Connecting the dots...

I went to hear a classical pianist last week – my first live classical music in many, many years. 

The concert reminded me that music, like words, can create meaning that goes far beyond what the writer intended.

I grew up in a home where classical music played every day, but my parents also encouraged me to find my own musical passions, which didn’t include much classical. 

Still, when I hear classical today, I can identify the melody and composer at least half the time. 

I was evidently paying attention back then, but there is more to it. My recall of the music has much to do with the images I formed of the composers: snippets of who they were as people and the times in which they lived; together with scraps of information from the single theory class I took as a teen.

So I wasn't surprised that I could appreciate the differences between Beethoven and Liszt and Mendelssohn. When the pianist began his final piece, Chopin’s Sonata No. 2 in B flat minor, Op. 35, I followed the first and second movements with the same familiarity I’d felt all evening. 

But when he got to the third movement I was dumbstruck. He was no longer playing Chopin. He’d switched to The Doom Song – the tune they played when Bugs Bunny, Sylvester or another of the Looney Tunes characters was in BIG trouble!

It was probably just a second before I realized that the pianist had not abandoned Chopin; that he was indeed playing the famous Funeral March. But for that brief time, I’d forgotten that the melody was of classical origin.

Did I forget? While I was hearing The Doom Song, my image of the composer was crystal clear: a guy on the back lot of the Warner Brothers Studio, hunched over the piano with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a single bulb above his head. The producer had told him to write something to use when the end was (almost) certain. My composer worked hard to get it right.

The Funeral March says, “the end is here” as clear as any sentence ever written. But it also reminds us that, no matter how clear the message we can’t control what our listeners hear.

My momentary lapse was of zero consequence. Are there consequences if your audience brings a fundamental misconception to your message? What are you doing to make sure they get it right?

Sometimes, the most important question is the one you don't ask.

Last winter, my veterinarian called to say that my dog had an elevated liver enzyme. He recommended an expensive and invasive round of tests to confirm his suspicion: a potentially fatal condition that is treatable by a change in diet. 

I’d never doubted a physician in my life, but something didn’t feel right. 

We agreed that I would do some research on my own. I consulted several out-of-town vets. After hearing their opinions (all different), my vet suggested I take Scout to a local vet internist.

The first thing the internist said: “Before I look at her chart, just talk. Tell me about your dog.”

Then he told me that I’d given him a clue, information he'd never get by asking questions.

A few non-invasive and inexpensive tests later, he offered a different diagnosis – one with an excellent prognosis. Scout is now on a vegetarian diet that includes prescription dog food and ordinary people food. Enzyme counts are, so far, normal. She is a happy dog.

My odyssey into dog healthcare was a window into my work. I also ask people to “just talk.” And I never use a list of questions. 

Like the vet said, “A list presupposes an answer, or at least a direction you think leads to an answer. You can miss the clues.”

I talk with people who will receive the message I'm designing to understand the context in which the message will land. The clues: Other issues that are competing for their attention. Aspects of the message that will most impact their world. Elephants in the room – issues my clients must address if any action is to follow.

The parallels only go so far, but the vet and I both let people “just talk” to get clues that help us diagnose and treat for the best results.

My clients appreciate my approach, but some ask to see my list of questions.

Next time this happens, I’m going to tell them about Scout.

Want to know the clue to Scout’s treatment? shelley@shelleycowan.com

Gen Yers only read the subject line of an email. That is, if they read an email at all.

I heard this from Jason Dorsey the Gen Y Guy®. Jason
is not only the guru of all things Gen Y; he is also a brilliant and delightful entertainer. His focus was not on research methodology, so maybe his subject-line-only declaration was part hyperbole.

But I want to know: Is this true? Are employers aware? What are they doing about it?

As an anthropologist and parent of two Gen Yers, I know that generational perspectives – like all cultural perspectives – shape the way we communicate. As a communicator, I know that uncovering listeners’ perspectives is a critical step in designing messages that meet them where they are. 

Last Friday, Jason spoke at the Communication Leadership Exchange annual conference, and he certainly gave me a new perspective on how to design better communication for better results.

He opened by asking us (almost all Baby Boomers) to think of the jobs we got paid to do before we went away to college. From babysitting to pumping gas to cutting lawns to waitressing, we all had plenty of work experiences as kids.

Then he told us that most Gen Yers (now in their 20s to mid 30s) enter the workforce never having held those kinds of jobs. From following through to showing up on time, many simply don't know that there are fundamental rules they are expected to obey!

He also reminded us that Gen Yers are the kids who got trophies for everything – including a last place finish. They begin their careers never having connected the dots between effort, ability, results and rewards.  

These are just two of many insights Jason shared. (Check out The Center for Generational Kinetics for more.) Still, they underscore the need for better communication at work.

Here’s my take: Don’t assume people know what you think they should know. Find out. If people aren’t doing what is required, show them and be explicit. Role modeling isn’t enough. Explain why – that’s how we connect the dots. Give lots of feedback. Make it part of an ongoing conversation.

As for reading only the subject line of an email… maybe that’s not so bad. According to the Information Overload Research Group, the rest of the workforce isn’t reading beyond the first paragraph. A clear subject line just might be the start of mindful communication!

When we sat down, two men at the next barstools over were talking about Thomas Jefferson, John Adams and the Three-Fifths Compromise that made it possible for the U.S. Constitution to become ratified. I know this because I was right next to them and they were very loud.

I don’t go to bars often, but I’m guessing that the Three-Fifths Compromise isn’t your typical Friday-night-watching-the-Reds-at-the-bar conversation.

The 1787 Compromise said that three out of every five slaves in slave-holding states would be counted as part of that state’s official population, which, in turn, would determine that state’s number of Congressional representatives.

But the Compromise, and what it implied about personhood was and is complicated. The idea had been floated a few years earlier, in 1783, when the issue of whether or not to count a slave as a person would have determined a state’s tax liability. During that argument, the North or South were opposite sides of the ‘count or not’ question.

The men at the bar were deeply engaged; each repeatedly asking the other to clarify a particular point. I eventually tuned out so that I could tune into my husband, an actual History Detective, who wasn't listening to them at all. But as a communicator, I couldn’t help but admire the effort they put into the conversation, and how rewarding it was when one said, “Wait! We’re saying the same thing!”

After a while they introduced themselves to one another, shook hand and said goodbye.

Two strangers listened, clarified their words and made sure they understood one another. Great Communication! I’ll toast to that!