A Revealing Slip?...

I blogged recently about the shift in my self-understanding that was triggered by the Hogan Dark Side questionnaire. In particular, I reached an understanding that my social reserve (in informal situations) is not by fundamental orientation, but a learned defensive behaviour.  That shift has had some real, interesting and thought-provoking results.

The first thing I noticed was shortly after my feedback session, when I attended a reunion of participants on a programme I had run a while previously. Normally, such occasions are precisely those on which my social reserve is evident. Historically, I have engaged little and not particularly enjoy them. However, on leaving that evening, I noticed that I had engaged a lot more, in a more relaxed (and in Hogan terms, colourful and imaginative way) and as a result had enjoyed the occasion a lot more.

Interestingly, that was not as a result of any intention - I had not planned to do so, as a result of my new insight. No, my analysis is that the new insight itself, alone, was enough to change my behaviour slightly, and the positive feedback that elicited from others reinforced that, and that led to a different pattern of engagement.

The next notable point of interest, and one tending in the other direction, arose last week. It was the end-of-course dinner for a year-long programme at a university. Again I was relaxed, and allowing my habitual reserve on such occasions to slip away. And then I said something careless, that I wished I hadn't said, and which was picked up on (very gently) by someone at the table.

I was recounting the story of a film, The Story of Ruth (the 1981 one, with Connie Booth, not the earlier famous film of the same name) which had used our family house as a set - in fact a set for a number of different locations in the film. I mentioned that it was, amongst others, the respite home 'where all the loonies lived...' At that, someone at the table raised an eyebrow and muttered 'careful...' or something.

Reflecting on this later, I was struck by a few things.  Firstly, I was interested in the slip itself. Was it because I was relaxed, and thus betrayed an attitude I would sooner hide?  I don't think so: I really do not think, or talk, about those with mental health problems as 'loonies.' So where did it come from?  My best guess is that in telling the story, I was reverting to the teenager who first told his friends that story in 1981, and used the language I would have used then. Not an all together comfortable reflection, but I think an honest one.

But I was also keenly aware that such an embarrassing slip is precisely the kind of reason that I had developed my social reserve. When I was younger, I would have found it completely mortifying to have been in such a situation, with people (I would have imagined) forming all sorts of judgements about me. But now, I am better placed, emotionally at least, to deal with such embarrassment without being completely distraught. Also, when I was younger, the likelihood was that a social faux pas would lead to ridicule and possibly bullying or ostracisation. That is certainly no longer the case.


So despite the embarrassment of that moment, I remain happy with my less reserved self, and will continue to take the risk of expressing myself more on such informal social occasions - and just pray that I don't make too much of a spectacle of myself!

Enriching the Plot - through film

This week, our first year of the Vice Chancellor's Leadership programme at Winchester came to an end. We concluded with a day of reflection, planning and celebration. As part of that, we invited participants to work in groups to make a film, summarising their learning from the year.

It is a challenge I often set groups, and I am almost always impressed by the creativity they bring to the task. This year at Winchester, we were treated to a Lego movie, a silent movie, an animated alphabet of learning, and a trip along a wonderful model/map of their learning journey.

But I was reflecting on another aspect of this task, this year, in the light of my recently completed book (did I mention I'd written a book?...)  At the end of a programme like this, people will naturally have many stories about it available to them; some parts were better than others, some days less useful than the very best, and so on. Likewise, different members of the group will have different stories about it too. In an academic context, and one in which we have run a pilot programme and are seeking feedback to improve it, there is a risk that the critical comments may come to the fore.

Yet in terms of sustained learning from the programme, and in particular in terms of a continuing sense of agency, which I see as a significant benefit from this particular programme, such a story is not the most helpful one for people to leave with.

So one of the benefits of the film-making (as well as being a lot of fun, which helps to meet the 'celebratory' part of the brief for the day) is that it focuses on the positive learning, and by the process of developing a storyboard, builds a narrative structure for that learning - a story. Then, by translating that narrative structure into an entertaining piece of film, participants strengthen that story in their own minds: enriching the plot, as I term it in my model.

So my hope is that participants will take away that positive story, as encapsulated both in the film and in the enjoyable and energising process of making the film; and that will the their dominant story about the programme: a story that will help them to retain and apply the positive learning from the programme with an enhanced sense of agency.

A Very Different Holiday

From reading this and the last post in quick succession, the casual reader might get the impression that I spend my whole life on holiday! That is not quite the truth (though living in the Lake District, it can sometimes feel that way) but it just so happened that the Chartres pilgrimage and an invitation from some friends to spend a week sailing with them came in quick succession.

So a rapid gear change from the rigours of Chartres (long days of walking, sleeping in icy tents, communal facilities shared by 8,000 people) to a week on a catamaran sailing off the coast of Corfu.

You can tell that I am not used to this ocean sailing lark; on arrival at the catamaran, I was greeted with 'A bit of a swell!' and responded 'Thank you!' I gather that was incorrect.

Actually, by the standards of Gouvia marina, I was anything but a swell. You could see the super yachts lined up in bragging order on a distant quay, and even the humble catamaran we were on probably cost more than my house.

Once again the contrast with Chartres was very marked; and it would be easy to stand on some moral high ground (high wave, at sea?) and denounce the pleasures of the flesh and the indulgence of the wealthy. However the truth is that we had a wonderful week, getting to know our hosts (the parents of our daughter's husband, who refer to us as The Outlaws, reasonably enough) rather better.  And very good company they were, too! I also learned some of the rudiments of sailing a large yacht at sea, as opposed to a small dinghy on Ullswater. We swam, played games, sampled Greek restaurants, bought and cooked freshly caught fish, read, chatted, and relaxed.

So comparing the two holidays, I conclude that they served very different purposes, and met very different needs. A life that consisted solely of cruising on the Mediterranean in the sunshine, having fun and eating and drinking in good measure and in good company would perhaps be lacking something - and it was tempting to make all sorts of judgements about the chap we saw doing his workout on a treadmill on the upper deck of his massive super yacht, while his staff motored ashore in a launch on some errand. But there is certainly a place for real rest and relaxation, and above all slowing down; and particularly in the context of building new friendships. And by the same token, I suspect that an ascetic life, full of the rigours of the Chartres pilgrimage without relief, is a vocation to which very few are called - and that to assume it inappropriately would also be deleterious.

But I don't think I need worry about either temptation too much: the Chartres pilgrimage only happens once a year, and as long as I have a wife and children, I will be ineligible for monastic life; and I certainly won't be chartering a yacht on the Med on a regular basis, either.

And despite our children acquiring a liking for such a splendid holiday, our next one will be back to normal - amongst the midges of Scotland...

Reflecting on meditating

I am just back from a pilgrimage in France: walking from Notre Dame de Paris to Notre Dame de Chartres (some 70 miles) over Pentecost weekend. There is much I could say about this: the beauty of these great Gothic cathedrals is worth several essays; the beauty of the Latin liturgies and accompanying plainchant is worth several more; and the walk in between, 26 miles or so on each of the first two days, and the remainder on the third, offers material for several more.

But the aspect I want to focus on is the link between meditating and the professional work I do; and not least the Thinking Environment approach I have been going on about recently.

I have blogged about meditation before (here in relation to Emotional Intelligence, and here as a sort of progress report on my own practice - and that post contains links to earlier ones on the same topic). But I think it is worth returning to the subject, not least as I find that I keep returning to it in my own thinking. And you can imagine that on the paths between Paris and Chartres there was plenty of time for reflection and meditation.

And one of the things that struck me was this: that in order to do what Nancy Kline advocates (and I have blogged about this previously, on several occasions) one must foster a particular approach to attention, that is at the heart of her approach. 

On the one hand, you must attend fully, generously and with complete commitment to the other person. The quality of your attention is truly generative of the other person's thinking. And at the same time, you must attend to sustaining the other features of the thinking environment: ease, equality and so on. And you also have to attend to the process: where is the thinker up to, and what is your most helpful response once she reaches the end of her current wave of thinking? And to do all of that requires the ability not to pay attention to yourself and your thoughts, feelings and responses in the interim.



It seems to me that meditating develops precisely the qualities necessary to accomplish all of that. The capacity to let go of all the noise in our own heads is one of the first that is developed with a regular practice of meditation. Following that, we acquire the discipline to direct our attention to where we want to direct it. We also develop a profound ease with silence; and in my experience, discomfort with silence is one of the most frequent reasons that people find true listening so difficult. And if our meditation is based on a religious practice, the notion of giving time to God, then we also develop the necessary generosity with our time that supports this type of approach, and quickly learn how time 'given' in this way is in fact time that nourishes us, and is repaid many times over.

A Question of Authenticity

I mentioned a couple of weeks ago (here) that I am trying to grow my @ShiftingStories twitter account, not least with a view to publicising the book in the run up to the launch, in the hope of shifting a few more copies. That seems a reasonable and sensible thing to be doing.

However, something else happened that made me realise the need to manage the boundaries and ethics of promotion (and particularly self-promotion) with great attention. Someone I don't know sent me a request to connect on Linked-In. Normally, I ignore these or turn them down, or if I am feeling nervous about whether it's someone I have met and forgotten, send a note asking when we met.

But this time, because growing my social media presence is on my mind, I accepted. I then got a message back, quite friendly, but very much about promoting this chap's business. Not too bad, but not quite the spirit of the thing, I think. But then, and this is what grated, he endorsed me for five skills: executive coaching, leadership development and so on. Yet, to my knowledge, we have never met, still less worked together.

All of which made me feel that this was somewhat insincere - untruthful even. And worse, that by accepting his initial request, I was colluding with this dishonesty.

The irony, of course, is that following this blatant flattery, I am much less likely to do business with him than I would have been if he had left it at the straight promotional plug - which at least had the virtue of honesty. Apart from anything else, why should I believe those quoted on his page as endorsing him?...

And that gives me pause for thought about how best to promote my book. Overt promotion is I think absolutely appropriate. I have written and published it for a reason: I think I have something of use and interest to say, and I want people to read it. Growing the book's Twitter account very deliberately seems appropriate too: it is transparently an account for the book, and it is in the nature of Twitter to connect with people you don't know. But there is clearly a boundary, and I think you cross it once you start feigning interest in things or people you are not interested in, and that you are way over it once you start giving feedback on people you have never met (or books you have never read, come to that).

Of course, I may be doing the chap an injustice: I notice we have several connections in common, and it may be that they have all been singing my praises to him, so he feels he can endorse me with total honesty. I would like to believe that, I really would. But I have my doubts...

Attention Must Be Paid

I am increasingly interested in the effect of attention. It is, of course, one of the qualities (and possibly one of the most important components) of a Thinking Environment, according to Nancy Kline (see here for my various reflections of Nancy's work).

But at present, it is another effect of attention that has caught my... attention.

For some time now, I have been doing some voluntary work, supporting a young lad who is perceived to be at risk of dropping out of, or at least completely disengaging from, formal education.

I visit him every week, and sit and chat; often while he is entertaining himself playing a video game, and so on.  The idea, I think, is that over time, we will build sufficient rapport that I may be able to exert some gentle influence over him, with regard to his studies...

But so far, I have concentrated on getting to know him, finding things to bring along that he will find interesting or entertaining (anything from magic tricks to my air rifle...) and so on. I have deliberately not weighed in on the subject of his school work (or even his school attendance, which is patchy), as I have judged it too soon.

So I was surprised to hear that at a case conference about his situation, the school was reporting a marked improvement in his attitude, and were attributing that to my visits.

I replied (to the organisation that organises this voluntary work, who were at the case conference) that it couldn't be anything to do with me, as we had not discussed such issues yet. But they were of the opposite view.  They said that in their experience there was frequently a marked improvement in attitude and behaviour, once a young person started to receive regular and reliable attention from an adult, regardless of what, if anything, was discussed.

All of which reminded me of this quotation from Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman.

Attention must be paid: not a bad aphorism to remind ourselves of on a regular basis...

Shifting Stories

This week I have sent the final proofs of the book to the publisher. That follows several weeks of proofreading, amending, re-proofing, catching a few more errors or infelicities and amending, re-proofing. And then a catastrophic computer failure (the screen dying) on the part of Jane’s Mac, on which the book was. Fortunately we had an up-to-date backup, so were able  to buy a new machine and rescue it. 

In celebration of finally sending it to the publisher, and also because I was running a workshop on Shifting Stories for leaders at Sunderland University, I launched a Twitter account for the book: @ShiftingStories.

The idea is to start the process of engaging people in conversation about the ideas in the book, signpost the new website (to follow) where I hope more extensive conversation will take place, and, of course, prompt people to buy the book when it is published.

So if anyone has any expertise on growing a Twitter account, I'd be most interested!

I also had the good fortune, this week, to learn from Mark Reed how he has been successfully marketing his excellent book: The Research Impact Handbook . This is selling extremely well, and he kindly shared his marketing strategy with me. The first thing to say is that Mark’s book looks excellent: I have only had time to dip into a borrowed copy so far, but that was enough to convince me to buy it.  But there is no doubt that one of the other reasons it is selling well, is that Mark has given serious thought to his marketing strategy, and I look forward to learning more from him.

I also announced the other week that I had seen Mike’s latest design for the cover of Shifting Stories, and this seems like a good time to post that to this blog: so here it is.

I am also toying with writing a short book on one particular story and how it may be shifted. I imagine calling this one: One Day They'll Find Out: Imposter Syndrome and Other Stories.  I would be very interested to know if anyone would find that a good topic. One option would be to make it available as a free .pdf book, as a trailer or taster for Shifting Stories. But as I say, that is still at the 'toying with the idea' phase.