CHAPTER 10

I-Know-What-You-Are-Thinking Stories

When a union representative meets with a manager to resolve a grievance, both enter the room with preconceptions. They may believe they are entering with open minds, but our minds stand guard over our best interests, whether we ask them to or not. Secret suspicions usually lurk beneath hearty handshakes and wide smiles. Ms. Manager might secretly think the union guy is full of himself, high on temporary power, or a troublemaker milking a conflict for its drama opportunities. Mr. Union may secretly suspect that Ms. Manager is a ball-busting bitch on wheels who has it in for the gal he is representing because of some “woman thing.” Either one of them could break the ice and score points by telling a good I-Know-What-You-Are-Thinking story.

Mr. Union might tell “what my dad taught me about abusing power,” or Ms. Manager could relate a story about her first job “when I acted like a bitch and regretted it.” Either story could dramatically change the atmosphere. I-Know-What-You-Are-Thinking stories overcome unspoken objections without coming off as oppositional and may actually validate the other person.

The Power of Validation

Humans hunger for validation. It doesn’t cost you a thing, and sometimes you get tangible concessions in return. Meanwhile, failing to validate another’s point of view can cost you twice the time, money, or effort you might otherwise spend influencing a person. Anyone who has seen couples confront one another on reality TV has surely learned that invalidation escalates conflict. Even if you think your partner’s feelings are ridiculous and not at all what you “meant” her to feel, explaining one more time how she “should” feel makes things worse. When he says to her, “You are being ridiculous,” and she says to him, “You are an insensitive clod,” both are invalidating the other.

Even if the statements are technically accurate (and often they are), they make things worse. Miraculously, if he would say, “I can see how my little joke about your painting might have felt like a criticism,” and she would say, “It makes sense that you would point out that I painted the males with proportions that are anatomically unlikely,” they could relax. They could feel free to be less defensive and more open.

Many arguments are fueled less by the “need to be right” and more by the chronically unmet need to be heard and respected. That’s where I-Know-What-You-Are-Thinking stories come into play. They overcome objections and allow you to tip your hat and show your audience respect.

A case in point is a surgeon I met who felt frustrated by failed attempts to convince his staff to stop taking his outbursts and snippy retorts personally. The situation was not unusual: surgeons require big egos to slice into someone’s flesh, but a big ego can translate into a lack of respect for others, and as a result, many surgeons find that their support staff are less supportive than they expect. What this surgeon neglected to do was validate the fact that his staff were as personally committed to patient safety as he was. He’s adapted the practice of telling an I-Know-What-You-Are-Thinking story that apologizes in advance for when he slips into the state of focus where “nothing and no one else matters.” He explains that he understands how his concentration might appear dismissive but that he values the role of others as much as he does his own. His story validates his support staff as people and fine colleagues well enough that they tolerate the side effects of his hyperfocus.

Telepathic Powers

Telling a good I-Know-What-You-Are-Thinking story can make your listeners think that you have read their minds and know their secret thoughts. This level of validation and insight into your audience’s point of view can earn you big points.

Try to identify the hidden suspicions held by your intended audience. It doesn’t take a genius to do so. When you welcome objections into the light of day, they often shrivel and disappear in the sunlight of open examination.

In the military, hierarchical status and clearance usually correlate so closely that the two are interpreted interchangeably. If you have high clearance, you must be important. If you are important, you have high security clearance. I don’t have a high security clearance. Therefore I can anticipate that many of my military clients might naturally wonder how smart or important I could possibly be. So I bring the issue into the open and reframe it.

I was working with Air Force Intelligence, and the “big guy” insisted I join his group for dinner.

He told me, “We need to get you security clearance.”

I told him, “No way.”

He pulled his chin down and looked at me over his glasses as if I either was dealing drugs or had a body hidden somewhere. I explained, “You don’t want to give me security clearance because I can’t be trusted.”

OK, I was playing with him a little here, but it was too tempting to resist. Before he could launch into me, I continued, “To prepare for this course, I made a big yellow file that I labeled ‘Air Force Intelligence.’ Last week I had a pedicure, and I took this big yellow file to read at the salon. I finished my pedicure, walked out, and left the big yellow file in the salon—sitting right on top of the other reading material. I do that sort of thing all the time. I am absentminded.”

I then explained that I did not inherit the genetic code for keeping secrets and that I sometimes think that I wrote the book A Safe Place for Dangerous Truths simply to decrease the number of secrets I’m expected to keep. However, I told him, I strongly believe it is one of the main reasons I’m good at what I do. I make tools and design methods that decrease the amount of unnecessary secrecy clogging the lines of communication. “My value to you is much higher without security clearance,” I summed up.

My story highlighted the hidden association between “important” and “security clearance” and destabilized the relationship long enough for me to make a case that the two aren’t always interchangeable. If I didn’t do this up front, I might have lost my opportunity.

Framing

When setting up an I-Know-What-You-Are-Thinking story, remember that it is much easier to exert influence if you can control the sequence of information that best supports your point of view. For instance, the “after” pictures that advertise a diet wouldn’t sell many diet plans without the “before” pictures. I highly recommend Influence: Science and Practice by Robert Cialdini.⁶ One of my favorite examples from his book cites a letter from a college freshman to her parents. In the beginning of her letter, she tells her parents that her skull fracture is healing, the fire wasn’t so bad after the janitor offered to let her stay with him, and oh, by the way, they are expecting a baby together. Her last paragraph reveals that there was no skull fracture, no fire, no janitor, and no pregnancy, but she did get a “D” in chemistry and just wanted to put the bad grade into the proper perspective.

Perspective can make a $100 donation seem huge (feed a family for a year) and tiny (one month of mocha lattes) in the same letter. Fundraisers improve perceptions of target donation amounts by listing that amount as a second option dwarfed by a huge amount in the first option. Saying “no” to a first request leaves a donor with a lingering sense of obligation that increases the likelihood of a “yes” to the second request. Children learn this trick early. The question “Mommy, can Billy and I ride our bikes to the gun show?” gets a quick “no” that makes the next question, “Then can Billy come over to play?” seem like a bargain.

Exercise: Pay Attention to What Others Are Thinking

Zero in on the positive intent behind a potential objection. Particularly, if you fear a hostile audience, dig down and find the positive intent that drives their objections and honor their intent with a story that broadens their current interpretation of what is objectionable. Be careful to never belittle another person’s caution; rather, the point is to validate it and move on.

A Time You Shined

As a facilitator, I am often lumped in with a collection of bad experiences a group may have had with “facilitator types.” We’ve all had bad experiences. Even smart, optimistic groups are wary of some stranger who proposes to lead (control) their process and agenda for two days. Sometimes I start by telling this story.

My favorite introduction by a client to a group happened in Aspen. A group of very smart, very successful executives gathered to work and play for a weekend. The woman who introduced me said, “This is Annette. I promise you, she doesn’t use chimes.”

They applauded. I knew there was a good story behind her choice of words. They told about their last retreat, where they had a “woo-woo” facilitator in long, flowing clothes who used chimes to indicate the end of breaks. The group may have been slow to come back after breaks, and I imagined the chime lady getting a little passive-aggressive with her chimes. During the next break, someone kidnapped her chimes and left a ransom note. The best part of the retreat for them was the series of ransom notes and the increasingly less “woo-woo” reactions of the chime lady.

So I promised no chimes, no “woo-woo” stuff, no holding hands, no singing “Kumbaya.” And I assured them that any discussion about feelings would have a business application.

A Time You Blew It

Teaching leadership is a perfect time to implement I-Know-What-You-Are-Thinking stories. One of my recent experiences was with a group of women in Europe who might have considered my American mannerisms to be rather brusque. I told them a story.

When I was in elementary school, I liked to be left in charge of anything because it made me feel special. I was naturally bossy. In sixth grade, I was given a little sheriff’s badge and was told to watch the first graders during recess on rainy days so the first-grade teacher could get a break. To entertain them (or me), I taught them how to march in formation with band music. I’m not making this up. I rewarded those who participated with peppermint candies. I was a little monster. Nice kids slipped the nonparticipating kids candies, and my reward system was immediately diffused with lack of compliance. I learned you can’t mandate cooperation.

Years later, as an adult, I was able to tell this story and acknowledge their concerns about my brusqueness and at the same time reassure them that I don’t endorse command-and-control leadership. I let them know that I wanted them to call me out if they saw me going too fast or making faulty assumptions.

A Mentor

Teaching the staff of the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) to tell stories was one of my favorite jobs ever. The men and women of this organization could single-handedly earn back any of the love and appreciation the United States has lost, if only the world could hear their stories.

These are some of the smartest, most dedicated people I’ve ever had the privilege to know. Most speak several languages, have lived in many cultures, and hold doctorates in an array of complicated subjects. However, the story I want to tell you here is a mixed bag I use specifically with USAID people because they can be very hard on themselves. There are times when smart, high achievers can only become better leaders after they learn to forgive themselves for their mistakes.

One of the most articulate and beautiful women I’ve met in a long time was in a USAID group. She seemed to have inherited the carriage and dignity of the African queens she was surely descended from. Growing up in a ghetto of Detroit did not bend her. After getting advanced degrees and joining the Foreign Service, she spent much of her time in Africa. Her last post had been in Nigeria, where this story occurred.

She started her story this way:

I sent my eight-year-old daughter to a local public school in Nigeria. When I was asked to serve on the school board, I happily accepted. However, the board wanted me to chair. I declined, saying that the chair should be a Nigerian rather than a foreigner. I actively lobbied for a particular Nigerian woman who had a Ph.D. in education and who was very visible in the community. Sure, I heard a few warnings about this woman’s character, but I felt the issue of citizenship was more important.

(She then paused for a really long time and fore-shadowed the rest of the story by saying, “She really did seem qualified.”)

Once we started having meetings, I saw the problem. This woman was arrogant, opinionated, rude, and controlling. She had no idea how to run a meeting. They went too long, and even after they were over, every board member would call me up that night to complain and ask me to do something. It was taking over my life, so I finally agreed. I told them I’d speak to her at the next meeting as long as they would back me up.

At that next meeting, this woman started doing what she always did. She cut people off. She railroaded her agenda items. So I asked if I could make a comment on the process. She turned to me, and to this day I have no idea what happened. All I know is that I lost it. I lit into that woman like Hell’s fury. I called her every name except child of God. I have no idea how long it lasted, but when my eyes started to refocus, I suddenly saw myself surrounded by wide eyes and dropped jaws.

I said, “I think I should leave now,” and got myself the hell out of there.

I got home, sat down, and thought, “What have I done?” I was horrified. Within the hour, I realized what I had to do. I started at the top of the list and called each and every member and apologized. The next day, I went in person and apologized to her. She was less than gracious, but I kept my dignity.

When I tell this story, I’m talking about myself, too. I get passionate about issues, and sometimes I can be short with people. I have a temper, and if I could have had it surgically removed, I would have. But it seems to be here to stay, so I try to apologize in advance. I can’t guarantee that I won’t “lose it” at some point as a long-term member of a working group. But I can guarantee that I will correct myself quickly and apologize.

You may find an analogy of your circumstances either in your own past, in a historical event, or preferably in the history of your target audience. Do some research to see if you can find whether the current problem isn’t a repeat of a pattern of problems for this particular culture or work group.

A Book, Movie, or Current Event

Anyone who has served on a neighborhood committee has experienced the full range of insanity that simple issues can invoke in otherwise sane people. In my old neighborhood, the insanity erupted over a motion to redistrict our 1920s enclave as a historical district. The neighborhood was modest and diverse. Many professors from the local university lived there, and some front yards contained bizarre sculptures. Two families thought Christmas lights presented a year-round opportunity to express themselves, and several neighbors had sustainable ecosystems instead of grass in their front yards. We may not have liked the paint color of our neighbors’ home, but we would have died defending their right to paint it whatever color they wanted to.

After years of peaceful diversity, a young lawyer moved in and was quickly elected president of our local neighborhood association. He did everything in his power to push a redistricting effort I referred to as the “hysterical district” era. The ensuing conflict pitted neighbor against neighbor. One guy painted his house purple and pink in protest. Long meetings, angry letters, and plots to undermine the “other side” replaced potluck, pumpkin-carving parties. I was asked to come before the board for a violation, so I began with an I-Know-What-You-Are-Thinking story.

We are North Carolinians, so I suspect all of us here have seen at least one or two episodes of the Andy Griffith Show. The divisiveness in our neighborhood recently reminds me of one particular episode from that series. Do you remember the one when Barney was cleaning out files and ran across a case that had never been closed? The case accused Floyd the barber of assault. It is hard to imagine Floyd raising his voice, much less assaulting anyone. Barney insisted that he would “get to the bottom of this” and marched down to the barbershop.

One interview led to another. Barney reported that Floyd had punched Charlie Foley in the face. Neither of them could remember why until Barney’s dogged questions reignited the old conflict and the angry emotions.

Andy tried to convince Barney to let it go, but the damage was done. That afternoon, Floyd came in with a new black eye, followed by a long line of Mayberry’s citizens also sporting black eyes, all with new assault charges to file. It’s a typical Barney-chaos episode, but it resembles our neighborhood lately.

I appreciate that each of you is dedicated to your position and to our neighborhood. But I’d like you to reflect on the recent enthusiasm with which you have been enforcing rules and pursuing legal action. I think goodwill is as important as property values and ask you to think a little more about what Andy would do in this situation.

The “Barney” character in the room simply squinted in confusion and started to prattle the minute I stopped talking. But my target audience was the “Andys” in the room, who were naturally inclined to calm disputes rather than stir them up. They could see our local “Barney Fife” had gone too far.

Within the year, Barney was no longer president, and a mellower, wiser “Andy” was in place. We even had a pumpkin-carving party the next October.

6. Robert Cialdini, Influence: Science and Practice (Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 2001).