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Rarely a day goes by when I don’t look out the window and notice a car traveling east on my quiet little street. You might think there’s nothing special about this, except that the street is one-way and runs west. The street doesn’t work as a shortcut, so I guess these drivers aren’t breaking the rules. They simply haven’t realized that they are making a mistake.
And why would they notice? I’ve noticed something curious about one-way traffic signs in the UK. If you drive in the right direction, you will notice white arrows on a blue background indicating this.
But what if you drive in the wrong direction? Nothing. If you ignore the No Trespassing sign at the beginning of the street, there will be no “stop, turn around, this is potentially a disaster” signs. Instead, you should notice subtle clues, such as the alignment of cars parked on the side of the road, or perhaps the expression on the face of the oncoming driver. I find this to be a curious design decision. Of two drivers heading toward each other on a one-way street, it is surely the one driving in the wrong direction who needs feedback the most.
However, perhaps the one-way street is good preparation for life, which many of us must navigate as a series of one-way streets. When we do it well, we can expect regular nods of empty approval: “This is great.” “Good job.” “Very useful.” When are we doing it wrong? Silence, rarely but abruptly interrupted by the crunch of a car crash. It’s unusual to receive a focused note of timely, specific, and usable criticism before things go too wrong.
Sometimes the signs are in front of us, but we look away. In 2019, two researchers at the Chicago Booth School of Management, Lauren Eskreis-Winkler and Ayelet Fishbach, published an article presenting several studies on the effect of feedback on learning, in which subjects were offered two answers. plausible answers to a difficult question and were invited to choose one. In most cases, this was a guess and an investment of money.
After 10 responses, subjects were shown all the answers they had gotten right or all the answers they had gotten right. Logically speaking, since these were all binary questions, that amounts to the same thing. But Eskreis-Winkler and Fishbach found that emotional framing mattered. When people were shown their successes, they learned and performed better on a follow-up test with modified but related questions. When people were shown their failures, they did not improve.
The researchers suggest that people don’t care much about contemplating their mistakes, so they quickly move on and forget, especially in an experiment like this, when the consequences of additional mistakes are trivial. When they are shown their successes, they pause to savor the moment. This may help explain why many of us face the problem of the one-way street: everyone is happy to share a friendly word of reassurance, but few people are willing to offer criticism, even when specifically requested.
So what to do? One tactic is to ask for advice, rather than feedback. A Harvard Business School working paper by Hayley Blunden and colleagues finds that when people ask for advice, they tend to generate more useful feedback: critical, practical, and focused on the potential for future improvements.
A second approach involves two clear steps, demonstrated by author and psychologist Adam Grant. I interviewed him on stage a few months ago and we had a great time. Then he asked me for a score out of 10 for our performance. Oh, nine and a half, I suggested. (There’s always room for improvement, right?) In an instant, the anxious follow-up question: “What would have made it a 10?” Intelligent. If he had simply asked me for my comments, I would have told him, honestly, that I thought he was great. But after being persuaded to admit that there was a little room for improvement, I had to think about how to do it.
Sensible organizations will try to make constructive feedback a matter of routine. This column is read by several colleagues with the aim of preventing typographical errors, inconsistencies, slander and clichés. My cautionary tales podcast The episodes go through a paper edit and then a “table read” in which the team will identify confusing passages and suggest ways to liven up the narrative. Because these sessions focus on a piece of writing, not a person, and suggest improvements in a safe moment, they tend to be simple, direct, and even fun.
But constructive feedback of a more general nature remains difficult to obtain. An idea I’ve been playing with recently has become popular in tabletop RPGs like Dungeons and Dragons — is called “stars and wishes.” Running a good game requires a wide variety of skills and a lot of quick thinking, and no one is perfect. So, after playing a game, I sometimes ask players about their “stars,” which are moments they especially enjoyed, and “wants,” which are things they would like to see in the next session. Wishes open a friendly space for constructive and viable ideas. Not everyone answers and not all answers are helpful. Still, I learn a lot more when I ask than when I don’t.
I’m not sure how your boss would respond to a request for “stars and wishes,” but the spirit is right. If we want timely and useful criticism from others, we must be smart about asking for it. Otherwise, our colleagues will be as discreet and uncommunicative as those non-existent signs for those driving the wrong way down my street.
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