During 2023, I conducted several research studies that involved interviewing participants with serious medical conditions.

Research such as this isn’t easy. Participants can be depressed and distracted, and might be lonely and in pain. They tend to view these interviews, not unreasonably, as an opportunity to unburden themselves to a sympathetic stranger.

These conversations can be emotional and intense. I’ve had participants tell me things they have never said to anybody else. A day of this type of work is tiring, and a week is thoroughly exhausting – with the experience leaving you physically and mentally spent. In fact, if you don’t feel that way after several days of this, you’re probably doing it wrong.

At times like this, it’s easy to focus on the load you’re carrying – serving as an interlocutor between patient and client, as a source of insight to the client, and as a confessor and confidant to the patient. This is a hard set of roles to play, and it’s easy to feel overwhelmed.

However, it’s important to remember that conducting such research is a privilege. A privilege for clients to trust you with their research. A privilege that participants are willing to make themselves vulnerable to you.

The thing is, burden and privilege are two sides of the same coin – you can’t have one without the other. This principle applies to most aspects of our lives. Nursing a loved one through a period of infirmity is both a burden and a privilege. Every civil right enumerated in the Bill of Rights to the US Constitution carries a corresponding responsibility.

Just think about free speech – one of the fundamentals of a free society. You only need to spend a little time on social media to see what happens when this privilege is abused. Participating responsibly on social media platforms can feel onerous, but it’s part of the bargain.

Anytime you shoulder a burden, it means that somebody is trusting and depending upon you. In qualitative research – as in any consultative field – trust is essential to doing your job.  If clients and participants don’t trust you, there isn’t much you can accomplish. So, the ability to earn trust is a key factor that separates experienced, professional practitioners from beginners and amateurs.

So, when facing a burdensome responsibility, ask yourself why you should feel fortunate  – and find the privilege contained within.

Don’t look now, but the holidays are almost upon us. 

This is a wonderful time of the year, but it can also be difficult. So I make a point of remembering a couple of key principles – in fact, I have something that helps me remember them.  I call it my “reminder stone,” and it helps me focus on two important things:

The first is that nobody’s life is perfect – we all face challenges. As Broadway great Elaine Stritch used to say, “everybody’s got a sack of rocks.” You could say that my little blue stone represents one of those rocks. It reminds me to be empathetic and forgiving because, as the minister Ian Maclaren once wrote: “be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.” I actually wrote a piece a couple of years ago that touches on this issue. My friend and colleague Cheryl Stella Dalisay gave a wonderful talk on this topic recently at the QRCA Worldwide Conference in Lisbon.

Secondly, the stone reminds me that our time on this earth is finite. Not to get morbid, but death – being a part of life – is never far away. There’s a practice of putting a stone on a grave marker when you visit. There is also the tradition, going at least as far back as ancient Greece, of the memento mori – a tangible reminder of the inevitability of death. And bear in mind that contemplating demise doesn’t need to be depressing. In fact, it can be one of the most life-affirming things you can do – maybe even more than my mushroom soup. Remembering that our time here doesn’t last forever can serve as a cue to embrace the now, to focus on making the world a better place for everybody, to devote as much time as possible to the things you love, and to spend time with the people most important to you.

So that’s why I carry a small stone in my pocket. During this holiday season, remembering these two principles could serve to make what can be a challenging time of year a bit easier. Consider acquiring some sort of tangible reminder yourself. It doesn’t have to be a stone – it could be a coin, a shell, a pearl-handled derringer, anything. If you adopt this practice – or already do it – please let me know. I’d love to learn about your memento mori and what it represents to you.

There’s an adage that you never get a second chance to make a first impression. And there’s no better way to make that first impression than by introducing yourself with a story. Stories have many uses –as a qualitative researcher, I use them to build engagement and connection. When it comes to introducing yourself, stories are indispensable.

I once had a participant in a focus group of parents introduce herself by saying “my father says that, when I was a little girl, I was already a mother.” Talk about a first impression. In just 15 words she told us something that went to the core of how she saw herself.

Stories are how we talk about important things: the things we love and hate, our hopes and fears, things that are central to our self-image. So, when you introduce yourself with a story, you’re sharing something significant, creating a deeper connection than if you just provide facts. By sharing this information as a story, rather than in a more matter-of-fact way, you’re tapping into the strengths of stories:

They’re human. Telling stories may be the most human thing people do. And we’re the only animal that does this.

They’re engaging. Stories are more interesting and evocative than a recitation of information. It’s easy to arouse emotions in others with stories, and almost impossible without. There’s a reason so much of the entertainment we consume is built around stories.

They’re memorable. Because stories connect with people on an emotional level, they are more likely to recall what you’ve said.

They’re articulate. Stories can often say complicated things far more eloquently and efficiently than a more matter-of-fact description. If that mother described above hadn’t told that story, think of how much longer and less powerful her introduction would have been.

They create trust. When we share stories, they make us approachable, even vulnerable – important factors for engendering trust.

One great thing about introducing yourself with a story is that modeling this behavior encourages others to tell stories as well. There’s no better way to get to know somebody than by swapping stories.

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So, if you’re trying to make someone you’ve just met understand and remember what you’re about tell them a story.

This could be helpful in a job interview or when meeting a potential client. For instance, if you want to get across your ability to empathize with others, rather than saying “I’m the most empathetic person on the planet!” – introduce yourself with a story about a time you showed empathy.

When I want research participants to understand that I’m open to anything they might say, I’ll tell them they shouldn’t worry about hurting my feelings, and furthermore, I’m from New Jersey so they couldn’t hurt my feelings if they tried.

Introductory stories are great in healthcare settings – anything that can make a medical professional connect with you on a personal level will create a bond and improve your quality of care—don’t leave it to them to connect with you, create the connection yourself.

It’s important to remember that stories don’t need to be long. In fact, the shorter the better. I’m a great believer in the power of what I call ‘micro-stories’ which I define as having fewer than 50 words. Micro-stories generally include something personal – something about your past, your family, your faults, your anxieties and so forth. They don’t need to contain such traditional story elements as a hero, a villain, or a beginning/middle/end structure. Here are a few micro-stories I tell regularly:

My grandmother used to tell me that the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

My mother says I was the worst sleeper of any child she ever knew.

We have two kids who are grown and out of the house and more-or-less independent. Let’s just say that they’re as independent as we dare to hope.

I play the piano. I took it up again during the pandemic after having stopped for a number of years, so I guess you could call that a covid benefit.

I teach martial arts, and am the classic example of the saying that “those who can’t do, teach.”

We’re recording this focus group because I’m the world’s worst note-taker.

The holidays are almost upon us. With all the socializing that goes on this time of year, we’re all likely to be meeting new people. So, consider this an opportunity to try out some introductory stories. Then, having modeled that behavior, encourage others to do the same.

Not long ago, I was conducting qualitative research showing advertising storyboards.  During the first few groups I listened passively while the participants explained their reactions. I didn’t know what to expect, so I wanted to be open to whatever was said. In contrast, for the last couple of groups, because by then I had a good idea of what responses were likely, I listened in a much more anticipatory manner. I had a number of probe and follow up questions at the ready, and kept them in mind as I was listening.

My martial arts teacher for the past 30 years, Grandmaster Alan Simms, says there are two kinds of waiting: active and passive waiting. In martial arts, active waiting is when you’re looking for a specific opening and poised to exploit it immediately. Passive waiting is more defensive. You pay close attention to your opponent, but with no specific plan of response in mind. Rather, you are relaxed, observant, open to all possibilities and prepared to react to whatever your opponent does.

Both are valid approaches in martial arts, and also in conversation—it just depends on the purpose of the conversation you’re having.

I find that, as a qualitative researcher, I usually lean more towards the passive end of the spectrum, meaning that I’m highly engaged in listening, and open to whatever participants say. However, there’s a role for being more active, such as in the advertising research described above.

This principle also applies to everyday life. When having conversations with friends and colleagues, I really try to be as fully engaged in listening as I can. Sometimes this is hard, particularly when I disagree with somebody. But I do my best, as fully engaged listening is essential to respectful and productive dialogue. However, when I’m on the phone with customer support, and I know exactly what problem I’m trying to solve, I generally wait more actively.

It’s important to remember that this isn’t a binary thing, it’s a continuum. People are rarely completely actively or passively waiting. Rather, they’re somewhere between the two. The art lies in knowing where on that spectrum to be.

Meaningful conversation is complicated and challenging. It demands a series of skills, including  knowing when to listen, knowing when and how to wait, and knowing when to talk. There’s an art to it. As with all art, you combine instinct, practice, and time-developed skills to master it.

I was sixteen, taking a driving lesson and trying to turn left onto a busy street.

After waiting for what seemed like an eternity for a break in the traffic, I expressed my frustration to my driving teacher, Mr. Silbernagel. He replied, “if you can’t make the left, then just turn right. We’ll find another way to get where we’re going.”

A wise, patient and fearless man, Mr. Silbernagel. I’ve remembered this wisdom ever since, and have applied it to many situations.

For instance, I’ve learned that when conducting qualitative research, it’s important not to get hung up on a specific question or exercise. Sometimes the most beautifully crafted query or creative technique falls flat. At which point, I focus on the information I’m seeking and figure out another way to get it.

I’ve also learned that it’s counterproductive to push too hard to get research participants to talk about sensitive topics. Recently, I was interviewing patients suffering from a particularly debilitating mental health condition. I’d planned to broach the topic of their disorder early in the interview. However, I learned that unless I allowed the participants to bring up their condition first, the interview was not going to go well. We ended up having more small talk at the beginning of the interviews than I would have preferred, but allowing the participants to bring up their condition on their own timing got us where we needed to go.

This wisdom has helped me as a parent as well. Not getting too focused on one specific means of achieving a goal – focusing instead on the goal itself and being flexible regarding the method – is often essential to success. My wife and I both eventually figured out that, if our kids wanted to do some of their homework after dinner rather than right after school, it didn’t matter, as long as it got done.

So, next time you’re having trouble metaphorically turning left, take a leap into the unknown and metaphorically turn right instead – focus on the goal, and be flexible about the means. You’ll find another way to get where you need to go, and it might even work out better than the way you’d planned.