The year was 1988. I had long been fond of comedy. Peter Sellers in The Pink Panther series was the genre’s gold standard in my mind. But then a friend introduced me to the film, This Is Spinal Tap. A group of us, then in high school, watched it repeatedly on weekends, memorizing vast portions of dialogue along the way. It never stopped being funny. Christopher Guest, along with Rob Reiner, created the idea for the film. What is so remarkable about this film, apart from comic genius, is that the actors did not have any script.

Guest’s method brought out the authenticity in each actor. Because they couldn’t control and didn’t know what another actor would say in a given moment, the actors had to be fully engaged in the acting process. Only then could they respond in a way that matched perfectly what the other actors were doing. This approach may sound like a free-for-all. Far from it. Guest and his co-writer and actor Eugene Levi spent months in advance conceptualizing the story and organizing it into 141 note cards. Each card delineated starting and ending points, A to B. The actors in the film knew they must begin and end at a certain point. But Guest didn’t dictate how they should travel between points A and B. He left the creative control in the hands of his actors. The inspiration each actor drew from to move him or her through each scene was the character that Guest and Levi developed, complete with a personal history, personality and character description.

A movie with a script follows an entirely different approach. Actors know what they are to say, when they are to say it, and how to present their lines in response to their fellow actors. When they’re not speaking in a scene, they’re waiting for their cue. Less is required of actors–which is not to say this approach isn’t demanding in other respects. But with a script actors are not required to be as present, responsive, and authentic. The whole thing is mapped out.

Most “how to books” for relationships amount to a script. They will tell you what, when, and how you ought to say what you ought to say. Again, many of these books offer valuable concepts and principles. But in the realm of meaningful, grounded relationships I think we should require more of ourselves and each other. Scripts serve to arm us for a conversation. We need to develop our ability to enter conversations without armor.

To borrow from Guest’s method, we can determine where a scene or conversation begins, but what follows ought to be spontaneous, drawn from wells deep within us. Remember talking with your friend, child, or spouse into the midnight hour? You had no idea the conversation would last so long. We’ve all had these kinds of conversations. If you reflect back on the conversation it probably began with one topic, morphed into other related topics, swirled and ebbed throughout the evening, spilling into all kinds of divergent explorations. There was no script, no prompts. You were in the moment, thinking, speaking, and feeling what the moment required of you.

We seek the support of scripts out of fear and laziness. They help us feel in control. And what happens if the person to whom we’re talking forgets his or her lines? We storm off the set like Jack Nicholson. How dare you derail my narrative.

Tags: authenticity, unscripted relationships, vulnerability

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“The Salinas Valley is in Northern California. It is a long narrow swale between two ranges of mountains, and the Salinas River winds and twists up the center until it falls at last into the Monterey Bay.” This is how John Steinbeck opens his novel, East of Eden. When I first read these words two years ago they set my imagination ablaze. I wanted nothing more than to follow Steinbeck through his exquisite narrative.

Near the top of the list of more embarrassing things about me is that I graduated from high school, attended a reputable private college, and received a 4.0 GPA at a nationally ranked graduate school–all without being able to discern a verb from a noun, an adjective from an adverb, or a participle from a pronoun. How’s that for self-disclosure? “Your knowledge of Greek is fantastic,” my Greek professor once said, “but your grammar is terrible.”

For the past decade I have sought to better understand not just grammar, but also the art and craft of writing. Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style sits on my bedside table. Along the way I’ve taken up such primers as Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird and Stephen King’s On Writing. “I believe the road to hell is paved with adverbs,” King says, “and I will shout it from the rooftops.” And shout he does. I’ve been scared to use an adverb since reading his reproach.

Using adverbs is lazy, King asserts. Adverbs weaken writing. Don’t say you slammed the door loudly. Slammed is sufficient. Loudly adds nothing. A simple, clear, strong statement allows the reader to fill in the details using his or her own imagination. Poor writing relies on adverbs and extraneous details, elements that ought to spring up from our imagination. King’s point, instructive to aspiring authors, holds broader import for everyone trying to relate effectively to others.

As you seek to communicate in speech and/or writing to those you serve, try to omit adverbs. Like a master writer, seek to introduce enough detail to set aflame God-given imaginations. You need not furnish all the content. To make what you offer as relevant as possible, allow others to contribute their content. If you’re a parent preparing for a difficult conversation with your teen, say what you must–but be clear, concise, and spot-on. Then allow silence and space for your child to respond. There’s no need to ladle on more details than necessary. As in writing, these superfluous details sabotage effectual communication.

When you allow for space you encourage a rhythm of give and take, statement and response–the prerequisite for constructive dialogue. Such honest, measured and fluid dialogue leads to deepening trust, which in turn mortars strong, meaningful relationships. Whether you are trying to communicate to one person, or one thousand, tear a page from great literature for inspiration.

Tags: communicating with youth, creative communication, cultivating imagination, relationships

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Many of you have probably heard or read of virtuoso Joshua Bell playing his violin in a Washington, D.C. subway. One of the world’s greatest violinists played his priceless Stradivarius for 45 minutes to harried commuters. Exactly one person recognized him.

The Washington Post and other publications and bloggers rightly illuminated this fascinating–if indicting–social experiment. But I’ve not seen any stories about how this changed the way Bell perceived those countless musicians in thriftstore garb playing in thoroughfares for tossed coins and dollars. I would assume that, in at least some small way, this experience changed Bell’s perception. I can imagine Bell passing a street performer later that day and sensing a kinship he could only know for having laid opened his instrument case in a dingy corner and playing his finest for indifferent passersby.

We can emulate Bell’s experiment in our own relationships, by intentionally stepping out of our realm and into another’s. Every time I consider what it must be like for my wife to parent our children each day–nourishing them in so many ways, putting their needs above her own–I am sobered. By trying to see the world as she does I appreciate her existence in a new way. This can’t help but have a positive impact on how I relate with her. I’m more ready to help, be patient, and support her. This is likewise true when my wife communicates to me her knowledge of and appreciation for what occupies my time, concerns, and interests. I feel seen and appreciated.

We best relate to those with whom we share an affinity. Developing empathy for others is a precursor to such affinity. But cultivating empathy is work. We’re inclined to restrict our perspective to our own perceptions. The landscape from this narrow perspective is familiar and comforting. But I would challenge you to try to see through the lense of another. Try this with one person you care about. Can you picture him or her? Now answer the following questions:

What is she most looking forward to today?

What are his greatest fears today?

What does he most dread doing today and why?

When will she feel most at peace today?

If you are like me, in confronting these questions you will begin to sense an increasing empathy for this person. As your perception of this person changes, so also will the manner in which you relate with him or her. Doing so helped Joshua Bell belong to the brotherhood and sisterhood of street musicians. When we apply this to our relationships we’re better able to commiserate with, and more effectively serve, greater humankind.

Tags: empathy in practice

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