Communication Break-Down

I returned home last week from my vacation in Finland.

My parents were born there, and my sister and I are dual citizens. Our family owns a cabin in Puolanka, and we try to go every other year for at least three weeks.

“Visiting” is the entertainment of choice in this small town, and by “visiting” I mean, drop-in-unannounced-and-stay-for-several-hours. I have 16 aunts and uncles–not including spouses–over 50 first cousins, hundreds of second and third cousins, and many live in the area. So on most days, the cabin is full of people drinking coffee, eating cake and speaking a language my husband has only learned to swear in.

Visiting is so much a part of the culture, in fact, that the Finns have designed a nifty nonverbal way to alert people roaming the neighborhood in search of sugar and caffeine that they need not make the trip up the driveway: they lean a broom on the front door when they leave the house. Works like a charm.

Except when Kevin had the idea of using this tactic to trick people into believing we weren’t home, in an effort to get some much needed peace and quiet. Outside of the challenge of getting a broom to lean up against the front door from the inside, we had to stay away from the windows–lest our deception be revealed–which resorted to us crawling around on the floor or hiding in closets.

Seeing the brooms on the doors, and other nonverbal indicators of “we’re not home” (in Rauma, they face ceramic animals sitting in the window in or out depending on whether the owners are inside), reminded me how nonverbal communication extends past our own communication and applies to clothing, signs and objects. In my recent eBook Beyond a Firm Handshake, 21 Ways to Communicate You’re the Right Person for the Job, I devote an entire chapter to deciphering what objects you should bring with you to an interview and which ones you should leave at home, since most people don’t ever think about what their “stuff” says about them.

Objects communicate nonverbally. And this traveler is thankful for it. Due to various nonverbals I could find my way in foreign airports, locate taxis, and identify security personnel should I need to. And although broadcasting to the world that you’re away from home probably seems risky to most Americans, in Finland it works nicely.

If you’re honestly away from home, that is.

When you see a Stop sign, what do you do? Stop? Really?

Yesterday morning, I came to a four-way stop in my local shopping center parking lot as I cruised toward Target, the first of about forty-seven stops on a busy errand-running day. The van ahead of me turned right; as I turned after her, a police car surprised me by zipping around out of an empty parking lot right in front of me. I was even more surprised when its lights came on.

I’ll never know for sure why Van Lady was pulled over, but the thought occurred to me: I bet, like me, she breezed right through that Stop sign.

I mean, really. Who stops? Completely? (Especially if you’re turning right and you see no cars—come on, admit it!) Unless you recently graduated from driving school and feel smug and self-righteous about your superior skills and etiquette (I’m ashamed to say, that was me at 15: “Mom! You didn’t signal!”), chances are you see Stop signs more as Slow-Down Signs. In driving school they referred to “not stops” as California Stops. 

The thing is, we also talk this way. We’re so interested in getting from Point A to Point B verbally, that wemashallourwordstogetherwithouteverpausingortakingabreath.

Hard to read? Guess what—it’s hard to listen to, too.

Pausing when we speak compares to traffic control. By pausing, we control the flow of traffic (words), we give ourselves a chance to assess the situation and change direction if need be, and we keep ourselves and other participants safe by allowing everyone to breathe. 

When we pepper our speech with appropriate pauses—whether in a one-on-one exchange or when presenting to thousands of people—we dramatically increase the chance for clear communication to occur. With pauses:

• we can hold attention
• others can listen more easily
• the message has a chance to sink in
• everyone thinks more rationally—breathing gets oxygen to the brain, which (surprise!) makes it function better.

So no California Stops! Well, when it comes to communicating, that is. You may also want to avoid them when driving through the Tanasbourne Town Center though, since that police car went right back to the empty parking lot with full view of the four way stop once Van Lady drove off.

What do playing the piano and nonverbal intelligence have in common? More than you might think.

Music  is a language, a means of expression. While excellent technique does not ensure sensitive music-making, it requires skillfulness to convey feeling, mood, and depth. You must be a proficient musician to get your message across.

When I turned five, my dad began giving me piano lessons. He taught me to name the notes, count the beats, and use correct fingers. Soon, he taught me to play with both hands at the same time. And after a while, as if that wasn’t difficult enough, he told me that I had to make one hand louder than the other. Um, HARD! Those of you who have trouble chewing gum while walking (like me) will grasp the seeming impossibility of not only making your two hands do different things at the same time, but with varying degrees of force.

Of course, after years of practice it got easier. Eventually, I could tell upon first glance at a new piece of music which voice—either left or right hand—I needed to bring out over the other, and would automatically do so. 

Nonverbal Solutions continually drums this into your head: To effectively communicate (or play piano) you must have more than one approach. Only this will make your words—or your notes—worth hearing. Who really wants to listen to a beginning musician, unless it’s someone you are emotionally attached to, bang on a piano? It might be cute, it might represent learning and growth, it might be remarkable for the kid’s age, but until you learn to “voice”—bring out one line of music over another when appropriate—it’s just noise.

When we tell people to vary their communication styles to fit the needs of the situation, they balk. “That feels unnatural,” they complain. “It’s just not my style.” They worry that they will come across as fake or inauthentic by using uncharacteristic nonverbals . And, well, it is a bit clunky at first. My early attempts at voicing piano pieces didn’t qualify as passionate, heart-melting music. But did I contradict my character or personality by trying? Of course not! I simply had not yet mastered the skill.

So, yes. At first it will seem awkward and contrived to do something different. But does that mean you shouldn’t try?

Right. Go ahead and stick to your “comfortable” mode of communication, and continue to bang away discordantly at the proverbial piano. Or, practice bringing out the part of you that’s most appropriate in the moment, and begin living and communicating in harmony.

My three-year-old daughter, after a late night partying with the grandparents, followed me around the house the other day like a lost puppy. She fussed. She clung. She threw temper tantrums over every little thing. In essence, she drove me crazy.

“Mama,” she whined, halfway through the morning, “I want milk!”

Petulant. Sniffling. Fretful.

I sighed. “Babe,” I told her, “take a couple deep breaths and ask again. Get that ‘whine’ out of your voice!”

Remarkably, she did.

I think she sensed that if one of us didn’t immediately start some deep breathing techniques, things would get ugly. She inhaled and exhaled, each time a little more smoothly than before. Then she asked, in a perfectly pleasant voice, as if it had been a perfectly pleasant morning, “Mama, may I please have some milk?” And suddenly my day got 100% brighter.

That is the power of nonverbal communication: The power to keep exasperated parents from strangling their children.

Joking aside, nonverbal communication can preserve lives (ask a law enforcement officer who has had to “talk” someone out of a dangerous situation) as well as change lives (ask, well, anyone whose life has been changed by NVC, like me!).  Some view it as an intriguing “secret language” that brings perceptiveness to interpersonal exchanges and relationships. But beyond that, it imparts the ability to say what you want to say and be who you really are in the most clear and appropriate way. That’s why I’m fascinated by and in love with this subject!

I welcome the opportunity to coach for Sari de la Motte and Nonverbal Solutions. This company is my baby, too! Sari and I have discussed, debated, observed, analyzed, and marveled over communication principles since long before Nonverbal Solutions existed. I’m delighted to be taking over most of the coaching department and can’t wait to share my enthusiasm, along with practical tips and insights, with others who love the subject and want to improve their communication skills.

If I can teach a three-year-old to make a request without whining (at least, it happened once—since then, when I tell her to take a couple deep breaths, she responds with, “But Mama, I don’t want to breathe!”), I can help any willing adult become a more effective communicator.

Looking forward to it.

P.S. Being new to this venue, now that I’ve introduced myself, I’d love to hear from you, too! Leave a comment below and let me know what fascinates you about nonverbal communication.