Good relationships are precious beyond the scent of night blooming jasmine, and unless you pay close attention, they are as equally fleeting.  Everyone benefits from forming, maintaining, and deepening those precious relationships that are worth sustaining for a lifetime. That takes training and practice and often the help of outside advice.

Carole, a colleague, taught me an invaluable lesson this morning when she came into my office.

“Alan, I have a problem.”

“Okay.  Have a seat.  What is it?”

“My old boss was always saying nice things to me, like “Good work,” or “I value your contribution to the office.”  That felt good and I was encouraged.  I went out of my way to help everyone, which is something I like to do anyway.

“Sounds good.  I work for appreciation myself, probably more than anything else.”

“Well, Alan, my new boss is more demanding, and that’s fine, but in three months she has never given me a single word of encouragement or appreciation, though she has shared many words of criticism.  That’s why I’m circulating my resume.”

Carole’s statement hit home with me for several reasons.

First, I was reminded of a line from a popular song, “you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone,” because I know that this is something I am guilty of. While I respond positively to words of appreciation from others, I often fail to express my own appreciation back. I sometimes forget that everyone likes to be appreciated and yet this is an idea that we must take seriously. Or, as the song goes, you might find out too late that you should have appreciated someone more.

Second, in the words of my friend Lou, a rare bookseller, “Once I make the sale I stop talking.” We’ve all had an argument with a spouse or friend, and when they responded positively, (maybe even went so far as to agree to change their behavior), we still pushed our victory over the cliff with one final: “and while we’re at it, there’s another thing I want you to change.”

Third, sometimes we don’t take turns as we should.  I have a rule for myself that if a friend, colleague, or spouse tells me they are unhappy with me in some way then – today it is their turn.  They can criticize me for as long as they like. They can talk about my shortcomings, and ask me to change. My turn to tell them that they are even worse than I am, or to exchange my promise to change for their promise to do something for me, will come tomorrow. By analogy – if I am standing in a line and you have asked to cut in front, it is not my turn to cut in front of you a few minutes later. I have to do it another day.

If you want to win the reward of a long and fulfilling relationship, whether in the work place, at school, or in your marriage, then you have to encourage the other as much as you can, and allow your colleague, friend, or spouse to win their share of disputes.  I aim to have them win sixty percent or more.

And when victory is yours – either because they have agreed with you and have promised to change, or because you agreed with them and have promised to change or have apologized – then for the sake of your future together, just STOP.  Say “Thank you.  I appreciate that you were candid with me,” or “I appreciate you bringing this to my attention.”

For the sake of the future of your great relationship, stop when you are ahead, and suppress any impulse to “pile on.” Don’t snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

Alan

I love theater.  I may have said that before in my blog, but love is worth repeating.

I’ve seen plays in London, Edinburgh, Prague, and throughout the United States. I’ve been to many plays on Broadway, including one in which Lyndon Johnson, then vice president of the United States, was in the audience.

Ever since I was a teen, I’ve probably seen on average one play a week, though I must admit, getting out of the house for an 8:00 pm curtain, and returning near 11:00 pm, has become more difficult over the years.

Three decades ago my father introduced me to a repertory group, Noise Within, now located in Pasadena. They present five or six plays each year, and every year we purchase season tickets.

Last night we attended “The Madwoman of Chaillot,” by Jean Giraudoux. Though it was written in 1943, this is a play that resonates today.

I found both the writing and, especially, the production suburb.  Toward the end, of the play I decided I would stand at the curtain call, both as a sign of my enthusiasm and to show my appreciation and respect to the actors.

A month ago, at another play, I had also wanted to stand in appreciation of the performance. But that evening as I surveyed the house during the curtain call, I noticed everyone else remained seated.  Clearly others did not share my opinion of the play, and because I was hesitant to stand alone, I remained in my seat.

Last night I decided I would stand no matter what.  Then I remembered the conversation I’d overheard during intermission. The woman next to me was complaining because “the play was hard to follow.”  I thought, once again, that I might be the only member of the audience to stand.  That scared me, so I changed my mind.  You could say that I chickened out.

Upon further reflection, I decided I would stand regardless.  Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!  But still I wondered, when the time came, would I really have the courage to stand alone?  Maybe I should wait, and look around first. I didn’t want to be out of step or look foolish.

“Come on,” I told myself.  “You really should stand.”

“I will,” I answered.  Then, in a soft inner voice I added, “Probably.”

The Madwoman has a line toward the end of the play in which she urges a young couple to kiss.  “After all,” she says, “you’ve known each other for three hours.  And if you let the wedge of the moment come between you it will then become a minute, then an hour, a day, a month, thirty years.  And I can tell you that I would be a different woman today if the man I loved had the courage to kiss me thirty years ago.”

At the final curtain I decided that I would definitely stand, no matter what, and when the lights came up, I did.  I didn’t look around, I didn’t want to know if the woman next to me, or anyone else in our party, was going to join me.  I stood for myself.

I was about to say, “Fortunately, many in the audience stood up after I did.”  I’d prefer to leave out the word “Fortunately,” because that implies that if I had stood alone I would have done something stupid, something wrong, something unsupported. But to only stand when others are standing would mean I was living a life for others rather than for myself. So from now on, I will be the first man standing, and if necessary, I will stand alone.

Back home I read the Los Angeles Times review.  Their critic also called this play performance “superb.”

I’m reluctant to admit that I am relieved.

Alan

To err is human.  Not to admit it is even more human.

For seventy-seven years I’ve lived in a world where countless people have sincerely tried to help me – parents, teachers, coaches, and friends – helpers all.

And the end result of all this help? I felt I was a failure.  To me, every suggestion implied that I wasn’t good enough. Help always seemed to include an implication of failure.

“Alan, you’re too sensitive,” was my mother’s refrain throughout my entire childhood.  I know she was trying to help.  But a chorus of “Don’t be so sensitive” assaulted me every time I heard her say that.

“Don’t be so sensitive?”  Should I live my life with eyes covered, ears plugged, emotions numb?  While these are options I sometimes use, I refuse to live my life as an armor-encased hermit. So despite my mother’s helpful advice, I continue to be sensitive.  I don ‘t have a choice about that.

We aspire, we succeed and we fall short.  We fail to fulfil both our own high hopes and the expectations of others.  We compound our failure by failing to acknowledge it, becoming, often unconsciously, a victim.  And a victim, by definition, cannot change.

But here is where the Five Freedoms of Facing Failure can help you live a more fulfilling life.

First, acknowledge your failure to yourself. At age sixty-five my mother discovered a lump in her breast but told no one for ten months.  She was only able to get treatment when she finally acknowledged she’d been in denial that something was wrong. She had failed to accept that her body was not functioning properly.

Second, advertise your failure.  When I started to practice law, and I do mean practice, every time I failed I shook my fist of blame at someone else.  Anyone else.  And I remained a captive of the same repeated failures until I finally learned to take responsibility.  I was pleasantly shocked when my staff relaxed and started to like me better.  At last I was free from my own fear that they would see me as incompetent.

Third, ask for help.  When my daughter Sara was four years old her teacher said, “When Sara wants something, she asks for it.”  I smiled.  “And if she doesn’t get it, she asks again.”  I beamed.  “And if she still doesn’t get it she asks someone else.”  I was thrilled.  The teacher seemed to disapprove.  But if you stop at the first closed door you’ll never leave your bedroom.

Fourth, ask for and accept forgiveness, both from within and from without yourself.  Years ago, my family was heading off for a vacation.  My Dad had driven to my house and was standing in the driveway.  As I backed my car out of the garage I saw him in my rearview mirror, jumping frantically up and down.  I knew I wasn’t going to hit him, so I continued to back up – right over his suitcase.  Had I failed?  Was it my fault?  It made no difference.  His suitcase was crushed and I apologized profusely.  Now, twenty years later, we both laugh at the experience.  Maybe I laugh a little more heartily.

Fifth, by following the first four steps you’ve given yourself the freedom to move on.  As the song says, “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”  When you lose your fear of facing failure, nothing but freedom can follow.

Go for it!

Alan