“People fail to get along because they fear each other; they fear each other because they don’t know each other; and they don’t know each other because they have not communicated with each other.” ~ Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
PART 1: Software and Snow Globes
One of the most fundamental functions of the human mind is to make meaning, though we’re often not aware of this process because it happens so continuously, instantaneously, and automatically. But the meaning we make in any given situation plays a huge role in determining how we feel, how we respond, how we communicate, how we understand others and the world.
It’s not often that we pause to reflect on our own experience and investigate precisely how it’s being made (perhaps it’s like laws and sausages in that way). More often, we tend to assume that things just are the way that we experience them to be. Especially in interpersonal relationships, this is a primary source of frustration and conflict: when my meaning contradicts your meaning and they step into the ring to battle it out.
The differences in how we make meaning are also what account for the wide variety of experiences people can have in response to the exact same stimulus.
So how do we make all this meaning? Our minds operate quite like computers in this regard. Computers receive incoming data (ex. a mouse, keyboard, webpage), software systems process the data, which tells the computer how to respond or what output to give. The definition of “process” is this, “a series of actions or steps taken in order to achieve a particular end.” Our minds work very similarly: they receive incoming data from the senses and process that data using the “software” that was installed in our early lives, by our family and culture, from our education, and from all our prior life experiences.
Computer software is made up of layers upon layers of complex rules and reasoning. It measures everything and decides what to do next with mind-boggling speed. All that reasoning is pre-designed by clever computer wizards, and it will operate in the exact same way, every time. Our software is not so different. For us, sensory data is the input, the software is the process that makes sense out of that input, which then creates the output in the form of our feelings and responses.
The software itself is a complex and multilayered system of beliefs (eg, “Others are trustworthy”), assumptions (eg. “A crinkled brow indicates confusion”), equivalences (eg. “Handshakes equal agreement”), expectations (eg. “Kissing will lead to continued future commitment”), criteria (eg. “A thick brown column with lots of flat, green appendages is a tree”), and so on. The software is churning out a tremendous amount of meaning in every moment, and this meaning is what allows us to feel oriented both within ourselves and within the world. It lets us know who we are, what the world is, and how to navigate the existentially bizarre reality we find ourselves in (though we tend to stop seeing the bizarreness once we’ve gotten accustomed to our particular way of understanding it).
When there are glitches in the software and we experience a failure or gap in meaning making, it can be profoundly disorienting for us, similar to the experience of culture shock, when we’re abruptly dropped into a vastly different world than the one we’re accustomed to (the only difference is that we often expect and understand the disorientation of culture shock - when life pulls the rug out from underneath us in other ways, we’re often far less graceful about it).
So far, we’ve established two things. First, we each have incredibly different software, because we have had very different lives up to this point; we can usually agree on what things are, but we’re often hard pressed to agree on what things mean. Second, the software is what gives rise to the experience that your conscious self is aware of from moment to moment, which means that the world you experience is unique to you, and that others are likewise living within their own unique world of experience as well.
It’s as though we all live in our own little snow globe, and it’s the software in our minds that will determine whether it’s a snowy landscape, a tropical beach, or some other kind of environment. And this is what can make communication so tricky: I’m in a snow globe with frosty the snowman and you’re in a snow globe with palm trees and a sandy beach, but we’re extremely likely to assume that we’re in the same snow globe. So you have no clue why I’m shivering and chattering my teeth, and I can’t for the life of me understand why you’re wearing swim shorts. We think we’re inhabiting the same reality, but we aren’t. And without realizing that simple fact, then we also won’t realize that what we really need to do is to figure out how to communicate between the different worlds, how to build a bridge or a tube through which we can exchange meaning in a way that can be properly and contextually understood.
Here’s the other thing about other people: they are always doing what makes the most sense to them in any given moment. The software that they are using to make sense of the world is something they have been carrying and crafting for their entire life, and it’s the best one they have. Another way to say it is that they are doing the best they can, that they are making the best choice that they know how to make in the moment based on the capacities and resources that are actually available to them and the pressures and demands that they are currently facing. If you could somehow stand fully inside their snow globe in this very moment of their life, put your mind into their software system, and see them and the world from their perspective, you might still not like them or their behavior, but it would make sense to you - no matter what it is.
When someone is communicating or behaving in a way that doesn’t make sense to you or that you don’t like, the most common response is to pass judgment and react in some way. Your mind is receiving raw, sensory data (how they look, sound, move, etc.), and it is also making meaning about that data - it is interpreting. Thing is, you are interpreting them using your software, from within your own snow globe. From that perspective alone, you are unlikely to be able to understand them the way they understand themselves. From within the frosty landscape of my snow globe, your swim shorts make no sense, so I’m liable to assume that perhaps you’re one of those crazy Wim Hoff people or that you’re just showing off. I’m interpreting you from my perspective, because I am not in this moment realizing that you make perfect sense to yourself and your behaviors make perfect sense within the context of your snow globe.
So it is far more useful in relationship to get curious about how others’ software systems operate and what it’s like inside their snow globes than it is to pass judgment and react from within your own. It is also extremely useful to be able to communicate effectively about how your software system operates and what it’s like within your snow globe. This approach to communication and relationship respects the reality that we all exist inside our own, unique and subjective world of experience. This shifts us out of the paradigm of right/wrong, either/or, and into a new framework of both/and; it shifts us out of adversarial combat and into a dialogue that’s about negotiation and collaboration.
Let’s imagine that I encounter someone who makes heavy use of sarcasm in the way he communicates. If I could step into his snow globe, I would see that to him, sarcasm means things like playful sparring, humor, and even love. He came from a family in which this kind of teasing was a way to connect and have fun. But in my snow globe, sarcasm means an avoidance of connection, dismissal, even an intent to injure. If I use my own, highly personal software to make sense of him, I will likely conclude that he’s just a rude jerk and I might feel justified in telling him where to shove it.
But if I take the other route, the one that acknowledges and respects that he lives in a different kind of snow globe than me and makes meaning in very different ways from me, then I can begin by at least granting him the right to exist in the way that he does (and pausing what is ultimately my very self-centered judgment of him). I can get curious about what it all means to him, and initiate a dialogue about how we can bring our two subjective experiences into contact with one another. After all, who am I to tell him that sarcasm is right or wrong? There isn’t a final, ultimate word on what sarcasm is or what it means.
We humans are so quick to assume that if we are feeling badly in some way, then someone else has done something wrong or bad. That’s one of the fundamental assumptions we’re attempting to unravel here. Your feeling of discomfort is arising largely from the way that your software is making sense of them and whatever they’re doing. It’s as though they are wearing swim shorts inside your winter wonderland. (Caveat: don’t apply these ideas to people experiencing oppression - the discomfort they’re feeling is reality and should not be dismissed as just their “story.”)
But does this mean that we must simply roll over and allow other people to treat us however they like? No. All we’ve covered at this point is that there are worlds of difference in how we make meaning and how unhelpful it is to make sense of others only from within our own personal snow globe. So if this highly sarcastic person happens to be my best friend’s new boyfriend, someone I will no doubt be spending some of my time with in the future, what can I do? Here is where we get into the art of giving difficult feedback in a way that creates a true bridge between two different snow globes.
Understanding difference is the key to shifting out of either/or, right/wrong adversarial combat between two equally subjective experiences. Instead of assuming that the sarcasm is “bad” and that he is “wrong” for using it, I can instead realize that he and I are simply different in a few key ways. Then I can get curious about those differences and communicate in a way that facilitates greater understanding in both directions. This kind of dialogue, negotiation, and collaboration could lead to us figuring out how to create a relationship that works better for both of us. If we can’t talk about it, we push our difference (and our uncomfortable feelings) into the shadow, and from there, we’ll channel our energy into putting on the act of “this is fine.”
There are two kinds of feedback, appreciative and differentiating, and I purposefully don’t refer to them as “positive” or “negative,” because both kinds of feedback are positive in the sense that they are an investment in the connection. Even if I’m bringing something that might be painful for us to look at, essentially what I’m saying is, “There is some kind of difference between us that we don’t understand yet, and it is creating an obstruction in our communication and our connection. I’m putting it on the table in so that we can work towards greater understanding together.”
Appreciative feedback is not about giving other people compliments (eg. “You are so open and honest”) because in the end, compliments are just your story about another person, your mental interpretations. Real appreciative feedback is about illuminating the impact that the other person is having on you, it shows them the variety of ways that their presence is having a positive, uplifting, or encouraging impact on you.
So we could transform the compliment, “You are so open and honest,” into appreciative feedback by saying, “When you share your experience with such openness and depth, the impact on me is that my heart fills up with love, joy, respect, and admiration. I feel so much more open and connected to you. The story I tell myself is, ‘I can really trust that this person will be honest with me.’ I notice that hearing you share your experience is helping me have a lot more openness to and acceptance of the parts of me that feel the same way.” You can see the difference, yes? The compliment is just me giving you my mental assessment of your character; the appreciative feedback brings you into my snow globe and it lets you experience yourself the way I experience you. It is so rare that we get feedback that allows us to see ourselves from another person’s point of view and to really get, in a felt way, how they are experiencing us.
Differentiating feedback similarly allows others into your snow globe, it allows them to see and feel how you’re experiencing them based on how your software system is interpreting them. We’re not saying, “This is the truth about you,” but rather, “This is the truth of how I experience you inside the subjectivity of my snow globe.” It grants them the opportunity to glimpse themselves from outside themselves.
But differentiating feedback is about allowing another person to glimpse the more difficult and challenging experiences you’re having in connection with them. It’s usually pretty rare for us to get this kind of feedback, but it is extremely valuable in giving us data points about how we impact the world around us. If you’re giving someone differentiating feedback, does it mean that the other person has done something wrong or bad? No, definitely not. Nor does it mean that they “made” you feel that way or that they’re somehow responsible for what you’re experiencing. (Recall the caveat - it applies here too.)
It’s called differentiating feedback because it is about processing and learning how to relate with the differences that exist between our software systems and our snow globes: differences in experiences, perspectives, values, needs, beliefs, interpersonal styles, modes of self-expression, and so on. We often conflate difference with negativity or conflict, largely because that’s the dominant paradigm in our culture: the moment a significant difference arises, the room feels tense and everyone braces themselves for a conversation in which the two will battle it out to see who “wins,” who is “right.” But it is possible to create a space that’s large enough to hold all the parts of all the people, a space where we can be different and connected, without needing to determine who is “right” or who is the “winner” (because there isn’t one; trying to determine whose snow globe is the “right” one is pointless).
So with my friend’s sarcastic new boyfriend, even though I still don’t like sarcasm and may never will, what I can do is appreciate that he’s living in a different snow globe and operating from within a very different software system. I can’t assume that he sees or understands what it’s like in my snow globe and I can’t assume that he sees or understands how my software is making meaning out of how he’s showing up. If I’m having an issue with how he is showing up, it is actually my responsibility to figure out how to communicate to him what it’s like inside my snow globe and what I might be needing in the situation. I’m decidedly not saying that he is doing something wrong or that he is something wrong; if I do that, then I’m basically suiting up for a fight.
If what we want is to create a bridge of connection between our two different worlds, we have to share with one another what those worlds are like. So I might say to the sarcastic man, “When you speak to me in the way that you just did, I tend to interpret it as sarcasm, and I notice that I’m feeling a combination of sadness, anger, and fear. Sarcasm has always been difficult for me to relate to; the story I tell myself is that sarcasm is a way to deflect intimacy, to dismiss others, or to inflict pain. I grew up with two older brothers who used sarcasm a lot and I felt hurt and dismissed all the time. So my impulse is to pull away and put up my guard when I’m with you, though I would much rather not do that. It would help me if I could better understand what sarcasm means to you and where you’re coming from when you speak this way. My preference would be to relate without sarcasm, because I have such a strong value on gentleness and safety in relationships.”
When I said, “Sarcasm has always been difficult for me to relate to; the story I tell myself is that sarcasm is a way to deflect intimacy, to dismiss others, or to inflict pain,” I did something subtle, but very important: I separated the behavior from the person. If I had said, “The story I tell myself is that you are deflecting intimacy, you are dismissing me, and you want to inflict pain,” I am taking things a step further, making judgments about his character and his intent. Though it may be true that I am making those judgments in my mind, giving differentiating feedback in this way will be harder for him to hear because it represents an attack on his personal being.
When I distinguish between behavior and person, I make the sarcasm itself the point of conversation, rather than this man’s character. This is a more accurate and skillful way to communicate, because it’s really not his character that I have a problem with (reason being: I can’t know what’s going on in his character or what he intends). It’s his behavior that I’m struggling with, and the difference that exists between us is how we make meaning of that behavior.
When learning to give differentiating feedback in this way, you may find it difficult at first to separate the person from the behavior. In the book Nonviolent Communication (one of the most important books ever written, IMO), Marshall Rosenberg points out that, “Most of us grew up speaking a language that encourages us to label, compare, demand, and pronounce judgments rather than to be aware of what we are feeling and needing.” What this means is that we have all been trained to keep our attention on others, or more accurately, on our labels, comparisons, demands, and judgments of others. What we are far less good at is turning our attention inward to discover what we are feeling in this very moment and what we might be needing. We think of our own experience in terms of what other people are doing. We are more likely to say, “She’s being cold,” than, “I’m feeling afraid because I’m needing reassurance.”
So, when we’re giving someone differentiating feedback, this is one of the first things we must do: separate our analysis from observable fact. “She’s being cold,” becomes, “She crossed her ams and legs and broke eye contact with me.” When you saw her cross her arms and legs and break eye contact with you you made it mean that she is being cold. But can you know for certain that you are right? No, of course not. And if you go at her with your analysis, the only thing she will be able to do is defend herself. She will not be able to hear you and she will not be able to figure out whatever it is you might be needing from her.
That’s how we begin to reflect on the interpretations that our software system is creating as it processes the input. For example, if my feeling of anger is arising from the judgment, “He is a rude jerk,” then I can zoom in even closer and ask, “What is he doing that lets me know to feel this way?” When we’re giving someone differentiating feedback, what we’re trying to do is to illuminate the process of input —> process —> output that is happening within our mind, so that the other person can understand what it’s like inside our snow globe.
Even if you give your differentiating feedback flawlessly, there’s still no guarantee that the other person will receive it gracefully. But what do you think stands a better chance: the example I gave above, or something passive aggressive like, “Well, at least I don’t resort exploiting others’ weaknesses as a way to feel better about myself” (which, by the way, would make me guilty of the very crime I’m so upset with him for committing - something that often winds up happening when we’re stuck in our judgment and reactivity). A conversation that starts with, “You know, I often have a hard time with sarcasm,” is probably going to go a lot better than, “You are a rude, insensitive jerk.”
When giving differentiating feedback, it’s not just a one-and-done kind of communication; I am opening a conversation where we can use our words to bring one another into our snow globes to see what it’s like in there. In this conversation, if he and I were to illuminate and map out the various differences that exist between us, it might look something like this:
Difference in equivalences: sarcasm = playful connection (him), sarcasm = intent to injure (me)
Difference in belief: playful joking deepens connection (him), sarcasm injures connection (me)
Difference in values: lighthearted banter (him), gentleness and safety (me)
Difference in boundaries: it’s ok to poke fun at my insecurities (him), I need you to be gentle with my insecurities (me)
Difference in expectations: close people are the ones I can spar with (him), close people are the ones I trust to be kind (me)
Difference in interpersonal style: straightforward, penetrating, humorous (him), careful, gentle, loving (me)
A good piece of differentiating feedback will include the following elements: pinpointing the specific behavior that I’m struggling with (separating it from their personal being, character, and intent), sharing how I make meaning of the behavior and how I feel when I see it that way, and naming what would help me or what I would like to be experiencing instead. It can also help to give a sentence or two of backstory (a “headline”) about why or how I’ve come to see it the way that I do. I’m basically illuminating for him how my software is operating: input (you behavior), process (my story/meaning), output (my feeling/impulse), and a request for what I would like to be experiencing instead.
In sum, differentiating feedback is about learning how to navigate the differences that exist in the ways that we make meaning, the ways that we experience the world and one another. It’s primary purpose is to get us out of the either/or, right/wrong paradigm and into a space of both/and, where there is enough space for all parts of all people. The express intent of the conversation is to build understanding, to “get” each others’ worlds, and figure out what kinds of agreements and adjustments we can make in order to connect and communicate more fully with one another. It is also about learning how to suspend the knee-jerk reflex of judgment and reactivity, and instead communicating in a way that allows another person to step into your snow globe to see and feel things from your subjective perspective. Others can’t read your mind, so the onus of their comprehension is on you as the person delivering the feedback.
