I don’t live for feedback—giving or receiving. Opening yourself up time and time again to other people’s opinions can fatigue. And yet I know of no other way to quickly improve personally or honor someone else in my life than hearing what they’re saying, thanking them, and seeing if there’s a way I can change—even at the margins.
I’ve actually been doing this in a new way a couple of times a month all year. I’ve called them the “how can I improve” convos. I ask someone (in person or via text) to pick a sphere of life and tell me a way I can improve. The sphere can be any. Maybe some way you’ve seen me as a dad, as a pastor, as a friend. Maybe you noticed that I looked distracted in a recent conversation. Maybe you think I’m bad at grilling chicken. Of course, the more spheres in which you see me, the more likely the feedback is to include all of those spaces.
One guy said, “I like vinegar on my fries, so I’m good with you.” This, oddly, felt like a compliment. I’ve never been called vinegar on fries. Then he said, “But not everyone is ready for that, so you have to see what they might need.” Also helpful.
Another friend said, “Sometimes when I come to you for help, you give me a look like ‘this is annoying the hell out of me.’” (She spelled it out so as not to actually say “hell.”) Then she continued, “Just say, ‘I can’t handle this right now.’”
Yet another friend said, “Don’t let your focus on personal excellence and optimization unduly distract you in your pursuit of God and others.” This is someone I don’t talk to regularly but has an incredibly big heart and deep awareness of other people in the room.
One of my sons shared that he assumes bringing up certain conversations will result in me being angry. He also said I’m a good dad (thanks, son), but those handful of times talking about particular topics makes him nervous.
You might say, “Yeah, Hans, I could’ve told you that about you.” Sure. I could’ve told myself that, too. I’m middle-aged. I have a pretty healthy dose of self-awareness. I ask for feedback a lot and have done it for a long time (though not like I’m doing this year). I know my strengths and weaknesses.
But each interaction gives me an opportunity to engage with someone. It lets them share where they are and how they receive me. It provides me an opportunity to serve them because they’re choosing to be vulnerable with me—not knowing how I’ll respond. Honestly, the exchange is far less about my own growth and is more about the person I’m speaking with and them feeling more comfortable with me. It’s about our growth.
I know I can be short at times. But I might not’ve guessed that it makes someone feel like I’m annoyed by them to the point they spell out the word “hell” with two hockey sticks. I might not’ve thought that my son takes the same trait and assumes I’ll be angry when he has certain requests.
I know I enjoy improving and growing. But I wouldn’t have thought a friend might want to caution me into what that pursuit might develop into—and how I might accidentally neglect the very people I want to be better for.
That’s why I talk about changing at the margins. At my core, I’m who God made me and I’m good with that. It’s those personal areas I’m trying to change. I’m not in it for “be less introverted” or “maybe like throwing more parties” bromides. I don’t need that type of challenge—the type that says, “Be more like what I think you should be.” The personalized feedback I’m getting creates so much more depth than the general feedback—even though it’s harder to give.
A couple of weeks ago I emailed you (my subscribers), asking how I could improve. I wanted to know what types of posts worked. Thanks for your feedback. Some emailed themes. Others sent specific posts that connected with them.
Up to that time, I had called this Substack “On Life and Leadership.” But that’s not really what it is, is it? Even my hours of coaching are far less about straight leadership and far more about navigating work relationships, setting the right goals, and keeping things healthy. My posts with Courtney or about the boys are about navigating marriage and family.
I’m not a leadership guru. I never have been. My goal here is to help people operate better in their most important relationships. Much of that is at work, and much of that is at home, sure. But it’s connecting with others that is the drive. Sometimes that needs tactics, sometimes that needs conviction, sometimes that needs tears.
There’s room for all of that here. Always has been.
So I want to welcome you to that change on the margins for my writing. A Substack name change and sharpening of focus.
I’ll keep the same storytelling and writing that aim to help you be better for others, but I’ll focus more on the reality we all feel but don’t always say: there really isn’t a manual for much of this.
So thanks for joining, and thanks for giving me feedback that helped me make one of those changes that better serves you.
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