Is it possible that when someone says “you’re comparing apples and oranges” they’re not trying to tick you off — they’re just practicing getting smarter?
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The first time I got in trouble for splitting hairs was in the first grade. We were learning about “sets” (imagine what that sounds like from the mouth of a six-year-old with missing front teeth) and we were supposed to circle the pictures of things belonging to the set of “words beginning with the letter F.”
One of the images was a little spotted deer. And a deer with spots, I happened to know, was still a baby deer; technically a “fawn.” So I circled it. I’ll leave you to imagine my reaction to being told my answer was incorrect, but it may have contributed to my nickname of “Dynamite.”
The finer the differentiation, the more information we have. The more information we have, the better our decisions will be.
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Even if my first grade teacher didn’t acknowledge my differentiation, that’s how we learn. We differentiate. We’re taught what something is through comparison and contrast; “It’s like this. But not like that.”
“All intelligence,” one of my coaches used to say, “is a matter of differentiation.” The finer the differentiation, the more information we have. The more information we have, the better our decisions will be.
Now I’m not talking about intellect, which is the capacity for knowledge. I’m talking about intelligence, knowledge itself.
Being able to differentiate between an apple and an orange takes intelligence.
Being able to decide when to use an apple in a recipe instead of an orange takes a higher level of intelligence.
And knowing when someone is comparing apples to oranges takes a higher level of intelligence still.
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So how do we get smarter?
By practicing.
That’s right, go out and split some hairs!
You can practice for any kind of intelligence. Want to practice visual recognition? Grab a jigsaw puzzle with a million shades of blue that might belong in the sky, or the sea, or that little forget-me-not blooming in the cottage garden. Sites like Lumosity will put you through your paces, and there’s a free version. All of these exercises will require a fine level of differentiation in order to excel.
I’m a writer. So of course, I practice with words.
Words, and our relationship with words, have always been as fascinating to me as a Rubik’s Cube is to an engineer. I take them apart, I wrangle them around, but mostly, I explore the implications of how we choose them, how we string them together, and how we use them to shape our life.
Words can start a war, and end one. Words can lift us up, or send us reeling into self-loathing and depression. Words can inspire us to action, or frighten us into paralysis.
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Unlike a jigsaw puzzle, or a Rubik’s Cube, there is no objective measure of intelligence for the use of words. What’s perfectly clear to one person might be mud pie to someone else. But words are perhaps (just my subjective opinion here) the most powerful form of intelligence we have available.
In The Four Agreements by Don Miquel Ruiz, the first agreement reads “Be Impeccable with Your Word.” While he is referring to using words mindfully and for good, it’s also sound advice for getting what we want.
Words can start a war, and end one. Words can lift us up, or send us reeling into self-loathing and depression. Words can inspire us to action, or frighten us into paralysis. Being impeccable in our choice of words gives us the best chance possible for achieving the outcome we intended.
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“Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.” — Carl Jung
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If you’re wondering what inspired me to write these words (you probably weren’t, but bear with me here) it was a recent incident on twitter. If there is any better testing ground than social media for learning differentiation when it comes to words and their implications, I have yet to discover it.
I spotted one of my favorite quotes, followed by another tweeter’s take on it. It went like this:
Tweeter: Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves. – Carl Jung #quote
Response: @tweeter – important to remember that irritation is what creates pearls…
Suddenly, something that I’d never quite articulated became crystal clear. I responded with a “reply all.”
Me: Actually – it’s a certain RESPONSE to irritation that creates pearls. Many other types of responses – not so much. 🙂
This was the crystal clear part. My mind was already riffing on all the different responses to irritation, porcupine quills, skunk spray, etc… and thinking about parallels in human choices. How could we create pearls instead of getting prickly, or raising a stink? Yeah, this was great stuff, these two had gifted me with my inspiration for the day.
But then I got this:
Tweeter: that’s a semantic given that without irritation there would be no response and without response there would be no pearl.
Far from being “a semantic,” it’s an important differentiation if you intend to apply what Carl Jung was teaching. After all, he didn’t say “Everything that irritates us about others WILL lead us to an understanding of ourselves.” He said only that it CAN, and the way we respond to irritation (think oyster or porcupine) is the differentiating factor.
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I’d have been thrilled to have that conversation with this guy, but he was indeed irritated and must have been sitting at the keyboard with nothing better to do than express his irritation in 140 characters or less, so I didn’t have a chance. His response, and the onslaught of responses that followed, ironically demonstrated a “non-oyster-like” response to irritation. He accused me of being pedantic (defined as “narrowly, stodgily, and often ostentatiously learned” or “unimaginative and dull.”) He was kind enough to read my profile, but attacked that as well. Then he told me that differentiation was not important because the intention of his tweet was to “support an inspirational euphemism.”
(At the risk of being “pedantic” the definition of “euphemism” is “a mild or indirect word or expression substituted for one considered to be too harsh or blunt when referring to something unpleasant or embarrassing.” While Carl Jung might have been considered to be unpleasant and embarrassing in his time, I don’t think his quotes have quite become euphemisms.)
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To give the guy credit, in my enthusiasm for my “lightbulb moment” I hadn’t been impeccable with MY words. A smiley face, even on social media, is no substitute for “I’m not attacking your idea, but I’d like to discuss how it might have an even deeper meaning than the one you just expressed.”
But I still got my pearl, and it is this; a confirmation that splitting hairs really does make you smarter. Because it’s practice in differentiation, and that’s how we learn.
This was the first time I’ve been called “pedantic,” but I have been called an “intellectual snob” or “nit-picky” because I’ve challenged a word or phrase. On the other hand, I’ve also used that gift for splitting hairs to help clients see through complex issues, make difficult decisions, and recognize sneaky patterns and beliefs that were tripping them up.
From that twitter conversation I took away a fantastic tool for reshaping how I interact with my emotions. When I experience irritation (and it’s a daily occurrence for most of us) I picture an oyster, a skunk, and a porcupine. And I ask myself if I’m going to create a pearl, throw some quills, or raise a stink. It’s already saved me from being less than impeccable with my words in recent situations.
… if there is anything I have learned that has made the greatest difference in my success, it is that self-knowledge is the most valuable intelligence there is.
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What did the other participant take away? I don’t know. Maybe a sense of self-righteousness for “getting me told.” Or maybe a continuing righteous indignation that I had the audacity to join the conversation in the first place. Hopefully, at some point, Jung’s prediction will come true for him and he’ll have a greater understanding of himself.
Because that was my other pearl, and a pearl of greater value than the first. I took away a deeper understanding of myself. I now know why I examine words the way someone else might examine clay fragments from an archaeological dig, or the way you’d examine a puzzle piece to figure out if it is sky, sea, or flower – and it’s not because words hold the key to truth, or success, or the meaning of life. It’s because they hold the clue to me.
In more than 20 years in business consulting and coaching I’ve learned a lot about people. And if there is anything I have learned that has made the greatest difference in my success, it is that self-knowledge is the most valuable intelligence there is.
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Also by Dixie Gillaspie: All Men Are Liars and Other Myths About Men Being Better Negotiators
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Photo: Flickr/Jason