I approach Jean as she lies on the stage, hands in the air, moving them in a semi-rhythmic twisting fashion.
“Hey Jean, whatcha’ doin’?” I offer, almost complacently.
“I’m putting the finishing touches on your new fuel intake, Dr. Samuelson,” she throws back in a slight Chicago South Sider accent.
What I say next is pivotal.
If you haven’t been to an improv show or seen Whose Line Is It Anyway? this may be a little lost on you, but stick with me, we’ll get there. I remember very fondly one of my first lessons in becoming an improv performer. Every improv performer learns it, and it is the philosophical tenant that pervades the entire art form. “Yes, and . . .”
Perhaps you’ve heard about “Yes, and . . .” in a non-improv setting, but that is where its roots are. During that early lesson, our teacher explained that those two words carry a lot of meaning and that without them the entire premise falls flat.
So what do I say next?
“Yes, and . . . I was hoping you might have found my stethoscope somewhere in there. I think it dropped out when I was looking at the dipstick.”
Pause. Let’s rewind that last line and slow this down for you. Think of the slo-mo mode on your phone or, for those more in my age bracket, a Chariots of Fire–style slow-motion sequence.
Yes
Yes—it’s the first word I must say, and it implies so much. Yes—I have heard and acknowledge that you are a car mechanic. Yes—I can now see and acknowledge that we are in a car mechanic’s shop in which you are on your back actively completing an oil change on my, not anyone else’s, car. Yes—I have heard and acknowledged that I am a doctor, Dr. Samuelson to be exact.
To say no is to basically shut down all those premises, all those little nuggets of plot from which I can build the next step of our story. To say no puts me in a power position over Jean because I want my idea and not hers.
And . . .
And . . . Whereas yes is the make-or-break agreement I enter into with my scene partner, and . . . cements the bond between us by stepping into the scene as a contributing partner. It is the bridge between my partner’s offering and my own. And . . . is the agreement that we are in this together and that although we don’t know where it will go, we will go together
An Offer
“I was hoping you might have found my stethoscope in there.” This next piece is fill-in-the-blank. It’s an offer, an addition, and it moves the scene forward. It’s my contribution to what has already been established. I’ve added a new piece of information, the stethoscope, based on my character, and incorporated the oil change. This also puts Jean, now, in the position to use “Yes, and . . .” to continue the scene. If I merely repeated what she said, “Yes, and you are finishing my oil change,” I would have accepted what she gave me but would not have moved the collaboration on the scene forward.
So what does this have to do with coaching? Well, in some ways, everything. One of the big themes I hear coaches wrestle with is when to input advice or solve a problem and when to allow those we are coaching to find the answer themselves. “Yes, and . . .” has three elements that help coaches straddle that line.
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Yes |
And . . . |
Offer |
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When a teacher comes with a problem to solve or is debriefing a lesson, a coach must work to meet them where they are. “Yes” accepts the premise they provide or the ideas they offer without inserting our personal opinion, expertise, or bias. |
We don’t want to just agree but to signal to our coachee that we are in this with them and are here as a thought partner. This serves as the bridge from where they are to where we can go next. |
Being a collaborative partner sometimes means posing a question or a thoughtful observation, but it also sometimes means offering a suggestion or a next step. The key is offering something without predetermining where it will go. |
Reflect
I am not advocating that you go around saying “Yes, and . . .” every time someone offers an idea. It is instead a philosophy, a stance from which to operate. You won’t go to an improv show and hear people saying “Yes, and . . .” after every line (and if they are, you might want to go to a different show). Instead it is implied in each interaction. It’s in the way they accept their scene partner’s offer and add a bit themselves.
How often do you accept, agree, and build? Do you find yourself saying “No, actually . . .” or “Yes, but . . .”? The former can kill collaborative conversations, stifle collective creativity, and strain relationships. It’s these stances that put the coach at the center and in a position of power.
When you are stepping into a collaborative space, a space in which the possibilities are endless and the answer is in the room and not in any one individual’s head, “Yes, and . . .” is the collaborative philosophy that builds partnerships and teams. It creates bonds, and it keeps everyone on equal ground. It’s not for spitballing possible solutions or having a crucial conversation, nor for discussions where multiple interpretations or takeaways are needed. Instead, it’s a stance to take when you are building, creating, or developing with a partner or team.
So the next time you are collaborating, ask yourself these questions:
- Yes—Am I accepting or rejecting what the teacher or team is offering up? Am I curious about where they are and where we could build from there?
- And . . .—Am I partnering with them and joining them in the work? Am I willing to accept where they are and not force them to be where I want them to be?
- Offer—Am I able to offer something that will add to, provide perspective on, or build the next step without having a predetermined destination?
