Why in the world would I try a relational experiment?

In which I consider the value of corrective action

I’m going out on a limb in this post. I’m going to share a wild-ass crazy ambition:

that human beings in relationship will expect corrective action from each other.

And here’s another wild-ass crazy ambition:

that human beings can get good at offering corrective action to each other.

What do I mean by corrective action?

I do not mean correction, like “You got that wrong, asshole.” I don’t mean playing the one-up one-down game and always winning.

By corrective action I mean

relational attunement.

Attunement. As in a chord. Tight, beautiful harmony. That makes your soul thrum.

Remember Sylvie? (The woman who attacked me after my talk? And then backed down when I joined with her?) That’s what I mean by relational attunement.

This ambition is not sentimental. (I am not a sentimental gal.) It is not touchy-feely or fuzzy-wuzzy or silly-willy.

It is logical. It is based on theory. (Once again: this theory.)

That theory saying (among many other things) that living systems help themselves survive by fitting (or “structurally coupling”) with each other.

Put simply, in terms of humans:

We survive (and grow and learn) through relationship.

Through fitting together in ways that, as systems people say, is greater than the sum of the parts.

And if we are going to be the best people we can possibly be (which is another crazy-ass ambition of mine), then attuning our relationships — learning from each other about the impacts we have on each other and trying experiments based on what we learn — is key.

Back to Sylvie for a moment.

Where was the corrective action in that story? It was my decision to join with Sylvie rather than fight with her. Rather than win — or, more likely, lose — the conflict. (Actually, it was more a move than a decision because it was subconscious.) The corrective action was to describe to her what I saw as her responsibility — “Why didn’t you bring that up in my talk?” — and to address her apparent need, which was to be seen and validated.

The corrective action worked in that one instance. I never got another opportunity to attune with Sylvie (thank god), but what if everyone else she attacked did the same thing? Joined with her, attuned with her? She might be able to stop attacking. She might get enough validation to start believing in herself. Once she felt more secure in herself, she wouldn’t have to foist her fears onto other people. She’d be able to engage with them (the fears and the people), learn from them, teach them. She’d be in a position to co-construct novel ways of thinking about the world. Through cooperation and collaboration.

This outcome, to me, is precious. Priceless. I can’t think of a better reason to be alive. (I’m not sure our organisms do have a better reason to be alive.)

Of course, expecting random people to offer corrective action to strangers is asking a lot. (Still, I ask it.) Here’s where the best work happens: in ongoing relationships. With family members (especially spouses and children), with friends, with co-workers. Again, it makes theoretical sense: If we humans learn and grow and change by fitting together in certain ways over time (which we do), then learning and growing and changing in different ways will also take place over time. That means through repeated, consistent, deliberate experiences. That means with people we know and fit with regularly. People who are willing to turn conflict into connection. Because they care about us (and themselves).

That’s nice: Care Converts Conflict into Connection. Through Corrective aCtion. (Said with a little Chortle.)

So my answer to the question that heads up this post: Why in the world would I try a relational experiment?

Because it’s what we human beings do. We fit together to survive. We engage every second of every day in relationships that have the power to change us. To make us feel better. To help us learn and grow. To connect us more tightly, more harmoniously, more healthily.

It seems anti-human, anti-life, to avoid the chance to embody this power.