IGMT #063 | The Compliment With a But
Lets start the day, Reader!
Someone can tell me they enjoyed an episode of The MentalCast, and I will immediately begin explaining why they probably shouldn’t have.
I wish I were exaggerating.
Instead of letting the compliment land, I start reviewing the episode for them. The part I could have explained better. The point I forgot to make. Something that sounded clearer in my head than it did coming out of my mouth.
They came to tell me they liked a podcast. Apparently, I thought they had requested the director’s commentary.
The funny thing is, talking is a fairly important part of making a podcast. I can spend an entire episode talking through an idea, but when someone says something nice about it, the words “thank you” suddenly seem insufficient. There must be a clarification. A disclaimer. Something to make sure they understand that I am aware of the flaws.
I usually explain it away before I even realize I am doing it.
…and it got me thinking.
How often do we receive something positive and immediately build a case against it?
Someone compliments our work, and we point out what went wrong. They tell us we handled something well, and we explain that we got lucky. They recognize the effort, and we remind them that somebody else did more.
Sometimes we are trying to be humble. Sometimes we are uncomfortable being noticed. Sometimes we have spent so much time thinking about what needs improvement that we genuinely struggle to see what someone else appreciated.
Whatever the reason, the compliment arrives, and we send it back with corrections.
I know what I hear when I listen to one of my episodes. I remember what I intended to say. I hear the gap between the idea in my head and the version that made it into the microphone. The listener doesn’t have that comparison. They have the episode, their own experiences, and whatever connected with them.
Maybe a sentence helped them understand something. Maybe a story stayed with them. Maybe it gave them a different way to look at a difficult day.
But instead of getting curious about that, I tell them about the sentence I wish I had rewritten.
There is something a little ridiculous about arguing with someone over whether they enjoyed something.
They were there. I should probably consider them a reliable source.
I see versions of this in performance, too. An athlete has a good match, but the conversation afterward goes straight to the missed serve. A student receives a strong grade, but immediately mentions the points they lost. Someone gets through a difficult conversation with more patience than they would have shown a year ago, but dismisses it because they still felt frustrated.
The good part gets a brief mention. The flaw gets the full interview.
Of course there are things to improve. There almost always are. I have never finished recording an episode and thought, “Well, that settles it. Nothing left to learn about communication.”
But I wonder what happens when improvement becomes the only thing we allow ourselves to notice.
If every success gets explained away, what do we have left to draw on when something becomes difficult? We can remember every mistake in detail, but the evidence that we are capable comes with so many qualifications that it barely counts.
We were good, but the opponent wasn’t great. We were prepared, but the questions were easy. We made progress, but we should have been further along already.
It is hard to develop trust in your own ability when you keep disqualifying the evidence.
And as a coach, I have to think about what I contribute to that. If I recognize something an athlete did well and immediately attach a correction, I may be teaching them to wait for the second half of the sentence.
“Great job, but…”
After enough of those, “great job” starts to sound like the setup. The real message must be coming next.
There is room for a coaching conversation about what needs work. There is also room for a good moment to last long enough for someone to recognize it. When a player stays engaged after an error, communicates through a difficult stretch, or tries something they have been hesitant to try, that deserves some attention of its own.
I think the same is true outside the gym. We can appreciate what happened and still return to the work tomorrow. Accepting a compliment doesn’t sign us up for a lifetime of believing we have everything figured out.
It just means we let someone tell us what they saw.
That feels especially relevant with the podcast. I want people to connect with the ideas. That is part of why I make it. Then someone tells me an idea connected, and I start explaining the production defects.
Imagine ordering a meal, telling the cook you enjoyed it, and having them follow you to the parking lot explaining everything wrong with the potatoes.
At some point, you would just want to go home.
Maybe that is what I need to remember the next time someone mentions an episode. They aren’t asking me to defend it. They are sharing something with me.
I’d like to hear more about what stayed with them. That would probably tell me more than another conversation about what I wish I had done differently.
So I’m picturing the next compliment arriving, followed by that familiar urge to add a “but.” I’ll already have a flaw picked out. I’m efficient that way.
Maybe this time I’ll manage to say, “Thank you. I’m glad it connected.”
Then I can leave the potatoes alone.
