 ‘You must throw your whole being against the life trap – your thoughts, feelings and behaviour.’ (Jeffrey E. Young) I’ve never been to a casino. In the past couple of weeks, however, I’ve had two fascinating conversations with people who work in casinos in Germany. I asked them if players can develop ways to improve their chances of winning, or whether winning or losing is purely a matter of chance. They both said ‘purely chance’ – with the mathematical probability of winning weighted heavily in favour of the casinos. I asked them if players ever believe they can improve their chances of winning, to reduce the loading of the dice against them. They both said ‘Yes’ too. Players may think they discern patterns in, say, roulette results, whereas they are random. This human ability and tendency to perceive patterns and to associate meaning with such patterns is known in psychology as the schemata phenomenon. I remember a philosophy tutor, Peter Hicks, inviting us, as students, to imagine he was holding a bag of 100 marbles. If he were to draw out one marble at a time, and every single marble was red, what would we guess the colour of the 100th marble would be? Now we know the colours of the 99 so far have nothing whatsoever to do with the colour of the 100th, yet everything within us still screams ‘Red.’ We superimpose a pattern, a schemata, based on what we have observed and experienced to date. There are psychological benefits. For instance: schemata enable mental short-cuts by allowing us to process familiar information quickly without needing to analyse every detail from scratch; they provide a sense of predictability and order that reduces uncertainty; they help us navigate relationships by enabling us to anticipate how people will react and to adjust our behaviour accordingly; they reduce emotional overwhelm by, instead of processing every situation as if for the first time, allowing us to rely on past experience to guide us; they speed up skill acquisition and problem-solving by providing mental frameworks that help guide our reasoning. There are risks too. For instance: schemata may lead to confirmation bias, where we selectively interpret information in ways that reinforce our pre-existing beliefs; they may lead to stereotyping and unfair generalisation of people, cultures or situations; we may experience disappointment, frustration or distress if reality doesn’t align with our expectations; negative patterns from the past may create unnecessary worry and avoidance behaviours now; if we assume our knowledge is absolute, it may discourage curiosity, learning and adaptivity; we may project our expectations onto others or fail to recognise their own unique perspectives. So, here are some techniques I’ve found useful: question whether your expectations about people or situations are based on facts or past experiences; be mindful of confirmation bias and stereotyping; engage with people from different backgrounds and cultures; try new activities, travel or change your routine to disrupt automatic thought patterns; view challenges as opportunities to refine your schemata; ask regularly, ‘What else could be true?’ to consider multiple possibilities for why something happened; if emotionally triggered, pause and ask whether your reaction is based on present or past experiences; try hard to make room for the new. Do you need help with breaking free from life traps? Get in touch!
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 ‘Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.' (Pema Chödrön) Sunday evening this week, a trip to Germany. I was taken aback by the curt responses I received from some airport staff when transferring between flights, and witnessed from some cabin crew members towards passengers on the plane. It was and felt unusual, very different to what I’d experienced and seen on my many visits to Germany before. It made me wonder what demands and stresses these staff are facing, especially perhaps with tightening pressures in Germany on immigration and border control as it approaches its general election this month. It reminded me of an appraisal workshop I ran with Sue Powell, a gifted coach and trainer who’d worked internationally too. We were exploring a human tendency to judge others by their actions and, by contrast, ourselves by our intentions. Sue invited participants, in 2s, simply to stand in the room facing each other. Then, in silence, she invited them to imagine vividly, ‘This person is a problem’, and to notice how they felt as they did so. Then, ‘This person has a problem.’ And finally, ‘This person is like me, trying to do their best, yet has their ups and downs.’ Participants fed back in plenary how their feelings towards the other person had changed as they made these shifts in what they were telling themselves about that person; with an increase in empathy as the activity progressed. They also reflected on how, if it had been an appraisal conversation, what they were saying to themselves about the other could well have influenced reactions and outcomes, without necessarily being aware of it. So, there’s something here about grace and truth, addressing issues honestly whilst taking a compassionate stance.  ‘For every fixed idea there is an absent idea: by interpreting experience in a particular way we inadvertently exclude alternative renditions.’ (Peter Senge) It’s tricky being human. We are so easily trapped by our assumptions. Imagine this scenario (mirroring Chris Argyris and Peter Senge’s Ladder of Inference): You arrange a meeting with a colleague from whom you need input and you race back from another appointment to ensure you arrive on time. To your frustration and dismay, the other person doesn’t turn up. You call them but there’s no answer. What sort of thing goes through your mind? It could be:
That reminds me of Stephen Covey’s observation that, often, ‘We judge others by their actions but ourselves by our intentions.’ If this happens, you’re likely to feel devalued and disrespected – and that will have a negative impact on your relationship. Yet how to challenge yourself to create a shift in perspective and, thereby, to open up fresh possibilities for moving things forward? Jean Latting and V. Jean Ramsey offer a useful ‘3 Hypotheses Technique’: The first step is to notice and take note of what you assume the person’s action or behaviour means – that is, if you like, your starting hypothesis. The second step is to assume the person has a positive intention – which would be, in this case, the reverse of your initial hypothesis. The third step is to assume the person is, for instance, being driven by external circumstances that are beyond their control – that is, to imagine or create an alternative explanation. Playing with hypotheses like this can help us loosen the grip that hidden, subconscious assumptions can hold over our thinking, how we feel and how we respond. It helps us recognise when we may be jumping to conclusions without realising it – especially when we’re feeling anxious, pressured or stressed – and it can evoke a constructive and healthy state of curiosity, allowing us to navigate situations and relationships with greater freedom, flexibility and truth.  'We don't get to choose how we come into this world - but God gives the freedom to choose how we live in it.' (Frances Cabrini) The end of a year and start of a new one marks a transition point in the calendar and, at times, in our own lives too. It’s an opportunity to look back, re-evaluate, learn and make choices before casting our eyes forward to take next steps in a future direction. I find the best way I can do this is by taking time away from day-to-day distractions in silence, to sit before God and before myself, as if looking into a mirror long and hard to face whatever may surface into awareness. This kind of reflective examination sometimes helps me to avoid falling into repeating patterns of thought and action, often based more on habitual routines than on conscious decisions. Part of the challenge we may encounter is self-deception; made more difficult by subconscious projection (that is, framing others in ways that distort reality) and introjection (that is, framing ourselves in ways that distort reality). The subconscious part means we do it without being aware that we’re doing it. It’s a kind of fooling ourselves about fooling ourselves – a double bind, if you like. There’s a risk, on the one hand, that we believe what we want to believe – which is a way of defending ourselves from anxiety, confusion or stress – or, on the other, we believe what we fear most – which is a sign, driver and consequence of anxiety. And both without knowing it. So how can we get past this? I try a number of strategies. On the foundational hope, purpose and ethics front, I reflect prayerfully on the Bible and on other spiritual resources. On the professional development front, including to address my own hidden assumptions and risks of avoidance, I employ a talented coach who’s high in stimulus and in challenge. On the fresh thinking front, I network, read articles and write blogs to share and invite insights and ideas with and from others. On the international front, I work cross-culturally and, on occasion, visit other places and cultures. Taken as a whole, these approaches help me to stay, as well as I can, at the edge of my calling.  ‘For every complex problem there is an answer that is clear, simple and wrong.’ (H.L. Mencken) Steve walked along a dry mud path between two fields in rural Uganda. To his left, the field was dry and sun-baked with a few wizened banana plants dotted around. To his right, the field was filled with lush, green banana crops. His Ugandan colleague invited Steve to reflect on: ‘Why is there a difference between the two fields, and what’s the solution for the field on the left?’ Steve wondered, ‘Perhaps the farmer who owns the field on the left isn’t thinking about or seeing his neighbour’s field, or perhaps he's too poor to make a sufficient investment to improve it.’ As I listened to Steve, I found myself wondering if the difference could have been, perhaps, a consequence of different irrigation systems, fertilisation methods or seed quality. A proposed solution: what if the farmer on the left could learn from and replicate whatever the farmer on the right is doing? In effect, I was seeing the issue as primarily technological. Without realising it, I was looking at the question through my own cultural lens and considering solutions that emerge naturally from my own cultural paradigm. And I was missing the point completely. Steve’s Ugandan colleague explained. ‘The farmer on the right lives far away in Kampala. The farmer on the left lives here, on his own land. In this context, if the farmer on the left were to copy the farmer on the right, and if his crop were suddenly to improve, the first thing that could happen is that he would be accused of witchcraft. After all, according to local belief systems, what else could explain such a seemingly miraculous change in his fortunes? This would be both devastating and dangerous for the farmer and his family and could, potentially, put their lives at risk. Assuming that didn’t happen, what certainly would happen is that his extended family, friends and community would see his betterment and expect or demand that he share his new-found prosperity with them. If he refused to do so, he and his family would be accused of being selfish, and ostracized. If he did share his new-found wealth with them all, he would be back to square one again – meaning all the extra hard work he would have to put in to improve his own lot wouldn’t be worth it. The farmer on the right, living in a city, is not subject to those pressures.’ This was a powerful illustration of the complex relationship between culture and development and helps to explain why, alongside other factors such as conflict, corruption, climate change (and sometimes sheer craziness), well-intentioned efforts and investments may be rejected, ineffective or fall apart over time. The key lays in relationship – to work alongside local people in a spirit of humility, curiosity and collaboration to understand: why are things as they are, what their hopes and aspirations are; and what would need to happen if they were to be fulfilled.  'There is frequently more to be learned from the unexpected questions of a child than the discourses of adults.' (John Locke) My 5 year-old daughter asked me, ‘Dad, why is it cold downstairs but hot upstairs?’ ‘Because warm air rises’ I replied, gesturing a floating-upwards movement with my hands. ‘But why does it rise?’ That’s a great example of a 2nd question. A 2nd question takes us closer to critical reflection. It’s useful in disciplines like coaching and action learning because it challenges a person to think more deeply, pushing beyond surface-level responses to what lays behind, beneath or beyond. Here’s why it matters, with some examples: 1. Uncovering underlying motives Q1: ‘What are your goals for this project?’ Q2: ‘Why are these goals important to you?’ The 1st question may reveal what someone wants, but the 2nd question uncovers why they want it. It reveals a person’s values and motivations, helping to align efforts and understand the true significance of success. 2. Moving beyond assumptions Q1: ‘Why do you believe this solution will work?’ Q2: ‘What evidence have you found that supports this belief?’ The 1st question asks for an opinion, but the 2nd question invites critical examination of that opinion. It challenges the person to consider facts, research or data to foster a more informed and reflective response. 3. Challenging initial reactions Q1: ‘Do you think the new policy is fair?’ Q2: ‘Who benefits the most from this policy, and who might be disadvantaged?’ The 1st question elicits a gut reaction, often based on personal experience or bias. The 2nd question invites a deeper analysis by examining the broader implications, encouraging critical thinking about fairness for all parties involved. 4. Exploring various alternatives Q1: ‘Why did you choose this option?’ Q2: ‘What other options did you consider, and why did you reject them?’ While the 1st question focuses on decision-making, the 2nd question helps a person consider whether alternative solutions were fully explored and whether biases or incomplete information influenced their choice. Would you like support with developing your second question skills? Get in touch!  ‘Curiosity killed the cat, but for a while I was the suspect.’ (Steven Wright) Action Learning facilitators sometimes feel anxious if there are prolonged periods of silence in a group, or if an individual is particularly quiet. They may assume, for instance, that the person is uninterested to engage with the group or the process. I had that experience once (online) where a participant sat throughout a round wearing headphones, nodding and swinging in his chair as if to music. When I asked if he had any questions, he clearly had no idea what the presenter had been talking about. I addressed this with him directly after the round, checked if there was anything he would need to be and feel more engaged, then agreed that he would leave the set. That said, there are a wide range of potential factors that may influence if and how a person engages in a set meeting and, at times, different reasons for the same participant during different rounds. I will list some of them here as possibilities: if a person has been sent to a set, rather than has chosen freely to join it; if there is formal or cultural hierarchy within the group; if there has been insufficient attention paid to agreeing ground-rules for psychological safety; if building relational understanding and trust has been neglected; if a person doesn’t like someone else in the group, or fears negative evaluation by others in the set; if a person lacks confidence. There are other possibilities too: if a person has an introverted preference and processes thoughts and feelings internally; if a person has a reflective personality and needs more time to think; if a person doesn’t feel competent with the language or jargon being used; if the person can’t think of a presenting issue or a question; if last time the person spoke up in a group meeting, it was a difficult experience or had negative consequences; if a person is preoccupied with issues or pressures outside of the meeting; if a person is distracted mentally or impacted emotionally by something that happened before the meeting, or is due to happen after it. So, what to do if a person is completely silent in a set? Here are some ideas, to be handled with sensitivity and, if appropriate, outside of the meeting: take a compassionate stance – there may be all kinds of reasons for the silence of which you are unaware; avoid making judgements – silence does not necessarily indicate disengagement; be curious – ask the person tentatively, without pressure, if any issues or questions are emerging for them; avoid making assumptions – ask the person what the silence means for them and if there’s anything they need; have an offline conversation with the person – if their silence persists for more than one meeting.  '95% of what we think we know, we have simply accepted from what other people have told us.' (Dennis Hiebert) Nothing adds up. How can we identify hidden assumptions, implicit agendas and vested interests that lay behind what we see, hear and read in the media? Perhaps the answer to this question has rarely been so critical. Democracy and social cohesion within and between peoples and nations are threatened by manipulation and misrepresentation of what we may ordinarily regard as truth. Following writer Mark Twain, actor Denzel Washington commented famously, ‘If you don’t read the news, you’re uninformed. If you do read the news, you’re misinformed.’ Take international news in the UK. Why are we so focused on Russia-Ukraine and Israel-Gaza? Why haven’t we noticed, apart from the occasional glance, the terrible civil wars in Sudan, Myanmar or Democratic Republic of Congo? Why do we call Russia’s brutal intervention in Ukraine a ‘full-scale invasion’? Why do we assume that increasing NATO size-spend is the only solution? If Israel’s bombing is indiscriminate, why has it killed, proportionately, so few ‘adult men’? Why didn’t we see outraged street demonstrations against horrific, widespread atrocities by Daesh? These are profoundly important, deeply complex and extremely painful issues and we rarely have access to the underlying research or information that could help us, as ordinary and concerned citizens of the world, to discern and decide how to act. We are presented with multiple, competing viewpoints and demands and this can feel both perplexing and paralysing. I don’t know the answers to such questions yet I do believe they should play at least some part in shaping my response. I will share some considerations that may help us to avoid sleepwalking blindness. As we’re exposed to news reports, what are we noticing and not noticing? How far does what we’re noticing appear to confirm what we already believe or want to believe? How open are we to having our assumptions, our preconceived beliefs and ideas, challenged to reveal something different or new? Why is the news presenter or media channel presenting this particular story or angle? What do they want us to believe, think, feel or do? Who or what is being excluded by the reporter’s narrative? Whose voice, perspective or experience is being ignored or filtered out? Behind the scenes: who owns and-or funds the media channel, the presented report or the research that underpins it? How rigorously are research methods tested to avoid implicit bias? Are views and experiences presented in a report genuinely representative of a wider and diverse population, or different sides to a conflict? In interpreting statistics, is a reporter presenting a case selectively, or cherry-picking results to show or advocate a particular stance? In short, be sceptical – and look for evidence that supports or contradicts the research-reporter’s ‘news’.  ‘Language is power, life and the instrument of culture, the instrument of domination and liberation.’ (Angela Carter) In her challenging and ground-reclaiming polemic, Drop the Disorder, psychotherapist Jo Watson comments that, “The counselling profession (and in that I include psychotherapy) is helping to endorse a medical understanding of emotional distress that is based on ‘What is wrong with you?’ and not ‘What has happened to you?’” I heard a similar-but-different reframing of the issue from Paul Kelly at a Leading & Influencing Trauma-Informed Change workshop today, advocating a shift from “What’s the matter with you?” to “What matters to you?” The striking feature of both these examples is the profound impact of language on reflecting and reinforcing the ways in which people and situations are construed and responded to. In Jo Watson’s case, the first framing regards an issue as some form of dysfunction in an individual. The alternative looks beyond the individual to explore wider potential influencing factors. As radical social reformer Martin Luther King noticed, what appears at first glance as dysfunctional behaviour is sometimes a normal response to dysfunctional circumstances. In Paul Kelly’s case, similarly, the first framing locates a problem within an individual. It’s a form of pathologizing, implying that a person’s behaviour is a consequence of some internal defect. The alternative invites an exploration of the person’s underlying values and motivations. Behaviour that appears dysfunctional could be a natural response to healthy, unmet hopes and needs in a dysfunctional environment. Kenneth Gergen offers a stark warning here, pointing to risks of a medical model applied uncritically: ‘a diseasing of the population.’  ‘The difficulty lies not so much in developing new ideas as in escaping from old ones.’ (John Maynard Keynes) Once upon a time…I would often get tens if not, on occasion, hundreds of responses to blog posts on LinkedIn. It was a thrilling experience to receive insights, ideas and experiences from people all over the world. Over time, however, the huge flood of responses gradually diminished to a tiny trickle. I felt surprised, disappointed and bemused. What had changed? I began to ask myself some searching questions: Were people bored with my content? Were fewer people using LinkedIn than before? Were fewer people engaging with posts on LinkedIn generally? I looked at which posts seemed to be getting lots of responses and noticed that they often looked more like Facebook posts: e.g. walking a dog, taking a child to school. This set me off down a different track. Had there been a shift in societies so that people were no longer interested in thinking through issues and more interested in sharing personal experiences? Had Covid lockdown and isolation shifted our focus from insights and ideas towards the social and relational, to feel less alone? Had we all slipped into a TikTok world? The problem was, I was asking the wrong questions. My starting assumption was that the critical issue was with my blog content. It led me, like Alice in Wonderland, down perplexing rabbit holes. It took a revelatory conversation with a marketing consultant, James Rowe, to discover the core issue was with my media, impacted by changes to LinkedIn algorithms. What assumptions are you making? How do you avoid getting stuck? |
Nick WrightI'm a psychological coach, trainer and OD consultant. Curious to discover how can I help you? Get in touch! 
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