In recent weeks, I confess I have engaged in a classic response to challenging times – going shopping. It all started with a tea pot in Oxfam in Blackheath. I loved it so much that, having bought it, I started to look for other items to match. I uncovered the name of the pattern, discovered places to buy this pattern (long since discontinued) and have quickly built up a collection. I have even, finally, succumbed to having cupboards and shelves built in my dining room. This has given storage space for my new collection, it has been designed to display some of my new items, and it has also given storage for just some of the books around the house because, yes, I am also a bibliophile par excellence. I can rationalise that I have been meaning for a while to replace some of my tired old china and this has been the opportunity to do it. At the same time, I notice that this period of intense activity has followed the death of my uncle, distracting me from some of the feelings of grief and loss that came with it.
This collecting frenzy has also had an interesting side-effect, because in order to build my collection, I have had to ask for help. It started when I posted some photos of my tea pot on Facebook and asked if anyone was clearing out their collection. A number of friends responded with sources of information about this pattern (Denby arabesque) and pointed me to places that sell it. For the first time, I ‘discovered’ eBay. I bought a bowl, for collection only, from someone who lives near my younger brother, leading me to ask him if he’d be willing to collect it. And then another from someone who lives near my older brother so that, once more, I found myself making a request. I bought a large collection some miles away and asked a friend with a car (who keeps a car in London? My friend Alan) if he would be willing to drive me. The list goes on.
The tenderness of asking for help
Making requests of my friends and family – and so many requests of so many friends and family – has reminded me of the tenderness and sense of vulnerability that comes with asking for help. Yes, I’m talking about me. But I’m also talking more generally. I would even go so far as to say that we live in a culture which frowns on the honest request.
In case you doubt this assertion, here are just a few examples of the ways in which we have learnt to bypass making requests – which I share alongside the invitation to notice how many you use yourself or notice in others:
- One way that springs to mind is to make a “requorder” (“Take this to the post room, will you?” “Get this done by five o’clock, won’t you?”). This is an order or instruction embedded within a request. Beloved of parents, managers and other figures of authority, the desired response is implied in a way which makes it just a bit more difficult to say no than an open honest request;
- Another way is to hold in mind an expectation that is never openly shared (“Any normal manager would have noticed how upset John was feeling” “Who on earth would turn up to such an important meeting without preparing?” “Do you think anyone has told her that trying to go through a 60-slide deck in half an hour was bound to bore the pants off everybody?”);
- Giving feedback is also often a way of making a hidden request (“This document is in a terrible state. I found at least six mistakes on every page – it’s just not up to scratch!”);
- And of course, there’s always the option of giving an order (“You need to complete this document by 5 o’clock at the latest!” “Make sure everyone has the minutes at least two days in advance”).
As ways of getting things done, these tactics vary in their ability to achieve a desired outcome. One of the least successful is to complain around the water-cooler (or at home to our husband or wife): talking about what someone should have done or should do in future rarely leads to a change of behaviour on the part of the person concerned. More successful is the option of giving an order – at least in the short term. Over time, though, the use of a coercive style of leadership can have a corrosive impact on how people feel at work. (If you haven’t already read it, read Daniel Goleman’s article Leadership That Gets Results for an introduction to research in this area.)
Having said this, one thing that all these approaches delivers is this: it protects us from all the feelings we have when faced with the possibility of a “no”, and one laden with judgement at that. For many, our feelings of tenderness and vulnerability when making requests reflect all sorts of experiences from our earliest years.
The art of asking
This blog posting takes its heading from a talk on TED.com by singer Amanda Palmer. If you recognise the challenge of making requests or find yourself wondering if some of the strangest behaviours of those you lead come from avoiding making requests, then you may enjoy hearing what she has to say. For my part, these are a few things that work for me when I’m making requests:
- Recognise my emotions around making a request: There are times when the thought of making a request brings up some emotion for me. An example of this is the anger I feel when faced with a car, loud music and a number of teenagers in the car park opposite my house at bed-time. I always start by noticing my emotion and noticing what the emotion is;
- Get clear about what I really want: With the young people in the car park, for example, I may recognise how early I need to get up the next morning and how much I’m longing for sleep. I want to be confident that when I go to bed in a few minutes time I’ll be able to sleep without a background noise of voices and loud music. This is a way of giving myself empathy and tends to soothe the emotion. It’s also important to help me make a request that really does meet my needs;
- Think about different ways of getting what I really want: As long as the only way for me to get to sleep is to get those youngsters out of the car park, it’s difficult for me to make a request rather than a demand: I know people sense the energy of a demand behind the words of a request. Thinking about a variety of ways forward makes it easier for me to make a request. Before I make a request, I take time to think about different options;
- Get curious about what others may have on their minds: The kids in the car park have a reason for being there. Taking time to imagine what those reasons may be helps me to connect with others as and when I do decide to make a request. And because I still remember my mother telling me “I want, doesn’t get”, it helps to remind myself that actually, we all like to contribute to the well-being of others;
- Get clear about what I want to request: Sometimes, the request I end up making is not the one I first thought of. I’ve learnt, for example, to ask the youngsters in the car park how long they’re planning to be there and to explain why that’s important to me. They might feel unhappy to be asked to leave right now, but it’s hard to find a reason not to share their intentions. In the workplace, I may want someone to do something for me but first, I want to know if there’s anything standing in the way. Often my first request is a request for information about the other person (“Is this something you’d be willing to do?” “How does this idea land with you?”);
- Make the request when I can easily accept a yes or a no: Especially when my start-point has been one of emotion, I take time to reach a point when I can hear a yes or a no with equal ease before I make the request. Only at this point do I open the door and walk across the (real or metaphorical) car-park;
- Make a simple action-request: I may say hello and check in. Quite quickly though, I cut to the chase. I make my request and explain why it’s important to me. I make sure my request is specific – describing the action I want someone to take. Then I wait for – and welcome – the answer.
I recognise that there may be unanswered questions for you. (“What about when you do need the report done by 5pm?” “What about the staff member who always says no and needs to say yes?”). Please ask me those questions in the comment box below and I promise to write a response. For now, though I wonder – how do you manage the art of asking?