Human Connection

I wrote recently about the vagaries of blogging, and how interesting it was that a fairly light-hearted post, such as one I wrote about my self-consciousness when putting my foot down when cycling, seemed to generate more interest than more thoughtful (and I hoped) thought-provoking pieces about my professional work.

Then, over the last week or so, I have been struck by the far, far higher level of engagement in response to a brief post about meeting my new grandson for the first time. I think that was partly as a result of the picture that accompanied the post - he is very photogenic. But I also suspect that something else is going on here, and that is about human connection.

I have written before about the huge importance of giving attention to others, and the impact that can have. This is, of course, foundational in any coaching or mentoring work, and it is no coincidence that the first, and arguably most important, of Nancy Kline's components of a Thinking Environment, is Attention.  However, I would argue that it is equally important in many other settings.

Last week, I facilitated an event for fifty or so people to refresh the Global Strategy of a Russell Group University. I started the day by reminding them of the need to pay attention to each other, throughout the day, and inviting them to do so during the introductions, when I asked them to say (in addition to who they were) something that had made them smile recently. That, of course, made people smile: and also invited them to share human moments. A few commonalities emerged - cats, children, natural beauty, and so on - and the result, I think, was that there was a real sense of human connection.  And I nearly hadn't done it: 50 people taking just 30" each meant nearly half an hour. But it was half an hour well-invested.

Likewise, we structured the various activities in ways that supported attention and connections (and reminded them of the importance of attention regularly). Several told me that this reminder and the way it was embodied in the design of the day, had made it very different - more engaging, more generative, more enjoyable, and more energising - than their typical awaydays.

The same applies to teams, to relationships between line managers and reports... in fact just about everywhere, except ChatGPT. Human connection is essential.

Of course it takes time; but if you haven't got time for other people, we know what that communicates: you don't value them. And if you don't value them, why would you expect to get good outcomes from your interactions?

On the other hand, if you take the time, and make the effort, to connect as human beings, not only will the relationship be more satisfying, but it is likely to be more productive; and that productivity will also be more sustainable, as the mental and psychological benefits of human connection are well understood.

But that's not the most important reason to connect. The most important reason is because it is the human thing to do. All else flows from that.

And thanks to everyone who connected with me about my grandson's birth!

The Vagaries of Blogging

The other day, I wrote a blog post about a tiny incident that had amused me: catching myself looking around, a bit embarrassed, to check that nobody had seen me be less than perfect. It struck me as a mildly ridiculous, but very human, moment. 

I nearly didn't post it, as it was pretty light weight and inconsequential; but I did anyway.  And to my (mild) surprise it got more likes and comments on Linked In than anything I had posted for quite a while.  That, too, struck me as amusing. Normally I try to share something that is thought-provoking, or offers an insight, or at least some musings about some aspect of my professional practice - all things that you think might better engage the type of people who read my Linked In posts.  But no, it was the trivial and inconsequential post that got more people engaged. And it's not the first time. And -interestingly - the comments were often quite insightful and always thoughtful - more so than the original post.

And that got my wondering: why? I came up with several hypotheses. One is simply that I had given the post a punning headline, so people may have been misled or intrigued by that, and got sucked in to reading it. A second is that people find it refreshing when a Linked In post isn't 'how wonderful I am, buy from me' or 'How inspirational this person/quotation is!' A third is that my laughing at myself prompted the reaction: in some a sense of vulnerability that is a common human condition; and in others a sense of pathos - a number were keen to reassure me that I wasn't a failure of a human being... (this one missed the mark, somewhat, as I am more inclined to an inflated sense of my self-worth than the reverse, and such posts are, in part, an antidote to that).

The question that then arises, of course, is: do I therefore publish more posts of that nature, rather than my (clearly less engaging) thoughtful pieces? And that raises two further questions. One is, was that post really more engaging, or (for example) am I indulging in confirmation bias?  And the second question is, is the point of my posting to get the most likes/comments, or something else?

A quick skim back over Linked In shows that there was certainly more comment on this post than on others recently; but perhaps not as much as I was thinking. On my own blog, comment is much less frequent (that in itself is interesting) and reader numbers were similar to other posts.  Also, my own blog (on which it is much easier to see these stats over the long term) shows that my most-read post of all time was a more thought provoking one (about non-judgemental coaching, as it happens, and what we really mean by that). 

Turning to the second question, whilst it is easy to be gratified by likes and comments, that is clearly not the reason for my writing - otherwise I could produce much more click-baity posts. So why do I do it?

There are several reasons. One is that part of my identity is as a writer. I believe I have a certain talent for writing, but have only written one (published) book - blogging (in which I include posting articles on Linked In, as I always cross-post my blog posts in that way) is an outlet for that part of me. Related to that, I find that writing is often a good way for me both to clarify and to capture my thinking at a point in time; and writing for others (as in blogging) is very different from my own reflective writing. On the one hand, I clearly can't go into specifics about individual clients without fictionalising them to make them unidentifiable; but on the other, writing for others has a different dynamic, in terms of meaning-making, and reaching (at least) some tentative conclusions etc.

However, the most important reason for blogging is that I see it as an effective way of staying in touch with a wide range of people who have come across me and my work, in a way that I hope they find enjoyable and thought-provoking. And perhaps that last point - thought-provoking - is why I will continue to post mainly more reflective pieces about my practice and my thinking, and save the trivial life stories for the odd occasion when they arise and may speak to the enjoyable part of the mix...

Putting my foot down

The other morning, as I was cycling up the fell in the dark, wind and rain, I suffered the indignity of having to put one of my feet to the ground, to maintain stability. A small thing, I know, but embarrassing to a cyclist who likes to think of himself as proficient. I know I found it embarrassing as I caught myself looking around to see if anyone had witnessed this shameful lapse. Given that it was 7am, dark, wet and deserted, that seemed unlikely. But clearly, I wanted to be sure.

Then I cycled on, wondering whether this was a sign that I was really getting too old for this cycling malarkey. I skidded in some deep mud, and put my foot down again.  Another furtive glance around to check there were no witnesses.  

And so up the steep part towards the summit of my local hill, pondering gloomily on how that was twice - and I had not previously had to do such a thing for ages... I was so deep in thought, indeed, that I went too near a sharp dip and my bike slipped from under me, and I fell off. The indignity!  I didn't hurt myself: the hill was steep, and the headwind strong so I was going slowly; and the mud was soft. And by now I was pretty certain that there was nobody about, let alone with the infra-red technology that would have enabled them to see me. But still, the shame!

Me in the mud (in the dark)

As I cycled back home, still brooding, I realised that there was a bright side: it would give me something to blog about this week - and I hadn't done a cycling blog for some time.  Further, it was a perfect metaphor for... what?  I was really clear at the time, but now the memory eludes me. You will have to construct your own meaning or metaphor, as I simply can't recall the pithy wisdom that I had generated. 

Maybe I'm getting too old for this blogging malarkey.

Blighter's Rock

 I thought this morning that I would not have time to write a blog post today.  But things change.

And now I can't think what to blog about.  That feeling, of course, instantly brings to mind the wonderful scene in Shakespeare in Love, when Will is consulting his soothsayer about his writer's block. And that brings to mind the superstition of writers in even naming the phenomenon. Russell Hoban used the phrase Blighter's Rock (but then he would, wouldn't he).

The difference (one of the differences, to be more accurate) is that I am not a writer in the sense that either Shakespeare or Hoban was. And whilst I don't subscribe to Johnson's view that No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money, I do recognise the difference between serious professional writers and casual bloggers. And when considering Shakespeare or Hoban, that quality of genius also springs to mind as a differentiator.

All of which raises the question, why do I write blog posts? The question is simple enough, but the answer is quite complex. I think there are several contributory factors.  

One is that I do see myself, in part, as a writer. As well as the book I have published, I have written some radio plays (all wisely rejected by the BBC, though I was a near finalist in their playwriting competition many years ago), and I write a lot professionally: handout material, video scripts, reports for clients on consultancy projects and so forth.

Another is, I suppose, marketing; in that broadest sense of keeping in touch with some of my client base in a way that I hope is engaging, and reminds them of who I am; and for potential clients giving them some flavour of that.

A third is the adulation. At least a couple of people, over the last few decades, have said that they enjoy reading my blogs, and I as am susceptible to such praise as most people.

A fourth is that it is one of my disciplines; that is to say, one of those practices to which I have made a commitment, as part of my regular routine. (I can't quite remember why, but probably for all of the reasons I am rehearsing now). So it has become totemic, for me, of honouring a promise I have made to myself.

A fifth is that my writing often entertains me (sad, perhaps, but true) and sometimes others.

But perhaps the most significant is something that I have alluded to occasionally in previous posts: I write my blog posts to think out loud: to explore my thinking about whatever is on my mind - and this week, that happens to be, why do I write blog posts. 

The real mystery, of course, is why anyone reads them.

The Cleverness of Me

Occasionally, I meet someone who mentions that they read and like my blog. Typically, they say that is because I don't spend all my time talking about how wonderful I am and what clever things I am just doing (and, by the way, buy now!).

So based on that haphazard approach to understanding my readers' interests, I have decided to write a blog post about how wonderful I am and a clever thing I have just done (though still lacking that incisive sales pitch, alas). 

Having said which, it did take me some time...  

So, to start at the beginning: when the children were smaller (they are now all in their 20s and have moved out) I was from time to time frustrated to find that all the pencils in the house were blunt. So I bought one of those rather good pencil sharpeners - you know, the kind you remember from junior school (at least, if you are of my generation). But the problem was, where to mount it? Because you cannot use it without screwing it down: otherwise you would need one hand to hold it, one to hold the pencil, and a third to turn the handle.

My dilemma was that the old dining table that I use as a desk is rather nice beech, and I was reluctant to drive screws into it. So I had the bright idea of fastening it to the shelves above my desk: but allowing for the handle and the length of a pencil, that would have taken the best part of a foot (30 cm for you youngsters) of available shelf space out of use: and we never have enough shelf space.

And then, the other day, with that flair for genius that is my stock-in-trade, and a mere 20 years or so after first buying the thing, I realised that I could screw it to the bottom of a shelf - for it works just as well upside down!

And I have been as happy as can be ever since: and all of our pencils have been sharpened. 

--

With thanks to Marcus Spiske for sharing his photo on Unsplash

Own blog vs Linked-In

Every week (or at least that's the plan) I post a blog post, both on my own site and also on Linked-In.  These are about whatever has piqued my interest that week - an eclectic approach that, I hope, reflects my style.

Without having done any serious analysis (Ain't nobody got time for that, as my daughters would assert), I have been mildly interested in some posts getting far more views on my blog than on Linked-In, whilst others are the reverse.  I should add, we are not talking huge numbers in any case: my most viewed post only got 705 hits, and that is far higher than the average.

This reflection was prompted by my last post, on Insights from Transactional Analysis, which got an average number of views on my own blog, but four times the average number on Linked-In.  I can't see that it has been widely shared, so can only assume there was something about it that caught peoples' eye.  And looking back, I think that on balance the posts that get lots of hits on Linked-In are ones that refer to known models or theories (Conversational Intelligence,  More Time to Think,  Non-Judgmental Coaching, The Dynamics of Confrontation, The Problem with Learning Styles), offering new perspectives or insights on something already vaguely familiar.



Whereas the posts that get more hits on my own blog are typically more individual (Strategic Five Marketing: A Scam?, Scotts Law, In Defence of MBTI (sort of), On the 50th Anniversary of the Abortion Act, and [the only one to get unusually high hits on both platforms] The Problem with Learning Styles).

So what do I conclude from this?  Is it that people who read my own blog are more likely to be interested in me personally, and therefore be interested in the more individual-sounding stuff?  Is it that people use Linked-In to look for new takes on familiar topics? Is it that I am seeing patterns that aren't really there - making up a story based on inadequate and selective viewing of low-grade information?

I don't know - but I thought it interesting; at least interesting enough to give me a subject for this week's post. And even as I write this, I am already recognising the flaws in my approach here, which are many. But I've written this now, so will put it out there anyway, rather than bin it and think of something new - ain't nobody got time for that...

And I will watch with interest to see how many hits this one gets - and on which platforms. 

Blogging about failure

Something I've been thinking about recently - and a stimulating conversation with Andrew Derrington brought it back to mind today - is sharing reflections about failure.

I am a great believer that we can learn a lot from things going wrong. Many years ago, I used to convene meetings of AMED in the North East. Far and away the most successful meeting I can remember was one where we invited members to share their greatest training disasters.

To their credit, members rose to the challenge, and we heard some hilarious stories; and there was a high degree of resonance: in most cases, we agreed, we had all been there. And in discussing our disasters, and each others' perceptions of where things had gone wrong, we all learned a great deal.

So I would like to blog about failures I have had; but there are a few problems.

One is that I don't have that many. That's not a problem in other contexts, of course, but if I want to blog about failures, it would be useful to have a few to choose from.

The second, and related to the first, is that the one or two things that have gone wrong still hurt, even though they may be some time ago.  Moreover, and this is the point, they may still be sore for my client; and that brings me to the most difficult issue. These are not just my stories: others are involved, and almost inevitably, if I am to reflect honestly on them, that may involve criticism of them.

Of course, I can anonymise them, and change details, etc to protect people or organisations from being identified, but my fear then is that other clients may think I am writing about them, and viewing as a failure something they (and indeed I) don't see as one...

The other concern, of course, is that by writing publicly about my failures, I may put off current or prospective clients  or collaborators.  However, I think  any client who wants to work with someone who claims never to have got anything wrong is probably not a client I'd want to work with, so I think I can take that risk.

So... (deep breath) here goes. No1 in a (very) occasional series.

Some time ago, a former boss - let's call him Paul - in an organisation I'd worked in, and who knew I was interested in writing, took me out for lunch at a Greek restaurant.

To be honest, I  was flattered. I had only set up the business a short while previously, and was naturally keen for new business. So after a few retsinas, Paul broached the business part of the conversation. There was a need to train managers in the organisation to write more clearly and succinctly. So he had commissioned a specialist consultancy to develop an Authorship Skills programme. Now he needed someone to deliver the programme. Here he laid on the flattery a bit, saying that the specialists had developed a great programme, but he wasn't convinced their training skills were anything like as good as mine; though they were cheap.  So if I were prepared to match their price (which was lower than my day rate) the work was mine.

It was, he assured me, a way back in to working for the organisation, and in future, naturally, they would pay my usual rates, but on this occasion... And then there was the volume of work...

So I ended up running poorly-designed workshops for managers who didn't want to be there, and felt patronised to boot, for cut rates, in an area that was outside my core competence.  Unsurprisingly, I didn't enjoy these, I don't think they really addressed the issue, and I was never invited back to do any other work for that organisation.

But I learned a number of valuable lessons, early in my freelance career:

• Don't drink when negotiating a contract
• Don't drink with clients you don't really trust
• Don't listen to flattery
• Don't say yes immediately to things you are unsure of - take the time to reflect
• Don't cut price for the promise of future business
• Don't agree to run programmes designed by someone else sight unseen (though I have breached that since, which may be the subject of the next in this series)
• Don't work outside your core expertise without explicitly discussing that with your client
• Don't assume your client has undertaken good (or indeed any) diagnosis
• Don't agree to sheep-dip programmes where everyone is compelled to attend regardless of need

The last two points underpin most of the rest, in this instance: these workshops were always going to be tough, because the need they addressed was ill-defined, only perceived by some senior people, and not recognised by the victims of the process.



What brought all this back to my mind was hearing about Andrew Derrington's workshops, targetted at academics writing research proposals.  Here the need is specific, identified and acknowledged; and Andrew clearly has the expertise and experience to deliver them.

The contrast could scarcely be greater.

Unpacking Your Chair

Had the next day of the programme for new professors at Newcastle today.  The focus was on the use of media in support of the professor's role.

So half the day was in the TV studio, with media pro Tony Baker, learning the skills of television interviews  and then practicing them on camera.  This is always fascinating - both because I always learn something new about the art fo the TV interview, and because the academics talk about their research in new ways.  So today I learned a bit about the life and work of John Piper, about a proposal in 1965 to demolish Whitehall and replace it with a new concrete civic space, and about Algerian film-making.

The other half of the day was run by Joanna Berry from the Business School, who took us through a range of Social Media, from blogging and micro-blogging to slideshare, youtube and hootsuite, explaining how they can be used, why they might be helpful and so on: a really fascinating afternoon.

Too busy to blog...

It has been a really busy period recently, with book interviews, and the development of a number of new programmes for various clients, old and new.

Somehow I am still misled by the diary (which shows a few days at home) into thinking it will be a quiet week: and then I try to fit in all the things I've committed to...

Holidays

I'm off now, after a flurry of busy-ness.  Taking August as holiday with the family, and a little time to work on my book.

Have just landed a couple of bits of work that mean we are going to hit our targets for the next year, so won't have to sell the kids into slavery over the next few months.

So a summer of rainy walks, mowing wet grass, and camping with the kids awaits - and I shall return refreshed (?) and ready for action in September.  Blogging likely to be sparse, but you will survive without me for a few weeks...

My diary broadcast

Struck by the brilliance of this blog, Radio Cumbria asked me to keep a diary for a week for their Little Cumbria programme. So I will be in the studio this Friday recording that. Have warned the postman to get in training so as to be fit to carry all the subsequent fan mail up the hill...

What's going on?

People are often surprisingly interested in the other things I do, apart from the particular context in which they've encountered me.

So I have started this blog and a Twitter account as a way of giving people a glimpse of the range of things I get embroiled in.

Some entries will be straightforward accounts of what's going on, where that's in the public domain. For confidential work, I will change names, organisations, timelines etc to protect my clients' identities, whilst telling the stories I think people will find interesting and instructive.