"Why did you do that"
As a father, I hear myself saying that a lot.
I want to believe it’s a question of curiosity: ‘help me understand your thinking, dear child, because the logic against which I operate would have result in a different outcome.’ In reality it’s a statement, not a question: ‘what’s the name of the demon that possesses you, because no human with my last name could possibly ever make such as decision. Let us exorcise it together, shall we?’ More pointedly, it’s a judgement: “there must be some faulty wiring in there because in no world is you eating the the whole pie — my pie — a good idea. Don’t let it happen again or… perhaps maybe I’ll speak in a more stern voice next time?!?”
Again, more times than not, “Why did you do that” is a statement, not a question, so there’s no need for my child to answer. Blank stares suggesting a longing for the lecture to end are understandably the only response I receive.
I find myself preparing defenses regularly. Last week, I had a meeting with my boss to provide an update that I knew wouldn’t meet her expectations. I thoughtfully prepared a defense, attempting to meet her expectations with data (because data makes everything better). As expected, she was not satisfied and the interrogation began. I lobbed my data, pretending it were actual information, hoping that I could distract her with more data. I don’t know that it worked, but it did buy some time.
On the way home, I listened to a Farnam Street podcast with Sheila Heen. Sheila studied under William Ury (who literally wrote the book on negotiation) and has worked with the Harvard Negotiation Project. She now teaches negotiation at Harvard and has applied her wares to Difficult Conversations. Ms. Heen spoke of the inherent defensiveness that comes with the ‘Why did you do that’ question. When challenged, whether on the ball field or the board room, we often take a defensive stance.
Rather, Ms. Heen offers, the question should not be defending the previous action, but in pausing to ‘thoughtfully desire an outcome': what goal did I hope to accomplish with that last action? What goal do I now want to accomplish? Given that the actions and decisions have now been made, what next?
Mentally, this shift moves thinking from defensiveness to possibility, closed-thinking to open-thinking.
In the context of my children, this shifts from accusatory interrogation to a teaching moment: the kool-aid is on the carpet and no amount of interrogation will change that. What now? What can we learn from this? Ms. Heen’s question shifts the thinking from defense to offense, from past action to future desire. Given the irreversible fact that the carpet is now red, what do I want?
The reality is that I want my carpet clean(er) and I want my child to not do it again, so I punish him by making him clean it up and threaten loss of limb if it happens again.
The more true reality is that I want my child to take care of his things (and his things are my things right now). I want him to take ownership for his actions. I want to maintain relationship with him.
That’s what I really want. The sad part is that I sacrifice my greater desires (relationship and responsibility) for lesser desires (rebuke and rightness).
So Ms. Heen's question stands: What do I really, truly want? Whether a stain on the carpet or negotiating a new job offer, what do I really want? What is my lesser desire costing me? What’s getting in the way of my deeper, truer desire?