I've been thinking a lot about language lately. I've been teaching a writing workshop class at Gensler (3 hours of teaching, 3 sequential Friday lunches), something I haven't done before. When I was first approached by my friend Jim to do the class, my immediate thought was, "Why would I want to do that? I don't have time for that! And what's anybody going to get out of that? I can't teach anyone to write!" But he kept after me, asking for some kind of commitment as to when I would get this class rolling. Sometime in the spring, I proposed that I'd do it over the summer. So, reluctantly, I put together a class in August, and now I'm repeating the class in November.
It wasn't very hard to put it together. Matt in Chicago had done a class like this before, and he diligently documented what he did and what he said. So at first I just took his outline, notes, and materials, and taught that. Now, in November, I've modified some of the curriculum to fit the flow of the class and my own style.
But in spending time preparing and teaching, I've been doing a little thinking about language. "Why is this important? What can I actually 'teach' about writing in three hours?" It's obvious that communicating verbally is one of the most (if not the most) important skills in business. You have to be able to tell your client what they're going to get, how long it's going to take, and what it's going to cost. When something changes, you have to be able to tell them why, and what you're going to do about it. If a professional does not speak and write with confidence, that individual's professional trajectory will be somewhat limited.
A clue came to me at lunch with an entrepreneur a week or two ago. After the normal professional niceties and after I learned about what his engineering firm does, we started revealing our own personal histories--how we got where we are. He told me that he's read someplace that most business leaders are actually "C" students, which I believe is something he tells people to explain himself. When I was telling my story, about being good in English and Science in high school, but choosing to study playwriting at NYU (to the dismay of my physics teacher), he said appreciatively, "You must have a great vocabulary." When I looked at him quizzically (ha! there's that vocabulary!), he offered, "I've read that strong vocabulary is the one trait that leaders around the world share. Leaders of all kinds--business leaders, political leaders, whatever." He meant it. Your vocabulary is a factor that gives you personal power. Which is why, I thought to my self, I'm always hearing radio ads for "Million Dollar Vocabulary" and other programs to teach adults new words.
At around the same time, I got a resume from my boss, Joe. Strangely, it was from a business development person from an engineering firm who had been hounding me lately, trying to get me to set up a meeting at Gensler for her firm's principals to rub elbows with some of our firm's key people. Joe had read through her cover letter and underlined five or six words: winsome, ubiquitous, obsequious, laconic. The last line of the letter is actually, "I hope to anticipate an interview and propinquitous employment." Handing me the letter, Joe said something like, "Look at this vocabulary! What's she trying to prove?" We had a little laugh over it. I think I said, "I think I know her. English isn't her first language. She must've sat with a Thesaurus." I promised to follow up with her, but I don't know what to say when I call her, "Wow! Nice vocabulary! Laconic! I can't believe you actually used 'laconic' in a sentence! Well done!"
Last night, on the walk home, I thought about the Tower of Babel. Everybody was working together, heaving and ho-ing, toting barges and lifting bales, building the biggest monument to man that the world had ever seen. And then something funny happened. They couldn't communicate anymore. Every person spoke in a different language. And the whole thing just fell apart. "Where do I put this corn meal?" And nobody knows what the heck you're talking about. You try to pantomime "corn meal" but there isn't time and it's not a priority to the guy you're talking to and you just can't get your message across. So you go home and stop building the stupid tower and teach your kids to speak the language in your head.
Without language, we'd be fucked. Language is the food of consciousness (or something like that). Language isn't just how we tell each other what to do and what we want; it's how we record what happened and how we feel. It's how we learn and teach. It's how we talk to ourselves and figure things out. Language (and the consciousness that comes with it) is what separates us from the rest of the beasts on this planet. If we can't make and understand words, there's no society, no socialization, no organization, and very little knowledge that is able to be passed down from generation to generation.
So language isn't just important, it's vital. It is, in a way, the substance of power itself. Language is the only way there is to truly influence another human being--whether you're teaching or coercing or threatening or convincing or persuading or seducing or preaching or inspiring. It's all impossible without language.
So work on your vocabulary, try to use laconic in a sentence, and figure out when to use "its" and when to use "it's." Mafia bosses and George W. aside, it's really tough to get to the top if no one can understand what you're talking about. Language makes you powerful, and successful, and influential, and sexy, too.