I don’t fully remember the first time I met the man who changed my approach to conflict resolution, but I was somewhere in my early twenties when he stormed into my professional life and started barking orders from across the sales floor.
I was a store clerk and all around admin person; he was a new salesman who believed his deals should receive first class treatment, and the tension between us was palpable.
It was my first real experience with a long term standoff in the workplace, and as the scene slowly unfolded at a local music store on the west side of my hometown, I did not like what was happening.
At all.
The large open concept building where we worked featured a kaleidoscope of brightly colored guitars, a slatted wall of carefully placed band instruments, and several racks of sound equipment for music loving patrons around the city and those passing through town.
For me, it was a well rounded blend of new and familiar, a small corner of the world where people gathered, shopped, and held conversations in a well loved metropolitan neighborhood.
It was easy.
Comfortable.
And peaceful.
Until he showed up, demanding action with a raised voice and a curt nod of the head.
Soon, a battle of the wills ensued that centered mostly around little things at first. Like when I ignored his requests or made him wait longer than necessary to finalize a sale.
Or when I matched his tone of voice in a verbal spar and then kept score of hurt feelings.
Looking back, I’m not proud of my behavior, and over time, the lengthy tug of war took my patience to the breaking point. It also nearly cost me a job I loved.
Sharing all this with you is a vulnerable step outside my comfort zone, but if you know what it’s like to face down an unyielding adversary day after day with very little results, let me tell you what finally made a difference for me all those years ago.
I stopped resisting and started recognizing.
I shifted the focus from what he should change to what I could change.
The subtle mindset shift didn’t happen because of some inherent virtue of my own. Deep down, I just knew something had to give. Either he needed to leave. Or I did.
Or we could wade through a hard, uncomfortable third option and learn to get along.
In our modern culture where human rights are often valued above personal responsibility, it might be unpopular to turn the outstretched finger of blame around. But you know what I noticed? When my attitude and disposition changed, his did too.
Ok. Not completely. He was still the same fast moving, fast talking Guru.
But when he barged down the aisle in my direction, I met his gaze. I set aside my own agenda (and my pride). I acknowledged his need with an urgency and recognition I’d refused in the past. And in an unspoken truce, I placed value on his part of the equation and what he brought to the table, gruff demeanor and all.
Again. And again.
Things didn’t change overnight, and I wouldn’t go so far as to say we ever became friends. But eventually, Guru and I did come to terms. With patience and the passing of time, we became more friendly toward one another. And though I suppose a case could be made that giving in to a bully isn’t always the best thing to do, from a relational standpoint, perhaps a surrendered spirit is the much needed catalyst that will break down barriers of progress.
If stubbornness and resistance incite more of the same, the decision to yield may also produce similar results across the table.
As a young twenty something starting to make her way in the world, I wasn’t in physical danger. It was my pride and temper that suffered most.
Yet in a surprising turn of events, I learned Guru wanted the same respect and consideration I did.
He just had a very unusual way of showing it.
Looking back, I remember the man who alienated fellow employees, frustrated leadership, and shook up our peaceful little world.
But I also remember the man who could charm customers into a sale. The man who could make a delicate silver piccolo sing. The man who gave an awkward, but pleasant laugh as he held the greeting card from his estranged daughter several states away. The man whose face lit with memories, and whose eyes filled with tears in the back pew of a gospel concert at a nearby neighborhood church.
I remember it all.
Especially the young woman who tamed her nemesis by taking a long, hard look deep inside her own heart.
The one who learned pushing back isn’t always the best solution, and realized her own stubborn resistance often lurks in the shadows, creating an unbalanced narrative that has the potential to thwart progress.
Even now, she finds when it’s drawn into the light, examined and called to task, everything else changes.
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