Nine

Always Ready to Play

A dog has lots of friends because he
wags his tail and not his tongue.

—Anonymous

A peculiar thing about dogs and humans: dogs love routine. As much as any animal on Earth, dogs seem to relish the predictability of schedules: waking up, eating, doing their business, and going for walks at the same time every day. Repeating the same route through the woods and the streets, sniffing the same bushes and hydrants. Dogs like to know they have a job to do and pride themselves on doing what’s expected of them, day after day.

You as a human, on the other hand, probably prefer to see yourself as free-spirited and free-thinking. You downplay your reliance on routine and prefer to point to the unpredictable and autonomous decisions you make. You like to believe you’re making free choices and can change your mind on a whim.

But when it comes to spontaneity, who is the real master? Of course, it is the dog. Your dog can be lying on the sofa, snoring away, but if you whisper the words, “Want to go for a walk?” in its ear, it will be off the couch and jumping up and down in a heartbeat. Literally, one physical heartbeat! A dog can be working a bone with single-minded concentration, but if you ask, “Wanna go for a ride?” the bone is instantly forgotten. Show a dog a leash, a ball, or a Frisbee, and its entire body will spring to life with the promise of play.

Dogs seem to require almost no transitional period to shift gears. They can go from dead sleep to flying through the air, chasing after a cat in point-zero-three seconds. They don’t need to spend half an hour nursing a cup of coffee before they face their day. They don’t need to psych themselves up for exercise or wind down before relaxing.

Humans are more likely to resist change. We’re not resistant only to life change, but also to moment-to-moment change. We get locked in to whatever state we’re currently in. If we’re in work mode, we have a hard time stopping for a break. Once we’re on break, we have a hard time getting back to work. We resist going to sleep at night, but then we can’t tear ourselves out of bed in the morning.

Wherever we’re at, we want to stay there until we feel ready to move on to something new.

The Almighty Agenda

Though you don’t consciously realize it, you have an agenda for almost every second of every day. You break your day up into blocks of time and assign each block a purpose. You have dedicated times for exercise, meals, work, fun, spirituality, shopping, and intimacy. You even allot time slots for particular emotions and don’t feel entirely comfortable mixing them up. There’s a time to “be serious” and a time to have fun; a time for action and a time for reflection. Too much laughter at work is unprofessional. Too much heaviness during “Happy Hour”—yes, an hour reserved for being happy—is seen as being a downer.

I was recently struck, for example, by how odd the concept of “comedy” is. Humans literally designate special times for laughing. We go out to a comedy club or watch a comedy on TV so we can enjoy a scheduled period of humor.

When there is no “official” agenda for a given period of the day, you invent one. An agenda for every moment. You don’t like it when your spouse wants to talk to you during “catch up on the news” time or when your child asks you probing questions during grocery-
shopping or meal-cooking time. You don’t want to take calls from your tax attorney when you’re watching the game. And you certainly don’t want to talk to your mom when you’re getting frisky with your mate.

In fact, I would say the number one reason any person is in a bad mood at any given time is that his or her personal agenda was disrupted in some way. We humans, in general, are not good at accepting any change we don’t initiate or approve of. Our team loses, our boss yells at us, our date fails to call us back, and we spend the whole day sulking. Some people spend literally years, even entire lifetimes, in a profound state of disappointment because the universe didn’t follow their agendas.

Dogs, on the other hand, seem to welcome disruptions to their agendas. They see these as calls to adventure. It’s not often a dog will turn down a walk because it is embroiled in a particularly compelling episode of Jerry Springer Spaniel. You won’t often hear a dog grouse, “It’s a little early in the day for my snack,” when a meatball is spontaneously offered.

Not only do we assign a purpose to every waking moment, but we also tell ourselves the purpose is tremendously important, and even critical. Humans have a long history of taking themselves too seriously. That’s the price we pay, I guess, for having large, abstract, intellectual brains. We tend to live in our heads and to see our thoughts as serious business and critical to functionality of the universe.

Dogs are far humbler and more other-oriented by nature; that’s part of the reason for their spontaneity. They don’t have any illusions about being masters of the universe and they don’t take their own thoughts, agendas, and preferences too seriously. They’re willing to go with a new idea, at any time of the day or night (as long as that new idea doesn’t involve a trip to the vet).

Being human, you probably feel a sacred duty to remain in control of your own experience and are reluctant to have it hijacked by someone else. However, when you do surrender control and allow the unexpected to happen, you often have the greatest experiences of your life. Odd beings, those humans.

Listening as Play

What does all this have to do with listening? Everything. Because, when you think about it, isn’t listening just an invitation to surrender to the unknown? As a listener, you have no real idea what the other person is going to say. You often think you do, and that’s a problem. To listen well, you must hold yourself in a state of complete openness, ready to receive and respond to whatever shows up. To listen—to really listen—means to set all your inner agendas aside and be prepared to roll with . . . whatever.

True listening is very much like play. It requires the same openness and in-the-moment responsiveness. Listening is like doing improvisation instead of learning lines. It’s like jamming instead of playing a rehearsed tune. It’s like playing a game of follow-the-leader in which you’re the follower.

When we say that an athlete or performer is “in the zone,” what we’re really saying is that the person is in the ultimate state of play. She is responding 100 percent to what’s happening in the moment. She is not thinking about the backhand shot she missed a minute ago or worrying about whether she’ll miss the next one. She is totally focused on what’s happening right now and responding only to that.

That’s what effective listening is, too.

Listening and play share many of the same qualities and dynamics:

And here’s perhaps the biggest similarity: to do either of them well—play or listen—you need to be fearless.

The F-Word: Fear

Dogs are always ready to play. They are not fearful of the present moment or of what’s to come. They seem to have an inherent faith in the universe and to themselves, a confidence that whatever happens next is going to be okay and they’ll be able to deal with it (bath not included). They’ll happily jump into the back of a pickup truck with no idea where the truck is going or how long the ride is going to be. They don’t know if that truck is headed for Nova Scotia and may never come back; but they’re game anyway. Fearless—to a fault, perhaps.

Humans, conversely, are ever fearful about the unknown and about giving up control. We feel anxiety whenever the outcome of a situation is unpredictable, which is why we tend to be poor listeners. The element of the unknown—inherent in listening—pushes our anxiety buttons, and we respond by reverting to familiar, well-worn attitudes and responses.

What Are We Afraid Of ?

It may seem odd to bring up fear when we talk about listening, but I believe that most of our poor listening habits really do spring from fear. Not abject terror, of course, but anxiety. Worry. Discomfort. Nervousness. We feel a little edgy every time someone tells us that we have to stop and listen. We are suddenly required to focus when we didn’t plan to. It’s a loss of control. This causes our brains to react with a solution that provides quick relief, such as interrupting, mentally rehearsing, zoning out, or any of the other leash-law violations. Anxiety is one reason that we aren’t beautiful, doglike listeners.

What is it about the experience of surrendering our attention to another human being that causes anxiety? Here are a few of the more common fears:

We’re worried we’ll have to set our own agenda aside. One of our biggest conversational fears is that if we allow the other person to have the floor, their agenda will steal the show and we won’t be able to say what we wanted to say. If you’re making a sales call, for example, you’re afraid you might lose the opportunity to sell your products. In a relationship conversation, perhaps you fear that if the other person gets on a soapbox first, your point of view will be squeezed out.

Well, guess what? Maybe it will; deal with it. Seriously! Let your agenda go. Give your full attention to someone else’s. It’s a give-and-ye-shall-receive type thing. The person will be so appreciative of your generous listening, you will be given the chance to make your case, either later in this conversation or in a later conversation, and you will become known as a caring listener.

We’re afraid of being criticized. Often when someone tells you they want to talk to you, you are afraid they’re going to take you to task in some way. So you go on the defensive, consciously or unconsciously. You brace for criticism before it even happens. You mentally scramble to defend yourself and are no longer really listening to what the other person has to say.

In most cases, your fear is unfounded. But even when the other person does wish to criticize you, the most powerful thing you can do is to simply listen, openly and non-defensively, resisting all urges to defend yourself.

This accomplishes two things. First of all, it defuses the other person’s issue. By simply listening, without self-defending, you disarm the critic and dissipate their “attack” energy, in much the same way that jiu jitsu absorbs the power of a physical attack. Second, by showing that you are willing to listen openly and non-defensively to criticism, you cement your reputation as an exceptional listener and make a quantum leap in trust with that person. When people discover they can talk to you, about you, they know they can talk to you about anything.

We’re afraid of getting sucked into a conversational “black hole.” One of our biggest fears when a person starts talking is that the conversation is going to blossom into a major time-and-attention suck. We worry that we’re going to have to give up a precious chunk of our day, so we signal reluctance, impatience, or irritation to the other person. Communication is stifled.

I’ve discovered that open, caring listening is more efficient. What might have taken sixty minutes if you listened distractedly gets done in ten. Of course, sometimes the issue on the table is, indeed, a time-consuming one. In that case you can simply say something like, “What you’re telling me is important, and I want to make sure I give it enough attention. I only have a few minutes right now, but let’s find a time we can talk about this in more detail.”

We’re afraid of wandering into a conversational landmine. Whenever someone wants to talk to you, especially in private, there’s a possibility the conversation is going to take you someplace you don’t want to go. The speaker might want to talk about something overly confidential, something squirm-inducing, or something that puts you in a no-win position (e.g., a girlfriend asking, “Do you think this dress makes me look fat?” or a boyfriend asking, “So, do you like my mom?”).

That’s not a good reason to put up listening walls, though. If you sense a conversational red flag popping up, you certainly have a right (and a duty, really) to hit the stop button. Think of it as an opportunity to demonstrate good character. By drawing clear lines about what you will or will not listen to (e.g., gossip or slander), and by admitting honestly when you feel your attention is being misused, your stock will go up, not down. You will gain a reputation as someone who listens openly, but who also has boundaries and a good moral compass.

We’re afraid we’re going to be “recruited.” Another major fear in listening is that we’re going to be asked to do something we don’t want to do or give something we don’t want to give. This is true both at home and the office. After all, when a boss or coworker asks to talk to you, there’s a better than 50 percent chance that your time, allegiance, or labor is being sought.

We’re afraid we’re not going to have answers. Another common fear we have in listening is that we’re not going to have the answers/solutions/expertise we feel we’re supposed to have. Thus, much of the time when we should be listening, we’re actually mentally trying to find a way to be the answer person.

This fear of not knowing the answer is an impediment to playfulness and spontaneity.

Humility: The Power of “I Don’t Know”

Early in my career, I had an embarrassing moment that stuck with me and taught me a great deal. I was spending the day with my boss’s boss’s boss, a visiting VP. We were conducting some in-person meetings out in the field. Early in the day he asked me a question that I felt I should have known the answer to, but didn’t.

Worried about appearing unprepared and inexpert, I spun an elaborate concoction of bull excrement. Though I thought I had gotten away with it, my little fiction-writing exercise ate at me for the rest of the day.

Sure enough, when the VP and I were parting company at day’s end, he praised my work but said, “One thing, though. When you don’t know the answer to a question, it’s better to just say, ‘I don’t know, but I’ll find out and get back to you.’” My face turned fifty shades of crimson, I’m sure. His words burrowed into my gut.

Since that day I have taken the VP’s advice to heart and have been continually astounded by the magical power of the simple words, “I don’t know.” Showing vulnerability, I’ve learned, is not a flaw or a sign of weakness, but a wonderful asset.

The fact is, when people talk to you, their main desire is to be heard and understood, not necessarily to have their problems fixed or their questions answered. Solutions can come later. The main thing, right now, is to understand. An attitude of “I may not know the answer but I want to hear your concerns” keeps you humble, open, and receptive. People would rather think you understand them and are working on a solution than that you are jumping in with solutions without really hearing them. Humility opens far more doors than infallibility.

Dogs are beautifully humble creatures. They don’t take themselves too seriously. They are willing to “take one for the team” and let you treat them in embarrassing ways (ballet tutu for the family bulldog, anyone?); yet they remain noble in spite of this—perhaps because of this.

The paradoxical thing I’ve discovered is that people actually respect you more when you lose your pretentions of omniscience. They begin to trust you, knowing that when you do give them a confident answer, they can depend on it. Why? Because when you don’t know, you admit it. Conversely, those who posture themselves as know-it-alls are not trustworthy, because their need to look smart trumps their need to be honest. And others know that.

Getting over yourself and being humble opens up the spirit of play in all of your interactions with others.

Reframing Anxiety as Excitement

Our fears and anxieties are what keep us from a state of play. Here’s something to keep in mind about anxiety, though. Neuroscience tells us that anxiety and excitement are essentially the same physiological state. Both involve stress and an increase in adrenaline, but we perceive one as negative (anxiety) and the other as positive (excitement). I find it’s often possible (and this is echoed by Laurie Mintz in her article in Psychology Today, “Beating the Odds: Reframing Anxiety as Excitement”)1 to mentally flip a situation of anxiety into one of excitement. After all, they’re basically the same state. Only our attitude toward the state is different.

1 http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/stress-and-sex/201108/beating-the-odds-reframing-anxiety
-excitement

What I’m suggesting is that we can transform the mild sense of anxiety we feel when asked to listen to another person into a sense of adventure—of play, of fun—like that dog jumping into the back of a pickup truck even though he has no idea where it’s going. When we expect the best instead of anticipating the worst, many of our conversations become more exciting, fun, and stimulating.

Playing Well with Others

A doglike spirit of play works magic when speaking to groups. And interactivity (i.e., listening) is the key that turns it on.

When most of us are communicating, especially with a group, we tend to be more comfortable with prepared material. We often plan every beat of a presentation, right down to the dumb little jokes we’re going to tell. It doesn’t even occur to us to engage in a meaningful dialogue with the audience—after all, that could derail our entire planned presentation. So after a few little surface interactions, like “Hey, how’s everybody doing today?” or asking everyone’s name and job title, we go right into our canned stuff.

What I’ve discovered is that the less I lecture and the more I interact with my audience, the better my presentation goes—without fail. When I’m interactive, the audience stays alive, engaged, and awake, from start to finish.

Typically I bring along the standard PowerPoint slideshow as a backup. I’ll tell the audience, right up front, “I brought thirty-two slides, which I’m happy to share with you, but I’d really rather hear what you’d like to talk about.” It may take some prodding to get the first response or two, but then, usually, the floodgates open. The suggestions and comments start flying. I’m already listening and improvising.

When I’m working this way—or should I say, playing this way—the time often flies by and we enjoy a presentation based on information they want to hear rather than stuff I want to say. The feedback is usually positive. It’s not because I’m such a gifted speaker; it’s really just that I make the effort to engage the audience: to take in what they say and to respond to them genuinely, not just as a way to segue back to my script.

They come to listen, but instead they themselves are listened to—what a novel concept!

Improv Mode Versus Performance Mode

A good friend of mine did stand-up comedy some years back, and he told me about a painful night when he had to go on stage after one of the most brilliant performances he had ever seen. Paula Poundstone was just beginning her set when she was distracted by the shoes of an audience member in the front row. Instead of ignoring the shoes, she made a joke about them.

The audience member responded to her, and she got into a dialogue with him. Then another audience member in the back of the room made a remark, and she brought him into the act, creating an impromptu dialogue between the two men. This went on and on as she invented an absurd story about the two of them and the shoes, weaving in the live commentary of other audience members. In her entire twenty minutes, she didn’t do a single line of prepared material! My friend tells me the audience was laughing so hard, they were literally falling off their chairs. When Poundstone’s set ended, she received a two-minute standing ovation.

The reason the audience was so appreciative of Poundstone, of course, was that she’d had the presence to take in what she was being given in the moment, use it, and trust her natural humor gifts to shine. The result was an improvisational masterpiece that never could have happened if she’d stuck to the script.

There are two basic modes you can be in when communicating: “performance” mode or “improv” mode. When you’re in “performance” mode, you’re the star of a one-person show, but when you’re in “improv” mode, you make the people around you your costars. “Performing,” I’ve learned, is often about feeding your ego or catering to your fears. Improv is more humble and listening-driven. It brings others into the act, and both the performers and the audience are enriched and energized. Of course, sometimes you need to use prepared material, but whenever the situation allows, start practicing being more improvisational. Preparation is always warranted, but learning to listen (e.g., accepting input) during your scheduled session of output, will most often serve you well.

A few tips I’ve picked up for playing improv with an audience:

Playing One-on-One

Slipping into “performance” (versus improvisational) mode can be just as much a danger when you’re talking one-on-one as it is when talking to a group. We’ve all been forced to listen to salespeople and others who dump pre-rehearsed performances on us. They might as well be talking to a mannequin. Most of us have also been guilty of that ourselves—putting on a show that doesn’t really include the other person.

This is a wasted opportunity. Sitting right across the table from you, or talking on the phone with you, is a living, breathing person who would prefer to be engaged with you than to just sit there trying to download the content you’re spewing out. Why not embrace that opportunity? True, you may have to give up some of your scripted gems, but what you gain in return is immeasurably richer—an actual dialogue. A connection is made, and that connection is far more valuable than anything you were prepared to say.

Instead of being fearful that listening to others is going to throw you off your game or preempt your agenda, welcome every question or comment as an opportunity to play, to improvise, to explore. Take inspiration from dogs, and be ready to “jump into the back of the pickup truck” at a moment’s notice. Trust that your instincts will almost always take you to a more intriguing place than a memorized script will. No matter what agenda you think is so earth-shatteringly important, forming connections with the people around you is always more important; every dog knows that. And connections happen only when you give up the idea that your script is going to play out the way you wrote it in your head.

And know that the pickup truck will safely bring you back home again.

Something to
Chew On . . .

Rowan

Rowan is a German Spitz from England who was born without eyes. The victim of a congenital defect, Rowan has been blind his entire life, but strangers meeting him rarely notice. Rowan can run and catch and navigate his way through the world as well as any dog who can see, matching them step for step. He does it by listening.

To “see,” Rowan barks, and uses the echo that follows to piece together the shape of the world around him. What he does is a type of echolocation, the same thing bats use to be able to fly at night. They emit a sound too high-pitched for humans to hear, and when the sound echoes back, the subtle changes in pitch and strength tell them what the sound wave bounced off of.

Dogs don’t use echolocation, but without eyes Rowan, at a young age, was forced to teach himself how to create a mental map by comparing the different echoes the sound created when he barked.
He became so finely attuned to this way of seeing that he’s even aware of when trees lose their leaves for winter, a fact that eventually tipped off his owners to what he was doing.

Rowan’s owner, Sam Orchard, said, “People who meet Rowan can’t tell that he’s blind at first. They usually just ask why he’s got his eyes shut. When he was born five days early I kept waiting for him to open his eyes, and when he didn’t I took him to the vet. It was a real surprise when he told me that not only would they not be opening, they didn’t exist. He was born without eyes. I was shocked, but I decided that I would just do the best I could for him, and now he is just like the others, only a bit more special.”