I’ve been blessed with many things in life, and one of the most important is a sense of humor, just ask my family and friends—wait a minute, I don’t have any friends!
I don’t tell jokes, primarily because I can never remember them, except for one about Bill Clinton. I don’t laugh at other people’s expense, nor do I try to draw laughter out of others by being shockingly crude. What I have, I believe, is a certain “lightness of being.” I don’t take myself too seriously; I can’t because I know myself too well. I also don’t take other people too seriously because I know we are all fallible.
Without a sense of humor, I probably would have had much more difficulty working across cultural borders. They can be testing times when our sense of ourselves and of reality in general can be knocked sideways.
What follows is my opening personal note in my e-book, “Cultural Intelligence” available for free download at www.tmaworld.com. It seems to have resonated with many people who have crossed a culture or two:
I thought the move from the UK to the U.S. would be easy. I had been together with my American wife for a few years, and had visited the States several times.
I should have noticed the warning signs earlier than I did. My quiet British reserve didn’t impress my mother-in-law, who thought that if I wasn’t a spy already, I ought to be. Then there were the English-American language differences. I asked a clerk at a railway for a return ticket only to be met with, “Don’t know what that is. Next!” I explained that I wanted to go to New York and come back on the same ticket. “You mean a ‘round trip,’” he said coldly. “Why didn’t you just say that?”
When I started working in the U.S., my “eccentricities” were attributed to my “Englishness” and were a source of puzzlement, frustration, and fun. For example:
Accent: I spoke with an English accent, but not in a way that could be described as “upper class.” Unfortunately, the stereotype of what an Englishman is supposed to sound like was too strong. One of my managers would speak to me in an exaggerated aristocratic English accent that I assume he had heard on TV. My displeasure raised another stereotype. I obviously didn’t have a sense of humor. “I always thought the English had a great sense of humor,” he said. “Just look at Monty Python!” I avoided him when I could.
Indirectness: Unlike my colleagues—male and female—I was very indirect. I was brought up in an English working-class family in which I was told not to stand out from others, to “know my place,” and always be polite. A phrase such as “Please could I have this by Friday” (not meant as a question) was met with bewilderment. “So, you would like this by Friday?” “Ideally, yes, please.” “Do you want this by Friday, or not?” I decided to ask for as little as possible in the future.
Writing style: I followed the style I had learned growing up—an introduction, my research and findings, and a logical conclusion. “No way!” said my American managers. “I don’t have time to read all this. Give me your conclusion and a few bullet points.” Word choice was also a problem. “I’ve been to England,” said one of my managers. “All those tiny houses packed together; nothing standing out. Well, that’s how you write. I want big, bold words to persuade me.” I wasn’t using enough buzz words. I had to learn to pepper my writing with phrases such as “exceptional quality improvements,” “dramatic increases in customer satisfaction,” and “accelerated performance.” “But if everyone is using these phrases,” I asked, “how would that make my arguments stand out? Isn’t the content most important?” “In school, maybe!” was the answer.
Answering questions: It took me a while to learn that not every question needed an answer. When a colleague walked toward me in a hallway and said, “How’s it going?” I would stop to answer the question. I would be left standing there while he or she carried on to the next meeting. I made a mental note to ignore them in the future.
Interrupting: Meetings were difficult. I was used to meeting conversations that followed a sequence of your turn, my turn. I didn’t know how to interrupt without being impolite. I knew my manager was thinking, “Hmm, Terry had a good resume, but he doesn’t contribute.” I imagined my performance evaluation: “Has little value to add. No ideas. No confidence.” Desperate to prove myself, I wrote, “My turn,” on a Post-It during one meeting and put it on the end of my nose. The conversation ground to a halt, and I explained my predicament. I asked my colleagues to help by asking for my input occasionally.
My challenges were tiny compared with those others face, and I only use them to illustrate the impact even small differences can have on relationships and productivity at work. I can still feel the fear that I was not going to “fit in” more than 30 years later.
My Post-It intervention was a small breakthrough, but taught me an important lesson: The benefits of diversity will not come about because of the presence of difference. The benefits will only be realized by people willing to identify, explore, and actively engage with them. This is why diversity must be partnered with inclusion, which is not a passive tolerance of differences, but an intentional act of creating value.
As Monty Python says: “Always look on the bright side of life.”
It would be great to hear your thoughts; please contact me at tbrake@tmaworld.com.
Terence Brake is the head of Learning & Innovation, TMA World (http://www.tmaworld.com/training-solutions/), which provides blended learning solutions for developing talent with borderless working capabilities. Brake specializes in the globalization process and organizational design, cross-cultural management, global leadership, transnational teamwork, and the borderless workplace. He has designed, developed, and delivered training programmes for numerous Fortune 500 clients in the United States, Europe, and Asia. Brake is the author of six books on international management, including “Where in the World Is My Team?” (Wiley, 2009) and e-book “The Borderless Workplace.”
