I had hit 70 straight wins, setting an ultimate goal of 100 (only 30 more days to go). Then, darn it, came one of those where you get the last four letters right on the third try with lots of possible first letters to make a word. And, guess what, I tried the wrong first letters on the last three tries until I lost. And that was my teaching moment. Well, it’s what I would have tried to turn into a teaching moment if I were still teaching. I could physically feel the energy draining out into a kind of “why bother” attitude.
It was a demonstration of an approach gradient in action. “Approach gradient?” If I could do anything more than just write words on this blog, I’d draw a picture. Or even find one to copy. But I haven’t been good at extra stuff ever since they made the blog system “easier?” a few years back. So please picture this with me. (Or skip the next paragraph if you don’t like imagining graphs, even simple ones.)
First there’s the horizontal axis, the bottom line, representing the distance from the goal, in this case the number of tries (one per day) starting in the left-hand corner. Straight across, 1-2-3-4-5-etc to 100. And then there’s the vertical axis, heading up from the left-hand corner representing the strength of the desire to reach the goal. You might call it the enthusiasm for getting to 100. Intro Psych tells us the enthusiasm measure will rise as one gets closer to the goal (of 100). In other words, the intensity of the desire to reach the goal increases. OK. So now picture that suddenly at try number 71 the line flops down to zero, necessitating starting all over. Enthusiasm drops to zero, or close to it.
You don’t really need to picture an “approach gradient.” Just see that, having made my way steadily and eagerly toward 100, I was suddenly – thud — back to zero. I failed. It didn’t help much to blame the game creator. I’m the one who didn’t get the right answer. My upward journey was stopped. And I could feel my enthusiasm drop. It really felt like a physical thud. Oh yes, I played Wordle again the next day, but I was in a “don’t-really-care-very-much-if-I-don’t-get-it” mood.” That “thud,” and the “I don’t really care that much,” reminded me of the many people who don’t find energizing success anywhere. Like kids in school whose interests and skills are not identified or encouraged. What a loss! I’m talking about the failure to encourage some among us to appreciate the gifts they can use and give. And then we’re surprised that they just kind of “hang out” their lives, or, worse still, revert to socially undesirable things like drugs, or bullying, or violence of other forms.
And that’s just referring to people who aren’t encouraged. Worse still are the kids who live in atmospheres where punishment and shaming are used in the attempt to drive them to socially acceptable behaviors. Ridiculous, really, when the function of punishment is to stop action, not to encourage it.
I lost on Wordle and was reminded of the approach gradient and its importance in encouraging the living of life. I’ve been fortunate to have abilities appreciated for most of my life, so I find it fun to try again. But that’s not true for too many people. And then we call them lazy. I don’t believe in lazy.
In general, I suggest to people that they never use the word “you” except to say something positive like “I love you,” or “You did such a great job on that project.” But there is another way that “you” becomes a positive word, as in “I’m so interested to hear your opinion about that,” or “Please tell me what interesting experiences you’ve had around that issue.”
But I still advise caution with that word “you.” Too often it’s a shaming word, as in “Why did you fall for that scam,” or “You should have known better.”
Worse yet, it’s a blaming word, as in “I lost because you gave me bad advice,” “Everything would have worked out OK if you hadn’t interfered.”
Sometimes it’s a blaming word even when it’s meant to be inspirational. I heard recently of a lecture session in which the speaker recounted the historically bad ways in which an ethnic group had been treated. At the end he suggested to the audience something like “You have a chance now to go out and rectify this situation.” Many were heard as they left saying something like, “Why should I be blamed for something I didn’t do?” It’s that word “you.” All by itself it’s heard as an accusation.
Maybe the most annoying use of the word “you” is when it’s intrusive. I’d be willing to bet each of us has experienced the negative effects of this, and done our share of “you” intrusiveness in speaking to others. It happens most often, I think, when people are trying to be helpful. The person in financial, emotional, or other difficulty is bombarded by friends and other helpers attacking with, “Have you tried … ?” Why don’t you …” “You should …” “If you’d only … “Had you thought of … ?” Put them all together they amount to shame and blame. The victim of the unsolicited help is usually too polite to say, “Come off it. Do you think I’m stupid? Of course I’ve tried everything I could think of. Get off my back.”
The promise of “you” is a matter of respect. When I ask to learn more about you and what you did or do, it may come through as intrusive. Or, well presented with genuine interest, it may be experienced as a neat opportunity to share oneself with someone who cares.
Now I’ve told you what you ought to know about the word “you.” Are you sufficiently annoyed yet?
I Chose to change to this blogging service because I found it easier to comment on other people’s blogs who were using WordPress, but I’m not hearing from anyone, so I think I’m just blowing into the wind. Am I right? Is there something I can do to rectify it?
What I’m being is vulnerable, I guess. Which brings me to a great presentation of authenticity, shame, and vulnerability. Well, really about lots more. It’s thanks to Pastor Beth Warpmaeker who posted it on Facebook. I know I’m “not normal” as one complimentary friend said, so maybe I’m just weird to think it’s great. To me, though, it taps into so much about forgiveness. When I tried to explain to myself why it seems that folks can forgive terrible crimes, but the little things cause long term resentment, I arrived eventually at shame. That one is called stupid, or has one’s boyfriend stolen, or finds one’s children ignored, for example, suggests a deficit in oneself. Murder, on the other hand, is clearly the fault of the perpetrator. Shame doesn’t get in the way of deciding whether to forgive.
So now, I’ll be vulnerable and try to attach the link here. If you do choose to watch it, be prepared to spend some time. It’s not a quickie.
monagustafsonaffinito 