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Obsessive?
An expert I esteem told me that obsessiveness is fear. She said that when a person is obsessive, it’s because their brain thinks it is in danger. So it tells the heart to beat hard and to dump adrenalin and cortisol into the innocent blood stream to help the person escape.
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Really? Obsessiveness?
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I mean being obsessive is not like standing up to speak to 500 strangers who have barely heard of you but had to be there, or seeing a bear, or zipping up your space suit. It’s not actually fear, is it?
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No. I mean maybe true obsessiveness is like that. But not my kind. In fact, I wouldn’t even call myself obsessive.
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I am precise.
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And precision is a fine and worthy, emulatable trait.
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True, I get tense every time I write something. Really tense. Every time. Even if it is just a Thanksgiving card. And I can barely mail anything. I stand with the envelope just entering the slot in the mail box and close my eyes and hold my breath and remind myself that nobody is going to die if that bit of mail has flaws, so I push it in and let go. And run back to my car.
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I just read over that paragraph. I do sound kind of weird. Full of fear. To be precise: fearful. But obsessive? I hate the thought of being an obsessive. But if I weren’t the main character in that little scene, I would say, “Yes, obsessive.” Because fearful. Of God knows what, but of something. Of error. Of not being perfect.
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Okay. I’m yours. I’ll try to change. But not obsessively.
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Don’t hold your breath.
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The Problem With No Problem
I was checking into a hotel. When the woman at the desk handed me the key, I said, "Thank you.” She said, "No problem."
I ordered gazpacho at a restaurant. As I handed the menu back to the waiter, I said, "I am looking forward to it. Thank you." He said, "No problem at all."
The professor at a business school introduced my lecture generously. At the end of the day I said, "That was a lovely introduction. I appreciate it." He said, "Oh, no problem."
After Christmas lunch we opened our presents. I was thrilled with mine. "I love this. Thank you so much," I said. “Sure,” our friend said, "No problem."
Every time I hear "no problem" as a response to appreciation, I feel just slightly sick. And recently I have begun to feel campaignish. I want a rally to extinguish the expression, "no problem.”
So first I decided to figure out why it offends me. Am I unawarely resistant to popular linguistic evolution? I fervently hope not. Or is there something legitimately, inherently, not all right about responding to "thank you" by saying "no problem?”
Here’s what I came to. Gifts and paid service are not supposed to be problems. And so it is weird to hear that they weren't. A gift is supposed to be a generous act; and if there could have been a problem in producing it or finding it or buying it or wrapping it or keeping it cold or delivering it, tough. The recipient is not supposed to have to wonder about all of that. When someone gives us a gift, we say, "Thank you," and then the giver says, “You’re welcome,” or even, “I’m thrilled you like it.” That’s the logical deal.
The same goes for paid service. The point is it is paid. Servers serve. Customers pay. That is the logical deal. Then we the served say "Thank you," and they the servers say, “You’re welcome” or “It was a pleasure” (even if it wasn’t). They don’t allude to the trial it could have been. The deal is we the served are not a trial. We are a boon. It is not in the package that we could be a problem.
Yes, I know that neither gift-givers nor the servers mean literally that the act could have been a problem but fortunately wasn’t. But non-intentionality does not keep the word "problem" from going straight into our brains and bringing the act of appreciation down with a thud. “You’re welcome” or “It was a pleasure” keeps the appreciation alive. “No problem” kills it. (The same goes for “no worries.” It is an equal thud-producer.)
In fact, my NLP-savvy colleagues can explain the problem with “no problem.” They say that the brain does not register the concept of “not." That may or may not be true. But if it is, it goes a long way toward explaining why it is important not to use it. "Not a problem" has the same brain effect as "a problem." And that is exactly the problem with “no problem.”
So – why can’t people just say, ”You’re welcome;" or "It was a pleasure" or, just "pleasure," if they are in a hurry? I remember when the woman in the M6 Toll Road toll booth in England said, “It's a pleasure," when Christopher thanked her for the receipt for his £4.50 payment. Her response added to our already perky mood and to our enthusiasm for that lovely new road. Honestly, if someone in a toll booth, surely the #1 most soul-destroying place on earth to work, can say, “It was a pleasure," the rest of us can, too.
So, with this I officially launch my campaign to replace "no problem" with "pleasure" in every hotel, restaurant, grocery store, café, dress shop, garage, hospital, drive-thru burger joint, coaching session, communion service, florist, gym, prison, and toll booth on the planet.
Maybe a first step would be to appreciate people for responding with “Pleasure.” I did this yesterday. When I did, the person seemed pleased. He also looked mildly puzzled, smiling nevertheless.
But that’s all right. The first step in any big change is to recognise the problem. Especially when the problem is no problem.
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Grownup
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I want to return to the piece The Rest of Your Life 1. In it I told a story about my mother, about the power of a question she asked me a few days before she died, and of her response to my answer. Today I want to talk about the “grownup” allusion there. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.
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We seem to know what we mean when we say “grownup (“She was such a grownup managing all of that. “There were no grownups in the room that day. “Grow up!”). But just try to define it. It gets away from you.
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I seem to have known what it meant during that conversation with my mother:
That morning she was sitting at one end of the long sofa. I was sitting at the other. Quiet was always easy between us. And usually out of our quiet a question would emerge that took us down new roads. On this day, frail, she spoke clearly, her voice still deep and resonant.
“Honey, there is something I would like to ask you.”
She paused. She looked at me. She was both far away and wholly present. She spoke deliberately, warmly.
“What would you like to accomplish with the rest of your life?”
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The question – Its clean lines, its boldness, its generosity – disquieted and excited me. I did not answer immediately. I remember feeling that more than anything I wanted to answer as an adult. An adult on the inside. It did not matter that I was 38 years old on the outside. I felt 12. And I wanted to grow completely up in that moment.
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I seemed to know in that moment what being a “grown up” meant. I remember hoping I could be one for the rest of my life.
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But until recently I have not looked into its eyes. I’ve not parsed it. I’ve not needed to, I guess. But the past nine years have been different. One vulgar escalator ride kicked off a heartbreaking defilement of America, and I’ve been thinking about it, about grownups and what it takes to be one, ever since.
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A few months ago I decided to tackle it. I decided to identify six (harder than four, easier than ten) characteristics of a grownup. I found eleven.
Grownups will:
Search for verifiable truth
Think for themselves
Want to know what others really think
Welcome difference
Empathise
Express disrespect respectfully
Seek to be in charge, not in control
Long for respect not praise
Learn
Acknowledge mistakes
Stir up love, not hate
I won’t explicate them. They are both obvious and elusive. They also, I think, are at their best as interrogators, as confronters, as mirrors. I invite you to do two things with them:
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Ask yourself at the end of the day: “Did I do these today?”
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Think of three leaders you are following. Then, keeping this list in mind, ask yourself about each leader: “Is this person a grownup?” Then ask yourself: “Have I been a grownup in assessing this leader?”
If we all could do this, we might change the landscape a bit – of our own lives and of our nations’.
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1https://www.nancykline.com/once-more-1
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You Cut Your Hair
People say things like that. "You cut your hair!" “You're wearing that blue jacket!" "You have tulips in your garden now!" "You wrote another essay!"
Yep. I did. I knew that already.
So, do you like it?
That question in my head bombards the future of any further conversation about their observation – until they follow it with something affirming, even something as dreary as, "Nice!" Or "Good for you!"
It all seems pretty simple to me. If you don’t like what you see, don’t mention it. If you do like it, say so. First. Like: "I love your new haircut!" Or "You look terrific in that jacket!" Etc.
It may just be me. But I doubt it. And anyway, society didn’t come up with "better safe than sorry" for nothing. And I figure that anything, even a teeny tiny itsy bitsy thing, we can do to lift people’s spirits, even for a minute, is worth the tweaking of our habits.
Anything….
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Good Conversation
Rethinking Common Ground
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Just give it one question. Or two. Then you can point out common ground. Common ground is the holy grail of conversation. And we’re taught to point it out as quickly as possible. We think it is the respectful thing to do. “We’re alike!” it seems to say, and “alike” is great, we are told. It is. Eventually.
But when “same for me” is our immediate response to something someone tells us, it can turn attention away from them and towards us. So, in effect, common ground enthusiasm can trample the other person. Not great.
Better seems to be to reply first with a question relevant to what they have said, a question that shows our interest. Not a question that confronts or wrong-foots them. Then they can reply, and we can ask one more question. After their reply to that, we can safely say something about ourselves that establishes common ground between us.
And with a bit of luck (or a lot) they will also reply with a question, and then with another, before they develop their view further. This in my view is what creates good conversation.
Interesting to me, too, though, about this art of asking a question or two before saying, “me as well,” is that two questions are inviting, but three or four are objectifying. Three or four turn the person into an interviewee, changing the nature of the conversation entirely. “Grilling,” one person called it when I persisted with my questions.
Also interesting to me is that this particular back and forth is another example of equality. Equality shows up in such a variety of places, and it is usually delicate to establish and sustain. But I find it is always worth it.
And I do think this conversation version is an art.
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