KERRYING ON
by Kerry Patterson
 

It's Geek to Me

Lately I've been troubled with the whole idea of being out of touch with what's going on around me--you know, having a huge blind spot that everyone but I can see. I'm not normally possessed with such concerns; it's just that an increasing number of people are starting to approach me with the same story. They've read our book and understand why most people need to "Work on Me First"--but they know for a certainty that they themselves are not the source of the problems that plague them daily. They don't need to change. Their spouse is the problem or every single person they work with is the problem or the English speaking world is the problem.

Here's the troubling part. As these people talk to me, it's usually quite easy to notice that they themselves are contributing to the challenges they face--despite their loud denials. They typically display dozens of little idiosyncrasies or "tells" that give them away. After only a few sentences, I know they are contributing to the problem, the people standing around them know they are contributing to the problem, but they don't know they are contributing to the problem. It almost seems criminal. I've observed them for less than a minute, and I can see they have blind spots.

Many of these people are what social science scholars refer to as low self-monitors. They don't read social cues very well. They do annoying or inappropriate things and people hint that what they're doing isn't working or appreciated. They plow on ahead with more of the same. In short, they miss the fact that they're a big part of most of the problems they face. Individuals who don't read the psych literature often refer to these low self monitors as nerds, geeks, or dweebs.

Now, before I get too far, let me make it crystal clear what scholars mean by a person who is a low self-monitor. I'll share an example that is a bit extreme, but it's true. I have a step relative (I'll call him Stan) who could easily be the poster child for social ineptitude. Once after watching the movie "Long Long Trailer," he stood in my parent's living room and told them the entire movie--frame by frame. I was a boy at the time so I could sneak in and out of the room without making a scene. My parents, on the other hand, were trapped.

Stan's wife could see that my mom and dad were growing insane from his tedious retelling of the movie, so she tried to interrupt him by discussing something more interesting--say the skin on her elbow. Stan fired back with, "Martha, I have the floor!" and then returned to a story that, if bottled, could have given a rhinoceros sedative a run for the money. I still remember his words. "I have the floor." He held it for ninety minutes. I timed him.

Now, this was actually one of Stan's more lucid and sensitive moments. Let me share the storied incident that qualifies him for the geek hall of fame. After he retired, Stan and Martha traveled the country in a recreational vehicle. One evening they were briefly chatting with an older couple around a KOA campfire, the couple found out that Stan was traveling to L.A. "Our son is a very successful lawyer who lives in the area, and you ought to look him up," the strangers chirped. Most people would have understood this to mean: "My son is a very successful lawyer, aren't you impressed?" Stan (geek to the core) replied, "Really, what's his phone number?"

Two weeks later, when Stan and Martha pulled into L.A., Stan called the lawyer. (Remember, he had talked to the guy's parents for maybe two minutes.) Stan tells the lawyer that he is a friend of his parents and maybe he and his wife Martha could come over for a short visit--say for dinner. Not knowing what to do, the guy agrees.

This is the point where the plot turns a bit indelicate. Stan had driven a truck for years and the constant jiggling of the big rig had weakened his kidneys--causing him to stop at public bathrooms far more often than he liked. Only on this particular trip across the L.A. area Stan had a plan. He'd try out a new device that he had just purchased. The device would allow him to go to the bathroom while still driving. (I won't go into details.) Halfway down the 405 freeway Stan gives the device a trial run--only he hadn't attached it correctly and Stan ends up wetting himself.

Most people would have been discouraged by such a humiliating setback, but not Stan. He and Martha show up at the stranger's door for dinner. Of course, Stan realizes that he has to explain why his pants look the way they look so he tells the young man and his wife the whole story. Ha, ha, ha. The kind strangers invite him in, dress him in a bathrobe, and wash and dry his pants while they prepare and serve dinner. Ten seconds after finishing his dessert, Stan bolts to his feet, mumbles, "Thanks," puts on his pants, grab's Martha by the hand, and exits into the night. I'm sure that the lawyer and his wife are still telling the hilarious story of the mysterious wet stranger.

What makes this story intriguing is that Stan is not kept in a pen surrounded by an electric fence. In fact, he lives a fairly normal life. If you were to ask him, he would suggest that he is a perfectly average fellow. Low self-monitors tend to think that.

How about you? As you read this, you probably are not saying, "Oh that Stan guy, I'm just like him!" In fact, you're thinking that you're not one iota like Stan. Sure, you both have stem cells, but the similarity ends there.

But how do you know? How do you know you aren't Stan's twin? Sure, you've never done the "free dinner in wet pants" thing, but maybe you have a blind spot or two. The truth is we all have a little Stan in us. We all have blind spots. We're not nerds, geeks, and dweebs per se. In fact, neither is Stan. Nobody deserves such a simplistic label. We just have times when we're blind to our own social ineptitude. Some people more often than others.

For instance, if you're too loud, but no one tells you, you have a blind spot. If you don't smell normal, but no one tells you, you have a blind spot. If you're touchy and blow up way too often, but no one tells you, you have a blind spot. If you think you do a good job in an area, but other people think you're incompetent, you have a blind spot. If you keep using the same sentence structure over and over until people want to jab you with a sharp stick, you have a blind spot.

The solution to this challenge is fairly simple. Shine a light on your blind spots. Start with the underlying assumption that you are imperfect. Add to this admission the firm conviction that you may not be aware of all of your imperfections (Unless you have teenage children who exult in pointing them out to you, in which case you can disregard everything that follows.) Finish by seeking the light. Here's how.

Learn from others. As you watch others do things you don't like, look for places or conditions that could cause you to behave in exactly the same way. Rather than focus on others' mistakes, learn where you yourself might be vulnerable and avoid the problem altogether. For instance, you notice that when others tell a story, pause to think about an irrelevant detail ("Was that Kansas or Nebraska?"), torture over the minutia as they restate it nine different ways, and finally settle on a detail that no one remotely cares about anyway--it drives people nuts. Commit to not do the same thing. No really, I'm begging you.

Seek out a confidant. This is where you can get the most help. Everyone needs a confidant. Being married or in a close relationship doesn't always qualify. It should, but it doesn't. So, ask a close friend (it can be your significant other) to help you work on your blind spots. Tell your friend that you want to work on your interpersonal skills. You know you're not a geek, but you want to get better. Ask your confidant to suggest one thing that you could do to improve your social repertoire. (Only try to avoid nerdish words like "social repertoire"). When your friend makes suggestions, seek details about what you do, not what they conclude. For instance, if they say you're arrogant, ask them what it is in their stupid little world that has led them to conclude such a ridiculous thing. Just kidding. Ask them for a specific example. Thank them for the details and then work on that one area.

Try new strategies. This sounds so simple it's almost ridiculous. When you're talking with others and you notice that whatever you're doing is making them bored, nervous, disgusted, or defensive--change strategies. Don't pile on more of the same. If you can't think of a different strategy, stop talking and ask the other person for his or her view on the matter. That guarantees a change in strategy. They're taking the stage, not you.

Remember, you're human. It's easy to look at others and think--I'll never do something as insensitive and stupid as that. Sometimes you're right, but not always. For instance, when people watch the subjects in Stanly Milgram's classic study--the subjects who shocked their fellow subjects until they thought they were dead--most think: "I'd never do that." Given the chance, two thirds do. The more helpful and mature response is to ask: "What caused them to act that way? And what might cause me to do the same?" These questions open you up to learning and eventually avoiding. So, the next time you have a good chuckle at a person who acts like Stan, don't smugly call the person a nerd and feel superior. Remember, you could be Stan. One of you out there is.


About Kerry Patterson
Kerry Patterson's award-winning, video-based training initiatives in problem solving, conflict resolution, teamwork, performance management and ethics have been used successfully by hundreds of companies throughout the Fortune 500. He is a prolific writer and has coauthored many articles and training programs on interpersonal skills, culture change, teamwork, and dialogue.

Kerry began his research into the challenges of developing and maintaining healthy organizations during his doctoral work at Stanford University. He has taught at the Marriott School of Management at Brigham Young University. He co-founded Interact Performance Systems, where he worked for 10 years as vice president of research and development. He has delivered culture-change interventions at Ford Motor Company, Intermountain HealthCare, and Allstate, among others.

To book Kerry for a presentation at your next company or association meeting, contact Cheryl Doellefeld Barth*, your VitalSmarts representative.


All content copyright © 2004 VitalSmarts, L.C. All Rights Reserved.

*Cheryl Doellefeld Barth is an authorized associate of VitalSmarts™
 

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