Thursday, July 17, 2008

Michelangelo's David

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"…Of gold"

17 July, 2008

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"I never worked with a nicer person. We got along so well. She was worth her weight in gold and was a great friend."

"So what's she doing now?"

"I don't know. We lost touch when she changed jobs."

I've been on both sides of that conversation, and felt bad every time. When you work with people day after day, some kind of relationship must form. We hope that these relationships are amicable, so everyone can get their jobs done without a lot of stress. It's easy to think of someone you get along with and see on a regular basis as a close friend--someone we can count upon in a pinch and who we expect to remain emotionally close for years to come. So when that favorite co-worker takes a new job elsewhere, or moves cross-country to take care of family, or otherwise, we may be surprised to realize that we haven't kept in touch as we said we would.

Not everyone sees things that way. Lots of people make it a strict practice never to be more than professionally polite and cordial. Office friendships are treated as transient acquaintances to enjoy while you share a work space, but easily replaced when one or the other of you move on. While many would classify that as simply practical, to me it is more than a little cold-hearted.

Many times over the years people have expressed strong skepticism when I say that I really liked the people I was working with, and how great the work atmosphere was. They would tell me how lucky I was to have such co-workers--but many times their tone of voice clearly conveyed the subtext that I had to be delusional. It was simply unbelievable to them that a workplace could be populated with smart and nice people.

Eventually I noticed a pattern: the more that someone insisted that most co-workers were selfish, or clueless, or both, the fewer long-term friends that person had in "real life." They might hang out with a large group of people, but virtually no one had been their friend for more than a few years. They often spoke of former friends in disparaging terms. They told stories of the many times that someone they trusted has betrayed them or let them down. They never told stories of people who stuck with them in tough times. This wasn't a strict correlation, but it was true often enough for me to decide that the primary problem wasn't their co-workers.

If you treat someone with distrust, they have no motivation to trust you--let alone help you, even in minor ways that don't inconvenience them. When they don't help you, it's easy to take it as proof that your distrust was justified. You may become openly hostile, which will provoke a hostile reaction from them. Other people who observe this behavior from you will be guarded in their own interactions with you, seeking to avoid getting pulled into trouble. It's easy to see this as everyone being hostile and unreasonable, when all they are doing is reacting to your initial distrust.

If, on the other hand, you cut people some slack, extend a little trust, and don't assume that every little thing that goes wrong was maliciously motivated, others are more likely to react favorably to you. They're more likely to give you the benefit of the doubt when something goes wrong, and everyone is able to tackle problems with a minimum of angst and drama.

It isn't always that neat and simple. I have to admit that there have been people in my workgroups who I considered less nice, or less talented, or less brilliant than others. I haven't always felt chummy with every co-worker. A few (very few) were downright unpleasant to work with. I tried at all times to be as cordial and helpful to them as I was with the friendly folks. I tried to remember their good points--if you look hard enough, everyone has at least one good point--and considered the bad points to be part of the cost of doing business, as it were. I also reminded myself that I probably irritated them at least as much as they irritated me. We all hope that people will be nice to us, even when we don't always deserve it. If we expect that of others, how can we do less ourselves?

One time when I explained this philosophy to an acquaintance, he said that I must have extra-special-powerful rose-tinted glasses, and that it was only a matter of luck that I hadn't been severely hurt or worse. "You should stop being such a bleeding-heart and learn to be practical."

I asked him how many friends he had that had been close friends for twenty years or more. He laughed and said just one--but only if you count long distance friends. When I listed off about a dozen names of people I had been close friends with that long (many of whom he had met) he looked at me as if I had suddenly grown a second head. Eleven years later, my list has simply grown. Last I heard, he's moved to competely different states at three times, abandoning virtually all of his friends each time, and still counts the same long-distance buddy as he closest friend.

Somehow, I'd rather be gold-hearted than cold.

If I refused to work with every person who ever let me down, or if every person I ever disappointed refused to talk to me, I'd have nothing to do and no one to talk to.
--me paraphrasing something I read long ago, but can't track down
United We Dance .

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Previous Index Next Email	"…Of gold" 17 July, 2008
	"I never worked with a nicer person. We got along so well. She was worth her weight in gold and was a great friend." "So what's she doing now?" "I don't know. We lost touch when she changed jobs." I've been on both sides of that conversation, and felt bad every time. When you work with people day after day, some kind of relationship must form. We hope that these relationships are amicable, so everyone can get their jobs done without a lot of stress. It's easy to think of someone you get along with and see on a regular basis as a close friend--someone we can count upon in a pinch and who we expect to remain emotionally close for years to come. So when that favorite co-worker takes a new job elsewhere, or moves cross-country to take care of family, or otherwise, we may be surprised to realize that we haven't kept in touch as we said we would. Not everyone sees things that way. Lots of people make it a strict practice never to be more than professionally polite and cordial. Office friendships are treated as transient acquaintances to enjoy while you share a work space, but easily replaced when one or the other of you move on. While many would classify that as simply practical, to me it is more than a little cold-hearted. Many times over the years people have expressed strong skepticism when I say that I really liked the people I was working with, and how great the work atmosphere was. They would tell me how lucky I was to have such co-workers--but many times their tone of voice clearly conveyed the subtext that I had to be delusional. It was simply unbelievable to them that a workplace could be populated with smart and nice people. Eventually I noticed a pattern: the more that someone insisted that most co-workers were selfish, or clueless, or both, the fewer long-term friends that person had in "real life." They might hang out with a large group of people, but virtually no one had been their friend for more than a few years. They often spoke of former friends in disparaging terms. They told stories of the many times that someone they trusted has betrayed them or let them down. They never told stories of people who stuck with them in tough times. This wasn't a strict correlation, but it was true often enough for me to decide that the primary problem wasn't their co-workers. If you treat someone with distrust, they have no motivation to trust you--let alone help you, even in minor ways that don't inconvenience them. When they don't help you, it's easy to take it as proof that your distrust was justified. You may become openly hostile, which will provoke a hostile reaction from them. Other people who observe this behavior from you will be guarded in their own interactions with you, seeking to avoid getting pulled into trouble. It's easy to see this as everyone being hostile and unreasonable, when all they are doing is reacting to your initial distrust. If, on the other hand, you cut people some slack, extend a little trust, and don't assume that every little thing that goes wrong was maliciously motivated, others are more likely to react favorably to you. They're more likely to give you the benefit of the doubt when something goes wrong, and everyone is able to tackle problems with a minimum of angst and drama. It isn't always that neat and simple. I have to admit that there have been people in my workgroups who I considered less nice, or less talented, or less brilliant than others. I haven't always felt chummy with every co-worker. A few (very few) were downright unpleasant to work with. I tried at all times to be as cordial and helpful to them as I was with the friendly folks. I tried to remember their good points--if you look hard enough, everyone has at least one good point--and considered the bad points to be part of the cost of doing business, as it were. I also reminded myself that I probably irritated them at least as much as they irritated me. We all hope that people will be nice to us, even when we don't always deserve it. If we expect that of others, how can we do less ourselves? One time when I explained this philosophy to an acquaintance, he said that I must have extra-special-powerful rose-tinted glasses, and that it was only a matter of luck that I hadn't been severely hurt or worse. "You should stop being such a bleeding-heart and learn to be practical." I asked him how many friends he had that had been close friends for twenty years or more. He laughed and said just one--but only if you count long distance friends. When I listed off about a dozen names of people I had been close friends with that long (many of whom he had met) he looked at me as if I had suddenly grown a second head. Eleven years later, my list has simply grown. Last I heard, he's moved to competely different states at three times, abandoning virtually all of his friends each time, and still counts the same long-distance buddy as he closest friend. Somehow, I'd rather be gold-hearted than cold.
	If I refused to work with every person who ever let me down, or if every person I ever disappointed refused to talk to me, I'd have nothing to do and no one to talk to. --me paraphrasing something I read long ago, but can't track down .
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