Let Them Think It Over There

As I become more public and step further into leadership, I am discovering something that should probably have been obvious a long time ago.

People are going to characterize me.

They are going to decide what I meant. They are going to interpret what I said through their own experiences. Some will hear me clearly. Some will disagree with me. Some will misunderstand me. And some will construct an entire position on my behalf and then argue with it.

I can say, very specifically, “This is what I believe.”

Someone hears: “This is what everyone should believe.”

I can say, “This is my experience.”

Someone hears: “Your experience is invalid.”

I can say, “This is what works for me.”

Someone hears: “You are telling me what I have to do.”

And then I find myself wanting to explain.

No, that's not what I said.

No, that's not what I meant.

No, I wasn't talking about you.

No, I'm not prescribing anything to anybody.

No, I don't believe the absolute position you're now attributing to me.

And somewhere along the way, I started asking myself a ridiculous and impossible question:

How do I make sure everybody understands precisely what I mean and doesn't personalize something that wasn't about them?

One of the Elders I learn from has apparently already completed that project.

His answer is essentially:

You can't. Who gives a fuck? Let them think it over there.

There it is.

An entire philosophy of leadership in about ten words.

Are You a Warrior or a Fucking Worrier?

This Elder is not particularly interested in dressing wisdom up so it sounds profound.

Sometimes the teaching is:

“Who gives a fuck?”

Sometimes it is:

“Go fuck off over there.”

Sometimes:

“I don't have time for the bullshit.”

And one of my favourites:

“Are you a warrior or a fucking worrier?”

You can laugh at the language. Sometimes I do.

But sit with it for a while.

There is enormous wisdom underneath the simplicity.

How much of my energy am I going to spend managing things that exist entirely inside somebody else's head?

How much time am I going to spend worrying about what somebody thinks I meant?

How many paragraphs am I going to write explaining a sentence that was already clear?

How much of my life am I prepared to surrender to other people's interpretations of me?

Because there is no finish line to that.

There will always be another person.

Another interpretation.

Another characterization.

Another person who takes something personally that wasn't about them.

Another person who decides that because I told my story, I must somehow be telling them how to live theirs.

If leadership requires universal agreement about who I am and what I mean, then leadership is impossible.

The Victim Shirt

Another teaching from another Elder has stayed with me.

When men get caught in victimhood, he has told them to go to Walmart and buy one of those Superman-style shirts with the giant letter V on the chest.

Your victim shirt.

Put it on.

Wear it.

Be the victim.

Really get into it.

And when you're finished being the victim, take the shirt off.

I can imagine people hearing that and thinking, What the hell is this guy talking about?

That's part of it.

Sometimes a teaching doesn't arrive wrapped in language that immediately makes you comfortable. Sometimes it sounds ridiculous. Sometimes it pisses you off. Sometimes you sit there thinking the Elder has completely lost the plot.

And then three days later you're standing in your kitchen and suddenly:

Oh.

Now I understand.

That has been part of what ceremony has done to me.

It has changed the way I think about spirituality.

Not because somebody handed me another set of intellectual propositions to memorize.

Because I have experienced teachings differently.

Sometimes wisdom is incredibly simple.

Sometimes it is uncomfortable.

Sometimes it is hilarious.

Sometimes it has a swear word in the middle of it.

Holy Jesus, Joseph and Mary

I think about this sometimes when I am sitting in meetings.

I have listened to people who have been doing advocacy, recovery, spirituality, community work, and other forms of service for decades still wrestling with the same things.

Sometimes I wonder how differently an Elder might approach the conversation.

I had a friend many years in advocacy.

And even he had his limits.

There were meetings we went to where eventually he would lean over with something along the lines of:

“Holy Jesus, Joseph and Mary. Let's get the fuck out of here. I can't listen to this bullshit.”

I loved that about him.

Because being in a spiritual environment doesn't mean everything everybody says suddenly becomes wisdom.

Being in a meeting doesn't make every sentence profound.

Sometimes bullshit is still bullshit.

And sometimes spirituality includes having enough discernment to know the difference.

So sometimes I will quote something.

Then I will explain what that means to me.

How I understand it.

How I apply it.

How it relates to my life and perception.

And somehow somebody can still hear:

“Shawn says everybody has to do it this way.”

What?

I didn't say that.

I told you what it means to me.

But there is the trap again.

Now I have to explain my explanation.

Then clarify the clarification.

Then qualify the clarification of the explanation so nobody possibly interprets my personal experience as an instruction manual for their life.

At some point I have to ask:

Why are you making my story about you?

The Arena

This is where Brené Brown's discussion of being in the arena has increasingly made sense to me.

Visibility changes things.

When you are relatively private, the number of people interpreting you is relatively small.

As you become more public, the audience expands.

So does the criticism.

So does disagreement.

So does misunderstanding.

So does characterization.

Somebody will think you're arrogant.

Somebody will think you're weak.

Somebody will think you're too angry.

Somebody will think you're not angry enough.

Somebody will think you're too political.

Somebody will think you're not political enough.

Somebody will think you're too spiritual.

Somebody will think you're not spiritual enough.

And if you spend your life adjusting yourself every time somebody forms an opinion about you, eventually there won't be much of you left.

You'll become a focus-grouped version of yourself.

I don't want that.

That doesn't mean I stop listening.

It doesn't mean criticism can't teach me anything.

It doesn't mean I am always right.

Quite the opposite.

I want people around me who will tell me when I am wrong.

I want to be teachable.

I want to listen.

I want to correct myself when I have actually caused harm.

I want to reconsider things.

I want to grow.

But that is different from assuming responsibility for every characterization somebody creates of me.

Those are not the same thing.

What Am I Actually Responsible For?

I am responsible for what I actually say.

I am responsible for trying to communicate clearly.

I am responsible for listening.

I am responsible for learning.

I am responsible for correcting myself when I am wrong.

I am responsible for apologizing when an apology is warranted.

I am responsible for examining myself.

But I cannot climb inside another person's head and rearrange the furniture.

I cannot control what experiences they bring to my words.

I cannot control what they project onto me.

I cannot prevent somebody from hearing an absolute statement when I made a personal one.

I cannot prevent somebody from turning my story into an argument about theirs.

And I cannot spend the rest of my life standing beside every person who encounters something I've written saying:

“No, no, no. Here's what I really meant.”

At some point, they own their interpretation.

And I own my words.

That boundary matters.

Especially in leadership.

Let Them Think It Over There

Maybe this is one of the things I am supposed to learn as I become more visible.

Leadership isn't learning how to make everybody understand you.

It isn't learning how to eliminate criticism.

It isn't learning how to prevent characterization.

It isn't learning how to make sure nobody ever takes something personally.

Maybe part of leadership is becoming secure enough in yourself that other people are allowed to be wrong about you.

They can misunderstand you.

They can dislike you.

They can criticize you.

They can create whatever version of you they need to create.

And you don't have to chase them down the street trying to fix it.

You know what you said.

You know what you meant.

You remain open enough to ask whether there is something you need to learn.

And if there isn't?

Let them think it over there.

I have spent too much energy asking:

How do I make sure everybody understands precisely what I mean and doesn't personalize something that wasn't about them?

I think I finally have my answer.

I can't.

And apparently an Elder figured this out a long time before I did:

Who gives a fuck?

Let them think it over there.