When I think of defense I think of forts in the 19th century American West, where pioneers huddled, protected from attack by walls and the U.S. army. I think of castles in England, with drawbridges, gates, and moats. I think of Neighborhood Watch groups, trying to spot potential intruders and keep them out of the neighborhood. Defense, by definition, is designed to keep others away or chase them off.
Years ago I read an excellent book, Do I Have to Give Up Me To Be Loved By You? written by Jordan and Margaret Paul. As it turns out, I attended elementary school with Margaret, then known as Margie. The book suggests a skill which I highly recommend, and, at times, even use myself.
When someone at work or at home has a problem with me (which, of course, is almost never J), Margie’s book suggests that I can respond with either “an intent to learn,” or “an intent to defend.” In other words, I can hide in my castle shooting arrows and pouring boiling oil to keep the invader out, or I can roll down the drawbridge, open up my heavy gates, and invite the trespasser in for dinner.
Which would you prefer? Suppose you have invited me to dinner at your home, and I am an hour late, with no explanation or apology. After a few moments of strained pleasantries, you might say, “Alan, you were an hour late. I was concerned.”
I might play defense:
“I wasn’t late. This is the time you invited me for.”
“You know I’m usually late. You should have expected it.”
“The last two times I invited you to dinner at my home you were half an hour late, so I’m just getting even.”
“Since when is being late a big deal?”
“Traffic was terrible. And I lost your phone number. And the dog ate my cell phone. And I ran out of gas. And your house is hard to find. And you didn’t tell me that it was important for me to be on time. And I wasn’t hungry. And my mother died this morning.”
In other words, I can tell you that I did nothing to offend you, and suggest that, somehow, you are at fault.
If I do this, will you invite me to dinner again anytime soon? I wouldn’t. And not because of lateness, but because of defensiveness. I wouldn’t feel that you heard me, and, more importantly, I would feel that you would probably do the same thing over again. I would be downright angry with you.
But suppose that instead of defending myself I said, “Please say more.”
“I spent hours preparing a special dinner, which has now been in the oven too long and is probably dry. I also worried that you had been in an auto accident and were killed or injured. And my husband is upset with me because his friends had to wait so long.”
“Thanks for telling me. I have no excuse, I appreciate your invitation, and if you were an hour late, I would be concerned and feel the same way you do. If I am ever late again I promise to call you. My behavior is inexcusable.”
“Thanks. Let’s sit down and enjoy dinner.”
If you value either friendships or intimacy, I suggest that the best defense is no defense at all. I invite you to permanently demolish the walls of your fortress, swing your castle gates open, and ask strangers you may find wandering around your neighborhood how you can help them.
Alan
