At the intersection where structure and behavior bump up against each other, there’s a paradox. We rely on structure to govern the predictable parts of our lives. We know the places we’re obligated to be, the tasks we’re paid to do, the people we’ll be meeting soon. They’re in our calendars and in our heads so we can prepare. We have structure—etiquette, our rules for what’s appropriate—to guide and instruct us. We generally know how to behave when we see something coming.

But what about all the unguarded interpersonal moments that aren’t marked down on our schedules? The annoying colleague, noisy neighbor, rude customer, angry client, distressed child, or disappointed spouse who unexpectedly demand attention when we’re neither prepared nor in the best shape to respond well? If the moment materializes at the wrong time of day, we may be operating under depletion’s influence—and regret it.

That’s the paradox: We need help when we’re least likely to get it.

Our environment is loaded with surprises that trigger odd, unfamiliar responses from us. We end up behaving against our interests. Quite often, we don’t even realize it. We lack the structural tools to handle bewildering interpersonal challenges. (If only there were an app for that—a ringing tone on our smartphone alerting us, Things are about to get testy. Be cool.)

I recall some years ago when my friend Derek unexpectedly lost his fifty-nine-year-old father after a routine surgical procedure. The death hit Derek hard but after a week off to comfort his mother and settle estate matters, he went back to work, looking like the old Derek. During the next six months, however, he endured an unprecedented string of career calamities. His two biggest clients left him. A couple of valued employees jumped to the competition. And two projects were canceled. It took him three years to regroup and recover the income and status he’d lost.

When I asked him about that black hole in his career, Derek said, “It’s a simple story. My father was the first person I loved who died. I was in shock. So I behaved like a man in shock. I neglected people that mattered. I ignored deadlines. I didn’t return phone calls. People quickly chose to stop doing business with me. I see it now but only because of the damage I did to myself.”

Derek is not rationalizing or making excuses. He was a consummate professional before that dark period, and has been since. The sloppy work habits were triggered by his father’s sudden death—and his inability to deal with his grief. Society provides structure to deal with a loved one’s passing—funerals, mourning periods, grief counselors, support groups, therapists explaining Kübler-Ross’s five stages of grief. But Derek either scoffed at or didn’t have access to this kind of therapeutic structure. He only appreciated his dilemma after the fact. When he needed help, he made sure he wouldn’t get it.

The Awful Meeting

Let’s take it down a few notches in severity from the triggering impact of a parent’s unexpected death and talk about more common interpersonal challenges where we respond poorly without structure. What kind of structure are we talking about?

It should be a simple structure that (a) anticipates that our environment will take a shot at us and (b) triggers a smart, productive response rather than foolish behavior. I suggest that simple structure is a variation on the Daily Questions, a process that requires us to score our effort and reminds us to be self-vigilant. It’s a structure that alters our awareness profoundly.

For example, imagine that you have to go to a one-hour meeting that will be pointless, boring, a time-suck better spent catching up on your “real” work. (We’ve all been there.) You have no interest in masking how you feel about the meeting. You walk in sporting a sullen look on your face, signaling that you’d rather be anywhere but here. You slouch in your chair, resisting eye contact, doodling on a notepad, speaking only when you’re called on, making perfunctory contributions. At meeting’s end, you’re the first one out the door. Your goal was to spend the hour being miserable—and you succeeded.

Now imagine at meeting’s end you will be tested—just you—with four simple questions about how you spent that hour:

1. Did I do my best to be happy?

2. Did I do my best to find meaning?

3. Did I do my best to build positive relationships?

4. Did I do my best to be fully engaged?

If you knew that you were going to be tested, what would you do differently to raise your score on any of these four items?

I’ve posed this question to thousands of executives. Some typical responses:

• I would go into the meeting with a positive attitude.

• Instead of waiting for someone to make it interesting, I’d make it interesting myself.

• I’d try to help the presenter in some way instead of critiquing him in my head.

• I would come prepared with good questions.

• I would challenge myself to learn something meaningful in the meeting.

• I would try to build a positive relationship with someone in the room.

• I would pay attention and put away my smartphone.

Everyone has good answers. That’s the motivational kicker in knowing you’ll be tested afterward. It turns the indifferent environment of a boring meeting into a keen competition with yourself. It makes you hyperaware of your behavior. The specter of testing triggers a natural desire to achieve something that reflects well on you, that is, scoring well on happiness, meaning, engagement, and relationship building. Achieving misery falls by the wayside, exposed as the folly it is.

Here’s my radical suggestion. From now on, pretend that you are going to be tested at every meeting! Your heart and mind will thank you for it. The hour that you spend in the meeting is one hour of your life that you never get back. If you are miserable, it is your misery, not the company’s or your co-workers’. Why waste that hour being disengaged and cynical? By taking personal responsibility for your own engagement, you make a positive contribution to your company—and begin creating a better you.

Think of this idea as a small mental gyration for altering your behavior. Testing is usually a post hoc event—after the performance, then the scoring. This pretend-you’ll-be-tested concept flips it around. It’s not cheating. It’s not a gimmick. It’s structure, the kind that successful people already rely on. Like trial lawyers never asking a question they don’t know the answer to, you’re taking a test with the correct answers provided in advance—by you. For the one hour you find yourself in that dreaded meeting, you’re giving yourself help when you need it most.