Interactions - January/February 2009

thus reframing the benefit as “smart” rather than “fast.” Our challenge was to help them understand the difference and to shift their marketing emphasis.

A colleague who manages large teams talks about his staff (as well as himself) in terms of “strengths” and “development opportunities.” I was taken aback the first time I heard it, but he eventually called attention to his choice of words, acknowledged that they had a bit of an overly earnest flavor, but that by choosing not to talk about his “weaknesses,” he felt he was more empowered to address them. He used an awkward choice of words to create that learning moment, and I could imagine him explaining to his reports why he wanted to use that language. In this case, the story behind the word choice has more power than mere rhetoric, and the interactions to which the choice of words leads can support his goals as a manager.

In my consulting practice, when developing a work plan

to share with clients, I go back and forth between using methodological jargon such as “photojournal” and using more plainspoken alternatives such as “having people take pictures of their daily lives.” While “ photojournal” is hardly a complex term, and used in context it’s probably pretty clear, it still isn’t as descriptive as the other. But there’s value in describing an approach with a proper title: It lends credibility to the recommendation. How do I find the right balance between expertise and accessibility? It’s a tension I negotiate constantly.

The late George Carlin built his entire career out of highlighting the cultural baggage that gets attached to words and phrases. He managed to offend a lot of people in the process, but that only made his case stronger. The way we use words says a lot about us, and sometimes what’s revealed is awfully silly, yet true (“In baseball the object is to go home! And to be safe!”). But without Carlin or his

equivalent, we are compelled to deal with words as they are presented, with all their hidden implications, promises, and expectations. For example, as fans of the show “Rescue Me,” we were disappointed by the delay of the fifth season until March 2009 (thanks to the writer’s strike), but were intrigued to learn about the online release of a number of “minisodes.” I hadn’t heard the word mini-sode before, but I interpreted it as a contraction of “mini” and “episode,” suggesting some brief narrative. I watched some of the minisodes and found them lacking in any story development, just a collection of context-free scenes with the familiar characters acting as they do. Rather than any form of episodes, these were obviously scenes that were shot for past episodes and perhaps edited to stand alone. We’ve learned, through DVDs, what deleted scenes look and feel like, and it’s nothing like a mini-episode. The producers and marketers of “Rescue Me”