Altered reality

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again–mostly because it is a lesson I have to keep learning myself. Perception is reality.

A couple weeks ago I attended an event that included a panel discussion with people presenting differing viewpoints. One woman came from an under-served neighborhood and felt abandoned by the city. She offered impassioned pleas for more civic interaction, including police presence that involved more than responding to crime. She wanted active integration into the community that included patrols, meet-and-greets, and regular (positive) interactions.

The police representative on the panel responded with a litany of statistics, showering them like raindrops, hoping to fill the other woman’s vessel and quench her thirst.

That didn’t happen.

When the policewoman cited the number of patrols in that quadrant of the city, the woman responded that she had never, ever seen one in her neighborhood. When the PW talked about police interactions at the Boys and Girls Club, the woman reminded her that the Boys and Girls Club was miles from her home, too far for kids to walk. That was great, she said, but it didn’t help the kids around her.

As I watched and listened, I thought, Why can’t the PW see that statistics aren’t reaching this woman? Those facts and figures don’t seem to be affecting her actual life. Even though they might be true, this woman isn’t seeing the benefit of the work being done. The PW just isn’t hearing the NEED. She’s too focused on her response that she’s not hearing the woman.

I had it all figured out. I would never do such a thing, of course. I understand communication!

A few days later, I was talking to one of my kids. He was telling me something really important to him, and he kept saying I wasn’t listening. That I didn’t hear him. That THIS was the way he felt but I just didn’t get it.

I countered with a list of the things I had done and said to prove him wrong. Of course I get it. Didn’t I do this and this and this? Didn’t I tell you that? What about that one time?

Slowly (way too slowly), it dawned on me that throwing “statistics” at him to prove him wrong–did you catch that? TO PROVE HIM WRONG–only widened our gap. He was right; I didn’t get it.

Just like the PW, even if I was “right,” it didn’t matter. My kid still felt disenfranchised. All those things I did? They clearly hadn’t been effective. I needed to take a different tack so I thought I would try to…

Wait a minute.

What I actually needed to do was stop and listen, not figure out my next move. I needed to really listen, not just to his words, but to his feelings and experiences. I needed to try to understand his reality so I could meet him there. My solutions to the problem I thought he had would always miss the mark if our perceptions didn’t align.

Reality is fluid; it depends on through whose lenses it viewed. We need to understand that it differs with each person’s perception.

So let’s stop talking past each other. Let’s stop trying to prove each other wrong and ourselves right. Let’s stop forming a response before the other person is finished speaking.

Instead, let’s start listening. Let’s put on someone else’s glasses and try to see the world from his view. Let’s learn each other’s language so we can communicate better. Let’s put ourselves in uncomfortable situations to get out of our proverbial boxes. Instead of trying to “help,” let’s find ways to work together.

For me, it starts at home.

Silent weapons

weaponsAs I contemplated what to write today, my mind repeatedly drifted back to a concept I played with some time ago: the power words carry not only with their presence, but also with their absence. Perhaps particularly with their absence.

I know how to deal in words. I can use them to soothe, intrigue, challenge, impress, or offend. I can pummel people with them or use them to deflect their targeted blows. Words celebrate, congratulate, contemplate, and correlate. They accuse, defend, justify, and exonerate. They empower and emasculate, deify and humble, elect and depose. Words can do anything.

Maybe it’s just me, but I find the silence left in their absence to be absolutely crushing. Like the heavy air that builds before a storm, the intentional withdrawal of words oppresses me.

ArturSchnabel

Few people will argue that words can be weapons. But many forget that withholding them can be deadly, too.

Use them wisely. And don’t use them wisely.

“The notes I handle no better than many pianists. But the pauses between the notes — ah, that is where the art resides!”. – Artur Schnabel

***Apparently I’m riffing on an old theme. For more of the same, read my 2011 post, The sound of silence