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In our work with lots of different types of teams, one of the most common issues we hear about is a need to “improve communication.”

As a linguist and husband in a cross-cultural marriage, I am naturally passionate about communication. There is a lot that can go wrong with simply delivering and receiving ideas!

However, I’ve noticed that what appears on the surface to be a communication issue, might actually be distracting us from deeper more important issues. Let me switch gears for a moment to share a story from my family to show what I mean.

The Rainy Day

Guangzhou has been in the news recently for massive rains and flooding. Last Sunday as my family was getting ready to leave the house we realized the literal wall of water falling outside the building presented a major problem getting the four of us to the car.

My wife and I hatched the same plan you’ve already thought of: she and the two kids wait in a covered area while I dash to the car to drive it closer. Genius.

We talked about it all the way down the elevator, through the lobby, and right to the place where the stroller with the baby and all the bags would wait. I said, “See you soon!” and started my 50 meter dash to the car.

Halfway to the car I heard my 3-year-old daughter shouting behind me. With a mix of shock and fury, I turned and shouted “No! What are you doing?! Go back!” She was chasing me through the torrential rain because, for some reason, she hadn’t gotten the message to stay with mom and wait.

To my great dismay, the communication epic fail had led to the exact situation we were trying to avoid: a soaking wet child, wasting extra time to go home to get dry clothes for her.

Communication Epic Fail?

As we drove away, I fumed and reflected on what had gone wrong.

“I guess we didn’t explain the plan to you, right?” I asked my daughter.

“Right,” she confirmed.

“Mom didn’t tell you to stay with her?”

“No,” my daughter said.

Silence. I was furious with myself for not seeing this glaring hole in the plan. But how was it possible? We had been discussing it the whole time and my daughter (like all 3-year-olds) is always on high alert for whatever mom and dad are talking to each other about. (My theory is she’s vigilant for when we might be making a plan to get ice cream without her.)

Finally my wife asked her a question: “Did you know the plan was for dad to run and get the car and the three of us wait in the shelter?”

“Yes,” my daughter answered.

WHAT?!

“And why did we make that plan?” my wife asked.

“So I don’t get wet,” my daughter said.

“See?” my wife said to me. “She knew the plan.”

Hey wait a minute! If she knew the plan, the problem wasn’t communication at all. She just simply didn’t do what I expected.

The Alternate Universe

When we communicate with other people, we all naturally assume they share our view of the universe. We assume their priorities are the same as ours. We assume what we consider to be reasonable and acceptable is the same for them.

But really, everyone is living in alternate universes. I don’t mean your reality is completely different from mine, but there are key areas where the Venn diagram does not overlap the way I expect.

In my story, here are the adult’s priorities:

1. Keep the kids dry.

2. Keep the kids from catching a cold.

3. Arrive on time to our destination.

But as I drove along in silence, I only needed to play back in my mind the tape of what happened to discover how different my daughter’s reality was.

“Jack, wait!” is what she had called out to me while she chased me through the rain.

My name is Albert.

Or better yet, Dad.

She calls me Jack when she has become “Annie” and we’re the protagonists in her favorite book series: The Magic Treehouse. She has listened to dozens of the stories.

I then recalled her style of running through the rain: she was running in a sort of dramatic slow-motion, which is not even close to her usual athletic form. She was living an adventure story in which Jack must heroically face a storm, and Annie will be right by his side the whole time!

She didn’t fail to get the message: “wait her with mom.” She simply ignored it.

My Plan v. Her Story

The more I thought about it the more convinced I became that my “plan” and her “story” were in direct conflict.

Why would Annie stand idly by while Jack gets to have a great adventure?

“Did you want to go with Jack into the storm?” I asked for confirmation.

“Yes,” was her immediate reply.

That explains everything!

When forced to choose between the two, her story beat out my plan.

Typical Postmortems Miss the “Who?”

When misunderstandings and communication breakdowns occur, so often a leader’s response is to analyze where messages got dropped. Then policies (even informal ones) are made to “avoid this sort of thing next time.”

But what “sort of thing” is it, really?

In my story, the way to avoid this sort of miscommunication next time is for me to be totally in tune with what reality my daughter is living in.

For me this is as simple as asking “Who are you right now?” (a question I’m asking constantly now).

Her answers include various princess’ names, a whole range of animals (especially kittens or koalas), and even herself BUT in a made-up story about her cousin coming to visit her in China (which he has never done).

Communicating with a 3-year-old starts by entering her world.

Is it so different for leaders in a Fortune 500 company?

If I were to go back to the latest communication breakdown in your company, I would see a lot of discussion about “what” and “how” and maybe even “why” things didn’t work.

A conclusion might sound like this: “So next time we’re going to be sure to include these steps/people in the process.”

But what if I went back and asked the people involved: “Who were you at the time of the communication breakdown?”

I’d get a blank stare or maybe a (very honest) reply: “I was myself.” That’s true. But don’t we all have multiple versions of ourself?

How to ask “Who are you?”

In addition to asking my daughter “Who are you?” I should be asking myself that. In the rain story, who was I? I didn’t think I was Jack, but I was more than just Dad too. I thought of myself as:

• Children’s Health Protector

• Car driver

• Master planner

• Fast mover

It’s the last two that got me in trouble. And as I reflected on the “Fast Mover” role, I can see that’s actually a consistent source of conflict in my family. I’m trying to move too fast, get things done, and reach a destination at a rate that’s counterproductive. I think if I can slow down a bit, maybe even get rid of that last role all together, it might automatically solve what appear to be communication problems.

This is so revolutionary for me: when trying to solve communication problems, I’m basically never asking about “who” people are. I think I know, but probably I don’t.

But I’m also not thinking about who I am in the moment. “I’m myself,” yes. But what “role” am I playing in this situation?

• What am I “defending” or “fighting for”?

• What cause am I the “champion” of?

• What am I willing to sacrifice for the “prize”?

• What unique “superpowers” or “gifts” do I think I’m contributing?

These “who” questions, while they might just seem like reframing of a “goals” discussion actually feel different to me. They get at my sense of identity in a way that really sheds new light on communication breakdowns. And when I’m dealing with the identities of the parties in a communication breakdown, I think I’m finally on the right track to make some real breakthroughs to avoid “this sort of thing” in the future.

The next article will include a story from a recent doctor’s office visit where I was able to apply this “who” approach to great avail!

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