How to Build Bridges
What is the word for this time? The word that could describe the pain we feel even for those who don’t know why? The word that could describe the division that we feel but cannot always see? The word that acknowledges there are invisible bombs destroying our bridges?
Some have called it a social civil war. Some are offended at anyone equating it to war. Another division.
Some have called it a conspiracy. Others are offended at anyone calling it a conspiracy. Another division.
Does it need a word? Maybe. And how can we repair the damage?
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Today, I started my morning the way I usually do: with a mug of coffee (half decaf, a splash of almond milk, a splash of creamer) and my meditation app at the ready. Before I started my meditation routine (mindfulness, metta, then noting practice), I allowed myself to check a notification. Ah, the rabbit’s hole of social media. To be fair, I didn’t go down too far. But I went down enough to see another bridge burning.
Among the phrases I hate is this: “There are two sides to every argument.”
Not true.
There are a multitude of sides to every argument. And most of the time, none of them is listening very well to the others.
Here’s a phrase I love (well, it’s not really a phrase yet, but let’s make it one): “Most strong opinions are born of fear; and we all feel fear, so we have that in common.”
When the social world feels like it’s being eroded, it’s like tilling the ground: It hurts. It divides and stabs and crushes.
But
It can also be a time for planting seeds and letting the light in.
There are two main types of questioning in legal trials: direct examination and cross examination. Cross examination is what you hear on TV. It’s theatrical. It’s almost always phrased as yes/no or states the answer in the question:
“And you did your own research?”
Direct examination, though it doesn’t often get its time in the lime-light, is the backbone of every trial. Juries don’t get the facts and story from cross examination; they get the facts and story from direct examination. These questions are usually phrased with who, what, when, where, and why. These questions open the floodgates of story and explanation. They allow the witness to explain themselves and be heard. They allow the jury to get to know the person and the facts as remembered.
“What did you read that made you feel that way?” “Will you share it with me?” “When did you learn this?” “Who in your life has been affected by it?” “How did that feel?” “What are you worried about?”
When I followed the social media rabbit’s hole today, I saw cross examination returned with cross examination. There was a story there, behind the quips, but no one was inviting it in. An invisible story. In the background. Unspoken.
I want to make a few recommendations. The gist of each one is this: what would happen if we multiplied our listening and learning and greatly reduced our stating of opinions? I mean each of us — all of us — listening, listening, listening. Exploring, exploring, exploring. Learning, learning, learning.
There is a time for opinions.
But I wonder if that time is far later, and far less often than we think.
What if our opinions aren’t the most important part of most of our conversations?
Here’s a thought: people rarely change other people’s minds about important topics through argument. This is doubly true when the topic is related to life or basic necessities of life. This is quadropoly true when the other person has felt deep suffering on the topic.
Amygdala’s don’t care about logical opinions.
Do you really have it all figured out? Is this really the time to say as much? Here’s an interesting thought: do you think you could make the other person’s argument for them? Do you know enough about it, about them? And do you really think you’re going to convince them of whatever it is you feel so strongly about when they’re still feeling unheard and misunderstood?
On this Thanksgiving day in the midst of our unnamed social erosion: can I make this recommendation? Invite in the story first, foremost, and always.
Do this before you share an opinion.
Maybe don’t even share an opinion.
If it’s not going to persuade the other person, then focus on the relationship first. (Side note: you’re more likely to persuade them if you do this anyway).
So here are my specific, actionable recommendations:
Replace “In my opinion” with “I am curious.”
Replace “I think…” with “I wonder…”
Replace “Well we’re all entitled to our opinions” with “Tell me more” or “Help me understand.”
And listen.
Don’t just give a hat tip to listening.
Listen.
All the way.
There is a Buddhist concept of right speech. It is perhaps one of the wisest of the Eightfold Path. It’s the thing we like about the wisest of characters in stories, the Gandalfs of the world. They speak much less than everyone else, but their words are much more powerful for it. They listen much more than everyone else, and their growth and understanding is much greater for it.
Listening doesn’t even take much effort. You can literally just say, “That’s interesting. Will you tell me more about how you came to that?” and then let the other person do the rest. You can do this over and over again.
Listening is how you uncover the fear. Listening is how you can calm it. Listening is how you diffuse the invisible bombs that are flying, unnamed, around us. Listening is how you build back the bridges that are cracking and breaking and falling.
Try it once today. See how it goes.
On this Thanksgiving, give your friends and family a listen. See what you can learn.
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