I believe it was in the late 60's that the hunger crisis in India was so bad that the U.S. decided to send over someone to help the Indian government look for solutions. The U.S. representative got off the plane in India and the first thing he saw was cows everywhere. Immediately he thought he knew the solution to the hunger crisis and started preparations to slaughter the cows to feed the people of India. Of course when this grand plan was shared with the Indian government, they put the representative right back on a plane to the U.S. with a thanks for his troubles.
The man from the U.S. didn't even try to understand the root of the Indian hunger crisis. He didn't talk to the people there about what they'd tried to do, nor did he ask why all the cows hadn't been considered as a food source. A simple conversation could have averted a huge embarrassment.
How often do we fail to ask enough questions and listen? No one knows when they walk into a new situation, whether it's a new job or a new social group, what sacred cows others have. Some people can't seem to help themselves. Open mouth, insert foot. It's happened to everyone at some point. I've had some colossal instances myself.
The thing is we're supposed to learn as we get older that our ears serve us better than our mouths. It's not just a matter of social conduct, but of survival at the basest level. Watch hunters or soldiers. It's not the guy gabbing his way through the woods or the soldier broadcasting his prowess on the battlefield who catches his game or survives. It's the guy who is listening and recording all the details of his environment before he moves that has the greatest success.
If the best soldiers and hunters listen, why isn't this same principle applied more liberally in the business world? The answer, in my humble opinion, is ego. It's ego that makes people fear being wrong, assume they are beyond failure or need to hear one's own voice. It's ego that keeps a mouth open and ears closed.
To someone who is all talk, few things are as intimidating as someone who listens.
I don't claim for a moment to have my ego mastered, but I'm mindful of it. I work incredibly hard at putting it to practice every day. (Some days I'm better than others.) I speak with confidence, not because I'm always right, but because I listen. That confidence gets mistaken for ego, when it couldn't be further from reality. It's a lack of ego (or one that is in check) that makes me all the more confident because I'm not afraid of being wrong.
When I was young I was so shy I felt like fainting in the spotlight, but no one would have ever guessed it. I defied my insecurities by doing the exact opposite of my nature. The process was painful and wasn't always pretty. It took years for me to overcome my shyness and get comfortable in my own skin. I understood listening, but I had to get comfortable using my voice. That's when the real fun starts.
Life would be easier if we only had to master ourselves, but once you start using your voice -- participating in the conversation of life, new conflicts arise. If solving the hunger crises in India had been a simple question of finding new food sources, our friend from the story wouldn't have made such a big misstep. You are hungry; here is food. It's the circumstances, the other people involved, their sacred cows, that create the curve balls.
Unfortunately, life's lessons take longer than a middle school history class. I didn't learn to hit a curve ball for a long while, and no one can bat a .1000 in this game. But Mr. Brown showed me what a curve ball looked like.
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