expectations

Judging ourselves

by Steve Brock on March 7, 2013

Recently, in the course of a branding project, a client made what I believe to be a very profound comment:

“We judge ourselves by our intentions. We judge others by their actions.”

Read it again.

It’s so true and yet so easy to miss.

Many years ago, my father-in-law was in Italy. At a popular tourist site, a Japanese couple approaches him and using hand gestures, points to their camera, to my father-in-law and then to themselves. My father-in-law points to the camera, points to himself and then back to them. The Japanese couple nods enthusiastically. My father-in-law nods enthusiastically. He even bows to them. They bow back.

The Japanese couple then step over to be in front of the monument they want in their picture. But when they turn around, they are horrified to see my father-in-law casually walking away with their camera around his neck, acting as if he’s just received a wonderful new gift.

The Japanese couple chases him down and apologetically tries to explain in Japanese that they weren’t giving him the camera but simply asking him to take their picture. My father-in-law cannot understand their words, but after allowing for a moment of extreme awkwardness, he laughs and, in words they cannot understand but in a tone they do, explains that he was merely joking. He then takes their picture, returns their camera and both parties leave smiling because of the encounter.

That’s a fun example of how one party knew their own intentions and assumed the other party did as well. And in reality, the other party, my father-in-law, did understand the other’s intentions. He just wanted to point out playfully how we all make certain assumptions.

His example illustrates how in foreign cultures, people have even less of an ability to understand our internal intentions. All they can go on is our actions.

The same applies even at home. The difference is that once others get to know us well, they have a better sense of our values and intentions. Still, it’s a great quote and principle to remember anywhere since it explains why people respond to us differently than we think they will.

But let’s take it one step further: What if we turned it around?

What if we judged ourselves by our actions, not just on what we thought about doing? What if I said those encouraging words rather than just thinking them? Thanked the person with a small note or gift rather than assuming they knew my appreciation? Smiled and nodded in a conversation to let the other person know I was paying attention?

What if we judged others by what they intended? Can’t do that because you can’t read their minds? True. But maybe, it might cause us to go deeper with others, listen more closely to better understand them…and their intentions.

You don’t have to wait for a trip to try it. Just be aware of what you actually do. Take a week – or even one day – to really pay attention to your actions. See if what you do matches what you deep down believe.

Try it. I’ll do the same. Then let me know what happens. Not what you think might happen or what you’d like to have happen. What actually occurs when your actions match your deeper intentions.

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Soap and change

by Steve Brock on June 27, 2012

Last time we looked at how staying at fancier hotels usually results in getting fewer amenities like free parking, Internet access or breakfast. One other thing you also don’t get – or at least I haven’t yet – at the more expensive hotels is body wash in a dispenser.

In the last six months or so, I’ve stayed at three different moderately priced hotels for work. In each, they now have dispensers in the shower for both shampoo and body wash.

I understand that getting guests to use a squirt of body wash is far cheaper than having them use a whole bar of soap for a single shower. But here’s the rub (pun intended) with body wash: It’s a hassle to use.

You have to get that blob of liquid in your palm, carefully cupped to prevent undesired dilution before it even reaches your body. Then you have to try and smear it over your skin before the oncoming water washes it all away. I usually have to make a half dozen trips to the dispenser just for one shower, head to toe.

With a bar of soap, you have the little rectangle or circle or oval right there in your hand. You don’t have to huddle over it like you’re protecting a meager flame in a gale force wind. You don’t have to turn away from the stream of water to lather up. It all works exactly as nature intended. Soap up, rinse off, be clean.

With a bar of soap, you never get confused over which liquid is for your body and which is for your head, though once, I intentionally did swap the two.

On a trip through Western China, I lost my bottle of shampoo on the last leg of the journey. On the final day there, I figured that using a bar of soap was better than not washing my hair at all.

I figured wrong.

After lathering my hair with soap and rinsing, I almost broke a tooth of the comb trying to run it through the glop that was now my hair. Then, I spent the rest of the day obsessed with the substance on top of my head that felt like waxed cardboard. I learned that soap and shampoo are like dogs and cats. There’s a reason you don’t interbreed them or confuse or combine the two. It’s downright unnatural.

But with body wash, all that is shifting. The two are becoming potentially interchangeable. And the consequences of this?

I’m not implying that the world’s going to end, but if we start seeing an increase in disasters or wars or panic in the streets, don’t say you haven’t been warned as to the cause.

Ok, so this may be a bit melodramatic about a seemingly small shift in consumer personal care items. But the problem is that this shift has been introduced by someone other than me.

Even those of us who travel a good deal and travel precisely to encounter the new and the novel don’t like it when that novelty is forced upon us. We like change when we’re the ones orchestrating it.

So if you haven’t figured it out by now, this really isn’t about bars of soap versus body wash. It’s about how we handle change, on a trip or at home.

I once had a Dilbert pen that summarized this issue far better than any silly discussion about soap or body wash can. On the side of the pen it read this:

“Change is good…You go first.”

Even if that means using body wash.

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The reluctant pilgrim – Part 2: Green Gables

by Steve Brock on August 12, 2011

Green Gables: Note the hat with attached pigtails hanging on the carriage

I am a reluctant pilgrim.

No, not just for the reasons we covered last time regarding how the journey is as important as the destination. I’m reluctant to undertake a pilgrimage where my head tells me the destination might be interesting but my heart says, “Eh, well, whatever.”

Such was my journey to the land of Green Gables.

My family and I have one day on Prince Edward Island, Canada. We rent a car in the capital, Charlottestown and drive through lovely farmland and eventually arrive in Cavendish, the home town of Lucy Maud Montgomery. She’s the author of Anne of Green Gables and a million (or so it seems) sequels about the fictional feisty red-headed orphan who ends up being adopted by Marilla and Matthew in the fictional house known as Green Gables in the fictional town of Avonlea.

Fictional. Remember that word.

My friend Dave encouraged me to read the first book, Anne of Green Gables. Original characters, insightful writing, a classic. Plus, it was free on a Kindle: say no more. And Dave was right. It’s a great book.

Having just read it before this trip, how could I pass up a chance to actually visit Green Gables itself and see the place where Montgomery lived and wrote and is even buried? Bigger pilgrimages have been planted with smaller seeds than this.

We arrive in Cavendish (upon which Avonlea is based) and plunk down $24 Canadian for the four of us to tour “Green Gables” and also the author’s “home,” now run by descendents of her relatives.

Upon entry, we pass the museum and large gift shop, go through the barn and then we behold the house; Green Gables itself. Only it’s not Green Gables. That’s a fictional place. And it’s not the house where Montgomery lived (that house no longer exists: you can only see a stone outline of its foundations about a mile east of here). This house instead was the home of a cousin of Montgomery’s.

They’ve redone the place quite nicely. We walk past each room – Anne’s, Marilla’s, the kitchen – all re-created to match the book. They even have added nice touches: Anne’s flowers or Marilla’s shawl and missing brooch. 

And did I mention Anne herself? Yes, indeed. There she is, standing outside by the carriage (sans horses), all red hair and freckles along with her friend Ruby (who looks about 25 – she’s 15 in the book).

The crowds adore this Anne.

I try to convince my family that this is not some local actress but is in fact, Anne of Green Gables. She is real! But my boys just give me a look like, “Grow up, Dad.” They then try to persuade me to put on the straw hat with attached red pig tails which sits on the carriage seat. This “Anne wig” has been tried on by probably 200 other sweaty tourists this day alone so they can get a picture of themselves in the carriage looking like Anne.

I demurely pass on this opportunity.  

We actually try to get a photo of “Anne” later on, but she is nowhere to be found. My teen sons crack themselves up by explaining how she is “off set” behind the barn lighting up a cigarette and having a couple brewskies before she has to go back to being in character. Clearly my wife needs to exert greater influence on their character.

After all this excitement around the house, we wander down “Lover’s Lane,” through the “Haunted Woods,” past the foundations of the house where Montgomery lived and we arrive at the bookstore. There, the great, great, great granddaughter of Montgomery’s own grandparents tells me more than I ever wanted to know about Lucy Maud Montgomery (Maud to her friends).

And therein I begin to realize the problem with this pilgrimage for me: More is not better. More is just more. I have reluctantly accepted that this is, in fact, a pilgrimage, but it feels more manufactured than pursued. Though I’m sure that this place is highly meaningful to many of the fans who flock here from all over the world (Anne is HUGE in Japan, for example), I come away a bit disenchanted.

The idea of framing this place as a pilgrimage destination (though few would use such terms) forces the experience I had with the book into something more than I think it was intended to provide, at least for me.

To me, there was a real author who wrote a real book about a real place. She fictionalized the rest and yet that fiction, which is so wonderful in your mind as you’re reading the book, becomes somewhat trivialized when overdone through re-creations of the scenes from the novel.

Meaningful travel is all about experiencing authentic places with all your senses. Yet some things are best experienced only in your imagination. That’s something Anne herself would have appreciated given how much she valued a good imagination.

That is, if Anne were real and not a work of fiction.

But who knows? Maybe I’d feel differently if I’d just tried on the wig…

 
 

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You have no idea

by Steve Brock December 28, 2010

In travel and in life, you have no idea how things will turn out. Appreciating this – and resting in it rather than resisting it – can dramatically alter how you travel and live.

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Intergenerational travel: a tale of two trips – Part 2

by Steve Brock December 3, 2010

Another intergenerational trip, this time to Scotland, reveals that when you do it right, traveling with both children and grandparents can be some of the most meaningful travel possible.

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Intergenerational travel: a tale of two trips – Part 1

by Steve Brock November 30, 2010

An intergenerational trip to Hawaii illustrates the downside of traveling with grandparents and grandchildren if you don’t address expectations – and certain dislikes – ahead of time.

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The unexpected results of traveling expectantly

by Steve Brock November 22, 2010

A trip to San Antonio, Texas reveals that you can have a meaningful journey and travel expectantly for business even if nothing overtly exceptional happens. But you have to pay attention…

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