When I worked at Salt Lake Community College, people would often tell me I was a very direct person. This surprised me. Most people I know well would say that I am a very kind, caring, fun, people-oriented person. So what was up with that?
The more I reflected on it, the more I realized the problem was in my definition of direct. When I think of a direct person, I think of someone who is very vocal about generally negative things and doesn’t seem to care about what others think. And while this could describe a direct person, it’s what I would also call a rude, inconsiderate person who is blinded by their own perspective.
Then I looked at my behaviors in relation to the environment in which I worked. In the public sector, many leaders are often afraid of being wrong, afraid of unintentionally offending others, and afraid of engaging in difficult conversations that could get messy—though they would never admit this. Because of this fear, they often revert to using doublespeak, equivocation, weasel words, and other obscure language that the audience doesn’t understand, subconsciously — or consciously — inflating the value of what they are doing and creating so much ambiguity that no one can later accuse them of anything. Doing this makes them sound exceptionally educated and somewhat intimidating. This is a very effective maneuver to avoid direct conflict or accusations—because no one really knows what exactly you are talking about—but at the same time it creates so much ambiguity, intimidation, and unclear expectations that working in that kind of environment can be exceedingly stressful.
Think of a child whose parent lays down so many ill-defined, inconsistent rules that any behavior that might not have been enforced yesterday could be grounds for punishment today. The child has no idea what they should or shouldn’t do. A culture of ambiguity creates an environment where people are afraid to express their ideas, share problems, or speak their minds—things that are incredibly valuable assets for an organization to have in order to be successful.
Within the program managed at SLCC, I had designed the exact opposite: a culture where all my staff and partners could easily and comfortably share their concerns, problems, and ideas, and tell me to my face what they thought of me and what I was doing—and many of them did—without any fear of retribution. A place where we celebrated failure and valued rapid trial and error and continuous improvement. Where no idea or process was sacred and could be placed under the magnifying glass at any time to see if it was still necessary. Where every idea was valued and examined. We were a square peg in a round hole.
And when you are the one black sheep in a field of white sheep and you say, “I don’t think that will work” instead of “it’s an idea worth exploring further,” or “we really failed with that one” instead of “it was a good learning experience that warrants reconsideration,” or “I’m just making a wild guess” instead of “I’m making a statistically oriented projection of the significance of these findings,” or you call it “a lecture hall” instead of “a student-centered learning environment,” you get labeled a direct person.
But I’m okay with that because I now understand that a direct person is someone who uses concise language others can easily understand so that there is no confusion and great things can be accomplished together. I understand that a non-direct person is someone who uses language that makes the speaker sound like they know more than those they are speaking to; it masks their lack of knowledge or understanding, confuses the audience, and leads to very little action or clear deliverables. And when non-direct people do take action, it often surprises, confuses, and sometimes scares those affected by that action.
I now know that direct language does not have to be negative at all; it is precise and matter-of-fact. It’s not spoken to offend—it’s spoken to give clarity and help others understand, without doubt, what is being said. Often when direct language is perceived as negative it is often the interpretation of the person listening that receives it as negative because of their own biases and beliefs. When I lived in poorer areas of Mexico for two years, people called me flaco, which essentially means very skinny. They weren’t being mean; they were being matter-of-fact because, in fact, I was very skinny. Then they would try to feed me so much that I would almost explode, because they cared and wanted me to be a healthier gordo. If I had been self-conscious of my weight and let it blind me to their good intentions I would have missed out and spent my days and weeks in Mexico depressed and offended instead of being able to laugh and appreciate their love for me.
So I guess I am a direct person. It likely won’t get me elected to any political office, but I’m certain it will lead to a much more fulfilled life—a life where I can look back on the things I’ve accomplished with others and know that we connected. That we understood one another, that we operated on equal grounds, and that we cared enough about each other and the work we were doing to be honest and open with one another so we could see each other for who we truly are.