I don’t like to fly. It’s the turbulence. Bouncing around in a tin can at 30,000 feet is pretty much no one’s idea of fun. Fortunately pilots know this, so when things start to get bumpy they change altitude in search of smoother air. If things get really bad they’ll even alter their route a little bit. Later, when weather conditions improve, they’ll go back to their optimal flight plan.
We can take the same approach to difficult conversations. When things get bumpy, we can look for smoother air. For example, we can change the topic to something less contentious or, better, more enjoyable, as a way of establishing a more positive connection.
I did that just the other day. I asked someone a question that, for some reason, he didn’t want to answer, and it made him a little grumpy. Rather than persisting, I quickly changed the subject to one I knew he’d enjoy talking about — a fun experience he’d had recently — and soon the tension subsided. We’d found smoother air. Later, when it seemed the time was right, I came back to my initial question, and he was ready to engage.
This idea of “finding smoother air” in a difficult conversation is an example of the first of three “new survival strategies” I talk about in my book and workshop: Prioritize the relationship over being right. Sometimes it’s necessary to set aside our agenda so that we can create better conditions for a more productive conversation. We’ll still get to where we want to go, but everyone will arrive there happier, less rattled and more willing to join us on the next leg of the journey.
Prioritizing the relationship over being right is a strategy that makes sense to many, but not to everyone. For some it can seem like a recipe for self-subjugation — treating oneself as less important than the other person — or even a betrayal of one’s values. This makes sense when we think of a conversation as being between two separate individuals. But I’d like to propose a different way of looking at it.
A conversation occurs within the context of a relationship. So rather than thinking of a conversation as having two distinct centers of gravity — mine and yours — with each of us acting from our own point of view and interests, think of it as having only one center of gravity — the relationship itself — with each us acting with its interests primarily in mind:
When we think in terms of the relationship being the center of gravity, it’s easier to see that actions taken to smooth the air are not one-sided sacrifices or appeasements of “the other.” They’re creative strategies to strengthen and balance the relationship as a whole, which by definition includes both parties. In other words, when the relationship is at the center, every action helps — or hurts — everyone.
In a difficult conversation, thinking in terms of the relationship can also help us take things less personally, and be more creative in the moment. A quick story from my business career might help illustrate:
I was meeting for the first time with the company CEO. I was a middle manager, well down the corporate ladder, and was there to justify my department’s budget. Needless to say, I was a little nervous.
As I started to speak, something odd happened. The CEO almost immediately started to fidget in his seat, clear his throat loudly and repeatedly, and look in every direction other than mine. Clearly I did not have his attention and I had no idea why. But I did know that if something didn’t change, this meeting was going to be a disaster.
Had this happened earlier in my career, I probably would have muddled through my presentation feeling self-conscious and diminished until the CEO, having heard nothing I said, finally cut me off (and my budget down). By this time in my career, however, I knew better. I knew that if I wanted his attention, we needed a different relationship. He needed to acknowledge me and why we both were there. So I stopped my presentation and simply asked: “Bill, did I say something to upset you?”
The question — which was my acknowledgement to him that I realized I didn’t have his attention — caught him totally off guard. He sat bolt upright, stopped fidgeting, ceased clearing his throat, looked at me as if noticing me for the first time, and in a somewhat humbled and surprised voice said, “No, no! Not at all!” And for the rest of the meeting he was fully engaged.
Now I’m sure he had bigger things on his plate than my small budget, which likely explained his distraction. But framing the problem in terms of our relationship — rather than feeling personally diminished or making him out to be an arrogant jerk who never listens to anyone — allowed me to take a more creative approach. By stopping my presentation and asking if I’d done something to upset him, I put our relationship in the center of the conversation, and an odd encounter became a respectful and productive meeting.
Did he still cut my budget? A little. But on the upside, from that day on we had a great relationship that proved very helpful to my career as the years went by.
There's another important reason for prioritizing the relationship over being right: It can literally put our brains on the same wavelength, which is where real creative problem solving happens. I'll talk more about that next week.