You’ve probably heard of Felix Baumgartner, the daredevil who travels the world parachuting from buildings, statues and cliffs. The August 2010 issue of Outside Magazine featured a story about his next stunt: a supersonic fall from 120,000 feet above the earth. During the jump he will reach speeds of 690 miles per hour on his way to Mach 1.2. As he reaches the sound barrier, there is a risk of shock waves breaking him apart. Such a stunt demonstrates a brand of courage that teeters on the edge of insanity.

We need to possess the same measure of courage when we seek to connect with teens. What would happen if we entered the teen atmosphere with Baumgartner-like abandon? What if we entered with no agenda but to ask good questions, let them speak from their perspective, and listen with absolute regard? I wanted to find out. This is what motivated me to create The 6Teens Project.

I am excited to tell you more about this resource, which I referenced in last month’s newsletter. The mission is simple: Engage a small group of teens in a conversation about how adults can connect with them, film their responses, and create an ever-expanding online trove of videos for adults seeking a fresh perspective into the lives of teens.

Last spring I facilitated the inaugural 6Teens groups, comprised of Oregon high school students. The responses were stunning. The conversation began with a Latina student sharing about her father and how he overcame significant obstacles, such as the murder of his own father, to provide a good life for her. You can watch her response, entitled “Heroic Father.”

This student’s transparency inspired other students to share. Teens talked about how they can identify when adults are truly listening. They voiced their desire for a more relevant learning process that incorporates dialogue and discussion.

Certain common themes emerge from this first batch of videos: Teens would like adults to relate to them with the same regard we extend to people we respect. Throughout our time together students identified by name the adults in their lives who were exemplary. These adults had earned the trust of teens. The 6Teens Project offers insight into just why teens find certain adults  to be trustworthy, and a positive influence in their lives.

We can and should have the courage to enter the complex, oft-times frustrating, world of teens. You, like me, will not do so with the flourish of Felix Baumgartner. Your stunt will not be on TV and you will not receive a hefty Red Bull sponsorship. What’s important is that your stunt will register with teens. They will recognize and respect your courage and the abandon with which you seek to truly relate with them. The 6Teens Project can help provide clues as to how we can do this well.

It’s simple and free to access The 6Teens Project videos:

1. Watch – Videos are available on the People Change People website, YouTube and Vimeo .

2. Subscribe – Receive new episodes as we post them. (Just click Subscribe on YouTube or Vimeo.)

3. Participate – Share this resource with others and let me know how it has informed your work.

In response to The 6Teens Project I have enhanced my training workshops to incorporate not only cutting-edge brain development research but also insights from teens themselves into how to build meaningful, lasting connections with them, as expressed in 6Teens discussions.  If you are interested in learning more about these workshops send me an email.

Heather made a great point. We ought not to define a person by one decision. Such a narrow focus will overlook valuable aspects of Heather’s character, such as how she responds to her poor choice and the corresponding consequences. Our scope of inspection needs to be broader. We would be foolish to attempt to understand a novel by reading only the first sentence of each chapter. (I tried that in middle school. My grade on the quiz corresponded directly to my knowledge, or lack thereof.)

People are like books: between two covers a reader finds conflict, success, failure, and beauty. Our reading literacy, as I mentioned in May’s newsletter, is a gauge of our ability to plumb the depths of a book and comprehend the complexity of plot, character development, argument, and intent. Doing so requires that we develop more than merely our ability to read words. Likewise, the ability to read people—what I call Relational Literacy—requires comparable, if not superior skills. Relational Literacy is the measure of our capacity to truly understand and connect with another person.

Relational Literacy requires two indispensable elements:

1. A desire to learn. We welcome surprising twists and turns in a good book. We ought to do the same with people.

2. Understanding finite events in their larger context. Hold loosely to the actions of another as you would the cryptic lines of a poem. We gain clarity only by reading and rereading the lines with a tenacity to understand.

Developing our Relational Literacy helps us better understand people; their successes, failures, joys, and sorrows. It is true that our choices are in many respects the ink we use to write our life’s story. But we need to patiently let the plot unfold in others. We do well to extend the same patience and empathy to our own life story.

“What Orwell feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one. Orwell feared those who would deprive us of information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egoism. Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of irrelevance.”

Postman argues that the media and its ability to amuse us has played an enormous role in our becoming a bibliophobic, information-gluttonous culture for whom truth is as interesting as reruns of Flipper. If Postman is correct, how can we square off with this nearly ubiquitous force? Increase our media literacy.

Years ago I met with a group of teens in a focus group. Part of our conversation included a discussion about the media. One of the teens admonished, “Nothing makes teens angrier than when they realize something is controlling them. If you want teens to resist the power of the media, help them see the ways the media controls them!” He had a point. Teens despise control; recognize how the media controls them and teens might be less likely to fall prey to the media’s persuasion. This is part of the picture, but I think we can build on it.

Media literacy is similar to reading literacy: to be more literate we must grasp the languages to such a degree that we’re able to comprehend the meaning implicit in their message. We must pay close attention not only to what they say, but how they deliver their message. A person is more literate in regard to reading when she is able to not merely read the words, but can grasp the craft of writing, language, plot development, and context. Media literacy is more than hearing and understanding the message from the media. We can broaden our media literacy, as we do with reading literacy, by examining the modes by which media communicate their message.

Grab a magazine and flip to an advertisement. What is the message of the advertisement? Now consider how the ad delivers its message. What tactics does the ad employ to endear you to the product? Where in the magazine does the ad appear and why would that matter? Consider what you would see if you could broaden the frames of the photography in the ad. What are they not showing in the ad and why? What don’t they include in this pseudo-reality that we know to be true about real reality? We can develop similar questions for other media that can help us expand our media literacy.

The media’s power to warp reality is alarming. Yet the task of developing media literacy is not anti-media: It is a quest to understand what the media does to us and its potential to erode our autonomy as free-thinking individuals grounded in reality. A camera, for example, cannot capture reality. “Not only can the camera lie; it always lies,” goes Malcolm Muggeridge’s famous saying. Yet we can readily confuse the images for what is real and true.

What are we to do? We gain independence from the media and regain a footing in reality when we work to comprehend the media languages and how they communicate their messages. We then not only understand media messages, more importantly, we recognize how the media communicates.

Boosting our media literacy is a worthy and difficult task. For more reading on this topic, consider reading more of Neil Postman’s work. Propaganda and The Technological Society, by Jacques Ellul, also address this topic with remarkable clarity.

As I am coming to understand, the question ought not to be binary; either my daughter is literate, or she is not. Rather, we should ask: How literate is she? Between now and the time my daughter is in eighth grade and more fortified to digest such a book, she will read more about the history of the South. In particular she will likely broaden her understanding of its complex cultural history. Perhaps we’ll even visit. It is sad but true: In the next six years she will expand her understanding of topics related to race relations, prejudice, and injustice. This knowledge will deepen her literacy. When at last she takes up To Kill a Mockingbird her comprehension—and therefore literacy—will be far greater and more meaningful. The joy and heartache she experiences while reading will be more profound.

I am writing this newsletter with a two-fold purpose in mind. First, I’d like to encourage our understanding of literacy to move beyond simple reading and comprehension. A higher degree of literacy enables us to fathom depths of meaning that set the stage for us to consider with greater acumen the questions: What is the author saying? What do I think about this and why? How should I live in light of this literature? Deeper understanding is a prerequisite for being a more circumspect individual and citizen. In a culture super-saturated in propaganda, this kind of thoughtfulness is essential to preserving and promoting a person’s unique identity, and equipping each individual for the task of shaping a strong civil society. Second, I’m setting in place a springboard from which I’d like to explore the importance of boosting our media and relational literacy. In the newsletters that follow you will, I trust, find common threads that have immediate implications for how we choose to interact with our world.

Parole board chairman: They’ve got a name for people like you, Hi. That name is called “recidivism.” Repeat offender! Not a pretty name, is it, Hi?

Hi: No, sir. That’s one bonehead name, but that ain’t me anymore.

Parole board chairman: You’re not just telling us what we want to hear?

Hi: No, sir, no way.

Parole board member: ‘Cause we just want to hear the truth.

Hi: Well, then I guess I am telling you what you want to hear.

Parole board chairman: Boy, didn’t we just tell you not to do that?

Hi: Yes, sir.

Parole board chairman: Okay, then.

Like so much in life, this scene is funny because it reflects something true about human nature. The parole board is dubious of Hi’s claims to reform. They don’t see him as someone capable of making anything other than “bonehead” choices. Our perceptions of others, especially people we consider challenging or complex, inform our expectations of their behavior and abilities. You have probably read studies in which school administrators tell teachers their classes comprise either high- or low-achieving students. The teachers believe this assessment and set expectations commensurate with their perception of student capabilities. Though the classes are actually homogenous, as far as previous performance is concerned, the “high-achieving” students outperform the “low achievers.”

We are all prone to categorizing others. This person is stingy. That person is particular. In many respects we can’t help this, nor is there anything wrong with forming perceptions. How can we not? We can enhance the health of our personal and professional relationships by making these perceptions pliable. Doing so extends to others an opportunity to teach us. When we become students of others we allow them to clarify our perceptions. Our relationships are then more authentic because they are rooted in a more accurate understanding of the other.

I find the following thought experiment to be rewarding, especially in reference to my closest friends and family. Fresh aspects of their character and personality broaden and correct my previous perceptions. They are more real to me. I can relate with them in a way that is more authentic and enlivening. I encourage you to think of one person in your life whom you experience as particularly tricky and enigmatic, then:

1. Imagine this person looking you in the eye and saying, “How do you see me?”

2. Formulate an honest response. Go ahead and generalize like crazy. Wrap this person up in a box and assume for a moment this is accurate. Give your brain permission to think you’ve got this person figured out. What you are doing is creating an accurate assessment of your existing perception of this person.

3. Now brainstorm some alternate perceptions. Over-generalized perceptions don’t have room for exceptions. So hunt for them. To do this you have to swivel around the person to gain unique vantage points. In what settings might this person do something that would broaden your existing perception? Picture this person at home, in a car, in a garden, with a pet, on a plane. How might seeing them in these various settings help fill out your perceptions?

4. In the next week note the exceptions to your previous perceptions. You will have to look hard and not be derailed by the experiences that reinforce your original over-generalized perception. Fighting this tendency is your task. This can only enhance how you relate to, and enjoy, this individual.

Look for and expect others to surprise you. Extend to others the invitation to teach you truths about their character and personality. Grant them the freedom to not only correct existing perceptions, but also add new dimensions to your understanding.

Last week I spoke with the director of a youth organization I’ve been working with for several years. Her group is transitioning from a standardized education model to a more personalized one. The director described the initial training for the original program implementation. “We were basically trained to deliver a script,” she told me. Her observation succinctly captured a core tenet of the standardized approach. Hatched in the industrial revolution to promote a “consistent product” (I grieve to think that we would deign to refer to humans and their ideas as “product”), this relic prevails today. We have come to value standards and fidelity to such an extreme that we have marginalized the very elements that can promote behavior change. Standardized educational methods, while they may be earnest in their desire for bringing about positive change, consume precious resources and limit educational effectiveness and efficiency. To recoup these losses and to bring greater benefit to the youth we serve, I believe we must transition from standardized education to a more personalized model. Personalized education does not mean that we deliver a different program to every student. It means we retool our methods to provide every student with the requisite freedom, trust, and safety to make the education his or her own.

Consider the following: You deliver a “Stop Smoking” message to a group of teens and survey them afterward. You’re encouraged by the test results. In each of the key areas students demonstrate positive responses. Nearly all of the students, for example, agree smoking is not in their best interest. You then sit down with the class and pose one final question, “Can you tell me what this message of not smoking means to you?” Thirty students equals 30 unique meanings—and it is at the level of meaning that we must operate if we are to make a positive difference. It’s all too feasible that we could find consistency among student recall that would make the industrialist proud. The questions on the survey only help you measure how well you do in standardized terms. But accurate recall does not make for better decisions, for the simple reason that a student’s ability to recall data has little to do with whether the data has any meaning—and therefore any power. Behavior change is preceded by a process wherein meaningless content becomes meaningful. Personalized education encourages students to partake in this process.

One simple step you can take toward helping students make your message their own is to pose these questions that pertain to meaning during your presentation:

What do you think about this message? How do you relate to this message? How might this message affect your life? If this message seems irrelevant, please, by all means tell me in detail how this seems irrelevant.

Note the freedom and multiple points of entry these questions offer students.

Please don’t misunderstand me: Prevention education should have standards for content. Standards help provide consistency and program fidelity, components that are essential at a number of levels, not the least of which are assessment and evaluation. So while content is something we should define in clear terms, the process of learning–in order to be meaning-filled and potent–should encourage exploration and student process. The message has to progress from being ours to being owned by the students; from being pertinent from our perspective, to becoming a transformative element in how students see themselves and the world. Only when students personalize our message can we have any confidence that our work is effective. To ensure the most promising outcomes possible we must retool our training and implementation.

I was presenting on this topic a couple weeks ago in Florida when one participant noted what I believe is the primary reason we shy away from personalizing education, no matter how much good we think this will bring to students: “It feels really vulnerable,” she said. She got it. More than our fear of getting in trouble for not fulfilling standards, there is a deeper fear, multifaceted, that sabotages our efforts. I suspect, based on my own experience, it’s one of the most powerful fears–fear of the unknown. We wonder, “If I give students freedom, what might they say or do?” This is one reason we’re drawn to standardized education. In it we discover safety and control. It provides a Trojan horse within which we can house our fears. We do well to recognize this, enter classrooms anyway, and open the horse. An honest assessment of our fears is a bold first step that will help us be more effective.

Each of us hopes that our work in prevention education will help youth surmount substantial obstacles. We address this goal in prevention education best not by telling students about something, but instead helping them come to know our message in a personal way. Only then can the power and richness of this message help create the positive change we all seek.

1. Applying weed killer

2. Enhancing the soil and planting more grass

Carrying this analogy to the realm of prevention programs and policies, my observation is that most efforts have concentrated on “killing the weeds” by setting up funding streams that target specific risk behaviors among youth. Risk behaviors such as alcohol and tobacco use, sex, and suicide, all have their own funding streams. The idea behind these streams is to create programs that focus on reducing the prevalence of a particular behavior. Having worked in prevention for some time now, I’ve developed two main concerns with this approach:

1) “Prevention” as a term doesn’t seem helpful. There are times we certainly want to prevent things. I prevent my two-year-old from running into the road, for example. I’ve counseled youth and tried to prevent them from taking their own life. But prevention should describe only a portion of my efforts. Instead of trying to keep youth from doing certain things, we should inspire youth toward something better. When I think of the term “prevention” I picture standing in a doorway. Above the door is a plaque with the name of the behavior I’m trying to prevent. I don’t need to say a thing. My position says it all: Don’t go into this room. But what do we know about human nature, especially youth? They are intrigued most by what we forbid. By trying to block the behavior we may be drawing attention to it. I believe that if we can inspire youth toward something better, we have hope of succeeding in guiding them away from poor choices.

2) Risk behaviors travel in clusters. Anyone in the field of prevention will agree. Teens who smoke pot are more likely to drink alcohol, have sex, and so on. But our government addresses each of these behaviors not as facets of a whole, but as separate isolated behaviors. There are excellent programs that have long known this and attempt to address the interconnected nature of the behaviors. But this should be the norm, not the exception. Federal resources that fund such programs would do well to allocate their funding in ways that mirror the reality in which these risk behaviors occur.

There are groups and some funding that address the relational and environmental landscape–the soil–in which youth grow, some of which is downright uninhabitable. I hope this holistic approach will become the standard, for it’s at the level of the soil that we infuse youth with the nutrients to grow. Rather than restricting our view of youth to a single, undesirable behavior, we should target deeper elements that give rise to behavior, healthy and unhealthy.

Another tragic side-effect of these splintered funding streams is that the process encourages cronyism and adverse competition. Each prevention field has within it strong, vocal camps that fiercely defend their territory. They believe they are right, others are wrong. They believe they deserve the money more than others. They really believe this. In some cases, they are right. There are many organizations whose efforts deserve recognition and accolades. These groups should inspire others to serve youth in profound ways. But what happens all too often is that organizations within a field square off against each other and against other fields–forgetting that we are here to serve youth, not ourselves.

Prevention groups can encourage work that changes the lives of youth, no matter what funding source paid for it. We can work to develop and refine programs that appreciate the complexity of risk behaviors. Programs can address not merely behaviors, but the deeper causes of behaviors–like one’s sense of self-efficacy, worth, and personal beliefs and values. The behaviors are most conspicuous, but we should not identify them as the primary problem.

Fewer people may be familiar with Fifteen Foundation, which Oliver started in 2002. Each year his foundation trains teens in the restaurant business. Most significant to me is that these teens often have criminal records, a history of drug use, and other high-risk behavior. At first glance these youth don’t necessarily commend themselves to the culinary arts. What’s clear is that Fifteen Foundation is the vehicle for human enrichment. While Fifteen’s cadets become exceptional chefs, more importantly the Foundation encourages youth to develop character, self-respect, and ambition.

Trusting relationships between mentors and young people are at the heart of this remarkable enterprise. The training process utilizes an apprenticeship model in which the master chef shadows the apprentice. Mentor-chefs introduce youth to food, farming, and cooking. Throughout the apprenticeship they also help the youth with a range of personal challenges.

None of this good work would be possible without a funadamental shift in perspective on the part of Oliver and his staff. Most of the world sees these youth as destined to a life of crime, drug use, and dependency on government resources. Fifteen Foundation views youth through a different lens–seeing beyond the exterior and behavior, the coarseness and tattoos, to unique humans endowed with brilliance, gifts, and promise.

Eating good food is not only healthy, it can also be beautiful. Oliver, through the vehicle of food, is introducing youth to a higher plane of living. I hope he inspires you as he has me, and that we all can find ways to emulate his quality of mentorship in our own relationships.

In the spirit of the new year I will begin down a fresh path with my newsletters starting in January. I hope you enjoy this last newsletter of 2009 capping off the “Five Elements of Effective Structure” series.

To illustrate this final element of effective structure, Transition, let’s build on the example I introduced in the last newsletter: Imagine you are working with a group of youth to encourage them to avoid using tobacco. You’ve discussed with them the role of various media (TV, Internet, movies, etc.) which may employ subtle and not-so-subtle methods to encourage youth to smoke. After giving a brief, clear introduction, you facilitated discussion and dialogue during the process phase, synthesized the student comments, and helped them develop actions they can take based on the discussion. With your help, the youth arrived at some brilliant ideas and developed specific strategies–ones they now “own” in a way they didn’t when they entered the room. You’re sending them back into the world with a newfound sense of responsibility and clarity. Excellent!

The next topic you want to discuss is the role of peer pressure (again, insert your own topic), and how it relates to tobacco use. Here’s where we can stumble. Not infrequently I witness presenters that begin a new topic without connecting it to the previous topic. The topics remain isolated. By breaking these topics out of isolation we encourage students to strengthen relationships between the topics. As you draw the conversation about media to a close and prepare to move into your introduction on peer pressure, pose a simple question to strengthen the relationship between media and peer pressures: “Before we move on to discuss peer pressures, I’m curious, how would you say media influences and peer pressure are related?” I like using the second person in this kind of a question. It is a reminder that your audience members, not you, are responsible for their own learning process. Then, allow for silence. Brains are working.

Our brains crave coherence. Brain research indicates that our brains are wired to preserve what is coherent and purge dissonance. We want to know how things relate. This is how we learn. The transition phase is when you offer your audience opportunity to create meaningful connections between two separate topics. When we can strengthen the relationship between two or more distinct topics, we strengthen the learning process. This is the point of Transition–to connect the topic you’re leaving to the topic you’re entering. There’s a reciprocal, chicken and egg relationship here: Whichever comes second we will best understand by connecting it with what came first. Switching topics without a good transition is sure to create “topical whiplash.”

I’ve designed this five-part presentation progression to maximize the engagement of the learner. My desired outcome by practicing these elements is that our presentations will be more engaging, lucid, and effectual. Please don’t feel you need to adhere to every jot and tittle of this structure. Make it your own. Adapt it to serve your needs. Remember, the agent of change is you.

Poison oak is profoundly communicable, at least for the four out of every five people allergic to its oils. I am not among the lucky 20 percent, and reserve a special variety of envy for those folks who are. I’ve broken out in rash without ever actually touching the stuff. The most recent insidious point of contact occurred somewhere on the banks of the Deschutes River during a fishing trip this summer. I had been hyper-vigilant the entire time. No matter. Two days after returning, a rash appeared that grew so voracious I had to take prednisone to quell it. I’ll spare you any additional details.

In the last two newsletters I talked about how important process and synthesis are to learning. This is how we learn most things. Through my latest bout with poison oak I gained a fresh understanding of how contagious poison oak can be. This was my process, and like all helpful processes it was messy. So what am I to do in light of my new understanding of poison oak? This question ushers us into the fourth element of effective structure in communication, Motor. Good process helps us understand something better. What was once abstract is now more concrete. Just what should it look like for us to act on this new understanding?

Imagine you’re working with a group of youth to help them avoid the use of tobacco. You’ve taken them through a clear introduction, opened the topic to exploration and discussion and synthesized their dialogue, thus forming a more crisp understanding vastly more relevant and meaningful to the youth. This doesn’t imply they’ve “arrived,” or will never alter their understanding. But it has now become more concrete–something they can and should act on.

Here is your opportunity to do something remarkable. Most people, like the youth in the example above, expect you to tell them what to do. Don’t do this! They’ve not asked you to. During Process you helped them explore their own ideas about the topic. In Synthesis you helped assemble their ideas. Don’t now alter course and impose your ideas upon them as to how they should act. Engage others to help them draft the most concrete, logical action they can, based upon the conclusions they’ve drawn from the process. There is a process in deducing action. If you tell them what they ought to do, you short-circuit this process.

Here are the simple steps to take during the Motor phase:

1. Summarize students’ ideas into something relevant and meaningful. This is the truism they can and should act on. But how?

2. Pose the question to your participants, “This being true, what should we do?” Let your participants answer this question. Facilitate interaction. Do as you did during Process but for the purpose of helping them determine new ways to behave.

3. Synthesize their ideas. Work with your participants to make their ideas as vivid as possible. Continuing with our example, “You say you think you should avoid others that use tobacco. If we could see you avoiding ‘others that use tobacco’ in the next 24 hours, what would that look like?” Make them work for their responses. Only then will they own them.

I’m writing with an assumption: You hope that the people you work with will do something different as a result of your time spent with them. It would be most disheartening to learn that your time, devotion, and effort spent with people amounted to inertia. The Motor element keeps the engine revved and wheels turning in the right direction. Through Motor you help others define what it is they want to do differently, and set down a new path. This is the change we seek.