Human beings reveal themselves in all sorts of unforeseen ways.
We each have a dominant sensory modality—the sense we rely on most heavily to give context to our world. Some people look. Some people listen. Others rely on touch. By examining the words people unconsciously choose—their sensory predicates—we’re able to identify their dominant modalities. When we then match our predicates, our language, to theirs, we create an instant but often unrecognized connection.
Can I show you how it works?
Someone whose sensory predicates are visual may ask, “Does that look right to you?” or “Let me show you what I mean.” An auditory person may say, “That doesn’t sound right to me” and “Just hear me out.” A kinesthetic—someone who relies on touch—uses expressions like, “I can’t seem to get my arms around that” or “It feels like it’s the right thing to do.”
In a world where relationships seem to develop and end in an instant, any communication tool that helps us establish quick rapport is an advantage. Sometimes it’s a simple as speaking the same language, but it always starts with listening.
See what I mean?
My daughter is learning to drive and is among the first generation forbidden to use handheld communication devices while operating a vehicle. The familiar bzzz announcing the arrival of a text creates an unspoken but undeniable panic in the car—a message she can’t instantly view or acknowledge. I find her anxiety irritating and immature.
Then I consider how often I sit surrounded by grownups and watch the same behavior, fingers and thumbs incapable of sitting still, drumming their way across BlackBerries and iPhones throughout meetings and presentations. The culprits clutch their devices low in the lap, preventing anyone with the point of view of, say, a springer spaniel, from seeing what they’re up to.
I wonder if they’d be equally inclined to hold up a sign stating, “You’re just not that important,” which is exactly what I think their behavior says to everyone in the room. I’m not talking about transplant surgeons waiting for word of an available kidney. I’m not spending time in the Oval Office. I’m talking about marketing people–the same ones who have email auto-replies announcing that they’re temporarily unavailable and offering plenty of options for “emergency” marketing assistance. Yet the buzz, the flash, the hypnotic little “1 new message” digital alert somehow drives otherwise intelligent people to put their professionalism, their manners and their judgment on a shelf, when instead, that’s exactly where their handhelds belong. Painful as it is at first, my daughter’s learning to ignore the call. Can you?
The cowardice of anonymity
Today, in addition to the who, what, when, where and why, news readers are subjected to the ignorant, insensitive comments anonymous posters leave behind under the protection of our constitution’s first amendment. I’m not buying their defense. Freedom of speech implies responsibility—that if you want the right to voice an opinion, you better own the words and the ideas that you express. Afraid or unwilling to do that, your voice should be silent. If your comment isn’t one you would share with a grieving widow face-to-face, or on a note signed by your own hand, spare an innocent family and keep your petty thoughts to yourself. Please, you anonymous little cowards, shut up.
Today, instead of reading the paper online, I’m looking out my window and thanking Stanley Roberts. May he rest in peace.