ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Candace Bertotti is a Master Trainer.
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Sometimes participants say they have no problems to work on. They like everyone and everyone likes them. Not a problem in the world. How can I help them get something out of the training?


If someone claims not to have any conversations to work on, I’ll go speak with that person one-on-one while others are working and give him or her some ideas. Here are a few questions to trigger some ideas for them:

• Any relatives that annoy you (siblings, in-laws, kids, cousins, etc.)? Any touchy issues at home? Do you volunteer or belong to a church—if so, any tough issues there? Any issues ever come up with your neighbors that you wish you handled differently? Any relationship that you wish was closer?
• Have you ever had a conversation that you know could have gone better? It didn’t have to be extreme, but you know there was room for improvement. Use that example and come up with how you could have handled it differently.
• If you were to go have dinner with your colleagues after work, what would you complain about?

If none of these questions help, I find that sometimes the idea of speaking up—or having a problem-free life—can be a strong part of someone’s identity. Thus, for a participant to admit the need for improvement in an area is to imply some crack in his or her identity. I try to let these participants off the hook a bit and say, “I’m sure you speak your mind and it sounds like you do it often and effectively. Consider this course as an opportunity for you to become even better at it—to take your already great skills up a notch.” Invite them to consider one place in their life where they could get even better results.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joseph Grenny is the author of three bestselling books, Influencer, Crucial Conversations, and Crucial Confrontations.

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The following article was first published on November 17, 2010.

Dear Crucial Skills,

With the holidays quickly approaching, I have found myself caught in a sucker’s choice with my family. My wife and I have made it a tradition to travel to my parents’ home seven hours away for Thanksgiving. This year, my parents informed me that my sister will also stay there. My sister is a drug addict and has been in and out of jail for thirty years. Every time she gets out, she claims to clean up her life and my parents roll out the red carpet to help her. When she returns to her destructive patterns, they turn a blind eye.

For years, this has caused all kinds of problems between my parents and five siblings. I would love to keep my tradition of spending Thanksgiving with my parents, but I don’t feel comfortable staying in the same home with my sister. It’s a rural area so there are no hotels or other arrangements available.

I see only two options: either continue with the tradition and hate the experience (which could also be potentially dangerous), or forgo the tradition and hurt my relationship with my parents. I can’t find a win-win here. Please help.

Signed,
Stuck

If you’ll give me some latitude, I’m going to wax philosophical and share my perspective on the purpose of life. My goal is not to persuade you that my view of life is right, but simply to share one perspective that gives context to my suggestions.

In my view, life is about achieving intimacy with those we’re inseparably connected to. Family is first and foremost in that category.

Now, how is that relevant to my dialogue with you? Because I walk in your shoes. I have dear ones who also struggle with addiction. Some of the most searing pain of my life has been watching them destroy months of progress—only to land once again in jail or on the street. Almost equally painful is watching those who care about them behave in ways that positively enable their self-destruction. It’s agonizing. And my natural reflexes toggle between an overwhelming urge to either take control of the situation or to distance myself from it.

And yet, neither impulse is consistent with my view of the purpose of my life, which is to develop the character to achieve intimacy with imperfect people. When I try to take control or distance myself from my struggling loved ones, I find that my life is the poorer and my character weakens.

When I find myself in your shoes, the question now becomes, how can I remain close in a way that exerts positive influence on those who are the most troubled?

Enough with the philosophy. So what about your situation?

First of all, you made a reference to danger. If by that you mean you might take children into a situation when your sister is using, I would decline and explain this concern to your parents. And when doing so, cleanse yourself of any intention of using this decision as a threat to get them to exclude your sister. Simply explain that you can appreciate their desire to include your sister—and hope it is a good experience for them and her—but that your children give you other considerations. You may even want to make a call on Thanksgiving Day and wish your parents and sister well so they don’t misinterpret the decision.

If you choose to participate in the Thanksgiving tradition, there are a couple of crucial conversations you’ll need to have:

1. Motives. You need to change your motives. This year may not be about peace and harmony in the home. It may be filled with uncertainty and awkwardness, but it might still be meaningful. In fact, it could be more meaningful than many others. Your goal will not be to fix your sister or to correct your parents. It will be to improve your relationships with all of them—to try to achieve greater intimacy. Doing so may increase your positive influence in the future in all their lives.

2. Boundaries. You can’t control your sister or your parents, but you can control yourself. Decide in advance what kinds of situations may play out. Then ask yourself, “If what I really want is to be a positive influence on my sister and my parents, how will I respond?” Don’t wait until the resentment of the moment hits to make this decision. Think it through in advance.

Then discuss these boundary conditions with your parents. Let them know you love them and want to be part of this holiday, and that you have your own view of how to deal with some of the potential challenges. You don’t ask that they agree with you, you just want to explain your intentions so they can understand your motives in case you behave in a way they find jarring.

For example, if your sister uses, you may choose to leave or you may call the police. Before you arrive, discuss these boundaries with your parents and see if you can come to terms on them. If you disagree in important ways, you may elect not to participate. If that is the case, do not announce that decision in a punishing way. Don’t use your decision as a way of provoking your parents to concede to you on these points. Honor their right to disagree. Affirm them. Express your love. Ask if it’s okay if you arrange another visit with them when things are simpler.

If after working through these two conversations you find yourself at the family gathering, be as good as your word. Take small steps to show love to your sister. Expose yourself to the discomfort of possible disappointment or rejection. You may well find, in some future situation, that your improved relationship with her puts you in a position of influence to help her take a steadier step toward sobriety. It may be one step forward and two steps back (it certainly has been with some of those I love).

While these situations are complex and difficult, I can tell you that this Thanksgiving, one of the blessings I will feel most intensely is the intimacy I now have with one who looked the most helpless for the longest time.

I hope I haven’t been too presumptuous. If I’ve misunderstood your situation or imposed my own views inappropriately, please forgive me and don’t let my imperfection drive distance between you and me.

Sincerely,
Joseph

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kerry Patterson is coauthor of four bestselling books, Change Anything, Crucial Conversations, Crucial Confrontations, and Influencer.

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Typically, this time of year, I write a piece about the holiday season. This year, I’ve penned a story that took place years ago—during the late spring—nowhere close to the holidays. Nevertheless, even though the tale doesn’t involve presents, or mistletoe, or anything remotely festive, I think it captures the spirit of the season.

The other day, while my three-year-old grandson, Tommy, and I took a walk through the neighborhood, the little guy picked up a rock and tossed it into an irrigation ditch. And then, in the non-sequiturial manner that defines three-year-olds, he looked up at me and whispered, “I love you.” Much to my delight, Tommy tells me this quite often, but on this particular day there was something about the circumstances that jarred loose the memory of an incident I hadn’t thought about for over half a century.

This particular memory started with what should have been a harmless trip to the grocery store. It was the spring of 1953, I was seven years old, and Mom decided she needed to fetch some milk in order to finish a batch of chocolate pudding. Five minutes later, as Mom, my brother Billy, and I rolled up to the grocery store, Mom spotted her best friend Lydia.

“I’m going to be chatting for a while,” Mom barked. “Why don’t you boys play outside with the kids in the neighborhood?”

I was hungrier for snacks than I was for companionship, so I set off in search of discarded pop bottles in nearby gutters. If I got lucky, I’d find a few bottles and trade them in for penny candy. At age eleven, my brother Billy was hungrier for adventure than for sweets, so he set off for points unknown.

After talking with Lydia for nearly half an hour, and with a quart-bottle of milk firmly tucked under her arm, Mom stuck her head outside the store and shouted, “Boys, it’s pudding time!”

With the promise of chocolate hanging in the air, I raced back to the store—but Billy was nowhere to be seen.

“Go find your brother,” Mother exhorted. “He’s probably down by the creek.”

The creek Mom referred to flowed through the countryside a couple of blocks north of the store until it abruptly disappeared into a four-foot-high cement culvert that carried the water underground for two miles. The tunnel was filthy, dark, dangerous, and chock full of rats. In short, it was boy heaven.

Unfortunately, just getting to the creek posed a serious challenge. The route went past the McHenry house and the McHenry house was filled with stone-cold criminals. The adult McHenrys (when not in prison) were constantly tossing back home-brew while feverishly hammering on the pile of rusted auto parts that was their front yard. The McHenry boys, ever anxious to please their parents, cursed, spat, and sic’d their dogs on anyone who had the temerity to breach their territory. I was about to be their next victim.

But I got lucky that day. As I walked toward the creek, the McHenrys were nowhere to be found. Seizing the moment, I dashed passed their den and down to the tunnel entrance. Whew! I had made it!

And then I faced a new challenge. If my brother was, indeed, playing in the culvert, I’d have to shout out a password before he’d let me in. It was kid code. My friends and I were always using secret words such as “Open sesame” to gain entry into our forts or to earn freedom from captivity should the “enemy” lock us up. This system worked quite well except when we changed or forgot the password, which was most of the time.

“Open sesame!” I hollered as I rounded the bend near the mouth of the tunnel. I heard nothing from Billy. “Open sesame!” I tried again, followed by silence and then a resounding “Geronimo!” which also had no effect. Next I tried, “Montezuma!” Then “Beelzebub!” Still no response. Just when I was about to whip out the granddaddy of all passwords—”Code red!”—I was yanked off my feet and held in the air—thrashing like a gaffed salmon. Craning my head to see who had ahold of my collar, I stared into the face of Chuck McHenry, the oldest and foulest of the McHenry boys.

“Lookin’ for your brother, are ya?” Chuck asked with breath that could stop a bullet. “Cuz if you are, me and my brothers have him trapped.”

Sure enough, a few feet away stood two of Chuck’s teenage brothers. They were throwing rocks into the mouth of the tunnel, as if competing in some sort of sadistic carnival game. Eleven-year-old Billy would peek out of the culvert opening to see if the coast was clear and then the McHenrys would hurl jagged rocks at his head.

“Leave my brother alone!” I hollered as I tried my best to kick the McHenry ringleader. Chuck merely laughed. I was seven; he was in his late teens. Fighting was useless.

After I tried to break away for what seemed like an hour, Chuck offered up a plan: “If you want us to let your brother go, you’ll have to do somethin’ for it.”

“What?” I asked.

“What do you guys think?” Chuck questioned his brothers. “Should we make him run naked through stinger nettles?”

“Maybe we should hang him by his heels from a tree!” one of his brothers chimed in.

“I got it!” Chuck announced as he nodded his head knowingly. I couldn’t imagine what he had in mind, but whatever demented stunt he had concocted, I’d gladly do it. Billy was my best friend, my protector, my big brother.

Then, with a grin that suggested he had just devised the most nefarious punishment ever, Chuck announced: “Tell your brother—in a loud voice—that you love him!”

I was confused. This was all he wanted? To tell my brother that I loved him?

“Go ahead,” he chided. “Say it! I dare you!”

“I love you!” I shouted to my brother.

The McHenry boys then hooted and howled. From their point of view, I had just humiliated myself beyond repair. Right there in front of the whole neighborhood, I, a boy, had been tender and sensitive. Worse still, I had dared to say, “I love you”—to my brother no less! Ugh! As far as the McHenrys were concerned, I had completely disgraced myself.

Finally, after nearly laughing himself sick, Chuck tossed me to the ground and threatened to “pound” my brother and me if either of us said a word to our parents. Then, tiring of the whole affair, Chuck turned on his heels and darted back to his lair—his brothers close behind.

After checking to see if the thugs had really gone, Billy cautiously climbed out of the tunnel, took my hand, and walked me back to the grocery store.

“Don’t tell Mom what just happened,” Billy warned. “If you do, the McHenrys will beat us for sure.”

“Plus, if we tattle, Mom will ask us what we learned,” I added. Then we both laughed at the thought. Mom was always asking us what we had learned from our latest debacle and to be honest, I didn’t have a clue what I had just learned. I could say that I had learned not to play in the culvert, or go near the McHenrys—but I already knew that.

No matter what we were supposed to have learned that morning, the incident remained locked deep inside my brain until a few days ago when my grandson, Tommy, tossed a rock into a stream and told me he loved me. And then, like an orb tumbling out of a gumball machine, the McHenry memory tumbled out of the dark recesses of my mind and onto these pages.

I’m glad it’s been nearly sixty years since the original event took place because now I’m mature enough to know what I learned that day. And I’ll be darned if I hadn’t learned it from the most unlikely of characters—Chuck McHenry. The lesson couldn’t be clearer. When threatened by your worst enemy, when going toe-to-toe with the adversary, remember the secret password. Not just any password, but the password.

I love you.

It opens all doors.

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Subscribe to the Crucial Skills Newsletter for your chance to win!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joseph Grenny is coauthor of four bestselling books, Change Anything, Crucial Conversations, Crucial Confrontations, and Influencer.

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Dear Crucial Skills,

When my grandmother became very ill, my dad and his four siblings struggled to come to an agreement about what was best for their mother. My aunt (the oldest sibling) became very controlling and everyone had a difficult time staying in dialogue with her, including my dad who is exceptional at mastering his stories and building mutual respect and mutual purpose.

This conflict has now ruptured relationships such that after more than thirty years of tradition, we are cancelling my grandma’s family Christmas party. I would like to see my dad and his siblings forgive each other and focus on the needs of my grandmother, who is obviously affected the most. How can I help my family overcome past fights and come together for the holidays?

Signed,
Facilitating Forgiveness

 Dear Facilitating Forgiveness,

I was thinking about your question last week while I took my morning run in the National Mall in Washington, DC. As I ran past the wonderful new Martin Luther King memorial, I screeched to a halt in front of a granite inscription that read, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

I’ve ruminated ever since on the implications of that powerful concept for your situation. Here are some thoughts I hope will help:

1. Patience is the most genuine expression of love. The first thing to keep in mind is that you cannot force forgiveness. You can’t compel other people to soften their hearts, examine their own faults, or modify their judgments of others. You have to wait until they want to.

Allowing them to go through the process of challenging their own emotions is an authentic expression of your love for them. It reflects your willingness to patiently wait for the family unity you crave so they can go through the natural process of human growth. Attempting to force the process is more likely to create resistance than reform. Watch—but wait—for signs that others feel some of the loss you feel, then make gentle attempts to help them move forward.

2. Forgiveness is the natural result of a new story. We can’t feel differently toward others until we think differently about them—and ourselves. Forgiveness is difficult because we stay stuck in the story we’ve told ourselves about what happened. As long as we maintain a picture of others’ villainy and our own virtue, we feel morally justified in our anger or frustration. We take delight in the suffering we hope the other person is feeling from our withheld affection because we perversely imagine they deserve to suffer or that the suffering is a learning experience. “Perhaps,” we reason, “this mutual misery will help them see the error of their ways and become a better human being. I’m a wonderful person for helping them have this life-changing experience!”

Until we intentionally examine our own faults and others’ virtues, we feel no need to forgive. The instant we begin this painful but wonderful process, the icy feelings inside us begin to melt. If we continue that process to its natural end, feelings of forgiveness are inevitable. Changing your story is the key to changing your feelings. Don’t try to get others to forgive. Instead, help them to challenge their stories. Forgiveness will follow.

3. We’ll challenge what we think when we change what we want. Given that challenging our stories is a painful process, why would anyone do so? We do it when our motives change. That’s why the first principle of Crucial Conversations is start with heart. When your motives change, your behavior follows naturally. People who resist forgiving are sometimes stuck in self-justifying stories—stories that protect them from the pain of reexamining their view of themselves and others. Sadly, the primary motivator that drags our story into the light is the acute experience of the pain of a lost relationship.

Now, I know your question wasn’t about helping yourself forgive, but about facilitating that process in others. So how can we use the principles I outlined above to influence others to forgive? First, don’t rush them. That just distracts them from experiencing the pain that could motivate them to change. Second, acknowledge their pain. Affirm the parts of their story you agree with and the hurt they legitimately feel. Third, invite motivation. Let them know you miss the family gatherings and guess they do, too. Tell them you think there is a way back to the former intimacy if they are open to discussion. Then be patient again. Periodically reaffirm the invitation, but don’t badger. When they’re ready, they’ll let you know.

One of two things might happen if you are patient and supportive. First, your family members may just bury the past and reconnect without resolving anything. Perhaps this is an acceptable compromise if all are happy with it. Second, they may respond to your invitation to help. If they take the second route, this will be your big opportunity for a crucial conversation. I’d suggest you invite them to share their story, then request the chance to share a different view of things. Be clear up front that your intent is to help them see what happened differently so they can feel differently, and gain their consent for this process before you dive into it. If they seem resistant, withdraw and assure them you aren’t trying to force your view on them. If they are going to change their minds, they will have to invite your influence in doing so.

Our judgments or demands of others won’t drive out their stories—just like hate cannot drive out hate and darkness cannot drive out darkness—only love and light can do that. While I don’t think there is any special brilliance in these modest suggestions, I hope you discern the heart of them—patience, love, and an appeal to what they really want is the only path to helping people reappraise their stories and reconnect with loved ones.

Happy holidays and peace to you and yours,
Joseph

According to our recent poll, nearly one in ten people know someone who made their boss’s naughty list and was fired for inappropriate behavior at an office party.

The poll also revealed the most frequent concerns employees have concerning office parties:
1. How long to stay
2. Socializing with upper management
3. The level of drinking among coworkers
4. How friendly to be with colleagues
5. How to dress

The key word in the expression “office party” is office, not party. You can party almost anywhere you want, but when colleagues, bosses and possibly even clients are around, that is no ordinary party and you’ll need to act accordingly.

Here are five tips for surviving your holiday office party:
1. Linger longer—If you can only come for a moment or two, you’d better have a plausible explanation as to where you’re going after—and it can’t be a more popular or fun-sounding party. When it comes to leaving, take your cue from the majority. Leave when most people are leaving.
2. Make small talk with the big guys—Socializing with upper management is like eating caviar, a small amount should go a long way. When you do chat, keep the topic light and party-relevant. Don’t seek recognition or brag. If anything, be the bearer of compliments.
3. Stay sober—Drink what you want in the privacy of your home. But at work, do not lose control. Ever. No matter what others are doing. If you say things to coworkers that you wouldn’t say when completely sober, you could pay the consequences for years to come.
4. Keep it casual with coworkers—Obviously, you’re expected to be more friendly, jovial, and personal within a party environment. However, if you’ve been interested in striking up a more friendly and intimate relationship with a special colleague at work, the office party is not the place to take your first shot.
5. Dress to impress—Ask around and find out what others are wearing. The invitation may suggest the attire, but you never know how the suggestion will be translated, so check with your coworkers. Then, dress slightly above the average.

One of the greatest gifts you can give to others is the ability to hold high-stakes conversations, respectfully confront others about their bad behavior, and influence change.

Enter to win one of ten signed hardcover copies of Crucial Conversations as well as a $20 Amazon gift card (total prize valued at $50) by sharing the Crucial Skills blog via Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn or your favorite social networking Web site, then e-mail us a link to the individual tweet or update. Each time you share the blog and e-mail us, you will be entered in our giveaway. Ten winners will be selected on Saturday, December 31.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
 

Al Switzler is coauthor of four bestselling books, Change Anything, Crucial Conversations, Crucial Confrontations, and Influencer.

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The following article was first published on March 9, 2006.

How do you help “undo” a story that another person has held about you? Last fall, my husband went over to borrow an item from our next door neighbor of ten years. They’re very nice people—we wave and exchange pleasantries and small talk, we have sent their kids graduation cards, etc. My husband came back concerned. He said they’d received an anonymous hateful letter ten months earlier and they seemed quite convinced that I’d sent it. I was alarmed and went over right away to talk. The letter was truly awful—calling them morons about leaving their holiday lights up well past the holidays and being the laughingstock of the neighborhood. I didn’t write this letter and I told them so.

And yet, I still feel like there is an uncomfortable feeling between us. I’m acting as if the whole thing never happened, but feeling self-conscious about it—for example, sending over a dozen cookies when we’ve baked, acknowledging their kids’ accomplishments, etc. These are things we’ve done in the past that now I fear will be viewed in a different light—like I’m trying to make up for something.

Please help,
Uneasy Neighbor

Dear Neighbor,

First, congratulations. You said you “went over right away to talk.” We firmly believe that if you don’t talk it out, you act it out. So, way to go. If you had told yourself different stories, you would have acted differently. If you had become upset because you were wrongly accused and had withdrawn in indignation, you would have acted in ways that probably would not have helped—your feelings would have showed up in your facial expressions, in half-hearted greetings, etc. Because thoughts really cannot be held inside (they leak out), people often resort to gossip, and gossip has a hard time being contained—it seeks the lowest level. It has ripple effects that find their way to the person being talked about. So congratulations on telling yourself stories about the other person, about you, and about your relationship that allowed you to go talk about it. Adding to the pool of shared meaning was the right step to take.

There are two questions here that I’d like to address. First, how do we get over situations where we have been wrongly accused of something we didn’t do? Second, how can we help others “undo” their story that we wronged them when we really didn’t?

First, how do you deal with your emotions when you’ve been wrongly accused? Key to understanding your options is what we call the path to action. This model helps explain where emotions come from. A brief overview:

• We observe an event (i.e., we see and hear what happens with internal and environmental filters).
• We tell ourselves a story with whatever data we have (the events we observed). These stories can be helpful or harmful.
• We feel emotions based on the story we chose to tell.
• We then act based on our story and our emotions (we choose dialogue, silence, or violence).

The important thing is to explore why the emotions are still lingering. Why are you still worrying about how your neighbor is interpreting your actions and motives? Re-examine your path to action back to your actual observations. Are there more helpful stories you could be telling about what you’ve observed? Or do your observations point to the need for another crucial conversation?

When you’re deciding whether or not to bring up a subject, ask yourself if “that little voice in your head won’t go away,” or if you are “acting it out” even after you’ve re-examined your stories. If the answer is “yes” to either, you probably need to talk it out.

In your comments, you stated that you fear your neighbors still think you did write the letter. That could be the topic for another conversation. Mention the first conversation, and that you just want to check in and see how your neighbors are feeling now. Share your goal to be a good neighbor and have a positive relationship.

If you have observed actual behaviors that are leading you to believe there is still an issue (e.g., if you saw nonverbal clues like half-hearted greetings, lack of eye contact, or avoidance on your neighbors’ part), you may want to bring them up and hold a crucial conversation to address the story they may be holding onto. In that case, ask to talk to the other person and start by making it safe. Have a private talk. Don’t be emotional, be honestly inquisitive. Try to explore the other person’s path to action by starting with your observation. For example, “I’ve noticed that when we see each other in the neighborhood, you don’t look directly at me and you tend to hurry out of any conversation.” Don’t offer judgments about their emotions or motivations. Simply describe the facts. Then tentatively share your concern: “I’m beginning to wonder if you still have feelings about that letter you received. Can we talk?”

You are trying to learn what “story” your neighbors are telling—you are trying to understand their data. Then, when you’re in dialogue, you can share your perspective and your purpose.

The other alternative is to be patient. Suppose your neighbors say they don’t think you wrote the letter. Suppose you don’t see them acting it out. That means most of your energy around this issue is coming from your stories. In that case, wait. Continue with your strategy of being a good neighbor. Often, when we don’t have any additional data, our stories and emotions fade. Our worries decrease. That’s effectively self-managing your own path to action. Such an approach reminds me of the saying attributed to the great Anonymous: “At twenty, we worry about what others think of us; at forty, we don’t care about what others think of us; at sixty, we discover they haven’t been thinking about us at all.”

Thank you for your inquiry. Hopefully there is a lesson that we can find here that will help us get in touch with our own stories, cue us up when we need to talk, and be more patient with our emotions. All of these can lead us to dialogue.

Best wishes,
Al

When I took the Crucial Confrontations course at the end of September, my intent was to improve my conflict resolution facilitation skills. Within a few weeks of completing the course, I helped a key member of an organization get unstuck, see another story, and take a path to action that avoided a potential relationship blow-up. The added tools in my utility belt were a good fit. However, I really wasn’t expecting to have to call on them for myself since my personal and business relationships were pretty solid. True, I did have a mild case of masking to deal with, but I felt fairly good about my ability to carry on meaningful and important conversations. Maybe I was a little too smug about my skills, because they were soon put to the test.

November rolled around and I was leading a meeting to explore a possible process change. Before the meeting started, one of the directors pushed one of my hot buttons. He began to challenge, no denigrate, the validity and effectiveness of an initiative I was championing. The atmosphere went hostile in a moment. Before I knew it, my emotions went into hyperdrive. I could literally feel the blood leaving the reasoning part of my brain. Others in the room watched in amazement (some with horror) as they saw that I was visibly agitated. Some meeting attendees later told me they thought, “What is going to happen next?”

At the same time, it was like I was having an out-of-body experience. I began to think about the steps towards building a shared meaning even though I was steaming. The director was clearly out of line; nevertheless, I didn’t want to blow-up and make things worse. I was tempted to mask and go silent, stewing in my anger. So, I forced myself to think about some of the class exercises (it’s amazing how quick the mind can work). I put together my first sentence in response: “This adversarial behavior is not helping our meeting.” Maybe this wasn’t the best choice of words, however, calling things as they were did stop him in his tracks. I regained composure, asked to set up a separate meeting with him later to discuss his concerns, and then continued with the meeting. There was still a little tension left, but not near what it could have been. Several attendees came to me in private and thanked me for standing up. I’m still working things out with the director; however, our conversations are much more honest and I think he has a newfound respect for me. The Crucial Confrontations approach really does work!

If you have a Before and After story you’d like to share, please send your story to beforeandafter@vitalsmarts.com.

ABOUT THE EXPERT
Steve Willis is a Master Trainer and Vice President of Professional Services at VitalSmarts.
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It seems like a simple question that should elicit a fairly straightforward, simple answer. But nooooo, Al wanted more than the standard “8:00 A.M.” response. So he asked again, “When does training start?”

The setting was our VitalSmarts best practices meeting, and Al Switzler was trying to get us to think more deeply about our preparation and to pinpoint the time when we “turn on” for training. “So many times the presenter turns on the charm, enthusiasm, energy, interest in participants, the smile (Al went on for a while, but for the sake of brevity I’ll summarize the majority of his list with, “etc.”) once the clock strikes that magical start time hour.” He went on to say that training should start much earlier than the time printed on the invitation letter, and that if you are currently starting at that time, you’re starting too late and missing huge opportunities to engage the participants and set the appropriate climate.

With this in mind, I’m interested in hearing when training starts for you. What do you do to make sure it starts off well? Share your thoughts below to get the idea flow started.