In the parenting journey, there comes a time when you realize you have to give your kids control. It happens quite early, to be honest. It’s when they start to go out play with other kids by themselves, without adult’s supervision.
You have to start give them control, even gradually. And be there to help them handle the consequences of the choices they make. Sure, you do that because you want them to grow as independent, resilient human beings. But you do that also for a very egoistic reason: you simply do not have the energy and time to deal with all the questions they have, to asses all the situations they come to you with, to fix all the problems they face.
In the leadership journey, you will find something similar. If you feel overwhelmed, if you find yourself wondering whether your team can do anything without your input, if you want everything under your own supervision. It’s time to give away control.
That’s why we default to the latter when things get tough. For as much as we are unsatisfied with the current situation, it is a situation we know, we are familiar with, we understand. By complaining, we keep it under some sort of control and we normalize it.
Complaining is not bad per se. It can help us look inside and understand what it is we do not like. Of course, the problem starts when complaining becomes a constant state. We complain about work, the boss, about our relationships, the kids, our friends, our family, the government. That’s when we need to find the courage to get out of the comfortable spiral and actually do change.
It usually goes, change yourself first, then try to change the situation.
We are social. And we are used to communicate through speaking. We talk to those we know, we catch hints on their understanding, we monitor their behaviour, their eyes, their face, their expression. We are asked to clarify when something is not clear, and we can then continue.
With writing, though, everything is more complicated. The reader exists only in our imagination. And to ensure that communication actually happens, we need to take some extra care.
It is not about following a list of rules and directives.
It is about having a good understanding of the make-believe world in which we pretend to communicate.
To achieve such understanding, classic style can be helpful.
The guiding metaphor of classic style is seeing the world. The writer can see something that the reader has not yet noticed, and he orients the reader’s gaze so that she can see it for herself. The purpose of writing is presentation, and its motive is disinterested truth. It succeeds when it aligns language with the truth, the proof of success being clarity and simplicity. The truth can be known, and is not the same as the language that reveals it; prose is a window onto the world. The writer knows the truth before putting it into words; he is not using the occasion of writing to sort out what he thinks. Nor does the writer of classic prose have to argue for the truth; he just needs to present it.
Steven Pinker, The Sense of Style
Classic style makes the reader feel like a genius. The goal is to make it seem as if the writer’s thoughts were fully formed before they were put into words.
Classic style is about:
Cutting an argument to its essentials;
Narrating it in an orderly sequence;
Illustrating it with analogies that are both familiar and accurate.
This is made more difficult by the curse of knowledge, and particularly by chunking – when we put together ideas and concepts so that they are easier to memorize -, and by functional fixity – the more we become familiar with something, the less we think about what it looks like and what it is made of.
We are primates, with a third of our brains dedicated to vision, and large swaths devoted to touch, hearing, motion, and space. For us to go from “I think I understand” to “I understand,” we need to see the sights and feel the motions. Many experiments have shown that readers understand and remember material far better when it is expressed in concrete language that allows them to form visual images.
Steven Pinker, The Sense of Style
There are things we can do to become better writers.
Reading is the essence of good writing, and we should take the habit of lingering over good writing when we find it – what makes it so good and memorable?
Have somebody, possibly from your audience, read what you wrote.
Read what you wrote out loud.
Re-read what you wrote after some time has passed.
Right-branching – In Sophocles’ play, Oedipus married his mother.
Left-branching – Admitted Olympic skater Nancy Kerrigan attacker Brian Sean Griffith dies.
Center-embedded construction – The view that beating a third-rate Serbian military that for the third time in a decade is brutally targeting civilians is hardly worth the effort is not based on a lack of understanding of what is occurring on the ground.
Before adding something to a sentence, make sure that what comes first is clear – keeping sentences open for too long puts a strain on the reader. Also, save the heaviest for last (topic, then comment; given, then new).
Use similar sentence structures to make it easier for the reader – e.g., avoid changing the subject from one sentence to the other, or going from active to passive voice.
Ensure coherence throughout the text by
introducing the topic early;
stating the point (what you are trying to accomplish) early;
using indefinite (e.g., an Englishman) first, then definite (e.g., the Englishman, him, he) to refer to the same;
using the same form to refer to the same thing – being mindful of avoiding too much repetition;
connecting ideas and thoughts with examples, explanations, sequences, causes, effects.
Look things up, as memory is fallible.
Have sound arguments, that can easily be verifiable independently by the reader.
Don’t confuse an anecdote or personal experience with the state of the world.
Understand that disagreement and criticism are ok, and it is not the role of the writer to prove everybody wrong, or lazy, or stupid, or motivated by the wrong values and principles.
Share and celebrate your successes. And share and celebrate your failures too.
This is even more important when you are a leader. People learn from failures, more than they learn from successes. Failures make you more relatable, they help alleviating the pressure, and they allow others to prevent missteps, traps, biases. Indeed, sharing the stories of your failures is one of the greatest gifts you can give your team.
If you aim at owning your story, you ought to own your failures as well.
People pay more attention to, engage in more thinking about, and retain a more elaborate memory of negative as compared to positive events.