Stay true to the principles and values that breathe life into any human interaction by starting all influence attempts with a virtuous purpose. They can and do honor the underlying principles of Mutual Respect and dignity.īut then again, there’s still that chance that you could misapply a well-intended skill, so take care. They can and do apply them professionally. People can and do learn new interpersonal skills. Oh, the angels and the tales they tell! Scarcely a day passes that a reader of our material doesn’t bless us with a wonderful story of how he or she used newly-acquired skills to strengthen a long-estranged relationship, save a union, or humanely hold others accountable. It was enough to make your skin crawl.ĭespite the potential for abuse, today, when people suggest that angels and devils alike can use social skills to their advantage, I don’t become discouraged. Day by day, he plotted new ways to “reward” his unsuspecting target until he achieved his goal and stole the girl right out from under his roommate’s nose. He wrote a haunting paper about how he had employed positive reinforcement to entice his roommate’s significant other to leave her boyfriend and, instead, hook up with him. The grand prize for stripping a social skill of any vestiges of life, and then using it in a devilish way, has to be given to an MBA student I once taught. For example, praise (a much practiced and needed social skill) stuck to a wax board with a pin through its heart-despite its toothy smile and flattering language-takes on an aseptic, clinical sheen and becomes nothing more than a divisive tool when wielded by individuals whose only intention is to get or manipulate someone. And, like all living creatures, if you dissect interpersonal skills until all that remain are lifeless component parts, you’ve captured the parts but lost the soul. Social skills (from praise, to conflict resolution, to active listening), like the insects I captured as a boy, have a soul. Individuals read one of our interpersonal-skills books and ask: Can’t people use the techniques the book teaches to serve their own selfish purposes? Can’t angels and devils alike use the same methods? This experience (and dozens like it) sets up a related question that people ask me all the time. “Yeah, yeah,” the host pushed on, “but to get someone, what do you do?” “Actually,” I replied, “we wrote about skills that help individuals come to a common understanding-one that values mutual respect over manipulation.” Can’t you use the tricks to get someone-like a controlling boss you’d like to see suffer?” “You know,” the host continued, “your book covers all kinds of ways to talk about touchy subjects. “So,” queried the host, “how do you use the communication tools you teach in your book to get your boss?” The host asked me questions about our latest book-the one that dealt with the dos and don’ts of high-stakes, emotional conversations. My mind turned to that Roi-Tan Cemetery one day a few years back when (as part of a nation-wide talk show book tour) I was interviewed on a live, radio talk show. To me, insect carcasses just weren’t insects. In contrast, gawking at a specimen trapped in a box with a pin stuck through its heart wasn’t the least bit interesting. Catching a glimpse of a beetle taking flight (not unlike a garbage truck going airborne) was equally fascinating. I preferred watching two armies of ants battle feverishly over a decaying bird. The job of managing a bug cemetery didn’t hold much appeal. I hadn’t loved insects in the first place. My parents chided me for not having “stick-to-itiveness,” but I felt no guilt. Surprisingly, despite my original enthusiasm, I quickly became bored with the hobby. Within a few days, I had packed my homemade display case with spiders, dragonflies, and beetles-all neatly pierced with a pin and exhibited in rows, carefully arranged by species and size. For a week I scurried around with a quart jar, capturing anything that had the temerity to crawl or fly within my reach. After the wax hardened, he presented me with a covered pin board to be used for mounting dead bugs. He encouraged me to start a full-fledged collection by scrounging a discarded Roi-Tan cigar box and pouring melted paraffin in the bottom. My dad, seeing that insects fascinated me, helped me move from casual observer to ardent hunter. On listless summer days, I’d crumble a Necco wafer over our front-porch deck and then sit back and watch as hundreds of tiny stevedores struggled to carry pastel sugar boulders across the mottled surface. Sometimes I’d watch ants for hours as they hauled Lilliputian bundles down footprint valleys and up tennis-shoe mountains. When I was a little tyke, I loved insects.
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