I’ve been invited to be a guest presenter at this year’s Amplifying Your Effectiveness Conference (AYE). I’m honored to join the AYE hosts and the other guest presenters, all of whom I’ve known and admired for years.

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“How do I feel about what I’m feeling?” This seemingly silly question is one of the more powerful questions in my repertoire. When I’m knocked for a loop by a painful feeling, aswering this question helps me to regain my balance. Here are two examples.

In 1996 I was an apprentice, along with Amanda Mathis and Nyra Hill, at a week-long leadership workshop led by Jerry Weinberg and Jean McLendon. The three of us apprentices were tasked, among other things, with helping each other with our own learning goals. We spent a lot of time together on that, and got to know each other quite well. We’d made a wonderful team, and the experience of working with Nyra and Amanda was one of the high points of my career.

At the end of the week, I was eating dinner with Jerry, Jean, Amanda, and Nyra. I was feeling quite low, and was not in a mood to eat. I had gathered a plate of fruit (the easiest thing to eat when I’m not in the mood to eat) and was picking at it. Jerry noticed and asked, “What’s going on?”

I said, “I’m going to miss all of you.”

“How do you feel about that?” Jerry said.

After a moment I burst out laughing. “I feel great about that,” I said. “It means that I love all of you.” I spent the rest of the evening enjoying the company of my wonderful companions.

On February 19, 1999 I moved from Portland, Oregon to Sunnyvale, California. That evening I was carjacked in the parking lot of my temporary apartment, and driven around in my car for 30 minutes with a gun pressed to the back of my neck.

One evening a few days later I was walking across a parking lot toward some department store. I noticed someone walking toward me and started to feel quite afraid. And then I felt afraid of feeling afraid. “What if I get stuck like this? I don’t want to feel afraid every damned time I walk across a parking lot!”

Then I remembered the “feeling about the feeling” question, and asked myself, “How do I feel about feeling afraid?” I realized that I felt just fine about it. Feeling afraid, and even “hypervigilant” as my critical incident counsellor called it, was all part of the healing process. The fear encouraged me to be more aware of my surroundings. I still felt the fear, but I no longer feared being stuck forever in that fearful mood.

From these and other incidents I’ve come to appreciate the power of that question. “How do you feel about what you’re feeling?” I now call it The Acceptance Question, because it invites me to test whether I accept what I am feeling, and whether I accept myself for feeling what I am feeling. I’ve thought about why this simple question works so well so often, and I think I understand some of it.

Our feelings come not just from what’s happening, but from a combination of what’s happening, our needs, and the stories we tell ourselves based on our assumptions and expectations. Many times the stories that give rise to our feelings are about some other time and place. “I’m going to miss all of you” was about the following weeks and months when I would be somewhere else. My fear in the parking lot was largely about what had happened a few days earlier.

One thing The Acceptance Question does is to bring me back to the here and now. The question doesn’t ask me to deny anything. It asks me to attend to information that I was neglecting, information about what is true here and now. And in the here and now, I’m usually doing just fine. The people I may miss in the future are here with me now, and I’m okay. The carjackers are not here with me now, and I’m okay. In the here and now I’m alive, I’m healthy, and I’m okay.

Another thing The Acceptance Question does is to allow me to tell a different story, one that is just as true as the story that gives rise to the painful feeling. “I’m here now with people I love” is just as true as “I’m going to miss all of you.” And given that it’s a story about here and now, it’s probably more true. Changing the story changes the feelings.

The Acceptance Question encourages me be more present with what is happening here and now, both inside me and outside me. This helps me to regain my balance, and to respond more effectively to my surroundings and to my needs.

Motivation consists of three elements:

• Expectations about ability
• Expectations about results
• Preferences

When we’re deciding whether to do an action, we evaluate all three of these elements, often intuitively or unconsciously. The end result—our motivation for or against the action—comes from a combination of these elements. I will do anything if:

• I believe I am able
• I believe I have a reasonably clear idea of what the results will be
• On balance, I want the results I expect.

Each factors is important. If I am certain that I will not be able to do a given action, I will be less likely to try, even though I would enjoy succeeding. If I have no idea what might happen, I will be less likely to try, even if I believe I am able. If I don’t want the results I expect, I will be less likely to do the action, even if I believe I am able. Motivation combines these factors in a manner akin to multiplication:

Motivation = Ability × Results × Preferences

Don’t take this “equation” seriously as being mathematically precise. I use it only as a handy summary of my Motivation Model. Each factor (confidence in ability, certainty about what will happen, strength of preference) can be high or low. If any factor is near zero, motivation will be low. And preferences have not only magnitude but also valence (or sign)—we may be attracted to a given result (positive valence) or averse to it (negative valence).

This model may seem at first blush to oversimplify the complex concept of motivation. In describing the model, I’m not ignoring that complexity so much as summarizing it. To explore the hidden richness of the model, pick one of the factors and expand it. What factors influence a person’s expectations about whether they are able to do a given action? What factors influence a person’s cause-and-effect expectations about the results of a given action? What factors affect a person’s preferences? (For my partial answer to the question about preferences, see my article “The Structure of Values.”)

I’ve found this model very helpful in a number of ways. The most important is that it helps me to explore my own motivation. If I find myself avoiding some task that I wish I would do, I can quickly check which element is missing. Am I able to do the task? What would happen if I tried? Which of those results do I want? Which do I not want? My answers usually give me a hint about how I can motivate myself. Sometimes my answers tell me that I really don’t want to do the task after all. In those cases, I stop trying to motivate myself (which is a perfectly fine result).

I also use this Motivation Model as I try to understand other people’s reasons for their actions (or inactions). The model is one of the foundations of my work on resistance. For details, see my article “Resistance as a Resource,” especially the section called “The First Factor: Expectations”. (If I were writing the article today, I would call that section “The First Factor: Motivation.”)

I developed this Motivation Model about 10 years ago, as I began to study resistence in earnest. Not long after I first formulated the model, I discovered that many other people had already described very similar models. You can read about some of those models in Edward Lawler’s book Motivation in Work Organizations.

Three questions lie at the heart of effectiveness. The better you can answer these three key questions and act on the answers, the more effective you will be:

1. What results do I want?
2. How can I create the results I want?
3. What results am I creating?

In my coaching and consulting practice, I’ve notice that people often focus predominantly on question 2, on “what can I do.” In particular, when people are feeling stuck or ineffective, they’re likely focusing exclusively on what to do. Even more specifically, they’re likely focusing exclusively on how to carry out some previously chosen course of action.

One clue that people are overly attached to a course of action is the way they ask for help. When people ask “How can I …” or “What can I do to …” or “What’s the best way to …” in a way that suggests they have been struggling to answer the question themselves, I begin to suspect that they may be neglecting to ask the other questions: What results do I want? What results am I creating?

There’s something seductive about focusing on what to do. I’m certainly susceptible to the seduction. My story about finding the right word is an example of that. I’d been struggling to find just the right word for “the people you’re asking to change.” I’d somehow chosen finding just the right word as my goal, and didn’t know how to find just the right word. With the help of my writer friends I realized that my stuckness came largely from holding too tightly to that goal. When I changed my focus from “how can I” to “what do I want,” I quickly discovered that my deeper problem wasn’t how to find just the right word for “the people you’re asking to change,” but how to write in a gender-inclusive way. Once I understood my deeper problem, I quickly solved it.

What makes focusing on what to do so enticing? Perhaps it’s because it seems to lead directly to action, directly to resolution. And perhaps it’s because we know that we will achieve our goals only through action. And perhaps it’s because focusing on action usually works.

It’s only when focusing on action doesn’t work that people become stuck. And in those cases, focusing on what to do often leaves people even more stuck. But there’s something about being stuck that encourages people to strive even more intently to figure out what to do. A vicious circle.

And that’s when they ask me for help. So by the time people ask for help, they are often not only stuck, but also intent on figuring out how to carry out the course of action that got them stuck in the first place. I’ve learned, from my own experience and from observing other people, that if people are persisting in a course of action that isn’t working, it’s likely that either they are not staying mindful of what they want or they are not seeing clearly the results they’re creating.

This model of effectiveness is a centerpiece of my approach to coaching and consulting. One of the most helpful things I can do for clients is to ask the questions that they have been neglecting: What do you want? and What is happening?
Time after time, these questions have proven to be both simple and powerful.

What makes these questions so powerful? One key benefit of asking “what do we want” is that simply revisiting our goal often jiggles us into imagining other ways to achieve it, or at least into considering that there may be other ways to achieve it. My “just the right word” episode is an example of that.

A key benefit of asking “what is happening” is that it invites us to seek information, or to recognize that we already have information, that can help us evaluate adjust our course of action.

Here’s an example in which I persisted in a dysfunctional course of action in part because I had neglected this simple question. The story takes place one day in 1992. A group of coworkers and I had for months been gathering in the cafeteria for snacks and conversation every afternoon at around 3 o’clock. For at least two weeks I had been holding court, moaning about our ignorant manager, and his stupid manager, and his bonehead manager, all the way up to the company’s evil CEO and deranged President.

On this particular afternoon, as we finished our break and were headed back to work, my friend Jack said to me, “You really know how to bring a conversation down.”

Yikes! I immediately recognized the truth of what he’d said. And I immediately disliked that it was true. I had been so focused on complaining, on my dysfunctional course of action, that I was oblivious to the effect I was having on my friends. Jack’s comment answered a question that I had neglected to ask: What results am I creating with my complaining? I immediately vowed to stop moaning all over my friends, and I spent some time figuring out what I really wanted, and how better to achieve it.

What results do I want? How can I create the results I want? What results am I creating? I’ve used these questions countless times to improve my own performance, and to help my clients create the results they want.

The Unwritten Rule of the Unwritten Rule:

The purpose of many written rules is to justify punishing people for violating the unwritten rules.

Now that I’ve written it, I guess I’ll have to change the name.

Kenneth Boulding, in his brilliant book
Principles of Economic Policy
, describes the connection between power, choice, and possibility:

[P]ower is measured by the area within which choice is possible. If you have no choice, you have no power. Power, in other words, is measured by all the things you could do if you desired.

Boulding goes on to describe possibility boundaries, boundaries that mark the limits of our choices. We are free to choose our position within our possibility boundaries. Outside the boundary are all of the positions that we cannot reach, whatever our choices.

We can sort our possibilities along various dimensions of possibility. For example, at any moment we each have a physical possibility boundary. There are places I could go in the next hour if I so chose. There are places I could not go regardless of my choice.

We each, at any moment, have an economic possibility boundary. Given my current financial resources, there are things I could buy and things I could not buy.

There are many such dimensions of possibility, and we could refine these two into a richer set of categories if we wished. However many dimensions we might use to analyze our range of possibilities, our choices are bounded.

At any moment, our total field of possibility is the intersection of the possibilities along all dimensions. I may have enough money to buy an antique mahogany desk at an auction that starts in three minutes in Ponca City, Oklahoma, but if I can’t get to Ponca City in time, I can’t bid. I may be able to attend an auction for a multi-million dollar mansion here in Sacramento, but if I don’t have the money, I can’t bid. My possibilities for bidding at these auctions are limited by both my physical possibility boundary and my economic possibility boundary.

An implication I see in this “possibility boundary” model is that we increase our power by expanding our field of possibility. We expand the field of possibility by pushing back the boundaries along one or more dimensions. And we push back the boundaries by acquiring resources—money, skills, knowledge, clarity of purpose, permits, tools, reputation, friendships, Miles Davis CDs, and so on.

We can acquire resources in three ways. First, we can create resources, such as when we create new knowledge by learning from our experience. Second, we can exchange our resources for others that give us greater possibility for creating value, such as when we pay money for an airplane ticket, or sell an airplane ticket for money. Third, we can integrate our existing resources into forms that offer greater possibility, such as when Elisabeth Hendrickson and I recently teamed up to combine her testing expertise with my facilitation skills to lead a workshop about how Agile software development affects testers and test managers.

I think that possibility alone doesn’t give the full measure of power. I see another factor: the wisdom of our choices. We can increase our power by increasing our discernment about where we choose to be within our field of possibility.

Boulding addresses this, partially, by introducing the dimension of psychological possibility: the set of positions that we are willing to choose. The psychological possibility boundaries that we create for ourselves are often the boundaries that most constrain us. If I refuse to fly on an airplane, I can’t reach Ponca City in six hours, much less three minutes. If I were willing to fly, my possibilities would increase.

From all of this, I’m refining my model of
The Structure of Power
. Here’s the skeleton:

• We derive our power from the possibilities available to us and the wisdom of our choices.
• We increase our possibilities by increasing our resources.
• We increase our resources by creating new resources, by exchanging less powerful resources for more powerful ones, or by integrating our existing resources into more powerful forms.

I have a great deal more to say about power. Later.

resource

1. n. Anything that can be used to create value.
2. n. Matter, energy, or information that can be transformed into more valued forms.
3. n. Knowledge, skills, or implements that can be used to transform other resources into more valued forms.

These definitions are strongly related to my definitions of technology. If I were feeling silly, I could plug these definitions of resource into my definition of technology to yield: Technology is the application of resources to transform other resources into more valued forms. Silly.

It feels to me as if the second and third definitions above omit something important: relationships. Relationships are resources for the people involved. I could add “relationships” to one or both lists, but they’re already somewhat unwieldy.

What else is left out of this definition?

I’d like to find an evocative category to summarize the lists in the definitions. What category summarizes matter, energy, and information? What category summarizes knowledge, skills, and implements? For now, I can’t think of concise, evocative categories. The word anything in the first definition certainly summarizes all of the other terms, but it’s too general to be evocative.

Any adjustments I make here would likely ripple into my definition of technology.

manipulate

1. v. To influence a person using means that would be less effective if the person knew your intentions.

manipulation

1. n. The process of influencing a person using means that would be less effective if the person knew your intentions.

My definition relies heavily on descriptions I’ve read in two books. In
Influence without Authority
, Allan R. Cohen and David L. Bradford say, “influence attempts are not manipulative if you can tell your potential ally your intentions with no loss of influence.”

Edgar Schein, in
Process Consultation, Volume 1
, defines manipulation as “influencing others without making visible the motivation behind the influence attempts.”

Each of these quotes suggests a test for whether your influence attempts are manipulative. Cohen and Bradford’s quote suggests what I call
The Private Test of Manipulation: Could I tell the other person my intentions?

Schein’s definition suggests the second, stronger test, which I call
The Public Test of Manipulation: Have I told the other person my intentions?

empower

1. v. To connect a person with a source of power.

I’ve written about this definition before. I’m posting it again to add it to my glossary.

power

1. n. The ability to create value.

I’ve written about this definition before. I’m posting it again to add it to my glossary.