Crucial Conversations Tools for Talking When Stakes Are High (8 page)

In reality, Greta didn't give in to her raging desire to defend herself. Almost as soon as her finger rose like a loaded pistol, it dropped back to her side. Her face relaxed. At first she looked surprised, embarrassed, and maybe even a little upset. But then she took a deep breath and said: “You know what? We need to talk about this. I'm glad you asked the question. Thank you for taking that risk. I appreciate the trust it shows in me.”

Wow. We were struck. In a matter of seconds she had transformed from a dangerous weapon into a curious partner.

And then Greta talked turkey. She acknowledged the apparent hypocrisy in talking cost cutting while spending on a new office. She admitted that she did not know what the project would cost and asked someone to leave the meeting to check the numbers. She explained that building the office was a response to marketing's advice to boost the company's image and improve client
confidence. And while Greta
would
use the office, it would be primarily a hosting location for marketing. “But,” she added, “I have not managed this project as tightly as I'm asking you to manage yours. And that's hypocritical.” When she saw the figures for the office, Greta was stunned and admitted that she should have checked the costs before signing a work order.

A wonderfully candid exchange followed wherein various participants in the meeting expressed their views about the propriety of the project. In the end, they agreed to move ahead, but cut the costs by half or cancel the project entirely.

While others were engaged in this crucial conversation, those of us studying the interaction were thinking of something entirely different. We were wondering what had happened to Greta? How, we puzzled, did she remain so composed while under fire? Specifically, how did she move so quickly from wanting to get even with or possibly even humiliate the questioner to sincerely soliciting feedback?

Later that day we asked Greta about that transformation. We wanted to know exactly what had been going on in her head. What had helped her move from embarrassment and anger to gratitude?

“It was easy,” Greta explained. “At first I did feel attacked, and I wanted to strike back. To be honest, I wanted to put that guy in his place. He was accusing me in public, and he was wrong.”

“And then it struck me,” she continued. “Despite the fact that I had 400 eyeballs pinned to me, a rather important question hit me like a ton of bricks: ‘What do I
really
want here?'”

Asking this question had a powerful effect on Greta's thinking. As she focused on this far more important question, she quickly realized that her goal was to encourage these 200 managers to embrace the cost-reduction efforts—and to thereby influence thousands of others to do the same.

As Greta contemplated this goal, she realized that the biggest barrier she faced was the widespread belief that she was a hypocrite.
On the one hand, she was calling for others to sacrifice. On the other, she appeared to be spending discretionary funds for her own comfort. It was at that moment that she was no longer ashamed or angry, but grateful. Interestingly, by transforming her motives Greta simultaneously transformed the way she saw the man who asked the question. Whereas seconds earlier he looked like an enemy, when her motives changed, the fellow now looked like an ally. In fact, this man had just handed her the best chance she could get to influence the audience by letting her publicly address a primary source of resistance to the cost-cutting effort. And so Greta moved to dialogue.

Greta taught us that a small, mental intervention—the simple act of asking a potent question—can have a powerful effect on redirecting our hearts.

Refocus your brain
. Now, let's move to a situation you might face. You're speaking with someone who completely disagrees with you on a hot issue. How does all of this goal stuff apply? As you begin the discussion, start by examining your motives. Going in, ask yourself what you really want.

Also, as the conversation unfolds and you find yourself starting to, say, defer to the boss or give your spouse the cold shoulder, pay attention to what's happening to your objectives. Are you starting to change your goal to save face, avoid embarrassment, win, be right, or punish others? Here's the tricky part. Our motives usually change without any conscious thought on our part. When adrenaline does our thinking for us, our motives flow with the chemical tide.

In order to move back to motives that allow for dialogue, you must step away from the interaction and look at yourself—much like an outsider. Ask yourself: “What am I doing, and if I had to guess, what does it tell me about my underlying motive?” As you make an honest effort to discover your motive, you might conclude: “Let's see. I'm pushing hard, making the argument stronger
than I actually believe, and doing anything to win. I've shifted from trying to select a vacation location to trying to win an argument.”

Once you call into question the shifting desires of your heart, you can make conscious choices to change them. “What I really want is to genuinely try to select a vacation spot we can all enjoy—rather than try to win people over to my ideas.” Put succinctly, when you name the game, you can stop playing it.

But how? How do you recognize what has happened to you, stop playing games, and then influence your own motives? Do what Greta did. Stop and ask yourself some questions that return you to dialogue. You can ask these questions either when you find yourself slipping out of dialogue or as reminders when you prepare to step up to a crucial conversation. Here are some great ones:

What do I really want for myself?

What do I really want for others?

What do I really want for the relationship?

Once you've asked yourself what you want, add one more equally telling question:

How would I behave if I really wanted these results?

Find your bearings
. There are two good reasons for asking these questions. First, the answer to what we really want helps us to locate our own North Star. Despite the fact that we're being tempted to take the wrong path by (1) people who are trying to pick a fight, (2) thousands of years of genetic hard wiring that brings our emotions to a quick boil, and (3) our deeply ingrained habit of trying to win, our North Star returns us to our original purpose.

“What do I really want? Oh yeah, I guess it's not to make the other person squirm or to preen in front of a crowd. I want people to freely and openly talk about what it'll take to cut costs.”

Take charge of your body
. The second reason for asking what we
really
want is no less important. When we ask ourselves what we really want, we affect our entire physiology. As we introduce complex and abstract questions to our mind, the problem-solving part of our brain recognizes that we are now dealing with intricate social issues and not physical threats. When we present our brain with a demanding question, our body sends precious blood to the parts of our brain that help us think and away from the parts of our body that help us take flight or begin a fight.

Asking questions about what we really want serves two important purposes. First, it reminds us of our goal. Second, it juices up our brain in a way that helps us keep focused.

Now, let's add one more tool that helps us focus on what we really want. We'll start with a story.

The faculty of Beaumont High School is hashing out possible curriculum changes in an after-school meeting that's been going on for hours. It's finally the science department's turn to present.

Royce, a chemistry teacher who's been at Beaumont for thirty-three years, considers himself the elder statesman of the school. He's much fonder of war stories than he is of neutrons and electrons, but the administration kind of turns a blind eye because the guy's a fixture.

At the principal's cue, Royce clears his throat and begins to yammer on incoherently about the similarities between curriculum development and battle preparations. His antics are so embarrassing that the audience quietly heaves their shoulders as they futilely try to stifle their laughter.

Next, it's Brent's, the new guy's, turn. A couple of weeks ago, the principal asked him to outline the science department's proposed
curriculum changes. Brent met with his colleagues (even Royce), gathered suggestions, and came ready to present.

As Brent begins, Royce starts demonstrating bayonet offensives with a yardstick, and Brent snaps. Slamming his fist on the table, he shouts, “Am I the only one who wonders why we even allow this fossil to talk? Did he miss a pill or something?”

A room full of stunned faces turns toward Brent. Realizing that his colleagues must think he's possessed, Brent utters those words we've all come to hate, “Hey, don't look at me like that! I'm the only one around who has the guts to speak the truth.”

What a tactic. Brent slams Royce in public, and then instead of apologizing or maybe simply fading into the shadows, he argues that what he just did was somehow noble.

As we saw in the previous chapter with Kevin's colleagues—under the influence of adrenaline we start to see our options as unnecessarily limited. We assume we have to choose between getting results and keeping a relationship. In our dumbed-down condition, we don't even consider the option of achieving both.

That's why those who are skilled at crucial conversations present their brain with a more complex question. They routinely ask: “What do I want for myself, the other person,
and
the relationship?”

As you practice presenting this question to yourself at emotional times, you'll discover that at first you resist it. When our brain isn't functioning well, we resist complexity. We adore the ease of simply choosing between attacking or hiding—and the fact that we think it makes us look good. “I'm sorry, but I just had to destroy the guy's self-image if I was going to keep my integrity. It wasn't pretty, but it was the right thing to do.”

Fortunately, when you refuse the Fool's Choice—when you require your brain to solve the more complex problem—more often than not, it does just that. You'll find there is a way to
share your concerns, listen sincerely to those of others, and build the relationship—all at the same time. And the results can be life changing.

The
best
at dialogue refuse Fool's Choices by setting up new choices. They present themselves with tougher questions—questions that turn the either/or choice into a search for the all-important and ever-elusive
and
. (It is an endangered species, you know.) Here's how this works.

First, clarify what you
really
want
. You've got a head start if you've already Started with Heart. If you know what you want for yourself, for others, and for the relationship, then you're in position to break out of the Fool's Choice.

“What I want is for my husband to be more reliable. I'm tired of being let down by him when he makes commitments that I depend on.”

Second, clarify what you really
don't
want
. This is the key to framing the
and
question. Think of what you are afraid will happen to you if you back away from your current strategy of trying to win or stay safe. What bad thing will happen if you stop pushing so hard? Or if you don't try to escape? What horrible outcome makes game playing an attractive and sensible option?

“What I don't want is to have a useless and heated conversation that creates bad feelings and doesn't lead to change.”

Third, present your brain with a more complex problem
. Finally, combine the two into an
and
question that forces you to search for more creative and productive options than silence and violence.

“How can I have a candid conversation with my husband about being more dependable and avoid creating bad feelings or wasting our time?”

It's interesting to watch what happens when people are presented with
and
questions after being stuck with Fool's Choices. Their faces become reflective, their eyes open wider, and they begin to
think
. With surprising regularity, when people are asked: “Is it possible that there's a way to accomplish both?” they acknowledge that there very well may be.

Is there a way to tell your peer your real concerns
and
not insult or offend him?

Is there a way to talk to your neighbors about their annoying behavior
and
not come across as self-righteous or demanding?

Is there a way to talk with your loved one about how you're spending money
and
not get into an argument?

Some people believe that this whole line of thinking is comically unrealistic. From their point of view, Sucker's Choices aren't false dichotomies; they're merely a reflection of an unfortunate reality.

“You can't say something to the boss about our upcoming move. It'll cost you your job.”

To these people we say: Remember Kevin? He, and almost every other opinion leader we've ever studied, has what it takes to speak up
and
maintain respect. Maybe you don't know what Kevin did or what you need to do—but don't deny the existence of Kevin or people like him. There is a third set of options out there that allows you to add meaning to the pool
and
build on the relationship.

When we (the authors) are in the middle of an on-site workshop and we suggest there are alternatives to Fool's Choices, someone invariably says: “Maybe you can speak honestly and still be heard in other organizations, but if you try it here, you'll be eaten alive!” Or the flip side: “You've got to know when to
fold if you want to survive for another day.” Then in a hail of “I'll say!” and “Here, here!” many nod in agreement.