His voice echoes

To have a voice that echoes is rare.

It’s not everyone that can say something and it sticks with you for your whole life. There is so much noise, that to express something people remember, turn over in their mind, and share is incredibly difficult.

First, it takes a clear understanding of reality and of people. You have to see truth clearly and fully. This takes great empathy, deep listening, and humility. And then also, you have to be able to distill a profound, stirring, thought so simply and emotionally that it can be internalized deeply by someone else. This takes a brilliant and sharp mind.

But finally, you also have to be trustworthy. People have to know you are honest and have integrity. That you do the right things for the right reasons. Because if you do not, even the most elegant and prescient idea does not spread far — because they don’t respect or honor the messenger.

My friend Wyman was this way. He had a voice that echoes. When I am most confused and feeling most alone, I remember what he said to me often, “ball don’t lie” and “friends of friends are all friends.” They are simple truths that I didn’t truly understand until he showed me.

He was observant, and a true listener. He was humble, empathetic, and had the sharpest and brightest of minds. And he cared deeply for others. The only way I ever knew him to be was someone who treated others with dignity, except for brief moments, maybe, with someone whose team rivaled the Knicks or Michigan.

It wouldn’t be precise to say that I will miss him, because I have missed him. Distance naturally means less time with friends, even ones that are really close. The only consolation is that his is a voice that echoes. And it will continue to, because of the thoughtful, good, and energetic person he was. That wisdom of his, that essence of his life, will remain.

It is what it isn’t: surfacing struggles as a key leadership responsibility

When we all use phrases like “it is what it is” or “I’m just tired” - portraying that we’re doing fine while masking our struggle.

And honestly, that actually seems rational. Talking about struggles is really hard! And most of the time, we don’t know if the person we’re talking to actually cares or is just interested in making small talk.

And so we use a phrase like, “it is what it is” and move on.

In our culture, we have lots of phrases like these, which have a double meaning - where we’re trying to suggest that we’re doing fine enough but are actually feeling the weight of something difficult.

But just because it’s rational, doesn’t mean we should use phrases like these and just move on - letting the struggle remain hidden.

And if we’re taking the responsibility to lead, whether at work or at home, surfacing and resolving struggles is part of our responsibility as leaders.

The difficult question is how. That’s what I’ve been reflecting on and what this post is about: how do we surface and help resolve struggles when it’s rational to mask them?

Surfacing Struggles

Luckily, we often use consistent turns of phrases when we are surfacing struggles. If we listen for those tells, we have a chance to double down when we hear them and try to learn more.

I asked a question on facebook this week to try generating a list of these phrases which create a subtle and believable facade. Thank you to anyone who shared their two cents, these were the examples folks shared:

• “Living the dream.”

• “I’m fine.”

• “It’s going.”

• “I am okay.”

• “I’m hanging in there.”

• “That’s life.”

• “I’m here.”

• “Another day in paradise.”

• “Eff it.” (Used causally)

If we hear someone use phrases like these (or we say them ourselves) we can use it as a trigger to pause and explore, rather than as a cue to move on.

Surfacing Struggles With Kids

Kids are less obfuscating with their struggles, they come right out and share their little hearts out. They just struggle with being specific about their woes when then say or do stuff like:

• “I can’t do this!”

• “I’ll never figure this out!”

• “This is too hard!”

• [Screams and foot stomps]!

• [Pterodactyl noises with hands over ears]!

• “Poo-poo, poo-poo, POO-POO!”

• “I forgot how to walk!” (My personal favorite from our kids)

With kids, these can be cues to pause, gather our patience and saddle up to emotional coach through some big feelings.

Surfacing Struggles At Work

At work, we’re more opaque, deftly deflecting and misdirecting with our words to make our inner struggles seem like obstacles outside our control. How often have you heard phrases like this?:

• “We don’t have the resources.”

• “We’re too busy.”

• “It’s not our job.”

• “We’ll just CYA and keep it moving.”

• “We need to run this by the executive team first.” (or replace executive team with “legal”, “audit”, or “HR”)

• “We’re breaking the guidelines set out in [insert name of esoteric poorly defined policy that’s only tangentially related to the issue at hand].”

At work, it’s so easy to take these phrases at face value and assume that there’s nothing to explore. But there usually is.

Once I started listening for them, I found that these phrases of deflection came up at home and at work, all the time.

Resolving Struggles

When others use subtle but believable facades to avoid or deflect from their struggles, the key is to decipher what they would actually be saying if they felt like they could be honest and vulnerable.

If we can figure that out, we can meet the person in front of us (or ourselves in the mirror) where they are, understand their true needs, and then help them deal with their struggles.

When someone uses a subtle but believable deflection, they usually, deep down, mean something like this:

• “I’m overwhelmed. There’s so much happening and I can’t even figure out where to start.”

• “I’m scared. Things are not going well and I don’t know whether the future will be better.”

• “I don’t trust you. I need you to give me reasons to put my faith in you.”

• “I’m stuck. I’ve been trying to make this better but nothing seems to make a difference. I need help.”

• “I feel alone. I don’t feel the support of other people on this very difficult thing we’re going through.”

• “I don’t believe in myself. I need convincing that you won’t let me fail.”

• “I don’t care. To keep going, I need to feel like what we’re doing actually matters.”

• “I don’t trust our group. I’ve been let down before and I don’t want to be hurt again.”

• “I’m confused. I don’t know what to do or what’s expected of me.”

• “I’m ashamed. I need to feel included and that my behaviors don’t make my worth conditional.”

• “I feel guilty. I need encouragement and guidance that I can do better.”

• “I feel like I’m in danger. I need you to help me feel safe.”

If we discover the real root feeling or struggle, the posture we need to take is relatively straightforward. It’s rarely an easy struggle, but if we know what the person in front of us is actually dealing with, we actually have a chance to be helpful to them. If we don’t understand, we definitely won’t be helpful, even if we’re well-intentioned and try really hard.

Practical Skills Matter: Listening, Integrity, Compassion

The practical lesson that I’ve learned is twofold.

First, we need to listen very carefully for these very subtle deflections and instead of being fooled by them, we need to sharpen our focus. We need to pause and graciously lean in. These deflections are really tells that the person in front of us, or ourselves if we say them out loud, are actually struggling.

Second, we need to find a way to hear precisely what the person in front of us is having a hard time saying. That can happen in one of two ways. We either have to listen and observe very carefully, or, we need to show integrity and compassion so unflinchingly and consistently that the person in front of us feels safe enough to tell the truth.

Conclusions

Beyond the practical tools around how to surface and resolve struggles, there’s a broader point that’s important to make: we have a choice to make.

On the one hand, one could completely reject my point of view. Someone could say, “I’m not responsible for helping every person in front of me with every single one of their struggles. They need to suck it up, they need to figure some of this out on their own. They need to take responsibility for their own struggles, that’s not fully on me.”

Maybe that’s true, at least to some degree. In my life, I’ve found it impossible to help someone who’s not enrolled in the journey of finding a better way. And, it’s also true that we have practical limits. We as individuals can’t possibly do this all ourselves - there’s not enough time or energy available to us to take every struggle of the people we care about onto our shoulders alone.

But at the same time, I believe we need to try because we owe it to each other. We have all struggled. We have all needed someone to help us surface and resolve our struggles. We all have been helped, by someone, at some time. Nobody in this world has done it alone.

And if we want to move forward - whether it’s with our kids at home or with our colleagues at work - someone has to be responsible for it.

So when someone in our orbit next says something like, “it is what it is” or “I’m just tired” I hope we all choose to say something like, “oh really, what do you mean?” Instead of letting the conversation pass as if nothing happened.

That’s the choice we have ahead of us. Let’s choose to listen deeply.

Photo by Christina Spiliotopoulou on Unsplash

Leaders must create profound silence

Imagine walking into a bustling coffee shop. The whirring of espresso machines, heated debates over the latest news, and the clatter of cups and saucers create an overwhelming din. Now, imagine if all those noises were amplified by a microphone and broadcast over a loudspeaker as you sipped your coffee.

But finally, imagine if someone in the middle of this chaos could flick a switch, transforming the noise into a hum, the hum into a whisper, and finally, the whisper into silence. Suddenly, in the quiet, you can hear the person next to you, the words of a book being read aloud, or even your own thoughts. This is the power of creating silence.

We live in a world of ceaseless noise. At work, we often find that the louder we are – the more assertive in meetings, the more vocal in lobbying for promotions, the more boisterous in attracting customers and followers – the more recognition we receive. Particularly in large organizations, there's a perceived correlation between the volume of one's voice and the likelihood of reward.

Likewise, our family and community lives are marked by volume, though less as an incentive and more as a trap. Community meetings frequently devolve into verbal contests of who can yell the loudest. As parents, we often get swept up in hectic schedules and an unending flood of information, resorting to yelling out of sheer desperation to keep things under control.

Then there's social media, which amplifies this noise to near-deafening levels. It equips everyone with a microphone, fostering an environment that rewards those who shout the loudest. I'm not criticizing influencers or social media—a trend that's fashionable to critique these days. I'm merely labeling our day-to-day American life for what it is: incredibly loud.

The usual advice is to promote listening, to foster better listeners in this noisy world. But listening, as underrated as it is, may not suffice. Amid the cacophony of voices and plethora of microphones, effective listening becomes an Everest to climb. What we need, in professional settings, at home, or within our communities, is the ability to create silence.

Creating silence differs from listening. Listening involves one person attentively comprehending and empathizing with another—a personal act. On the other hand, creating silence entails reducing the ambient noise, enabling everyone in that space to hear and listen. While listening is a two-person tango, creating silence resembles providing noise-cancelling headphones for the entire room.

So, what does 'creating silence' look like? At work, it might be the pause in a meeting that encourages thoughtful responses, allowing even the quietest person to be heard and respected. It could be a company creating a safe space for critical feedback or praise from its customers and partners. It's the breakthrough idea emerging during a moment of quiet reflection in a workshop. It's a team communicating so effectively that members eagerly anticipate meetings or even deem them unnecessary.

In our homes and communities, creating silence might be even more crucial. It happens when those in power amplify the voices of the less powerful—be it our children or marginalized groups. It's when community leaders stay calm and receptive, encouraging constructive dialogues even when faced with challenging questions. It's the genuine connection made during a family dinner where everyone feels comfortable enough to discuss their week, free from platitudes and arguments.

Creating silence requires a particular kind of swagger—not an arrogant narcissism, but a quiet confidence stemming from self-belief and humility. Only when we are secure within ourselves can we create the silence that allows others to flourish.

Creating silence isn't without challenges, though. It could be misconstrued as suppressing voices or dismissing dissent. In our quest for quiet, we might unintentionally stifle vibrant discussion or inhibit creative conflict. The genuine creation of silence isn't about muffling noise but about cultivating an environment where every voice gets a chance to be heard without being drowned out. It's about discerning when to speak, when to listen, and when to simply relish the silence.

There's also a risk of silence being associated with absence or inactivity. In our fast-paced world, we're conditioned to see quiet as wasted time or empty space needing to be filled. We must remember that silence isn't emptiness but a space full of potential. In silence, we find room to think, reflect, and connect on a deeper level.

Perhaps the concept of creating silence has never been as vital as it is now, given our world's unprecedented noise levels. And why is it so crucial? Because silence makes space for collaboration and connection. We can't collaborate or build relationships unless we hear each other. Even the best listener can't function if they can't hear. That's why we must create silence.

So, where do we start? Like most things, we start with ourselves. We begin by creating silence within our own minds. We can work to silence catchy songs, the hum of to-do lists, or our own inner critics. Whether it's through meditation, self-expression, therapy, or exercise, we need to create silence so we can listen to ourselves.

But we mustn't stop there. Our teams, families, and communities need us to create enough silence so that the shouting subsides. Then we can stop worrying about being heard and truly begin to listen.

As we learn to create this silence, let's maintain an open dialogue about what works and what doesn't. Because in a world that's becoming louder, it's not just about who can shout the loudest, but also about who can create the most profound silence.

The linchpin to goodness: listening to love

This post is an excerpt from Choosing Goodness - a series of letters to my sons, that is both a memoir and a book of everyday philosophy. To find out more about this project, click here.

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In my reflection, the linchpin of goodness is courageous action on the hard stuff, and the linchpin of courageous action is love.  

Love, my sons, is what everything we’re discussing comes down to, and not in a soft, lofty, squishy, and non-specific way. For the purpose of goodness, love is tangible and tactical. Love is the brass tacks of the whole enterprise.

As I’ve thought about love, and where it comes from, the most important practice I can think of is listening. And I don’t mean just listening with your ears and your intellect. I mean the most comprehensive listening possible - with your heart, and your whole body and spirit.

There’s absolutely no chance in the world of loving someone if you know nothing about them. At it’s root, love is knowing something of another person’s story. And when we hear that story, we find something to love about them. Something about their essence and what makes them unique and special. Something of the grace that God himself has place within them to shine forth. You have to understand the truth, at least a little to start, of who someone is to love them.

There’s no chance of this knowing of someone and finding something about them to love – with that deep unselfish, sacrificial, redemptive love – unless your heart is open to listening. Knowing and loving someone cannot occur without listening.

Photo Credit: Unsplash @christinhumephoto

Listening is what puts us on the journey to love, because once we start to understand the compelling story, gifts, and grace that everyone has, we are drawn to them – just a little bit more than we were. And then we learn more of their grace, and we’re drawn in a little closer. And then a little closer.

Listening is like gravity, drawing us in closer. As we listen, we start to recognize the light in them that’s as important or more important than our own needs. We start to value who they are, and feel a genuine sense of care and concern for their well being. They become “same human beings.” And without even realizing it, there comes to be love there.

Listening, perhaps, is not a sufficient condition to love, but it is the first necessary condition to love. 

When it comes to figuring out how to love, therefore, there is no bigger question than how to open up our whole body and heart and listen. The more and better we can listen, the more its gravity draws us in closer to love.

We can start with the basics. There are tips and practices I suggest to help with the mechanical aspects of listening. Before we learn to listen with our whole body and heart, we can try to listen with just our ears.

There are plenty of resources to help you with it, like these articles from NPR, Harvard Business Review, or TED. Some of the basics techniques are things like, “be quiet”, “confirm your understanding with questions”, or “reserve judgement”; a simple Google search will help you find many other tactics you can use to help with the mechanics of listening.

I don’t have much to add to the body of knowledge on the mechanics of listening and active listening. You can read about and practice those skills on your own. What I’ve found, however, is that to really listen in such a way that it leads to a bond of love, it’s a practice requiring more than just the mechanical. Listening that creates gravity between you and someone else takes opening your heart, which is a much different enterprise than what is thought of commonly as “listening.”

Again we turn to the how. How can we open our hearts?

Listening comes from discomfort

Listening might be the most important skill there is. It’s like a steroid for building character muscles.

By listening, I can realize that you, no matter who you are have an extraordinary story - and that will get me to love you more.

By listening, I can find something sacred in you, something of intrinsic value. And if I know that, I can be courageous enough to make a sacrifice for you.

By listening, I can understand what you really need. And then, I can serve you and care for you.

By listening, I give you a voice.

By listening, I can understand that the awful things I assumed about you aren’t true. Listening leads to humility and evaporates stereotypes.

If I could just listen more, I’d be a better man.

But to listen, I need to stop thinking about me for just a minute. For just a little while, I’ve gotta put my task list, my hunger, my fear of failure, and my need to be perceived as awesome off to the side. I’ve got to turn off the voice in my head that says, “I can’t deal with you right now, you’re going to have to wait a minute until I take care of ME.”

That suspension of my ego-monologue is so hard because it creates discomfort. When I put off my own needs, my ego and my body hunker down and make me feel discomfort - emotionally and physically. Which is why it’s so hard to stop thinking about myself and create the space to listen to you - by choosing to listen to you, I’m accepting that discomfort is coming.

I think that’s the key to listening - getting used to discomfort. Because if I can get uncomfortable, get through it, and realize that I got through it, the next time I want to listen I will remember that temporary discomfort is okay. The next time I want to listen to you, I can remind my ego-monologue that the listening to you is a temporary discomfort we can get through.

What I need to do, then, is practicing discomfort. Or more accurately, I need to trick myself into being uncomfortable. Because my ego-monologue will not go quietly into discomfort.

I’ve tricked myself into discomfort before.

Tricking myself into discomfort is when I need to go on a 5 mile run when it’s hot and I go two-and-a-half miles in one direction, which leaves me no choice but to run home. It’s when I force myself to raise my hand in class, so I sweat with the anxiety of maybe saying something stupid. It’s in starting the guided mediation video, so I feel obligated to stew in the discomfort of increasing the awareness I have of my own thoughts.

It’s in playing truth or dare or hot seat around a campfire so that I’ll look like a jackass if I don’t answer a deep, vulnerable, question. It’s in the walk down the wobbly diving board or the steps up to the top of the playground slide, with friends behind you, so there’s no way out other than cannonballing into the cold unknown.

If, through practice, I can get comfortable with being uncomfortable, I can convince my ego-monologue that it can deal with the discomfort of quieting down and letting me listen to you. And if I can listen to you, I can be a better man.

So what I really need to do is make the choice to get into uncomfortable situations, get through it, and create the belief that I’m capable of managing discomfort. Discomfort is a resource I need to build my capacity to listen, and, in turn, a resource I need build my own character.

The real slap in the face is that the same is true for our sons. I have to let them be uncomfortable. I can’t put them into situations of genuine harm, but I can’t rob them of the gift of discomfort either. They need me to let them stew in it.

Photo Credit: Unsplash @kaffeebart