Above the Water

From time to time, when the going gets tough and the tough just won’t get going, I go for a swim.  It’s quite a therapeutic experience actually, because I do not really swim. I just float. And as I float, I reflect.  

Picture from Getty Images, Daly and Newton 

Looking up at the sky, I clear my mind of all thoughts and happenings, and I find my happy place.  It is not always a simple task, and sometimes it takes hours.  Sometimes, I cannot find it all night. I even remember a time I could not find it for weeks.

But I continue to swim. I just do it a little slower, relying more and more on my ability to float. Overtime, I realize I have become more buoyant, but that is a new phenomenon.

I’ve had times that I have almost drowned. A couple times, I had to be rescued. Yet, nothing can stop me from getting back in the pool to try to brave the waters once more.

Oh, I’m not talking about the swimming pool. I’m talking about that finite pool of worry.

What is that, you ask? Let me explain. The “finite pool of worry” is a theory espoused by the Center for Research on Environmental Decisions. It describes the limited capacity people have for worrying about issues. Once overwhelmed with too many things to worry about, human beings mentally shut down and will not allow any new piece of bad news to preoccupy them.

In some ways, you could say those plagued with worry become desensitized overtime. This “emotional numbing…occurs after repeated exposures to emotionally draining situations,” argues "The Psychology of Climate Change Communication," a guide for professionals interested in persuading people to join the fight against the climate crisis.

We see emotional numbing in people oftentimes in response to all the trauma and drama in the news media. By the time the masses hear about ice caps melting and the fresh water supply in the earth running out because of their collective misdeeds, they cannot handle any more negative news. I did not read a newspaper for almost an entire semester, because I got tired of scourging pages of misery every morning.

As PR professionals, we have to learn how to break through that pool and give people hope to face tomorrow. Whether your message is climate change or HIV/AIDS prevention, you may find more success by giving people a chance to be a part of the solution than giving them more problems to think about.

I have not given up in this finite pool of worry. I think I may have finally adjusted to the temperature and my muscles have started to relax. It’s only a matter of time before I master my technique. Pretty soon, I’ll be able to glide effortlessly across the surface. I won’t anything else to cause my pool to overflow. Nothing else can bother me here.

Come on in, the water is just fine.

The Fear Factor

Picture from randalldsmith.com

I was afraid of the dark most of my childhood. I dreaded the night and especially bed time because it would be time to face my deepest fear anew. My only salvation was those moments I could sleep with my sister. I would anchor myself to her with my cold feet and pray for the sun to come out.

I slowly grew out of that fear by necessity when I came to college. I spent the first two years in the single rooms of on-campus housing. I had to learn to sleep comfortably in the dark. Alone. 

I remember vividly my first night by myself in my single room of the Paddyfote Honors block. I woke up in the middle of the night to use the restroom. The moment I opened my door, an unexpected battle ensued. It was me versus the flying roach. I cannot say clearly whether I lost the battle that day, but I know that I won the war. If I could face a silent battle in the cloak of the night with an aggressive insect, surely I could sleep in the dark, although I was paranoid my adversary would return for at least two weeks.

Unfortunately, I ended up trading one fear for another freshman year. I stopped being afraid of the dark and actually started being afraid of a skill I needed most, communicating with my professors. I can remember the biggest crises of my life that affected my academics in college. The most traumatic one was the death of my brother, and luckily my friends and colleagues relayed to my teachers, so I did not have to. When I returned to school, I was able to return to business as usual.

I was not able to escape my fear forever.

Maybe this sounds silly to you, so let me explain. The fear is really not about communicating. It is the fear of rejection and dejection. I hate to disappoint the people whom I respect. In a way, I feel that even when I am swamped with things outside of school, still none of that provides a good enough excuse to slack in my academic endeavors. So instead of making an illegitimate excuse, I choose to not offer one at all. I realized that I wanted to avoid the negative even though it didn’t make the bad situation go away.  In fact, it made it worse.

In the book “Do the Right Thing: PR Tips for a Skeptical Public,” James Hoggan espouses that PR people should “never ignore the ‘elephant in the room.’” On page 111, he states, “Business people tend to avoid speaking about problems and focus instead on solutions and benefits.” Another good point that he makes is that “Good communications on a serious issue begins with straight talk about the problem and then moves on to solutions and benefits.”  

I realized I was not just being a “scaredy cat.” I was not doing the right thing.

And overcoming my fear has made me a better woman.

Troubleshooting Communication

Photo from omstrategy.com

   
   
    I am terrible when it comes to my cell phone. It is often about to die, already dead or missing. It is not uncommon for me to selectively answer text messages. In fact, I cannot stand texting. In my face-to-face interactions with people, I find that text messages serve as an unwelcome interruption that demands immediate attention. People get so upset when you do not answer their texts, but I prefer to just get a phone call. If I lost my phone for a week, I would feel absolutely liberated. I imagine that if cell phones were not a vital necessity to live and work in America, I would not even have one.
    
    I do see the perks in people being able to reach one another 24/7, but I like to be unavailable sometimes. In a field where communication is the bread and butter, I cannot afford to abandon this situation without rectification. Public relations is communication. So, I am trying to get it together quickly if I hope to succeed in the workforce. If I want success in all my relationships, communication is the key.

     What is good communication? The website goodcommunicationskills.net explains, "The modern world today, calls for high scale effective communication skills in order to win the heavy competition in all spheres of life." Although I agree with the site, it addresses how to develop good communication skills by “making eye contact” and other verbal and body cues that occur when people interact face-to-face. That's not my problem. It is this new era of communication that is difficult for me. I find myself in a Catch 22. I am articulate in person but aloof online when I need to be consistent across all platforms.

     One poignant argument that the site makes is that communication is essential to management functions. This year, that is exactly where I found myself, managing a royal court of 14 members and having to make sure each of them was “in the loop.” It has been a struggle to say the least to change my ways and adapt to sharing information with so many so frequently without overkill. I do not want them to stop thinking that the messages I send are important, so I have to make sure that I am concise and relevant in all that I say. I’m sure you can guess the mode through which most of our communication takes place: text messaging.

   Now, I am changing my ways to be a better communicator. I send a text message to all the women on the court every morning to keep them on track with whatever tasks we have to complete. I have talked to my father about getting a BlackBerry, so I can answer my e-mails more expeditiously and send out texts to a group larger than 10. I vow to make it my business to master the "matrix" of Internet and mobile communication.

     My generation will not leave me behind.

Good Communication Skills in Person 

Blog: What is Good Communication  

Online Communication with Professionals

A Tribute to the Greatest Connector I know

His friends would probably say it was his smile. His family members would claim it was his good looks. If you ask me, I think he just had a special gift.

Whatever “it” was, Braxton Daryl Johnson exuded it from every fiber of his being. He had a particular ability to make everyone love him. He was one of those radiant personalities who lit up the room with his presence and caused hearts to flutter when he smiled.

He told me a few years ago that his likeability was the secret to his success in the car-selling industry, which helped him garner the title “salesman of the month” for three months in a row at Gem Mazda. “If you get people to like you, they’ll buy anything from you, including a car,” he rightfully boasted, celebrating his accomplishments.

Braxton was always that way. Everywhere he went, he became “most popular” or homecoming king and a household name among his peers as well as adults. There was not one place in Tampa I could go where people my age wouldn’t know him. It was this specific attribute about him that made me avoid going to whatever high school he attended. I knew I was doomed to be “Braxton’s little sister” for the rest of my teenage existence. “And I wanted a boyfriend!” in my 15-year-old mind.  No one would dare cross the line and risk his friendship with Braxton by dating his little sister.

By the time Braxton left for college, he had attended two elementary schools, two middle schools and two high schools. He ran track, played baseball, started as a punt returner in football and did a brief stint in the band. With three additional siblings, a mother who was an infamous radio personality, and a father who published a black newspaper in the Tampa Bay area, he had no choice but to take the spotlight and to own it until his own light went out.

I remember the day of the funeral and how people of all colors and ages came out to support my family. I saw old teachers, neighbors, friends and people I had just about forgotten. But nobody forgot about Braxton. The day he died was the day I was able to see the network he spent 22 years creating reveal a beautiful mosaic of effortless diversity. It was clear to everyone in the church that Braxton never saw color.

My brother, even after his death, never ceased to amaze me. I did not know about the people he bailed out of jail or let stay with him or brought to God or helped get through a hard time. His life was miraculous. And because he was a great Connector, I know his legacy will live to the end of time, because the people who love him will continue to share it.  

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