Organizations that thrive in the so-called Information Age will be those who understand that the best thing they have to offer people is not information, but interaction–real face-to-face interaction.

The industrialized model we inherited is built on information dissemination. It culminated in the ultimate information disseminating machine: the internet. So now what? Organizations that insist on disseminating information will go the way of the encyclopedia. They will be dinosaurs.

Organizations that thrive will do what the internet can never do. They will substitute dissemination for dialogue, information for interaction. The internet can never replicate the dynamic that takes place in a room full of people who are sharing ideas.

Make the transition. The world no longer needs you to be a reservoir of information. We need you to become something far more valuable.

Author of The Teen Age: 40 Reflections on Relating With Teens, Andrew F. Robinson, M.Ed is the founder of People Change People and creator of Epic Training. He provides coalitions and organizations with breakaway, uncommonly powerful approaches to working with teens. We had the privilege of interviewing Andrew to get his insights on reaching teens.

EBB: What needs to change in environments where adults work with teens (schools, programs) to make relationships stronger and healthier?

AFR: Few things are nearer to my heart than this question and few things grieve me more than what I see happening under the auspices of education. If, like Rip Van Winkle, I could fall asleep for twenty years, here’s what I would long to see when I awoke:

1. Schools employing interactive, relationship-based approaches that engage and captivate teens at a personal level.

2. Teachers who fuel the learning process by enflaming a student’s natural curiosity.

3. Learning environments that have shed teach-to-the-test tactics in favor of unbounded creativity, divergent thinking, and regard for human ingenuity.

If our country is serious about transforming education, these three ingredients must be at the heart of the transformation process.

EBB: Given all the risks and dangers presented to teens, what can educators and parents do to help teens make better choices?

AFR: Commit to finding points of entry into the relationship. This takes determination on the part of the adult. Study teens and you’ll discover these entry points. But you have to be intently focused and committed, like when you lock yourself out of your house. You check every door and window to see if one is unlocked. The same is true with teens.

I introduce groups to the following three phases to help them strengthen their positive influence in the life of teens—C.P.R.

1. Crystallize your message— Sharpen your focus to the essentials

2. Personalize your methods— Increase relevance and meaning for teens as they take ownership

3. Relationalize your approach and build trust with students— Teens will connect with your message as they connect with the messenger.

EBB: What do educators and parents need to know about the adolescent brain?

AFR: Can you imagine hosting Thanksgiving while remodeling your kitchen? You could get the job done, but it wouldn’t be pretty. A similar remodeling process is underway between the ears of every 12-25 year-old. Functions like logical, forward thinking and impulse control don’t perform as well as they will in adulthood. I devote several sections of my book to this remodeling process and what we can do about it.

Continue reading on Examiner.com: Interview with the author of The Teen Age: 40 Reflections on Relating With Teens – Los Angeles Parenting Teens | Examiner.com http://www.examiner.com/parenting-teens-in-los-angeles/relating-with-teens-interview-with-the-author-of-the-teen-age-40-reflections-o#ixzz1ES7JQOHz

When we are transparent with others we offer others the gift of knowing us honestly. This does not mean they’ll like what they see. Too often, usually out of fear, we offer in the place of our true self an apparition; a look-alike stand-in. It’s important to remember that sometimes, when situations and relationships have proven unsafe, we do well to protect ourselves rather than risk transparency. Such self-protection can be essential for survival and sanity. But in relationships among those we trust and among those we serve, transparency is an ingredient we must not omit.

Pleasant listening! Questions? Send me an email: andrew@peoplechangepeople.com.

Authentic people are peculiar. I’m using the word “peculiar” here to denote the quality of being magnetic to others. I just did a mental survey of people whom I would say I know pretty well. Without exception I noticed two things they have in common. First, they’re peculiar; every last one of them. Second, it is their peculiarity that draws me to them. Presumably it is my peculiarity that serves as a bonding agent as well. Why? Because peculiarity is central to being authentic. It raises our connectivity quotient to new levels.

I hope you enjoy this episode, and would love to know how you do with the action item I present here. Just send me a note at andrew@peoplechangepeople.com

Drudgery, as we often think of the term, is something to trudge through to get to the other side. Drudgery is unexciting, monotonous work whose end is always welcomed. We must bear its oppressive weight for a time in order to get to the good stuff, or so we’re inclined to think. The Russian author Leo Tolstoy had a perspective that challenges our modern sensibilities around drudgery. He wrote a short story of a peasant farmer whose neighbors stop working their fields in protest of their low wages. As the sun sets, rather than protest, the peasant lines his plow with lit candles and resumes his labor in the fields. The beauty of the lone farmer and his horse working the fields as the sun fades exemplifies the potential richness of drudgery.

One need not be a 19th century Russian peasant to relate to Tolstoy’s story. Our families, relationships, and vocations are demanding, often monotonous hard work. We are inclined to forget that such routine holds gobs of good stuff. Like the peasant, we possess the means of creating beauty in the midst of the mundane. We can commit ourselves fully to this work and recognize the art that emerges through our diligence and good faith. We can line our plow with candles, set out in the night, and note each star as it appears.

Like master artists we do well to immerse ourselves in the unfolding progression of work within our relationships. Pieces of art are at this moment evolving between us and everyone we know. But in relationships, unlike in art-making, the work is never done. We never create a final product from which we can step back and say, “it is complete.” The best, richest relationships are also inconvenient and challenging. But the fact that relationships are inconvenient and challenging is a gift to us. I would be half the person I am today if my relationships were a breeze.

My relationship with my wife is the most valuable and rewarding I will ever know. That we enjoy what I would call a “good marriage” is more indicative of the process than a place we’ve arrived. Hard work in relationships, rather than connoting a negative reality, is indicative that something good is afoot. This is true in personal as well as professional relationships. Like the farmer and his plow, relationships offer an unparallelled opportunity to create something beautiful.

Nonetheless, I am a big fan of the glaring, wonderful exceptions to drudgery: the birth of a child, a stroll through an art museum, camping with other families, and the blooming of fruit trees. I love that life orchestrates these kinds of “mundanity busters.” I feel within me the wish that all of life be a break from the familiar and mundane. I suppose similar desires birthed Las Vegas. But what I know to be true is that, while these blessed interruptions are welcomed refreshments, they do not and should not characterize the balance of our lives. Accepting this reality is freeing. I no longer want to just get through the day; I want to bob along in its current and take in the scenery. Though today may be familiar, a near carbon copy of yesterday, it is a gift. It is where real life happens.

Welcome to the People Change People podcast. After much planning we are excited to launch this resource. Central to the PCP mission is the belief that who we are as unique individuals is the most influential element in our relationships. Our experience, training, and knowledge are all important, of course. But these offerings will find their place and be most helpful to others only when we are willing to bring our full selves to those we serve and care for. I hope you find this message helpful and encouraging in all your professional and personal relationships.

In this episode I talk through three basic principles of People Change People:

1. Authenticity

2. Simplicity

3. Curiosity

Over the course of this podcast series we will expand on each of these elements, and explore ways to integrate them into your key relationships.

Interact with this material and with us! If you have any questions, comments, or suggestions, send me an email at andrew@peoplechangepeople.com

“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.

And so we’ve entered that time of year. If you’re near or north of the 45th parallel, your world looks like mine—a vast mosaic of fiery leaves tumbling from gray skies. Yards in my neck of the woods are thickly blanketed in red, orange, yellow and gold.

Last year at this time I helped a neighbor clear his yard of the leaves his three enormous maple trees had released. Equipped with leaf blowers and ear protection we were a couple leaf wranglers corralling the little doggies out to the street. The leaves were flying, but progress was slow. After half an hour we still had a fair amount of work to do. Frustrated, I considered alternatives to the leaf blower. I decided to trade my leaf blower for my rake and was stunned by what I discovered. It turned out that this age-old tool was far more effective and efficient than our leaf blowers. With one sweep I could clear a swath of leaves, revealing the damp, green grass beneath.

This is an interesting example for the blog thread I started two weeks ago about our relationship to the tools we use. I find myself thinking about this topic because our relationships to our tools have implications for how we live, and for our human relationships. Why at first did I not think of using the rake instead of the blower? Somehow I believed the blower was more advanced and suited to the task. Why else would everyone use them?

In this case the ubiquitous presence of leaf blowers (the tool) dictated how I thought about accomplishing a task. But I turned the tables when I began to consider other options that might be superior. In doing so I assumed a right relationship to the tool and subordinated the tool to its rightful place. Even if I had resolved to continue with the blower—if I didn’t own a rake, for example—I would have righted my relationship to the tool so it was advancing, not foiling, my intention.

There are examples like this all around us. We’re surrounded by tools, both rudimentary and sophisticated. I’ll admit that more than once I’ve gone to my computer to check the weather, only to remember I could go outside. Not long ago I went to use my Sawzall to prune a branch only to stop and realize that a little handsaw could do just as well, and was more accessible.

When the tools we rely on prove inadequate to the task—or disappear altogether—we’re forced to be creative. We tap into brilliance which otherwise remains latent. Then if we reintroduce the tool into our world, we can use it to serve our efforts.

Have a pleasant Autumn. Enjoy the leaves!

I asked my young daughter the other day to turn off the dome light above the seat opposite to hers in the rear of our minivan. I was at a stoplight and watched in the rearview mirror as she struggled to reach it. Her arms were too short. Then she produced an empty water bottle, which she used to span the distance and turn off the light. Her face beamed with satisfaction at having found a tool to solve the problem.

I’m fascinated by the relationships humans have with tools. As the story of my daughter demonstrates, the purpose of a tool is to successfully overcome a problem. In fact, such problems as this create opportunities for us to tap our human creativity and ingenuity. We seek out a tool to enlist in our problem-solving efforts.

But in relation to tools, I find one of two realities is possible: I am using the tool, or it is using me. Any time my intent becomes subservient to the tool—rather than the tool serving my intent—that tool is using me.

In education, for example, the intent of a teacher ought to be to help students learn and understand. Curricula, created as tools to enhance learning, can assume a determinative role in the learning process. Instead of tapping curricula as a resource to help deepen student understanding, we defer to the curriculum to tell us what we ought to do. The tool becomes our master.

Tools are meant to avail us of our innate gifts. They are channels for human expression: Jimi Hendrix and his guitar, Pablo Picasso and his brushes, J.K. Rowling and her pen and napkin. A right relationship with a tool promotes the expression of our humanity. When tools use us, less of our unique humanity shines forth for others to see, know, and experience.

If you manage a team of people, you employ tools to build an efficient team of people that trust each other and enjoy working cooperatively. If you are a parent, you may borrow principles and ideas to help you relate to your children. Whatever your context, you have a challenge you are trying to address. Tools can add potency to your efforts. What they can’t do is be a substitute for you.

A good friend of mine was driving down the road last week when black smoke began to pour out of his tailpipe, a good indication that all was not well under the hood. His truck sputtered as far as the nearest mechanic, where it died.

How do you think the mechanic diagnosed the problem? I doubt he replaced the exhaust pipe. I’m sure he looked under the truck’s hood. Even I, as one whose mechanical knowledge is severely limited, know that the exhaust pipe coughing black smoke was merely the harbinger of bad news, not the problem’s cause.

I raise this illustration to highlight important considerations for human relationships—particularly when we are committed to helping improve the health of another. We often only recognize and therefore occupy ourselves with symptoms of problems. The symptoms, like the black plume trailing behind my friend’s truck, can be a smoke screen, blocking our view from the core problem.

Our federal government embodies this phenomenon when it channels millions of tax payer dollars into numerous funding streams with the aim to deter particular behaviors: alcohol prevention, drug prevention, obesity prevention and so on. Programs that target behaviors are, by definition, addressing a particular symptom. This does not mean, of course, such programs are indifferent to the causes of such behaviors. And I am not advocating that we only treat the cause and ignore symptoms, many of which are quite harmful. But what’s critical is that the people, programs, and organizations honing in on these behaviors are mindful of the common sources from which these behaviors spring.

We can describe the source in a number of ways: lack of self-worth, negligible future orientation, and the like. Treating the root causes of destructive behavior, which reside at the core of our being, require a deeper human-to-human connection in which trust is the bonding agent. I hope to refresh your resolve and remind you that who you are as a unique person, not the program or protocol you implement, is the most potent element of your work.