of the time in Bellingham, Washington), I’d stop by the store and he would go through the same routine. Grandpa would be chatting with a grownup customer and as soon as I’d walk up next to him he’d mention how miserable the weather was. Then he’d look out at the drizzle and say, "You know, I wish the sun would come out. Not so much for myself but for my grandson." Then he’d pat me on the head and explain, "I’ve seen the sun before, but my grandson never has!" Everyone would laugh. On this day—that is, the day that fell down from my memory shelf—I was on my hands and knees doing what little boys do when they’re at their grandfather’s grocery store, next to the candy counter. I was looking for coins. Sometimes grownups would drop a penny, and if you were lucky, you’d end up with a tasty treat. Only this time, I spotted a shiny new dime. Ten whole cents! I can still remember what I bought—one licorice whip, one red-hot jawbreaker, two sour cherries, one raspberry vine, and ten Whoppers—Whoppers were two for a penny. Grandpa smiled wide as I scampered out of his store. You would have thought that he was the one with the pocketful of candy. Since I was still a child when this took place—and still believed in miracles—the next day I ran out the back door of school, raced down the hill, burst into Grandpa’s store, and dropped to my knees in search of treasure. Then I crawled around and looked and sniffed, and probed, and hunted until—guess what? I found another dime. I couldn’t believe my good fortune! This time I bought my older brother an Oh Henry! candy bar and myself five pieces of penny candy. And so it went. Every day I’d drop to my hands and knees, find a dime, and marvel at my good luck. Sometimes I’d only spend five cents, and the next day I’d buy a fifteen-cent kite. All through that spring and well into the summer I bought Fudgesicles on hot days, kites on windy days, and candy bars when I was thinking of my brother. And every single day Grandpa would smile wide as I ran from the store with my treasures in hand. This was the box that fell from my memory shelf when I knelt to pick up a dime the day my granddaughter was coming for Christmas. The entire rush of thought—complete with Whoppers, kites, and licorice whips—passed in a flash. As I arose from my hands and knees nearly fifty years after finding that first dime, the adult inside me returned. "Why Grandpa!" I thought to myself, "You put those dimes there didn’t you!" Sure enough, at age seventy-two, he had gingerly lowered himself to the floor and secretly hidden a dime in a different spot each morning. He didn’t do it for the thanks. He never told me what he had done. He did it because he loved me. I had a friend growing up who was given some of the most amazing gifts for Christmas. The year he turned sixteen his parents gave him an entire automobile. Not just a leather steering-wheel cover, or one of those smelly cardboard pine trees you hang on the rearview mirror—but an entire car. If his five-year-old son were to ask him about his "bestest and most favorite" Christmas present ever, I bet he would talk about that shiny red Chevy. But for me, my favorite gift fell off a shelf after it sat untouched for nearly fifty years. It was wrapped in childhood innocence and when the lid popped off and the contents tumbled out, it bathed me in the warm glow of my grandfather’s love. Sometimes when I’m feeling blue, I open that glorious box and look at the kites and penny candy and relive the joy. Sometimes the box falls down all by itself. I’ll be walking down the street when a person wearing lime green clothing passes by me and bumps the box. Plunk. And you know what—I think sometimes my Grandpa from somewhere far away whispers, "Happy Christmas!" and the breeze from his sweet voice gently nudges the box. Whatever causes the package to tumble, the result is always the same. I taste the sweet Fudgesicles, feel the tug of a kite, and imagine my Grandpa on his hands and knees—hiding a dime for his beloved grandson. And even though my "bestest and most favorite" present was never listed in any department store catalog, that extraordinary box—that memory box filled with Grandpa’s love—is far more precious to me than anything ever shaped by human hands. I shall cherish it forever.

Dear Crucial Skills, I’m a cofounder of a company that recently brought in a new CEO who I don’t know well. I want to talk to the CEO about taking an executive role in the company and obtaining his mentorship. The problem is I feel very strongly about this position and my contribution, and tend to get emotional about it. I know I’ve made a very significant contribution to the company’s growth, but I’m also fundamentally insecure about my skills. I also don’t have the resume that investors are looking for. The new CEO is a very level-headed person who doesn’t get emotional about anything, and I don’t want to lose credibility with him as I negotiate my role in this growing company. Can you give me some pointers for preparing for this conversation? Sincerely, Looking for a Promotion Dear Looking, Of course you get emotional about your role in the company you cofounded! This company is your brainchild; you’ve invested your blood, sweat, and tears. Any conversation about your role going forward is high stakes indeed. And strong emotions are often the biggest barrier to effectively influencing others. As you take stock of the company’s needs, and of the skills you need in order to fulfill an executive role, you are wise to seek the new CEO’s mentorship. So how do you have the crucial conversation with the CEO about taking on an executive role? Start with heart. As you contemplate having this conversation, ask yourself, "What do I really want? For myself? For the new CEO? For the company?" Of course you want the company to be successful. You also want to support the CEO and help him succeed. In addition, you want to occupy an executive position and be effective in that role. Keep in mind that you are not a beggar or a thief. You are not asking for a position you do not deserve, nor are you expecting a role that benefits you and hurts the company. You want to add value and make a meaningful contribution. These are good motives—helpful motives. As you focus on these thoughts, your brain will be in gear and your emotions will dissipate. Create mutual purpose. An important beginning to this crucial conversation is to help the CEO understand your intentions—your motives. You might want to say something like, "I want to talk with you about my role in the company. I am absolutely committed to making the company succeed. I also want to do everything within my power to help you be successful in your new role as CEO." Such a strong declaration will do a lot to make it safe for the CEO to discuss the topic with you openly. Next, share your meaning. As with bringing up any sensitive topic, I would encourage you to share the facts. Help the CEO understand your history with the company and the many contributions you’ve made. There’s no need to feel embarrassed or shy. You are not bragging or "tooting your own horn." You are giving the CEO important information he needs to make decisions about how to best utilize your abilities. Then tell your story by sharing with the CEO your honest evaluation of your strengths and weaknesses. Our tendency is to ‘spin’ our histories by embellishing our strengths and understating our weaknesses. I once worked with a colleague who was always trying to ‘sell’ me. When advocating his point of view, he emphasized the reasons to do what he wanted, and left unmentioned the downside. I grew to discount his statements and distrust his motives. You do not want to do this. Identify where you see yourself as the most capable and where you need more development. This kind of honesty, openness, and insight will help your CEO appreciate the kind of person you are and trust your candor. Next, make your proposal. Explain the position you want to fill and its responsibilities. Ask that the CEO mentor you and help you strengthen the areas you’ve identified for improvement. Finally, ask for the CEO’s input. You’ve put a lot of meaning in the pool; now is the time to get his. Ask questions and listen. How does he see the situation? How does he view the fit between you and the executive position? This appeal will not necessarily guarantee that you end up with the position you desire. However, this approach will increase the likelihood your emotions will not get in the way, and there will be greater mutual understanding. Good Luck, Ron

In our latest BS Guys video, we asked two boys to approach smokers on the street. Their goal was to get the smokers to consider quitting. They used one of two strategies: "tell" or "ask." In the tell condition, they did what many have tried before—they told the smokers why they should quit. In the ask condition, the boys asked the smokers for a light. It was fascinating to see how the smokers responded. When you’re trying to influence people who need motivation, but not information, don’t offer more information. Instead, use questions to create a safe environment where they can explore motivations they already have. For example, suppose you want your spouse to improve his fitness. How would he respond to a lecture? He’d get defensive, right? So instead, try asking a question. "If you wanted to increase your fitness level, what changes would you need to make? And what would make those changes difficult or unpleasant?" This question creates a safe environment where he can examine the facts he already has. The problem with reminding people of facts they already know is that it feels patronizing or controlling. People’s natural response is to resist and exert their independence. Psychologists call this "reactance." Think about how we usually try to get smokers to quit. Most smokers already have a grasp of the facts. They’ve read the warning labels and they’ve seen the public service announcements. More lectures aren’t likely to be very influential. So we wanted to test the power of influential questions. We hired two boys to be our confederates. They approached smokers on the street to see if they could get them to consider quitting. In the tell condition, they used the traditional lecture approach, and then asked the smoker if they’d like information on how to quit. In this condition, 90 percent of the smokers responded resentfully, and fewer than half took the paper with the information on how to quit. In the ask condition, the confederates carried fake cigarettes, and asked the smoker for a light. The smokers’ reactions were dramatic. None offered a light, and none ignored the request. Instead, they stopped what they were doing, and began lecturing the kids on the dangers of smoking. The question prompted strong anti-smoking tirades—from the smokers themselves! Then the kids asked a second influential question: "If you care about us, what about you?" Then they offered the information on how to quit. In this condition, 90 percent of the smokers committed to trying to quit. Did the smokers really quit? We don’t know. However, when the ad giant Ogilvy & Mather originated this study in Bangkok, Thailand, calls to the helpline went up 40 percent on the day of the experiment—showing that the influence extended beyond words to action. Try this technique the next time you want to help someone take on a difficult change. Instead of repeating facts they already know, try asking questions. The goal is to allow them to explore their own motivations without feeling pushed by you. Below are a few questions you might try. "What is it that makes you even consider changing?" "If things worked out exactly the way you want, what would be different? "What are the pluses and minuses of changing or not changing?" "If this change were easy, would you want to make it? What makes it hard?" Good Luck, David

When people outside of work find out that I spend a lot of time teaching groups, they often ask about the more challenging situations I encounter. "What are the biggest pitfalls? And how do you recover when you run into these problems?" I tell them, "A picture is worth a thousand words." Some time ago, I attended a presentation from a nationally acclaimed photographer about the ABCs of photography. He expressed the idea that photography is a form of communication, and like language, has its own alphabet. While language uses letters to communicate ideas, similarly, photography uses assembled elements to create meaning in a visual format. In the middle of sharing this deep philosophical explanation about how to effectively communicate through photography, he was interrupted by a question from the audience. "Are you conscious about ensuring all the elements are present before taking the shot?" Interesting question, but not as interesting as his answer. He explained that he used to take a photo, realize it hadn’t turned out the way he’d expected, and he wouldn’t be able to understand why. But since then, he’d learned to bring the photo to a mentor who would then look at it with him to figure out what to do differently next time. His answer caused me to reflect on my many classroom experiences. I’ve had my share of less than desirable outcomes. And one of the most frustrating things is knowing a class hasn’t turned out well, but not knowing the reason why—especially early on. I came to the conclusion that we ought to be doing the same thing with our classes that the photographer was doing with his photographs. We need to take a mental picture of what’s going on so that we can analyze it and do better. We should take stock of the classroom—prior to running into a problem. What’s happening with the group? What are people doing or not doing? How is the physical space set up? Is it conducive to learning? In essence, what do I notice that cues me to stop and reframe before moving on? Then we can share these mental photos with mentors. We can compare the not so good ones to the better ones and figure out the difference. Most especially, we can use them to cue ourselves for better outcomes in the future. Good luck! And remember to post those mental photos on the VitalSmarts Trainer LinkedIn and Facebook groups.

The Style Under Stress Test asks participants to pick a specific person or situation where they have a hard time staying in dialogue, and then directs them to answer all the questions in regards to that specific person or situation. The results of the test are not a measure of personality i.e., scoring high on "violence" does not mean you are a "violent person," but rather it measures our tendencies and skills in a specific situation. Put yourself in a different situation and you’ll behave differently. Sometimes we use personality type to justify our extreme Style Under Stress (silence or violence). We might say things like, "Of course I treated him that way. I’m an INTJ. That’s just who I am." Or, "Yes, I said that. But it’s because I’m a ‘yellow’." I sometimes use these as examples of helpless stories in the introduction of Master My Stories. Specifically, I bring it up on the slide that says "When it matters most, we often do our worst—and we feel like we are doing the right thing." We behave badly when the stakes are high, then we justify the behavior with our personality type, without realizing we have other options that will help us return to healthy dialogue. This is a quick example that participants might not have thought of, and pointing it out usually gets a good laugh.

Dear Crucial Skills, About a month ago, my director was investigated for violating policy. I provided information against her in this process. During the investigation, my director told my coworkers that the allegations were all lies. This caused my coworkers to view me as a troublemaker and a liar. I suspect she said the same to the heads of our company. As a result, she has been able to keep her job and I feel like my credibility is damaged. How do I move forward from here? Signed, Credibility Crisis Dear Credibility Crisis, Some decisions are hard. This one isn’t. You’ve got to go. The only way I would temper that advice is if you think there is a possibility you are wrong. If the following are facts and not fear-based stories you are telling yourself: 1. Your director violated the policy. 2. The violation is a serious ethical breach—not some trivial technicality (e.g., she used company funds to refurnish her beach house vs. she used an outdated company logo in a PowerPoint presentation). 3. Your senior leaders believe you lied in your testimony against your director. 4. Your colleagues likewise believe you lied. . . . then you are in as compromised a social situation as you could be. You’ve got two problems here. First, you are working in an organization that seems either unable or unwilling to hold high standards. Do you really want to work in that kind of place? And second, you have none of the social support you will need to get things done and to be rewarded for doing so. You owe it to yourself to put yourself into circumstances where you will be honored for your integrity, where you will be able to do your best work, and where you will be recognized for doing so. I wish I had a magic answer that would allow you to remedy the situation. But I would be less than a genuine friend if I suggested I have ever seen a situation like yours end well. Your choices are a quick exit or a slow meltdown. A graceful redemption isn’t in the cards. However, if objective and informed people among your colleagues disagree with #1-4 above—then improvement is possible. For example, if: 1. Your director’s actions are more of a gray area. 2. The policy isn’t morally significant. 3. Your senior leaders disagree with your view, but don’t believe you lied. 4. Few of your colleagues are especially aware or see this as an honest disagreement between you and your director. . . . then there is room for hope. But only if you are willing to hold a truly humble, open, and honest crucial conversation with your director. You will need to come to this conversation curious. You will need to suspend your judgments and be open to new information that might revise your view of her actions. But you will also need to come prepared to be honest if the new "meaning" you acquire does not change your view. The only path forward is through this conversation in which the two of you open up the possibility of gaining new insight into each other’s actions, motives, and perspectives. I wish you the best in this profoundly important decision. Warmly, Joseph

Dear Crucial Skills, My boss likes to leave things open for change until the last moment and this stresses me out completely. A few examples: (1) We were presenting to senior management and had agreed to drop several items from the presentation based on specific logical reasons. Two hours before the presentation, he decided we needed to add those items back into the presentation without reason. (2) We were launching a high-visibility product—from senior management’s perspective—and he tried to change the launch material that was already delayed going into production. If we had done as he wanted, we would have missed the launch deadline and faced huge embarrassment. (3) We were in the middle of an event and he texted me asking to change the schedule during the event! Situations like these are causing immense stress for me. I like to plan things well in advance and do not like surprises at the last moment. How can I successfully communicate this with him? Sincerely, Stressed Out Dear Stressed Out, Great question! And thanks for sharing the detailed examples. Often we have to work back from our emotions to the story that drives them, and then to the facts behind our story. As I see it, you’re dealing with the following: • Emotions: Stress and frustration. • Story: "My boss likes to leave things open for change until the last moment." • Facts: The three incidents you describe. Challenge your story. I want to begin by challenging your story just a bit. As humans, we often make what psychologists call "The Fundamental Attribution Error." We attribute others’ bad behavior to internal dispositions (as you do when you suggest, "My boss likes . . . "), and ignore external factors that might be influencing his or her behavior. Take a bit more time exploring why your boss might be leaving things open to the last minute. Here are a few possibilities: • He is distracted by other tasks and doesn’t really attend to your priorities until the last minute. Then, when he finally gets his head in the game, he wants to make changes. • Other leaders he must accommodate don’t pay attention to your priorities until the last minute. Then they demand changes, and your boss passes them along to you—as if they were his. • Perhaps some situations are so fluid that they really do require last minute changes. (I’d be surprised if this last one is actually true, but it’s worth considering.) A robust solution to your problem needs to address all of these influences. If you focus too narrowly on motivating him, without acknowledging the reasons for his last-minute meddling, he’s likely to feel attacked and become defensive. Determine what you really want. Focus on what you want long-term for the organization, your boss, yourself, and for your working relationship. Take pains to avoid a self-focused perspective (such as when you say, "Situations like these are causing immense stress for me. I like to plan things well in advance and do not like surprises at the last moment.") Instead, focus on the benefits you want to achieve. Trust me. If you are feeling stress, then others are as well. And the organizational costs of these last-minute changes can be profound. I’ve seen organizations grind to a halt, as managers stop taking action and making decisions because they fear others will second-guess them at the last minute. If you can introduce greater predictability and stability, you will be helping your organization, your boss, and many others—including yourself. Establish expectations that work for everyone. In our Crucial Accountability course we teach a skill called Describe the Gap. The gap is the difference between what you expect and what you’ve observed. In your case, the gap is between what you expect and what your boss and other stakeholders expect. Your conversation will succeed to the extent you can align these expectations. I suggest using principles and terms from project management best practices to describe your expectations. A good process involves the right people (your boss and other stakeholders) at the right times, before decisions become last-minute. Learn how project management is done in your organization and use what you discover in the conversation. Your goal will be to have your boss and other stakeholders commit to following a project management process that will make their lives easier, and improve the effectiveness of the organization. Move important decisions forward in time. Since the problem is that your boss isn’t making decisions until they are urgent, a part of the solution is to create this urgency earlier. Project plans are supposed to do this by establishing checkpoints that involve people early in the process. However, this involvement only works if people take the plans seriously—if the checkpoints create a sense of urgency. You need to make sure you are getting people’s mind share and serious involvement when you need it—early in the process. If you can’t get serious involvement early, then count on getting it at the last minute. Get permission to hold people accountable to the project plan. Your first test will come when your boss and others skip project checkpoints or arrive unprepared. Talk with them in advance about this potential. If they don’t get their heads into the project on time—as called for in the project plan—then the whole planning process will break down, and you’ll be back to last-minute changes. Some organizations even introduce a shorthand way of referring to the negative cycle. One I work with calls it "Skipping the D" and "Hijacking the D" (meaning "Skipping the Decision" and "Hijacking the Decision"). Everyone knows what these phrases mean and they use them as reminders to hold each other accountable. I hope that some of these suggestions will work for you. Let me know how it goes. David

It was the wish of Bellingham School District No. 501 that starting in the seventh grade, each student write a weekly theme and an annual term paper—and continue this practice throughout all of his or her junior high and high school years. Themes were easy. I would sit down and write whatever cockamamie idea came to mind, turn it in, and then have it torn apart by college English majors who graded my work with a red pencil and hatchet. Unfortunately, we weren’t taught much about how to actually write. In fact, I don’t remember being taught anything about writing. The theory was: throw young writers in the water and see if they learn to avoid torturing a metaphor. In any case, every week I wrote a paper that would come back marked with terms such as AWK, ¶, and DANG MOD. This confidence-killing technique was small potatoes compared to the esteem-crushing, soul-sucking damage caused by the annual term paper. Unlike themes, term papers required library research from original sources. That meant I had to walk a mile to my grandfather’s grocery store and buy three-by-five note cards. "Poe, Twain—and I believe the Bard himself—used three-by-five cards," My seventh-grade English teacher, Mr. Lewis, explained. "It’s how you organize your thoughts." Required cards in hand, I walked another mile and a half to the city library to start my research. And yes, I did have to fight off wild dogs along the way. It was the fifties and wild dogs roamed the countryside. No kidding. Once I arrived at the library, I milled about looking confused until Mrs. Huffington, the reference librarian, asked me if I needed help. This was, of course, said in a tone that indicated needing help was a sign of being hopelessly dimwitted. I told her about my upcoming term paper, explaining that I had narrowed my subject matter from a treatise on the universe to twelve pages about the planets. Mrs. Huffington sneered at my topic, which she said was "grossly unfocused," took me to a three-mile-long card catalog, and then stood me in front of the P drawers. I chuckled at the sound of the expression "P drawers," while thumbing my way through an endless list of references about planets. Eventually I picked a reference, recorded the code required to find it, and headed to the stacks. After a long and dispiriting search, I came to a group of journals that sported numbers, letters, and secret symbols similar to the code I had written, only to discover that the edition I wanted wasn’t on the shelf. So I hiked back to the sea of boxes, selected another reference, wandered the stacks, found the journal, turned to the section that had the information about planets, and—voilà—discovered that the pages I needed had been ripped out! This heinous act had surely been perpetrated by a previous student who didn’t want to go to the trouble of writing down the information on his three-by-five cards. And obviously they couldn’t photo copy the pages because the copy machines you can now find in every library nook and cranny hadn’t been invented yet. By now it was growing late, so I exited the library and started down the road that would take me the two-and-a-half miles home—without a single piece of information for my term paper. It only got worse. Between slogs to the library, I had to read extremely complicated material about the planets—including Saturn, Neptune, Pluto, Mickey, and Dopey. (I was tempted to work this line into my term paper, but came to my senses). I also had to learn about the proper use of Latin footnote terms such as "op. cit." and "ibid" in preparation for the imminent resurgence of the Roman Empire. Then came the monumental job of typing the paper on our family’s manual Remington portable typewriter. And heaven forbid I make a mistake! Typos had to be erased with a steel-belted, paper-shredding Eberhard Faber eraser. I made so many mistakes and attempted so many corrections, that my final product was a real dog’s breakfast. It was so trashed, if you held it up to the light, it looked like a papyrus manuscript—had ancient scholars used an Aramaic Remington portable. After feverishly working on my project for several weeks, I submitted it and eagerly awaited my grade. I had worked hard and was proud of my final document. I shouldn’t have been. It came back covered with red marks of all sorts—and the grade of a C- over a D+. "Look at this wonderful paper," Mr. Lewis exclaimed as he held up Sally Welch’s glorious effort. My classmate, Sally, had her term paper typed by her mother on a fancy electric machine, and it had zero typos. Plus her parents had done most of the research and writing, earning Sally an A+ over an A+. But that didn’t stop Sally from smiling broadly as Mr. Lewis heaped on the praise. She was clearly bound for glory. Whereas I, the C- over D+ student, would probably end up in the food services industry as my school guidance counselor had suggested earlier that year. No lie. At this point you may think I’m about to launch into a rant about questionable teaching methods and egregious inequities. Not so. I’m simply trying to provide background material, particularly for people under the age of forty, for the thanks I’m about to offer. "What thanks?" you ask. I recently spoke to a group of Google executives. But before I started into my assigned topic, I offered my heartfelt appreciation for their work, as well as the work of other search-engine designers. I had just completed an entire book, chock full of citations from original material, and in so doing, was not once attacked by a dog. I never had to hike in the pouring rain only to discover the reference book I sought was missing. I never had to pull a journal down from the shelf only to have key pages ripped out. Instead, I cheerfully scooted my computer mouse here and there, occasionally twitched my index finger, and magically uncovered material that years earlier, would have taken days to find. I now have the entire library of congress—along with just about anything anybody who ever had a thought has had to say—at my fingertips. Thank you search-engine inventors, code writers, data scanners, and people who vacuum and do the plumbing for The Cloud. Thank you for turning our world into a place where information is as available and cheap as air itself. I know, we’re not always sure what to do with all the information that silently beams into our space in giga-, tera-, and super-giga-tera bundles. Nevertheless, it’s time to offer a "good on ya" to everyone out there who has made information that used to be largely unattainable a mere click away. My guess is that my grandkids will never have a clue how hard it used to be to research and write a term paper—and I’m fine with that. But one thing is for certain: as they put together their papers, they won’t be chased by dogs.

Fifteen-year-old Jake is a high school basketball star. We invited Jake to go into another room and toss beanbags through holes of various sizes in a plywood target, then report back to us with his final score. Our hidden camera recorded that he scored six out of a possible fifteen points (not too good for a basketball phenom). As Jake approached our table to report his score, we wondered—would he embrace his shame and tell the truth? Or would he lie to get the extra $1 per point we promised him? Eighty percent of his colleagues in our experiment had lied. Would Jake follow suit—or fess up? Most of us lie. Studies have shown that lying is actually the natural order of things. From the time we are small, we learn there are powerful incentives to say what works rather than what’s true. The question is, why? Do we lie because we are morally bankrupt from birth? Or is there something more fixable going on? Given the importance of trust to healthy relationships, families, and communities, how can we help people do the unnatural? How can we, in spite of all the immediate incentives to do the opposite, influence people to tell the truth? The answer—at least in part—is surprisingly simple. And it begins with understanding one truth: most of our immoral actions are due not to moral defect, but to moral slumber. Thus, what we need is not a radical exorcism, but a bit of a wake-up call. Let’s set lying aside for a moment and look at a different example of ethical decision-making and how little it takes to influence people to make decent choices. Have you ever wondered whether a cook having a bad day takes it out on your food? Ryan Buell and colleagues from Harvard Business School did a fascinating experiment in a restaurant to test the effect of cameras on food quality. In one condition, customers were able to see the cooks as they prepared their food. In another, it was the reverse—cooks were provided with screens showing diners receiving their food. Which intervention would you guess made the biggest difference in food quality? Surprisingly, it was the second! You might think allowing customers to inspect quality would put cooks on notice and compel better quality. It didn’t. What made a difference was not inspection but connection. When cooks could see those eating their food, they cooked better (as judged by customers) and faster (as judged by a stopwatch)! All the cooks needed in order to care more about taking care of customers was to feel connected to them. It’s easy to get morally dozy when you can’t see the effect of your work. And it’s remarkably easy to invite people to greater integrity by simply connecting them with the moral and human content of their actions. Now back to lying and the beanbag toss. In the first round of our experiment, we asked teenagers to report their own scores (which we verified using a hidden camera), and we paid them $1 for each point. Eighty percent of the subjects lied. Some of them lied by more than 200 percent. And ironically, many of these kids had recently attended a Bible study class! In the second round, we tested the power of a self-administered moral wake-up call by simply encouraging participants to think about their own morals. Psychologist Albert Bandura suggests that you and I spend most of our lives morally disengaged. We make choices without thinking about their human consequences. When our phone buzzes as we drive in freeway traffic we feel tempted to read and respond to the message. When we do, it’s not because we don’t care about the safety of ourselves and others. It’s because we aren’t thinking about safety. We’re thinking instead about the profound urgency of the text message reverberating in our mobile device. If cooks make better choices when they feel connected to customers, would teens make better choices if given an opportunity to connect with their conscience? After explaining the beanbag toss to the second-round subjects, we gave them a slip of paper that asked them if they were willing to commit to be honest about their score. Then we invited them to sign a statement committing to do that. All chose to do so. Jake was one of the second-round subjects. After completing his pitiful performance he approached the table, hung his head, and with a self-conscious smile, told the truth: "I got six." When participants were invited to think about their own values and make a voluntary commitment to abide by them, the outcomes were completely reversed. This time, 80 percent of the subjects told the truth. The most powerful way to improve the moral character of our world is not policing, but connecting. We can help one another stay morally engaged by simply connecting people with their own values and with the consequences of their choices. Joseph

The other day, it seemed the whole family woke up a little rushed and even more crabby. As we all tore around the house looking for socks and lunchboxes and jackets, my eyes began that familiar wander toward all the not-yet-Pinterest-worthy spots in the house. Another unwatered plant! That broken window-pane! This out-of-control closet! And the emergency earthquake kit—with expired provisions—that will certainly be the death of us all when the big one hits! My tyrannical mental march around the house ended when it was time to take the kids to school. Drop-offs were quick and I soon found myself alone with my thoughts as I headed home to work side-by-side with my husband for the rest of the day. While driving, I planned how I would hold my hubby accountable for his role in contributing to the mountainous collection of things not-yet-done. But I’d had that conversation before and knew how it would surely go. And I didn’t think I would be enjoying the rest of my day very much. So I decided NOT to give voice to my criticism this day. Instead, when I was least in the mood for it, I walked back into the house and invited Gary to go for a walk with me. And he did! As we walked, we held hands. We talked. He even asked if he could take me out for breakfast. A lovely impromptu date with no mention of household tasks. Later that day, I mentioned I thought there was a lot to do and he agreed. We made a list together and started putting tasks on the calendar. Success! I know Sheryl Sandberg coined the phrase "Lean In" to mean something different, but when I think about how to stop getting in the way of myself at home, it feels like a helpful mantra to lean TOWARD the people I love (when I’m most tempted to give them a good talking-to). Here’s what my new Lean In mantra is teaching me: When the children whine, don’t tell them to stop. Just lean in for a hug. When someone complains, don’t tell them to be grateful. Lean in with empathy. When I feel disrespected, lean in and model respect. When I want to control outcomes, lean in with choices and flexibility. As my ever-wise husband likes to gently remind me, not every conversation needs to be a crucial one. As Valentine’s Day approaches, perhaps the best gifts include not just the conversations we need to have, but in some cases, the ones we don’t have. I’m working on it. How about you? Let us know your thoughts in the comments section below.

Dear Crucial Skills, My brother has a small IT business and usually employs four to five people at a time. He recently employed a twenty-year-old college student we’ll call Mark. Because of his girlfriend’s unexpected pregnancy, Mark had to stop studying and finds himself raising a family. His family situation is complex; he commutes about an hour to work and then another hour to the opposite side of the city to his girlfriend’s home. The baby is three months old and there are tensions in their young family. My brother wants to help this young man, but at the same time, finds himself paying good salary to someone who shows up late, leaves early, and has constant distractions at work. Mark is often visibly tired and drowsy. My brother has considered letting him work from home, but I advised him against it. Adjusting Mark’s schedule to part-time is another option, but would mean a pay cut to Mark. My brother knows he is up for a crucial conversation with Mark. What is the best way to approach this? Sincerely, Out of Options Dear Out of Options, This question hits so close to home for me! I have a fifteen-month-old daughter and commute over an hour to VitalSmarts each day. If not for the crucial conversations I use at home everyday to relieve the natural tensions of a blended family (I also have four children from my husband’s first marriage), I could be Mark! Your question brings to mind a question I have often considered—is it possible to bring too much heart to a conversation? It seems clear that your brother has the best of intentions toward Mark. He actually knows what is going on in Mark’s life, which is not something all employers can say. Second, he is actively seeking solutions that would help Mark and considering the impact of those solutions on Mark. Both of these things demonstrate a lot of heart. But does he have too much heart? When do you say enough is enough? Honestly, I think it is impossible to bring too much heart to a conversation or a relationship. An overabundance of caring and concern is never a problem. However, an imbalance of caring and concern is. Years ago, I read a wonderful article about the pitfalls of being a small business owner. One pitfall was caring too personally for the individuals in your employ, who are often also related to you. The author pointed out that small business owners hold on to poor-performing employees too long, often at the expense of other employees. The key then is making sure you are balanced in your concern. In Crucial Conversations, we teach that you assess your motives (Start with Heart) by asking not only what you want for the other person, but also what you want for yourself, for the relationship and for others in the organization. So you must balance your concern for yourself and the needs of others with the needs of Mark. Allowing Mark’s poor performance to persist not only has negative implications for your brother, but it’s also unfair to the others who work for him. So here is some practical advice for your brother and everyone out there who has a "Mark" in their life. First, get really clear on your expectations. What exactly needs to be done? Does it matter how or when it is done? What constraints are you operating under? It is imperative that we challenge our own assumptions about how work is done, the biases we have about different schedules or approaches, and the norms we may be operating under without even realizing it. It is easy to think, "I need someone here from 8 a.m.-5 p.m.," because that is how it’s always worked in the past. But it may be true that it is more about the work getting done than the person being present. Is work from home or flexible work-time an option? If not, why? What are the barriers and are they worth removing? The answers are less important than the clarity around them. For some roles, people absolutely need to be in an office space. Some roles must be from 8 a.m.-5 p.m. That is fine. Just make sure you know why, and that you are clear about your expectations. Next, communicate the gap. Once you are clear in your own mind on the expectations, articulate them for the other person. Make sure Mark is as clear as you are. Then share the gap you see between your expectations and his performance. Make this 100 percent factual. At this point, it isn’t about why there is a gap or even what the gap means. This is solely about clearly communicating the gap. Finally, diagnose what is causing the gap and start brainstorming how you can close the gap. As you do so, make sure you communicate your Mutual Purpose. Your goal should be to close the gap by finding a solution that meets both your expectations and Mark’s needs. Be open to diverse ideas about this. Anything that meets your expectations and Mark’s needs should be discussable, even if it is something you wouldn’t have thought of or aren’t initially comfortable with. One last caveat—it is not your brother’s job to solve this problem by himself. When we care a great deal about someone, we often think we need to figure out the solution and then present it to them like a gift. We think, "Maybe Mark could work from home? Or maybe he could work part-time?" Thinking through alternatives beforehand is not necessarily a bad idea. Just be careful that you don’t unilaterally decide on the solution beforehand. The purpose of the dialogue is to involve Mark in finding a solution, to help Mark understand where you are coming from, and to make sure Mark knows how much you care. This may mean that the conversation is really a series of conversations, one in which you discuss the gap and others in which you brainstorm solutions over time. I wish your brother luck in working through this situation. Emily

Dear David, My company has recently been acquired. Historically, we have enjoyed a great culture, a profitable business, and high employee satisfaction ratings. I’m concerned that when we integrate into the new company, we’ll lose our "secret sauce"—our unique cultural differentiators that have helped us be successful. Do you have any advice for how to avoid this, or at least how to influence the parent company’s culture for the better? Sincerely, In Fear of Losing a Good Thing Dear In Fear, An organization’s unique culture can be a powerful driver of success. At the same time, there are often elements of a culture that hold back the organization. This mix of challenges is especially apparent during mergers and acquisitions. The different cultures have different strengths and weaknesses, and you want to emerge with the best of both. I’m going to use one of our clients, a healthcare organization, as an example. We’ve worked with this organization as they combined several formerly independent hospitals, each with its own culture. Culture lies below the waterline. We use an iceberg metaphor to illustrate the relationship between the visible parts of an organization and its more hidden cultural elements. Above the waterline is the tip of the iceberg you can see. In an organization, this includes explicit goals, strategies, structures, processes, and systems. This is the organization’s not-so-secret sauce. These are the parts that are talked about the most. They are planned, tracked, and evaluated. They are on every leaders’ radar screen. Our healthcare client had a very explicit above-the-waterline goal and strategy. They wanted to become a "destination" health center—a place that would draw patients from several states. This explicit strategy guided their structure (they built a children’s hospital, cancer and heart centers, and a medical school, and purchased several regional community hospitals); it guided their processes (implementing integrated IT systems); it guided their reward systems (creating incentives that encouraged community hospitals to refer patients to their centers of excellence); and it influenced its people policies (switching from using community physicians to using employed physicians). Below the waterline lies the bulk of the iceberg you can’t see. In an organization, this includes implicit norms, values, hidden assumptions, unwritten rules, and behaviors. This is the organization’s secret sauce, its culture. An organization’s culture often goes unseen, unrecognized, and undiscussed. It’s like the adage, "fish discover water last." An organization’s culture is often derived from local regional norms, professional practices, values the founders held, and the like. It’s a source of great strength and vitality, but can also include contradictory and unproductive elements. Because culture lies below the waterline, it is often ignored or neglected by leaders—especially during times of change. And this is certainly the case during mergers and acquisitions. Here is the problem: most leaders focus too exclusively on above-the-waterline strategies for change. Yet, the most typical dangers—the obstacles that sink change efforts—lie below the waterline. Change plans run into cultural norms, and as Peter Drucker is credited with saying: "Culture eats strategy for breakfast." Our healthcare client also had to deal with many cultural elements. For example, many of the community hospitals they purchased felt as if they’d been "taken over." Many of these small hospitals had been founded by religious orders (from several different religions), and saw their secret sauce as being a sacred sauce—not something they wanted to lose. Identify Your Secret Sauce. While culture includes norms, values, hidden assumptions, and unwritten rules, it is expressed through behaviors. Behaviors are the key. The rest—the norms, values, etc.—are the influences that create and maintain the behaviors. When dealing with culture, we begin with behaviors. Specifically, we look for what we call vital behaviors. These are behaviors that are linked to many others. They are nodes in a network of behaviors. When you move a vital behavior, it brings many other behaviors along with it. We helped our healthcare client identify vital behaviors related to patient safety, quality of care, patient experience, and employee engagement. In this case the senior team identified two: 1. Speak up whenever you have a concern, regardless of your role or position. 2. Hold each other accountable, regardless of role or position. These vital behaviors were the secret sauce the overall organization needed. Some of the different hospitals and professions within the organization already demonstrated these vital behaviors at a highly reliable level, while others didn’t as much. And the influences—the norms, values, hidden assumptions, and unwritten rules that supported or undercut the vital behaviors—were different for each part of the organization. Conduct a Six-Source Diagnosis. Identify the influences that are keeping problem behaviors in place. Look for obstacles in each of the Six Sources of Influence™. For our healthcare client, the data helped senior leaders identify the obstacles that kept people from speaking up and holding each other accountable. But we wanted more involvement in the assessment process. We brought together groups of opinion leaders and formal leaders from across the hospitals and had them identify obstacles. Altogether, more than five hundred formal and informal leaders participated in these workshops. And these workshops weren’t outsourced to consultants or HR. The entire senior team led each workshop—sending a powerful message about their priorities. Below are a few of the obstacles participants identified: • Some people didn’t want to "hold others accountable." They saw that as management’s job. • Some people didn’t know how to speak up without sounding disloyal. • Some people didn’t want others from "lesser professions" to hold them accountable. • Some accountability conversations required management support or support from respected peers. This support was spotty in places. • People thought promotions went to those who "kept their heads down" and "stayed out of trouble." • There weren’t many times, places, or opportunities for feedback and accountability conversations. Build a Six-Source Change Plan. The teams identified five to ten robust strategies in each of the Six Sources of Influence. Below are a few examples of the strategies they identified: • Personal Motivation: Have staff rotate into areas they support, so they experience the challenges by standing in others’ shoes. • Personal Ability: Formal and informal training in speaking up and holding others accountable. Create scripts for specific patient situations. • Social Motivation: Have managers and opinion leaders lead the training to show their support. • Social Ability: Identify physician champions to support the norms on each unit. • Structural Motivation: Create small and simple rewards to recognize people for speaking up. • Structural Ability: Create regular times and places for crucial conversations. Use posters, screensavers, coffee cups and the like to remind people of the new norms. The organization tracked this initiative at three levels: 1. They tracked how the six-source strategies were being implemented. 2. They tracked the vital behaviors, using a quarterly pulse survey that assessed whether people were speaking up and holding others accountable. 3. They tracked the results—impacts on patient safety, quality of care, patient experience, and employee engagement. Their results have been stellar. They’ve achieved dramatic reductions in hospital-acquired infections and patient falls; they’ve improved several key measures of quality; they’ve moved into the top ten percent on patient experience scores; they’ve reduced turnover; and they’ve achieved consistently high scores on employee experience. This has been a lengthy answer because I want to do justice to your question. We create our organization’s culture, but the "we" needs to include senior leaders, managers, supervisors at all levels, and opinion leaders from across the organization. It is truly a team effort. We at VitalSmarts have helped several organizations navigate this journey with great success. At an individual level, I suggest you begin by reading our book Influencer and attending Influencer Training. David

https://static.vitalsmartscdn.com/kerryingon/BorderGuards.mp3 Unintended consequences—we’ve all experienced them. You have a well-intended idea, give it a whirl, and then something unpleasant results. For instance, you’re trying to assist a colleague at work and you end up slowing things down. Or perhaps you help a friend write code and insert a bug into the program. Or perhaps you point out that a new employee is doing something wrong and he ends up getting knocked out and dragged feet first down a half-dozen stairs while his head bangs on the cement steps. You know, stuff like that. It was 1971 and I had just been put in charge of the clothing locker located at the Coast Guard’s boot camp in Alameda, California. It was our team’s job to outfit new recruits with their uniforms. This would have been fairly easy had it not been for one tiny problem. We weren’t the first to see the recruits. By the time we began our work with them, they were frightened to death. They would stand stiff and zombie-like and be fitted poorly. A few weeks later, many would have to return to be refitted which was time-consuming and expensive. If only we could encourage recruits to relax—be less zombie, more Gumby. So I suggested to my boss that we stop the traditional practice of forcing initiates to strip down and stand unclothed at the beginning of the fitting. From my boss’s reaction, you would have thought I had suggested that we have the recruits put on prom dresses and dance with velociraptors. "Not stand naked?" my boss exclaimed. "Why, it’s tradition! If you want to build men, first you have to tear them down. What better way than through humiliation?" "But it’s hard to measure and fit them accurately when they’re humiliated and nervous," I explained. "What if we find a way to make the recruits laugh? You know, tell a joke or something." So it became part of my job to "do something" to make the recruits laugh. To get a feel for the humor quotient of the recruit audience we faced every week, consider what they did the five days before they marched into the clothing locker. From sunup to midnight, boot-pushers screamed at them nose-to-nose while calling them flattering nicknames like "maggot" and "puke." Sometimes they were even marched into the estuary, rifles held over their heads, until someone nearly drowned. As the next group of recruits dragged their terrified selves into the clothing locker, I was all set to tell a joke to get them to laugh, relax, forget their recent brush with death, and be easily measured. Luckily, an opportunity presented itself within minutes. As the platoon of sixty young men stood there sans clothing, I noticed that one of them was starting to put on his newly issued undershorts backwards. Seizing the moment, I pointed out that the fellow in question didn’t even know how to put on skivvies! Ha, ha, wasn’t that a real stitch! Fifty-nine pairs of eyes darted to the singled-out trainee—as if staring at a prisoner climbing the gallows. The boot-pusher who had been training them ran over to the skivvy-confused recruit and pushed him so hard that the recruit fell backwards and knocked his head on the cement floor. He was out like a light. A few minutes later, when the medical team arrived, they saw that the injured party was "only a recruit," so they grabbed the unconscious fellow by his feet, dragged him across the room and down the cement stairs—head thumping all the way. Good intentions—bad outcome. I had wanted frightened initiates to relax but ended up putting a fellow in the infirmary. Fortunately, the young man quickly recovered and graduated with his unit, but the remaining guys in his platoon didn’t exactly relax. Watching their colleague’s head bounce down the stairs didn’t have the calming effect I was hoping for. Our ultimate goal for changing the outfitting experience had been to turn the clothing locker into a safe haven. This was not simply for measurement purposes, but because none of us working there wanted to contribute to the harsh treatment that was central to recruit training. We had all experienced it, hated it, and hadn’t bought into the notion that recruits needed to be broken before they could be shaped into men. Pushing recruits to the limit—that was all okay—but abuse wasn’t. We also knew we couldn’t change the entire boot camp experience by ourselves. Nevertheless, we figured we could at least create a refuge where individuals were treated respectfully. We could stand at the border between the clothing locker and the rest of the base, and do our best to maintain a professional and respectful atmosphere. Sadly, I didn’t know how to be a border guard. But for the next year I was determined to learn how. Over time, I discovered dozens of methods that allowed me to be an effective border guard. And eventually we were successful in creating a safe clothing locker. Most of us assume the role of border guard more often than we might think. As parents, we refuse to embrace some of our own parents’ bad habits, which is good news for our kids. We do the same at work. We refuse to use guilt, threats, or looks of disgust to motivate. We filter out the bad and nurture the good. But doing so isn’t easy. Border guards frequently question their efforts. Can they really make a difference without any formal authority or power? And what if lots of people around them act in unhealthy ways? Can they have an impact? What if their efforts to make improvements actually create problems? The good news is, border guards make change possible. Organizations don’t change one morning when 1,200 people awake and—voilà—simultaneously start acting differently. Changes typically take place in small groups that are led by leaders (formal or informal) who play the role of border guard. In fact, that’s how the Coast Guard’s boot camp was eventually transformed into an organization that now leads the country in human performance technology. As a final note—sometimes the borders you defend are small yet extraordinarily important. For instance, your ex-spouse or current life partner routinely chooses abuse over dialogue. Yet you refuse to respond in kind. You’re trying to create a haven for yourself and your children—not a toxic holding tank. And it’s hard. You don’t have control of others’ behaviors—just your own. You may feel hopeless and outnumbered. Yet you still stand watch. Fortunately, you aren’t alone and it isn’t hopeless. There are thousands of border guards out there who do their best to transform their homes, work groups, and companies into healthy harbors—and the world benefits from their tireless efforts. I heartily applaud those of you who have a vision of what you believe your family and work culture can and should be, the courage to defend it, and the savvy to make it happen. I congratulate you for standing at the border between your hopeful haven and the harmful world around you and boldly proclaim, "Not on my watch!"

"If your best buddy jumped off a bridge, would you jump too?" Too often, the answer is yes. Patients die because nurses and doctors who know better go along with bad decisions. Planes crash because crew members go along with plans they know could kill them. Organizations fail because employees sit on their hands in meetings—going along to get along. Social influence can turn geniuses into fools. However, there’s an easy way out of this trap. We decided to demonstrate the problem by repeating a classic conformity study from the 1950s. We sat seven teenagers around a table and asked each in turn to answer a very simple question. "Which of the three lines on this poster—Line A, B, or C—matches the line on the other poster?" The answer was very obviously Line C. It was the only line that was even close. But here’s the trick—the first teenagers to respond to the question were confederates. They were working for us . . . and we told them to give the wrong answer. They all picked Line B. This answer was obviously wrong, but we were interested in how the group’s answer would affect the final person. The actual subject was not in on the trick. What would the subject say? Nearly two out of three subjects went along with the crowd. They picked the obviously wrong answer. Afterward, we asked them whether they knew they were picking the wrong answer and they said, "Yes." They knew the answer was wrong, but they went along anyway, "because everyone else was." This is not dissimilar to what Solomon Asch found with adults; we tend to go along with the group—even when we’re confident that the group is wrong and even if we’re fairly certain that our conformity will come back to hurt us! Social influence is tough to buck. Though we had finished interviewing the subjects, we weren’t quite done with our experiment. In the next round we made a tiny adjustment. We asked one of the confederates to express polite doubt about the group’s answer. The confederate said something similar to, "I might have seen it differently. I think it’s C." This polite doubt had an astounding impact on our results. In this condition, nineteen out of twenty subjects gave their actual opinion—they were honest! Here’s the BS you can use. We have an innate fear of being shunned by valued groups. But even if you feel like you’re the odd person out, don’t stifle your concerns. Simply express them respectfully. It turns out this small dissent can provide powerful permission to the silent concerns of others. You don’t have to risk being an outcast in order to test your concern. You don’t have to scream and yell. You don’t have to call others names. The quiet, polite expression of doubt can turn the rest of the group from zombies into thinkers. David

We’re full steam into Lesson 4 on STATE My Path. In my experience, participants are eager to put everything together into a formula that will permit them to speak up in tough situations. We’ve thought the issue through, planned and practiced, controlled our emotions and focused on what we really want so we can be persuasive by using our powerful reasoning as we STA! And we should be excited! But let’s stop there for just a minute, because we don’t want our new level of enthusiasm to get in the way and shut the other person down. Since we know from the get-go that there are different views on the subject, we also need to prepare to meet the other person where they are—maybe a bit caught off guard and apprehensive about our motive or where the conversation might be going. Enter the "how" skills: talk tentatively and encourage testing. That E isn’t tacked on just to make a clever acronym, it’s there for a reason. Consider the following when you use and teach this powerful skill. 1. Your STA is your best guess, your hypothesis about the way things are. How do you show concern for the feelings and opinions of the other person? Do so by clearly articulating that you’re so interested in dialogue they should speak up especially when they disagree. (e.g., "If you see it differently, I’d love to hear your view.") 2. If you are the subject matter expert or the problem solver of the issue you’re discussing, be extra careful to use E. The other person might be overwhelmed by your logic and expertise. Give them space by encouraging them to challenge your position. (e.g., "How does this sound/look from your perspective?") 3. Even when spoken tentatively, a good STA paints a detailed picture of where you’re coming from. We might assume that the other person will just jump in and engage with us, but we need to give them room to formulate their response. E gives us the chance to pause and make it clear that we’re not so much interested in being right as in having a clear picture of the entire situation. (e.g., "If I’m missing something, or haven’t gotten it right, I’m interested in hearing what that is.") 4. Let’s face it—stopping after STA can seem a little awkward. One way to give both parties a little extra courage is to use the E skill. (e.g., "What’s your view? I’d really like to hear it.") Look for ways to teach your participants that it’s our responsibility to get all the meaning into the pool—and that the skill encourage testing helps us do just that.

Oh, the Vegas Rule. What a simple little phrase: "What happens here, stays here!" Being raised in Nevada, I always enjoy a solid reference to the state of my heart (feel free to join me in the first verse of "Home Means Nevada" if you’re a Nevadan at heart, or take a short Google field trip to enjoy someone else singing it in case you’re not familiar). Now that you’re back from your mini parenthetical field trip, what, if anything, does this have to do with training? Well it’s only one of the most commonly invoked ground rules by trainers to insure confidentiality in a class. And I’ve noticed an upswing in the number of trainers who include this rule during the expectations—setting portion of their classes. I think it provides participants some comfort to know that anything discussed with their learning partner won’t leave that room. And unfortunately, all too often it never does. Participants work on tough messages, practice useful skills, and then, "what happened there, stays there." They treat their application case-related discussions as a guilty pleasure only to be indulged in the secret, dark corners of a training room. And since they miss the opportunity to further grow and develop their skills with a real world application, they are left with vague, but positive recollections of a safer place where all skills were good, and all conversations productive—if only they could transport back to the safety of the classroom experience. So as much as it pains me to even allow the words to escape my mouth, you need to be actively working on ways to counteract the long-term affects of the Vegas Rule. And make sure you’re approaching it in a balanced manner. Be very clear that while participants won’t be required to "go public" with all of the details of their learning partner discussions during the class, the whole point of the training is to make sure that "what happens here, transfers to there," wherever their "there" happens to be.

Dear Joseph, My sister is the executor of my parents’ estate. When my dad died last May, the estate went to my mom who is living with my sister. Recently, my sister helped my mom re-write her will. The new will leaves all of the acreage of my parents’ property and sole decision-making authority for distribution of all other assets to my sister. When I talked to my sister about our parents’ estate she said she believes no one in the family deserves another dime. I think it is wrong to have such a partial fiduciary for the estate and would like to discuss this with my mother. How should I do that? Signed, A Way for the Will Dear Way for the Will, Please hang with me for the next few paragraphs. It might be hard here at the start. One look at your question leaves me worrying that your sister is setting herself up for big problems—either perceived or real. Either she may play an inappropriate role in the division of the estate, or she may unwittingly act in ways that make it likely you and others will feel that way. But after a second pass, there are small suggestions that this is a more complicated story with multiple strong and valid concerns. For example, in the facts: • Since your father died, your sister has had primary responsibility for the care of your mother. • Your question raises only issues about estate division and not about shared responsibility. See why I asked you to hang with me? Please don’t take offense. Of course I know nothing—I am only inferring. I believe my primary value to you is not in perfectly understanding the situation but in offering alternative ways of approaching it. These are easier for me to offer due to my detachment and naiveté. So, here goes. • Focus on what you really want. These situations bring up all of the old victim, villain, and helpless stories of your youth. Perceived inequities, rivalries, and disappointments of yesteryear can be triggered in an instant with the smallest cue. Be very attentive to your own motives—pay attention when you get caught up in winning, being right, avoiding conflict, or punishing. Think deeply about what you really want—for yourself, for others and for the relationships in years ahead. Commit these desires to writing so you can keep them front and center in your mind. I don’t know what is fair or right—but I can assure you that the biggest influence on your future happiness will not be the outcome of estate. Rather it will be your emotions about the estate. And the best way to manage your emotions is to monitor your motives. • Talk about responsibilities first, assets second. Be sure to think about all of the family issues. Discuss them systemically because they are all connected. For example, don’t raise issues about who gets the farm without validating its connection to who has worked the farm. If your energy is all about asset distribution, this should give you pause to reexamine your motives. If your motives are right, the estate will be an element of your conversation not the soul of it. • Empathize deeply. Before opening up conversations with mom, sister, or other siblings I recommend you take yourself through a powerful empathy exercise. On various sheets of paper, write the names of each family member who has a stake in these issues. Then, one at a time, become that person. Underneath each person’s name write out their concerns, feelings, needs, opinions—as best you can guess them. Make sure you do this from his or her perspective. You will know you have succeeded in empathizing when you feel a reverence and respect for his or her view while writing it. It will feel reasonable. If the writing exercise provokes resentment or resistance in your mind, keep at it. You’ll get there! The purpose of this process is not to cause you to surrender your own interests or needs. Those are important. It is to simply create space to consider the needs and interests of others. • Practice rigorous transparency. Now you’re ready to talk. But by no means should you talk exclusively with your mother. The estate is your mother’s so she is the ultimate decision-maker. But because she may be open to influence from others, be sure to avoid creating rivalries by holding closed conversations. Encourage your mother to be inclusive, if that seems appropriate to her. Let all family members know your broader motives. If someone becomes contentious—validate their concerns. Listen deeply. Empathize. Unilaterally commit to getting a fair hearing for everyone. With all this said, I know there are times when feelings are so deep-seated or motives become so clouded that the future could still be painful. But I am confident that if you keep your own priorities right, and approach these conversations with compassion and understanding, you will reach as good an outcome as is possible. Best wishes, Joseph

New research by Joseph Grenny and David Maxfield shows obsession with posting photos and checking phones corresponds with lower enjoyment. More and more of us are losing connection with our lives in order to earn "likes" and social media praise. We have, in a sense, turned into social media "trophy hunters." Ultimately, the study reveals this obsession with social media trophy hunting isn’t just distracting—it’s dictating lives. Consider: Nearly 3 out of 4 people admit to being rude or disconnected from others because they’re more focused on their phone than on the other person 91 percent have seen a tourist miss enjoyment in the moment trying to get it on social media—and many acknowledge doing the same thing themselves 79 percent have seen a parent undermine their own experience in a child’s life in an effort to capture the perfect post 14 percent have risked their own safety to try and get a good posting So how can we enjoy the moment and overcome social media addictions? Joseph Grenny and David Maxfield offer the following four tips: 1. Look at yourself. Before going to great effort to take a picture, stop and ask, "What would a reasonable third party think of me if they saw what I was doing?" It’s easy to do risky or inappropriate things when caught up in the moment. Reflecting from an outsider’s perspective can help you stay morally centered. 2. Limit your postings. The best way to stop unconsciously intruding in your life is to become conscious of it. Keep track of—and limit—how many things you post. If you post more than once a day, you probably have a problem. Most people appreciate your postings more if they come once or twice a week rather than daily—or more. If you cut off the demand you’ll naturally reduce the supply you create. 3. Snap, look and listen. Far too often, once we snap a picture in an inspiring place, we turn and leave. Fight the impulse to "call it good" just after taking a picture. Slow down. Breathe. Look around. Listen. Engage your senses and enjoy the experience not just the trophy. 4. Take a vacation from your device. Spend a day, evening, or even an hour with some physical distance from your devices. If you feel anxious, you’re on the right track. Once you fight through the initial discomfort, you’ll learn to be present and connected to your immediate environment in a way that will produce genuine happiness and enjoyment. View the results of our study in the infographic below or download a copy for yourself.