In a fascinating TED Talk, Laurie Santos shows that monkeys make the same kinds of economic errors as humans do. Another way to say this: Humans make some of the same kinds of economic errors as monkeys do.

Early in the video, Santos asked a question that caught my attention: “How is a species that’s as smart as we are capable of such bad and consistent errors?”

What I find most interesting about Santos’s question is a presupposition: The question tacitly posits “as smart as we are” as the standard of judgment. Why do I say “tacitly,” when she clearly states the standard in her question? Though the standard is explicit, what’s tacit is taking that standard as a given.

To demonstrate, I’ll ask a different question: “For a species that consistently makes such bad errors, how is it that we are as smart as we are?” My question posits a different baseline for evaluating our behavior: Our consistent errors.

In my tweets on this subject, I called Santos’s question a “foreground/background error.” That was a mistake. Rather, Santos makes a foreground/background choice. Her question and mine differ in the choice of background and foreground. Her question places human smartness in the background and consistent errors in the foreground. My question reverses the foreground and background.

We humans often ask such questions, which make an implicit choice of what to place in the foreground and what in the background.

For example, people ask, “Why do we sleep?” The question (tacitly) takes awakeness as background. I think it’s probably more reasonable and fruitful to ask, “Why are we ever wake?” The vast majority of living things are never awake. We and other animals do sometimes wake. How does that happen? I think it’s miraculous.

Another example, which I hear a lot: “Why do we miscommunicate so much?” Flip the foreground and background: “How is it that we are ever able to communicate at all?” Communication is a freaking miracle, and our oft-uttered question takes it for granted.

Matt Heusser tweeted another example from a forum on communication between managers and doers: “Why is there so much friction between managers and doers?” Matt flipped the question: “With so much conflict inherent in our systems, isn’t it a miracle that we ever get anything done?”

We could state our observations relatively neutrally, with equal emphasis: We’re as smart as we are; we consistently make bad errors. But typically we don’t do that. We place one observation in the background, and apply it as a standard against which to judge the other observation.

What fascinates me is that our questions typically place the more “perfect” standard in the background, even though the evidence suggests that humans don’t live up to the standard. What’s more, we typically ask such questions directly in response to noticing that we don’t live up to the standard. We take as given a standard that we know we don’t meet. We humans seem to have a bias toward judging ourselves against standards of perfection.

This is not an idle topic for me. It’s at the heart of my coaching. My clients often lament that they fall short of some standard they have set for themselves. As we explore the standard, we often find that the standard is very difficult to meet, and sometimes beyond human capability. And yet clients make great effort to continue to hold onto their standards, even after agreeing that the standards are unreasonable.

How come we so often choose as background a standard that we clearly do not meet? What would happen if we more often made a different choice, to take our typical experience as the standard, and ask how we are sometimes able to be better than that?

What if how actually we observe ourselves to be were okay, even as we yearn to be “better”?

Of course, my entire post implicitly posits its own standard of perfection: A standard of not judging ourselves against standards that we demonstrably fail to live up to.

Maybe I can soften my own error this way: When we notice that we are holding ourselves and each other to some standard of perfection, we have an opportunity to make the standard explicit, ask whether and how it serves us, and explore other standards that may serve us better.

A few weeks ago, at Agile Development Practices West 2010 conference in Las Vegas, my friend and colleague Bob Payne hosted me for an episode of his Agile Toolkit podcast. I invite you to listen to our half-hour conversation and to other episodes about all things Agile.

Bob’s podcasts are always conversational—the conversation wanders where it will, but seldom strays far from the topic du jour. Our wanderings touched on:

• Resistance is mutual
• Bridging the gap between hamsters and wolverines
• Solving the deeper problem is sometimes easier than solving the surface problem
• Ineffective patterns of coping with stress (blaming, placating, distracting)
• Joe diffuses the boss’s boss’s boss’s boss’s boss’s blaming
• The power of aggregation
• The power of giving yourself choices
• Payson Hall’s terrific keynote about the dilemmas of risk management
• Dale fails to grok space and time
• Three definitions of resistance
• Overcoming resistance (boo!) versus resolving resistance (yay!)
• Resistance is feedback
• To encourage change, start by meeting people where they are
• Two styles of Agile adoption: “By the book” and evolutionary
• From balance to differentiation—from “how much” to “which”
• My upcoming Resistance as a Resource workshop at Agilistry Studio, July 14–15

Only in retrospect could I name the central topic of our chat: social challenges at work. In further retrospect, that central topic is nearly inevitable, given my interests.

You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. This proverb has always puzzled me. People say it as a lament, as if it’s frustrating that you can’t make a horse drink water.

Here’s what I don’t get: Why the heck do you want the horse to drink? Horses are pretty smart about water. When they’re thirsty, they drink. When they’re not thirsty, they don’t drink. If they aren’t drinking, it’s probably because they’re not thirsty. Why do you want a horse to drink if it’s not thirsty?

The proverb is a metaphor. What does the metaphor map to? “You” is the change agent. The water is some good idea that the change agent thinks would benefit some people. The horse is the people that the change agent thinks would benefit. “Lead” is what the change agent does by offering or advocating the obviously good idea. “Drink” means to apply the idea.

So “you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink” means “We smart change agents can tell people about our brilliant ideas, but we can’t make them adopt the ideas.”

And this is offered as a lament, as if it’s frustrating that we brilliant change agents can’t make people adopt our brilliant ideas.

Horses are pretty smart about whether to drink water. Maybe, too, people are pretty smart about whether to adopt the ideas we’re offering. Maybe they know when to adopt them and when not to. Lamenting the fact that people don’t adopt our ideas seems to me to be about as useful as lamenting that horses don’t drink the water we’ve led them to.

Here’s an idea: Try leading a thirsty horse to water and see what it does. If the horse is tired, lead it to shade and a soft place to lie down. If the horse is hungry, offer it hay and oats. If the horse doesn’t need anything, maybe leave it alone.

Read my latest article “Rewriting the Story of Resistance” on the Amplifying Your Effectiveness (AYE) conference web site.

Also check out the articles by the other presenters, and the AYE wiki that hosts an ongoing conversation for AYE enthusiasts.

Every few months one or more of my blogger friends writes about some new research about the effects of multitasking. Multitasking, the research invariably says, doesn’t finish the work any faster. In fact, multitasking usually makes work take longer.

I don’t think we need more research about the ill effects of multitasking. It doesn’t surprise anyone to learn that multitasking is at best ineffective and at worst dysfunctional. Everybody knows it already. I think everybody has known it all along.

If everybody already knows that multitasking slows the work, and if study after study merely confirms what everybody already knows, why do people keep multitasking?

Suppose I’m working on six different tasks that I’ve committed to six different people. If I want to complete all of the tasks as soon as possible, I will prioritize them and do them one at a time in priority order. Then I can tell Andy, whose task I’m working on first, that I’ll finish his task today. And I’ll finish it today. Andy will be very happy.

But what will I tell Bonnie, whose task I have given second priority? I’ll have to tell her that I haven’t made progress on her task yet. I’ll have to tell her that I won’t even start her task until tomorrow. Bonnie won’t like that. And I won’t like that Bonnie won’t like that.

And what about Francis, whose task I have prioritized sixth and won’t start until some time next week? Francis will be very unhappy. Francis will be furious. And Francis knows ways to make me very unhappy. This will not do.

So what’s a harried worker to do? Multitask! If I split my time among all six tasks, I get to tell all six people every day that I’m making progress on their important tasks. And I get to be sincere about that. And I get to avoid Bonnie’s unhappiness and Francis’s fury. Never mind that nobody will be satisfied until late next week. I’ll deal with that next week. For now, multitasking gives me a way to placate all of the people who are making demands of me. Multitasking delays the day of reckoning.

This explains how multitasking can remain so popular even though everybody knows it slows the work. The real purpose of multitasking is not to finish work faster. The real purpose of multitasking is to avoid conflict.

And that’s a tragedy, because multitasking does a lousy job of avoiding conflict. For one thing, our expectation of conflict is probably overblown. People are often more reasonable than we fear, as long as we keep them apprised of our priorities and plans. We reach for multitasking to solve a problem that often doesn’t need solving. For another thing, multitasking doesn’t avoid conflict but at best merely delays it. And by delaying everyone’s satisfaction, multitasking often exacerbates conflict rather than reducing it.

If conflict is the problem, multitasking is a poor solution. A better solution would be twofold. First, improve your skill in negotiating expectations and commitments. This reduces the likelihood of conflict. Second, improve your skill in resolving conflicts. This reduces the cost of the conflicts you can’t avoid. These are both enormous topics. But even a little improvement in these skills pays off far more than the ineffective and dysfunctional practice of multitasking.

The Pecker Principle: The people who care most about the pecking order are usually the biggest peckers.

Here’s a new game I’ve invented, called
The Resistance as a Resource Game.

Objective. To create, learn, remember, and express ideas about how to respond to resistance.

Where to Play. The game can be played anywhere that ideas can be posted, such as mailing lists, electronic forums, and conference rooms with walls, white boards, or flip charts.

Players. Any number of players can play.

Turns. It is always your turn.

Moves. There are four kinds of moves:

1. Change.
   Post an example of change that you are promoting.
2. “Resistance.” Choose one of the posted examples of change, and post an example of a statement that expresses “resistance” to that change.
3. Reason. Choose one of the posted examples of “resistance,” and post an example of a reason that an intelligent, competent, sincere person of good will might say such a thing. My article “Resistance as a Resource” might give you ideas for this move.
4. Response. Choose one of the posted reasons, and post an idea about how to respond effectively to someone who has that reason for making that statement.

Virginia Satir once said, “People prefer familiarity to comfort.”

In a recent conversation on the Extreme Programming mailing list, that phrase came up. Alistair Cockburn, an influential change agent in the software development industry, said, “I don’t know about you, but that phrase, besides ringing true, frightens the bejeebers out of me.”

My initial reaction was that it doesn’t frighten me at all. But given how frequently I advocate one change or another, I wasn’t sure why it didn’t frighten me. So I pondered.

I think it doesn’t frighten me because my persuasion style includes ways to make change familiar to people. I never thought about the things I do in those terms until I read Alistair’s message, but as I look at how I encourage change, much of it is about making the unfamiliar familiar.

For example, an HR executive named Susan once sought my help with some resistance she was encountering. I asked her a few simple questions, and that was all she needed from me. Though I wasn’t advocating any particular change in that situation, my questions had the effect of framing Susan’s problem so that it was suddenly very familiar to her. And once the problem became familiar, she knew exactly how to solve it.

Another example: Paul, an executive at a company that builds people’s dream houses, wanted my help with a customer relations problem. As I talked with Paul about the situation, he suddenly realized how he could solve the problem. As I look at that story now, I see that Paul’s epiphany was largely a result of casting his customer relations issue in a familiar light. Once the problem was familiar, he knew what to do.

In those examples, though I wasn’t advocating any particular change, familiarity played a key role in the changes my clients made.

When I’m promoting change, I do a number of things that have the effect of making change familiar. For example, I often work hard to find safe ways for people to try whatever I’m advocating. A small demonstration, maybe, or a “toy” situation to practice on, where failure doesn’t matter. Making it safe for people to try the new idea in a small way invites them to get a teeny tiny bit of experience, from which the new idea becomes a teeny tiny bit more familiar.

Also, I often tell stories, like the ones I linked to above, which can help to make new ideas more familiar.

I suspect that much of my persuasion style is about familiarity, though I never thought about it that way until recently. This gives me an idea for becoming a more effective change artist: What if I attend purposefully to familiarity, and the ways in which familiarity influences the way people respond to change? What new ideas does that give me for how to encourage change, and how to respond to resistance?

A few weeks ago, Esther Derby, inspired by a Fast Company article about Whole Foods Market CEO John Mackey, wrote a short article about appreciation.

Esther says, “Some people are uncomfortable expressing appreciation.” I know something about that. When I first learned about Temperature Reading, at Weinberg & Weinberg‘s week-long Problem Solving Leadership workshop in 1992, I felt very uncomfortable expressing appreciation. We held several Temperature Readings during the week, and at each I expressed my appreciation to several people for things they had done. Each time, as I opened my mouth to speak, my throat tightened and my eyes teared up. I was puzzled about that, and I made a mental note to think about what was going on for me in those moments. Why would it be so difficult to express something as wonderful as appreciation?

Over the next several months I experimented with expressing appreciation to people at work. Slowly I noticed what made it hard for me. Whenever I expressed my appreciation, I was reminding myself (unconsciously) that I, too, yearn for appreciation, and that I wasn’t experiencing the appreciation I wanted from others. And I was reminding myself (again unconsciously) that I often left my own appreciation unexpressed.

Once I was aware of my yearning, I found ways to satisfy it. The most important way was to remember to express appreciation for myself. When I began to do that, I found that I was more able to appreciate others, and that I didn’t feel such a strong need for other people to appreciate me. I’m sure that affected the way I related to people, because they began to express their appreciation for me.

In a comment on Esther’s article, Robert Watkins suggests that “This is one of those new age ideas which can be nice in theory, but in practice often just results in fake sincerity.” When I’m facilitating a session of appreciations, I do a few things that encourage sincerity. First, I invite appreciations. I don’t require them. It’s possible that people may feel some internal pressure (“I should …”) to say nice things when others around them are saying nice things to each other. I haven’t noticed a problem with that. Sometimes I see a chain reaction, in which the people who receive appreciation immediately want to offer appreciations of their own. However it happens, the appreciations that people express seem sincere to me.

Second, I encourage the person giving the appreciation to describe specifically what the receiver did, and what need that fulfilled for the giver. The main reason I encourage this is that the specifics make appreciation more meaningful, both to the giver and to the receiver. Sincerity is just a bonus, a nice side effect. It’s hard to be both insincere and specific about what someone has done and what need that has served for you.

In another comment, Jason Yip says, “I’m wondering if it’s useful, if doing it in public is a bit too ‘New Age’, whether it would be appropriate to start out with individuals doing it privately by themselves.”

I think it is wonderful for individuals to start by offering appreciations in private. It’s also wonderful to start in public. Here’s an example.

My friend Joe managed a team of a dozen software developers. He wanted his team, one of the more effective teams in the organization, to become even more cohesive than they already were, and asked me to help with that. One of Joe’s concerns was that the people on the team may not be reviewing each other’s code as often or as eagerly as he would like. We talked more about the situation, and decided that I would facilitate a Temperature Reading for the team.

A Temperature Reading is an activity that gives a team important information about itself and its members. The first phase of a Temperature Reading is appreciations. I offered people an opportunity to express appreciation to their colleagues for things they had done.

The people in the room—hardcore geeks all—had no trouble offering appreciations to each other. They offered dozens. And my impression was that about half of the appreciations were about code reviews. “John, I appreciate that you found that null pointer bug in my code.”

Joe noticed, over the next few weeks, that people were more eager to review each other’s code, and more eager to express appreciation to each other in the moment.

Starting privately is good. Starting publicly is good. When it comes to expressing appreciation, whatever will get you started is the right way to start.

Speaking of getting started, I started to write this article two weeks ago, inspired by Esther’s earlier article. Then I set it aside. Today Esther offers another look at appreciation, this time as a form of recognition. And I was inspired again.

Esther, I appreciate your two articles about appreciation. The first inspired me to remember some of the wonderful things I’ve learned about appreciation, and to start writing this article. The second inspired me to finish what I’d started.

Robert and Jason, I appreciate your expressing your concerns. Your comments to Esther inspired me to write about my experience doing Temperature Readings with technical people, many of whom may share your concerns.

As I was reading Robert C. Solomon and Fernando Flores’s book
Building Trust
today, I created this thought experiment about trust, disappointment and choice.

Part One: Imagine a relationship in which you trust the other person in many, many ways, and the person always fulfills your trust. Whatever trust you give, the person never disappoints your trust. What thoughts do you have about this relationship? What feelings?

Now set those thoughts and feelings aside.

Part Two: Imagine a relationship in which you choose to trust the other person only when you see no possibility that the person will disappoint your trust. Whenever you see the slightest possibility of disappointment, you choose to withhold your trust. What thoughts do you have about this relationship? What feelings?

Part Three: Now compare your thoughts and feelings about these two imaginary relationships. Compare these imagined relationships to your real-life relationships. What do your comparisons tell you about trust? What does the possibility of disappointment have to do with trust? What does choice have to do with trust?

I’d love to hear your comments about this.