Why Your Advice Doesn't Resonate (And How to Ensure It Does)
Looking back, I shouldn't have said it. My intentions were good, but the road to Future Facepalms is paved with good intentions.
Looking back, I shouldn't have said what I said.
I said, "Just."
We hear it all the time:
Just do this.
Just do that.
Just ship it.
Just do it.
And you know, sometimes, that's just (heh...) the push we need at that moment. But mostly, even just attempting to justify the use of the word "just" just doesn't sit well with people on the receiving end of all your justs.
"I'm serious! It's just so simple. Just do this..."
No. Not for them. Not right now. Maybe you're right, maybe you're wrong, but either way, they don't see it yet. That's your job as a communicator. Simply telling them "just" is not nearly as powerful as meeting them where they're at and leading them every step of the way to where they need to be. Then and only then can they see why you said "just." Then and only then does your "simple" solution actually feel simple to them.
But until that journey is complete, "just" just won't work.
Just ask Young Jay, age 27, sitting atop one of those awkwardly-high bar stools, which had been dragged into a nice, neat line of three, just a few feet in front of the audience. I sat there, flooded by fluorescent light in one of those tech coworking spaces that tries so hard to look cool.
All three of us panelists were B2B creators. But only one of us received this question:
"Jay, you create a LOT of things. I'm trying to figure out how to publish more work and do it consistently like that. How do I become prolific?"
I started rifling through potential answers, letting the microphone sway aimlessly in my hand, like a pen in a car's cupholder. Hmmm... what to say, what to say...
"Steal from the greats." No! Wait! How about...
"Study the craft." Yeah, that's good. But maybe...
"Learn about open loops." Named techniques can be so useful. Then there's...
"Launch a side project." You need a creative practice, of course. But does that sound too -- wait, I need to answer! Quick! Say something profound! Inspiring! Cut past the BS! Share a hard truth!
I snapped the mic to my mouth, and that's when it happened.
"You just have to create."
(Oh no.)
"Honestly, I wish I had something better to say."
(Me too.)
"It sounds trite, but it's true. If you want to write, you just have to write. If you want to speak or podcast or shoot video, you just have to do those things. There's just no substitute for initial attempts, even if it's messy."
Just-ice had been served.
(Oh no.)
* * *
I think anytime we say "just" to someone else, even when our intentions are good, we're often ignoring our own privilege.
Privilege isn't an Easy Pass. It doesn't make your life perfect, nor does it detract from the need to work hard and earn things. It just means your life wasn't harder as a result of that thing. My life is not harder because I'm white or male. (I'd argue it's easier because of those things, by the way.)
Privilege is defined as "a special right, advantage, or immunity granted or available only to a particular person or group." It's unearned access or advantages, often because of inherent traits or circumstances.
As a panelist at that event, and really throughout my 20s, I ignored one specific aspect of my professional privilege: my confidence to create. I just kept advising others, "Just create." But this ignores the confidence that was gifted to me.
I was born in the northeast of the United States in the 1980s to two loving, affluent, smart, dedicated parents. When I was born, the door labeled CONFIDENCE was ajar for me. I was provided for, never needing to think about truly hard things in life. I was loved, with my parents and others acting as wonderful supporters. They fostered my creative interests. They showed me the door and helped push me through it, celebrating me all the while. I was given supplies to make things and opportunities to do so. I was told I was good at stuff so I pursued that stuff with confidence, which made me better at that stuff.
I didn't choose my parents or grandparents. I was born into that family. That was an unearned advantage in my journey towards confidence.
A privilege.
Not everyone faces the CONFIDENCE door with similar circumstances. Some people are born and the door labeled CONFIDENCE is bolted shut. For some, the door has six locks, barbed wire, and a tank of sharks in front.
Some people can't even see the door.
The point is, hard work was still required of me, but I didn't need to direct my hard work towards the CONFIDENCE door. While someone else (like maybe the woman who asked me that question) was stuck trying to push open their CONFIDENCE door, I was well past that and able to focus my efforts on other doors. Doors with labels like...
"Steal from the greats."
"Study the craft."
"Learn about open loops."
"Launch a side project."
And of course, the door labeled...
"Just start creating."
At age 27, sitting on that panel, I hadn't realized my own privilege. I hadn't seen just how many doors I'd pushed through -- let alone the ones I never really needed to push, since they were already open for me. So naturally, because of that perspective, I assumed that if you want to create, well then you "just" need to create!
The problem is, for lots of people -- people with different experiences of the CONFIDENCE door -- the first step isn't "just" creating. Before the other stuff, you need to shoulder through that stubborn slab of wood.
Because I was always confident in my creativity, I never even noticed the need for it. It had never crossed my mind that someone could hear advice like "just start creating," nod along ... then NOT create once they got home.
* * *
I was lucky to have been born where I was born, to the family that raised me. I was lucky to have the odds in my favor. I would most likely end up a confident person. And I did.
What a gift!
Luck is funny though. It echoes through time, causing you to lose sight of just how lucky you really are.
For example, in 2007, I was lucky to tear a ligament in my knee while playing men's softball. (Stay with me a moment.) I thought it was a bad break. It turned out to be a great one. If I hadn't torn that ligament, I wouldn't have been on crutches that fall, so I would have traveled to Italy to study abroad as planned, which means I wouldn't have been available to accept a scholarship in-person, which thanks to my crutches, I was able to do. Because I was there in-person, I got to meet the head of the foundation and impress her, which meant she was willing to introduce me to her contacts at ESPN, which meant I got an interview and secured an internship my last semester of college at the Worldwide Leader in Sports, which meant, when I applied to a job at Google through an online form, without a single warm contact at the company, my résumé stood out thanks in part to ESPN and in part to the list of creative side projects which I (confidently) listed at the bottom, which meant I landed the in-person interview, where multiple people were impressed by just how many creative things I'd done (with confidence, I might add), which meant I landed the job at Google, which meant I met my wife (!!) on my first day -- and many less-important but still helpful contacts, which meant I was introduced to an event organizer in Boston, who was impressed that I worked at Google, which meant she invited me to speak on a panel, which meant a well-meaning member of the audience just trying to get past her confidence issues enough to create more freely thought I was the right person to ask her very important question.
And I let her down.
"How can I be prolific?"
"Just start creating."
I let her down because I never even considered all of THAT^ luck and assumed hers was an easy problem to solve. Just do it.
What an ignorant answer.
It wasn't ignorant because it was untrue, per se. (No book or blog post will substitute for actually creating the work. I believe that.) No, it was ignorant because I ignored my own privilege in answering. I ignored her actual situation. I ignored the real question she was asking. She wasn't asking how to create content.
She was asking how to create confidence.
And I had replied, "Just do it."
(Oh no.)
Look, it's hard to consider the differences between our lives and those lived by members of our audience. But if we really want to resonate, we need to try.
I had the CONFIDENCE door cracked open for me and received the support I needed to, yes, work really hard to push that door all the way open, then other doors sitting behind it. But I've lived a life of mainly feeling confident in my ability to create. That I would ship any work at all was never the question for me. I've only ever needed to focus on shipping good work.
Talk about lucky.
* * *
In the business world today, it's so tempting for people like me to sit here and spout "justs." But that lone, little word ignores the very real concerns others have -- concerns that, sure, you may not share or you may believe aren't actually problems. But to those people, they're very real concerns and very real problems. If we don't first address them, if we just say "just" to flippantly brush aside their experiences, then we have no hope of resonating.
Because resonance starts with alignment.
Resonance is the sudden urge to act created by a message or experience that aligns with you so closely, your thoughts, emotions, and even abilities feel amplified.
No alignment, no amplification, no action. In other words: no results. Whether that result is a subscription, a sale, a change you've sparked, or just a positive reply you've earned. ("Thanks! That answered my question.")
No alignment, no resonance.
Align. Amplify. Act.
Those are the 3 As of resonance. Others encounter our work and feel aligned. Then, their thoughts, feelings, and even abilities feel amplified. This creates a sudden urge to act. And of course, “action” in our world means “results.”
Align. Amplify. Act.
Each relies on the preceding A to exist. But I'm starting to suspect there's a hidden, fourth A that precedes even that first one, Align. This hidden A is the exact thing I failed to notice at age 27 -- and many of us struggle to spot, ever.
Ask.
We need to ask good questions, clarifying questions that help us better understand where others are starting when they ask us a question or come to us to solve a problem. Even if we feel they're overthinking it or we disagree with their perspective entirely, and even if we firmly believe the solution is simple, we can't brush aside their current starting point. We can't say "just." It's not that simple. Even if it is.
I'm reminded of a quote often misattributed to Walt Whitman (made more famous in an episode of Ted Lasso): "Be curious, not judgmental."
No one is certain who said it, but I am damn sure we need to listen.
Be curious, not judgmental. Ask good questions.
Ask for clarification.
Ask what they mean, really.
Ask why they aren't doing something (the same something you think they should just do).
Ask what's painful or broken or frustrating.
Ask what they've already tried to do to solve it, and what still isn't working as well as they'd hoped.
Asking good questions allows us to increase our understanding, which helps increase our empathy, which is what we need in order to first align with others the moment the mic snaps back to our mouths.
Ask. Align. Amplify. Act.
To see results, we need the last two. But we only control the first two.
Don't assume. Don't be flippant. Don't use that little word so fraught with misunderstanding. It's a sign your message won't resonate.
Let's agree right now to stop just-ifying our ideas to others.
I promise if you do.
And if you didn't like the pun, well ... I'm just not the writer for you.
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