Communication Break-Down

Without further ado, Our new company name is…(drumroll please)…

FORTE

We started with wanting a new website. Which led us to figuring out who we are. Which led us to figuring out who our clients are. Which made us realize that most of our clients are already awesome.

And yet, they still want to be better. You. You want to be better. The best, actually.

And that’s when it hit us: We were no longer solving problems, we were taking people from pretty darn good to, well, rock stars.

That’s when we decided we needed something bold, something loud, something that would capture the kind of clients we had and wanted more of.

FORTE has several meanings, which is why we chose it. Musically (and I have a music background, so how fun is that), it means loud. I tend to be a bit…loud, so this fit my personality as well as our theme of tuning into your nonverbal communication. The word FORTE also means ability. We help people develop their nonverbal ability. When we added our tagline: Volume. Nonverbally., it all fell into place.

We’re not saying you need to be loud. What we are saying is, to be a rock star in your field, you’ve got to turn up the volume on your nonverbal communication. You’ve literally got to “hear” what you, and others, are communicating nonverbally.

In addition, we decided we also wanted to talk like regular people. On our website. Like we do in real life. No more corporate speak. We decided we’re committed to authenticity. So why not talk like we really talk?

Finally, we’re absolutely thrilled to announce our new team member Melissa Chureau. A skilled trial attorney, she will be assisting Sari with legal consulting as well as presenting CLE’s, other trainings, and coaching. She’s going to introduce herself in a few days here on the blog, so I’ll let her tell you more.

We invite you to visit our brand new website: www.nonverbalforte.com to check out the new us. Although some of you may be left scratching your heads, we’re pretty confident that most of you are going to love it. In any case, we’re owning it.

FORTE. We’re ready for change. Are you?

P.S. We welcome your feedback, so drop us a line. We’ll be tweaking the website over the next few weeks so keep checking back, and blogs will soon be in a new format and location. Also note our Facebook page has changed, you can join the conversation here.

I hated the name Sari growing up.

You can probably guess why.

When I was 13 and oh so wise, I added an “h” and called myself Shari. Except that created a new problem because now everyone called me Sherry. So in my 30’s, after a lot of upheaval both professionally and personally,  I went back to Sari. “Shari” no longer fit.

And neither does Nonverbal Solutions.

As you may or may not know, we’ve been going through a rebrand process around here the past several months. We’ve delved into who we are, and what we do, and although it’s been difficult at times, it’s been an exciting process. We’ve never been more clear about what this company is about. And as our new identity started to emerge it became more and more clear that Nonverbal Solutions wasn’t quite….right.

For one, the word “solutions” immediately connotes that we deal with “problems.” Which we do, of course. A large part of our work helps individuals deal with communication problems, and we’ll continue to do that. But what we’ve found is that most of our clients are looking for more than problem solving. They’re looking for more connection, greater opportunity, more authenticity. And “solutions” just doesn’t begin to cover that.

Not to mention that my most beloved former assistant Val, when we sat down to talk about this recently said that “solutions” sounded like….cleaning products.

Names are hard, though. Just ask my friends who are expecting their first child in March. Everyone has an opinion. And we’re sure you’ll have an opinion about our new name. No name is perfect, nor can it communicate everything you want it to. But we’re excited about our new name and hope you like it.

So what is it? Well, just like my friends are waiting until the baby is born to unveil their name, we’re waiting until our new website/brand is “born” in January to reveal it.

Stay tuned.

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.

I don’t have a great memory. I’d blame it on aging, but in all honesty, I don’t think it’s ever been that good. Years ago, when I was working the registration table at a musical event, a fellow grad student walked up to register along with her husband. I said, to the husband, “I’m so glad to finally meet you!” after which a long awkward silence occurred and my friend gently reminded me that we had indeed already met. Last month. When I’d had them both over to my house.

Yeah.

I bring that up because I would love to tell you about the first time I met Rachel, but I’m afraid I can’t actually remember. Suffice it to say we were fellow grad students in the piano department at Portland State University, and ended up teaching a class together. We’d get together to design weekly exams over a bottle of wine, and well, we’ve been inseparable ever since.

I guess I should get to the point and tell you why any of this matters. After a lot of cajoling, pressuring, wearing down and threatening to end our friendship unless she agreed, Rachel is joining Nonverbal Solutions as a coach. If you’ve been following this blog over the past few years then you already kind of know her. I’ve discussed her parenting, she’s pointed me in the right direction more than once, I’ve shared stories she’s shared with me, I’ve given her most of the furniture in my house to help me make decisions, and she also edited my eBook and freaked me out about passive voice. (Joke is on YOU Rachel as you now begin to blog….(cue evil laugh)…)

Anyhow, this is my very clumsy attempt to introduce Rachel Beohm to Nonverbal Solutions. She’ll be taking over most of the coaching as I focus on workshops and trial consulting. I’ll still coach, but will narrow my coaching practice to those looking to increase their presentation skills whereas Rachel will focus on all other coaching: interviews, promotions, general work issues, evil bosses, coworkers, and more.

I have to say I’m a bit…nervous. Not because I don’t think she’ll do well. She is absolutely the most intelligent, capable, and charismatic person I’ve ever known. No, I’m nervous because I’m worried that by sharing her with the world I won’t have as much access to her brain as I have previously. The woman is a genius. But that’s silly. I mean, hello, I’m paying her paycheck. She answers to me.

Rachel plans on introducing herself in this blog here soon as I am in Finland for the next three weeks. I look forward to hearing her voice in a more public way and in all seriousness, feel tremendously honored that she’s agreed to join Nonverbal Solutions. Welcome Rachel! You have NO idea what you’ve gotten yourself into!

*If you’d like to book a session with Rachel, contact Corey at: (503) 522.8038

“I wanna go home!” I screamed through my tears.

“You are home,” Kevin said quietly.

It was the night before our scheduled visit to the vet to put down Shasta, my beloved dog of 14 years. As I sat in our newly-rented dream apartment, all I wanted to do was go back to my parent’s house.

In the past three months my dad had a stroke, I suffered a miscarriage, my assistant Val -whom I adore- told me she is leaving, and now this.

There’s a reason people live with their parents until they’re 40. We had lived with mine for seven months in an effort to save money to move downtown, something we’ve dreamed of doing for years. Now, however, I didn’t want any part of it. I had fallen into a deep depression after my miscarriage in May and it was safe there. Someone else would make dinner if I wasn’t up to it. I could crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head and not worry about bills, work or other adult concerns. I wanted to go back to mom and dad’s. I wanted my dog.

We had been struggling with whether to take her to the new place. At 14, she was declining. She had debilitating arthritis for years, and it got to where she would need help getting up off the floor and often fell when walking. “But she’s fine!” I would wail. “She’s not fine, we’re pumping her full of meds,” Kevin replied. I pointed to my dad who was sitting at the counter as we debated. “We’re pumping him full of meds too! What, should we put him down?”

I knew I had to let her go.

I can barely count on one hand the people who have known me since I was 24 years old. Shasta saw me through a major depression, a divorce, a miscarriage and so much more. She was the one constant in my life- always waiting for me when I arrived home, never angry when I accidentally stepped on her tail getting out of bed in the morning, always up for a car ride. She had a snout that inexplicably smelled like maple syrup and a smile that could charm the perm off a poodle. I’ve owned three dogs in my life, and Shasta was just…special.

The morning of the appointment I woke up and finally admitted that I’ve been stagnating for the past several months.  Ever since the miscarriage, Kevin and I had been circling each other, afraid to get too close again. We would both pour our love into Shasta and withhold it from each other. In all honesty, I was afraid that we wouldn’t be able to take care of each other if we were on our own again. Somewhere along the way I’d lost myself and we’d almost lost each other. It was time to let Shasta go, but it was also time to get back into the game of life.

I couldn’t stand to watch her last moments so Kevin took her to the vet. He gave her a pig’s ear, and cried all the way to the vet as she hung her head out of the window, panting happily. She was taken to a room that had a metal examining table covered with a fluffy blanket. Kevin held her as they secured the IV, petted her and whispered that we loved her, and she slipped quietly away.

Later, as we drove downtown, I saw families with strollers and couples walking their dogs. “Great!” I quipped, “now seeing babies AND dogs is going to send me over the edge. It can’t get any worse.”

“You could see a baby walking a dog,” Kevin replied.

I laughed for the first time in a long time. And I started to focus on what’s ahead. I meet with a publisher next month. A new group dynamics training is in the works. I’m even optimistic about a new admin, as much as I hate to lose Val. I’m seeing a naturopath who assures me I won’t have any trouble getting pregnant again.

So last night, after looking through pictures of Shasta and bawling my head off, I poured myself a glass of wine, sat on my balcony, and enjoyed the amazing view of downtown. I turned to Kevin and said, “I’m glad we’re here.”

And I’m glad we are.

Three weeks ago today, my dad had a stroke.

Receiving the news, my first thought was: my dad doesn’t have strokes. This is the same man who, after watching me complete a marathon, said, “that doesn’t look so hard” and started training at the age of 65, having never run before. He went on to complete not one, but three marathons. He is always working on something -installing new flooring in his living room, re-tiling the fireplace, fixing the roof- this wasn’t a man who had health problems, much less strokes.

Except that he did. And so I cancelled a keynote, immediately got on a plane and flew to his bedside.

My dad, -my superman, really- was now lying in a hospital bed, his face contorted and paralyzed, his speech and motor skills impaired. As I watched him struggle to put on his eyeglasses, or speak, or do any of the things that a few days before had come so naturally, I felt incredibly helpless. My sister and I took turns crying in the bathroom so he wouldn’t see our grief.

Because there isn’t a lot to do while sitting in a hospital room, I watched the nurses interact with my dad. Most were terrific, a few were ok, and luckily we didn’t have any who were horrible. The best nurses, though, were those who were able to blend their position and their person.

We all want nurses who know what they’re doing, since they administer the majority of care to our loved ones. And yet we also want them to be warm and encouraging. When you’re in a hospital you are incredibly vulnerable- nurses who maintain the dignity of the patient and treat them like people instead of invalids make all the difference in the world. Our trust in the nurses comes from their ability to demonstrate their competence, or position, while at the same time demonstrating their concern, or person.

This balance of position and person is just as important to all of us as it is to those in the nursing profession. There are times when it is appropriate to come from our position -when our credibility must be demonstrated- and other times it is more appropriate to come from our person -when we need to show we care. Charismatic people are a blend of both, and bring out what’s appropriate depending on the needs of the situation.

My dad made a speedy recovery -so speedy in fact, that he is already home, walking up and down the stairs, lifting weights, joking around. He can do everything he did before, albeit a little slower, and we like to tease him that when he talks he sounds a little drunk. When I asked if he ever asks “why me?” he said, “Sure. But then I think, why not me? It happens.”

Thank goodness that when it does, there are nurses like those who attended my dad.

*A big thank you to the nurses and therapists at Presbyterian Intercommunity Hospital in Whittier, CA.

I’ve been traveling a lot lately. And I don’t like it.

I’m not a good traveler in general; I get irritable and cranky with the long lines and delays, and since I’ve usually had to get up at some horrific time like 4 a.m. the lack of sleep doesn’t help. Nor does the lack of healthy food. Or good reading material. Basically, having to travel for work lacks a lot of things.

What it doesn’t lack is interesting experiences.

Like last month when I travelled to Dallas. I stepped off the plane and headed to the nearest restroom and entered a stall. There, floating in the toilet was a crisp -well I wouldn’t say crisp exactly- twenty dollar bill.

The toilet was, um, material-free, so-to-speak, meaning there was nothing, um, else in there, but ewww. I didn’t feel right about flushing it, but may I again say, ewww?

I stood there pondering what to do for a few minutes. I eventually decided to fish it out, figuring the minute I did people with TV cameras were going to jump out and tell me I was part of a reality TV show. They had probably been hiding in the next stall before I walked in, carefully planning this entire scenario.

“We’ve secretly put a $20 bill in the toilet. Let’s see what happens…”

Later Kevin and I discussed whether we would have fished it out had there been something, um, in the toilet, to which he said he’d go in regardless, to which I replied, “I don’t think I can be married to you anymore.”

……………………………………………………………………

Other interesting experiences include arriving in Southern California while it was raining. Yes, raining. This, if you haven’t heard, is a VERY BIG DEAL.

Being from Portland I didn’t quite get what the problem was until I got in my rental car and realized everyone was driving like there was ice on the road instead of….water.

I arrived at the location of the training, and was met with shocked exclamations of, “I can’t believe you made it!” They had been wondering if they should cancel. Because of rain. I was sure I had misunderstood something so I asked what the big deal was. “It’s RAINING!” they exclaimed as they ran from the room.

So the next time I sit in the Long Beach airport -which can only be described as a string of sad little dilapidated mobile homes- and watch my fellow travelers descend upon the bar like a pack of refugees fighting to grab supplies that have just been dropped overhead from a plane, I’ll curse my plight because travel sucks.

But at least it’s always interesting.

Why is it that every time they tell us to expect snow it doesn’t happen, and then when they tell us we’ll just get a dusting, we get 6 inches?

I guess predicting the weather is a pretty complicated business.

I was thinking about that this week and how similar it is to the ability to read someone’s nonverbals.

In both cases you can have sophisticated equipment -radar and satellite in the case of weather predicting, machines that monitor heart rate, sweating and other physiological responses in the case of predicting if someone is lying- and in both cases you can be wrong.

TV shows like Lie to Me or The Mentalist rarely show the times a “read” is wrong, and so we continue to get the impression that if we just knew what to look for, we could predict how someone might act or what they might say based on their nonverbal behavior.

It reminds me of the first time I met two graduate teaching assistants I would be teaching a year-long class with at Portland State University. One exhibited closed nonverbals. She rarely offered her thoughts up in the classes we had together, she didn’t often smile, she looked down as you passed her in the hall. The other was friendly, participated in class, and smiled a lot. I immediately assumed it would be difficult to start a friendship with the first but a breeze with the second. Over the year the three of us forged a solid friendship, and I found that in the first case my fellow graduate teaching assistant was merely shy. Once you got to know her, she was friendly, chatty, and warm. The second graduate teaching assistant was friendly and outgoing, but took much longer to warm up to people. I made incorrect assumptions based on their nonverbals and first impressions.

Which really teaches us two things: 1) how powerful first impressions really are and 2) reading nonverbals in an attempt to interpret someone’s thoughts or feelings is a slippery slope.

Nonverbal communication does assist us in reading what other people need so we can better accommodate them. I’ve spent so much time warning you about the pitfalls of reading the nonverbal communication of others, you might be wondering if there’s any reason to read other people at all. A future post will focus on how to sensitively interpret what others are sending us nonverbally and what to do with that information. It’s when we pigeon-hole people based on their nonverbal behavior that we get into trouble.

For example, when lawyers hire me to assist them during jury selection, I always give the caveat that I can provide a nonverbal read of prospective jurors, but to compare it with all the other information they have. If it bolsters the case for or against a juror, great. If all information points the other way, then throw it out. More importantly, I focus on working with the lawyer. We have the most control over our own communication, and focusing there will create the biggest impact.

So the next time I hear it’s going to snow (or not snow) I’m going to take it with a grain of salt. Just like when I meet someone new. I’ll take in what they are communicating nonverbally but keep an open mind, just in case I miss something.

My assistant Val attended a poetry reading a few months ago and was asked by a woman what type of work she did. Val said she worked for Nonverbal Solutions, and that we train people to use nonverbal communication systematically.

The woman interrupted her and said, “Oh, so you manipulate people.”

Sigh.

I can’t say I’m surprised, although I’d love to start a workshop sometime without having to explain that what we do is nothing close to what people think we do. No, we can’t read your mind by watching your nonverbal behavior. No, we don’t train people in how to tell if someone is lying. And no, we don’t show you how to manipulate others by using secret, wildly influential nonverbal “tricks.”

If you’ve been following my blog, you know I can’t stand being called a body language expert, and you also know that I still struggle with explaining just exactly what it is that we do.

But I’m getting better.

A little over a year ago I was asked to speak for Portland Female Executives. I attended an event prior to my speaking engagement to check out the venue. The speaker spoke about passion, and at one point asked us to turn to our neighbor and share our passion. The woman I was seated next to asked me if I was passionate about nonverbal communication. Imagine my surprise when I realized my answer was…no. I left behind my career in music to devote myself full-time to nonverbal communication. How on earth could I not be passionate about it?

When I attended my first nonverbal communication workshop years ago I was surprised -just like many of my attendees now- that the information wasn’t anything like what I expected. Instead of learning isolated nonverbal cues and what they mean, we learned how nonverbal communication assists us in creating high-quality relationships. Relationships are the key to success both in the personal and professional realm, and clear, effective communication is essential for attracting, establishing and preserving relationships.

There are several ways to ensure clear communication occurs, but most programs work only with the verbal level- ignoring the nonverbal. This is unfortunate, because although it’s important to know what to say, research shows that how we say it makes a much bigger impact.

More importantly, nonverbal communication gives us insight into how others wish to be treated. Once we have that information, we can adapt our approach and meet people where they are. One of our greatest needs as humans is to be understood. Striving to understand others and communicate clearly is respectful and considerate, not manipulative.

So forgive me if my feathers get a bit ruffled when people assume we manipulate people. What we do is the exact opposite. Helping people create strong, quality relationships is what I am really passionate about. Nonverbal communication is how I choose to get there.

I recently received my first piece of hate-mail. It was actually pretty cool. I’ve been kind of down about my recent television interview. It was very short, and nothing came of it. No excited phone calls from prospective clients, no offers to appear on Oprah, so getting hate-mail made me feel kinda…famous.

I really shouldn’t call it hate-mail. It wasn’t “hateful” really, and it was an email, not the type of letter you think of when you think of hate-mail: cut-out letters from magazines pasted onto a piece of paper. It’s also pretty difficult to get offended by someone who can’t put together a well-constructed sentence. But ever since receiving it Val and I have been affectionately calling it the “hate-mail.”

Basically the writer expressed amazement that someone would be so “simplistic” to “try and reduce human non-verbal behavior to that of a cat or dog.” He or she (there wasn’t a signature) is referencing -I can only guess- my recent interview with Willamette Week, in which I discuss the cats and dogs analogy I use in my work.

Receiving the email made me realize two things: 1) what I’m doing is getting attention, and that’s cool no matter how you slice it, and 2) what I do is not easily explained in a one-page article or even a three-minute television interview.

I’m still trying to find a way to talk about what I do in a way that makes sense to people. Just this morning the receptionist at my chiropractor’s office asked what I did. I said I was a nonverbal communications consultant which resulted in a blank stare, and the more I tried to explain, the more confused she became.

Yesterday I presented an all-day workshop in which at least a half-dozen participants said, “I was not looking forward to coming to this workshop, but I’m so glad I came. It wasn’t what I expected at all.” This isn’t unusual. And although I am delighted that people find my work useful and practical, there has to be a better way of explaining it.

For now I’ll just keep plugging along knowing that the media attention is nice but I can’t expect it to sell my services. All of my work up until this point has come from word of mouth. We’ve never purchased advertising and I don’t have a publicist. People who attend workshops tell other people and that’s why Nonverbal Solutions is here and thriving, even after a recession.

So to my clients and supporters out there, thank you. And to my anonymous email writer: thank you as well. You can’t know how fun it was to feel famous.