Are You Racing?

Picture this vignette from my daily chore routine:  My three cats meet me at the back door, eager for their evening meal.  Essie Lou, opinionated and who-knows-how-old, barely has time to say hello before pacing toward the barn.  Fred and Gabby, seven-month old kittens, playfully run behind.  When the barn door comes into Essie’s view she glances back to see the kittens in hot pursuit, flattens her ears, and breaks into a dignified jog.  As Gabby closes in, Essie drops all pretenses and starts a frantic run. You see Essie Lou is racing.  Despite the fact that I always feed Essie first, whether she purrs or growls over her generous portion is directly related to her place in the line-up sliding through the barn door. Gabby seems to be racing too and when she “wins” she waits her turn for food with a satisfied air. Then comes Freddy who, regardless of whether he’s first or last, never “wins” for a rather wonderful reason: he isn’t racing.     

This daily drama showed me that we choose whether to compete and that got me thinking: When does competition add value and when does it distract us? 

I often define competition as one of five methods for dealing with conflict (or sometimes we call it “force”). Competition during conflict means that we race to see who can force the other into doing what we want.  Then, the strongest, most articulate, most persuasive… wins, and the rest lose. Even though this method is fast it can escalate conflict, decrease our ability to see other options, and break relationships. It seems more worth the risk when someone’s safety is at stake.

As I thought about competition I remembered some of my own experiences:

Competition seemed to be a distraction for two businessmen in mediation who let less than one hundred dollars block them from agreement.  Yet, it adds the sparkle of fun when I gather with family or friends around the table with games, food, laughter, and our scores scrawled on a paper scrap. Competition even added incentive for me in academics as I worked to keep up with my three talented siblings.

How can we benefit from competition without experiencing the ugly outcomes? 

After some thought, I’m trying this:

Choose to compete when it:

·      Adds fun

·      Builds relationships

·      Enhances creative effort

      Choose other ways of relating when:

·      Anyone stops having fun

·      Winning or being right seems more important than the people around you

·      You feel like punishing those who “win” when you don’t (this includes the "silent treatment"!) 

When do you think competition is appropriate? 

A Recipe for Relational Disaster

Thanksgiving is just around the corner. It's a time of year when there are probably more people than usual in a small space; all of whom you care deeply about. It's also a time of year to look for recipes large enough to include plenty of family and friends.  With that in mind, here’s a recipe for you:

Relational Disaster:

-       2 tablespoons problem, issue, or difference over deeply held values (depending on flavor preference)

-       22 heaping cups of evaluation (“You’re Such A…” or “You’re So…”)

-       17 generous dashes of interruption (“Yes, But…” recommended)

-       ¼ cup starter from last year’s disagreements

-       2 lbs. “facts”

-       1 ½ cup comparisons

-       7 teaspoons condescension – both verbal and nonverbal

-       a quart and a half each of “you always” and “you never”

-       1 ½ cup insincere praise

Instructions:

Pre-heat the oven to 400 degrees F (fatigue). Begin with the issue, problem, or deeply held value.  Add, “You’re Such A…” or “You’re So…” brand of evaluations combined with Broad Generalizations and Name Calling for leavening.  By this time it should be very clear that the problem is exclusively the other person.  Beginning every sentence with “you” will help if the mixture falls flat. Reserve some evaluation for later use.  

Bring out the issues from last year’s disagreements – this starter will enhance the heat and growth of the situation.  Refuse to see any other perspective, but liberally add “facts” that bolster your own opinion.   Fold in “Yes, But” interruptions until the tension is thick enough to stir.  Heat in a crowded place with uncomfortable furniture, many people listening and taking sides, and minimal sunshine. 

Sprinkle the table with half of the reserved evaluation, combine comparisons with insincere praise, and knead into the heated mixture using the “attack” method.  Unevenly separate the concoction into “us and them” portions.  Ignore “them” unless you’re adding the spices of condescension, “always,” “never,” and the remaining evaluations.  Take this brew to another friend and complain freely about the problematic person.  Continue until “they” no longer seem like a person to you.  Leaving this dough to rest has detrimental effect on its growth.  Bake until hardened.

Of course, it nearly goes without saying, the topping is a mixture of broken relationship and shattered trust.

Warning: The explosive nature of this recipe results in the addition of this recipe into every other aspect of life.  Antidotes include: listening, thoughtful articulation, respect, and empathy.  Use with caution.

I write this blog for Common Ground Conciliation Service. Check out the website at: http://www.commongroundcs.org/ 

Moving Mountains

Permit me to introduce CowBelle; the question mark cow looking you straight in the eye. She's well over a thousand pounds, remarkably opinionated, and decidedly unenthusiastic about coming home at milking time.

Having a family milk cow was my idea and when I imagined fetching the cow I saw myself strolling happily behind an amiable animal. In reality, 6:15 morning and evening found me either running myself red in the face behind a fleet footed bovine, or pushing ineffectively on her rear, holding a stick I dared not use, while she serenely chewed. Though Belle and my statures contrast strikingly, we have some very humbling similarities in temperament: both of us can be quite stubborn, and our stubbornness only intensifies in the face of coercion.

My brother came to the rescue in this impasse by showing me a valuable life lesson. If I choose to compete with Belle the difference in size, speed, or strength matters a great deal.  Fortunately, Belle is used to getting her needs met, namely hunger satisfied, at home. So, if I call her she will come.  If she can choose, and get her needs met by choosing, the power struggle is over.  Even when I forgot and chased her with my stick causing bedlam and frustration, if I called, she would come toward home. Then she’d run past me, make eye contact as she kicked up her heels, and I would find her eating contentedly in the bunk when I got home.

Belle illustrated for me the basic need to make choices; the need of autonomy.

As hard as it is to resist forcing our own ideas onto others, here are three problems with coercion:

·      Power: If we insist that we can choose better for others than they can for themselves we assume we are above them; and even a cow hates condescension. 

·      Unintended consequences: If we make decisions for others despite their disinclination, we miss out on hearing their perspective, their needs, and the consequences they see arising from the action. 

·      Short solutions: If we choose for another we lose their buy in; they’re less likely to follow through when our influence, our stick, goes away.  

Think about things you “have” to do.  Do they bring you life or do they foster resentment?  Do you look forward to doing those tasks or do you dread them?

  

I venture to guess that most of us dislike being forced into actions that aren’t of our choosing.  So, respect others' need for autonomy as well. Give the call, provide the opportunity, and try putting down your stick.

Purr or Growl?

Do you ever think about the messages you send without even opening your mouth?  Body language is a powerful method of communication; one we use every day without thinking about it.  Our culture and socialization greatly determine how we use this tool and even a slight difference in culture affects how we understand each other.

            Here is a simple example from our Stoneybrook pets:

It’s no wonder that cats and dogs are stereotypically enemies! 

We watched this drama unfold earlier in the summer when our over eager Australian Shepherd tried to befriend the tiny orphan kittens we brought home.  At first the kittens were terrified and Indy even seemed put out once in awhile.  Over time, though, Freddy and Gabby learned Indy’s language and all was well.  Then the kittens expanded their territory and met Essie the barn cat.  She sent them every kind of cat “I hate you message” imaginable and they heard “Let’s play” every time.  They’d play with her twitching tail and sally up to her as she hissed.  About the only thing they understood was a sound ear boxing.   They’re still fast friends with Indy, but now that they’ve spent time with Essie, admired her, and imitated her they have little miscommunications with their cross cultural friend.  The other day Freddy tried to share Indy’s supper dish. When he heard Indy’s warning growl he just sank in a little lower with pleasure. He was so content to eat supper with his purring friend that I had to pull him away before he learned his error the hard way.

Try thinking about the body language you use even though it comes so naturally and is often unintentional.  Think about it next time you’re in a high stakes conversation, or you’re in the middle of a miscommunication.  Include nonverbal messages when you think about those you’re sending or interpreting. It may be that those you see instead of hear are contributing more than you realize.