longreads – Amplifying Ideas with Anaik

Anaik In Editorial

Audacious mental models

Color-coding empathy so we can use it more intentionally

(6 min read)

The world comes into our consciousness in the form of a map already drawn, a story already told, a hypothesis, a construction of our own making. We perceive only the sensations we are programmed to receive, and our awareness is further restricted by the fact that we recognize only those for which we have mental maps or categories.

— Roz and Ben Zander, The Art of Possibility

Transforming intangibles into tangibles

Empathic Colormapping as a developing theory, is an audacious attempt to put some symbolism around what exactly empathy in communication looks like.

And the minute we start to explore intangible territories dealing with abstractions like, for example, empathy — and especially empathy manifested through disembodied mediums — it becomes clear that we need some memorable frameworks if we’re going to form any kind of useful frame of reference or mental model.

Empathic colormapping is behind the metaphorical concepts of frequency, resonance and nuance.

A theory comprised of many mental models

Empathic colormapping (a term I coined in order to give this particular form of data visualized communication) is informed by a growing body of mental models and data derived from systems thinking, behavioral psychology, information design, and more.

But most of all this theory has evolved from observing next-level communicators and the ways they show up to engage with avidly engaged audiences.

Making your entire being hum in recognition

The theory encompasses the concept of frequency — sending out certain frequencies — as well as resonance and nuance — depicted in the fairy tale about Frequency that is resonating with more and more people.

We’re not even close to talking about nuance (all the intangible ways we might communicate complex ideas across multiple channels to diverse audiences).

But resonance — the way that someone in a completely separate geographical location to you, can sing or say or write things that make your entire being hum in recognition — that’s the audacious territory we’re going into.

When Frequency dances with Resonance and Nuance, magic happens

There are a great many case studies in development, that can begin to demonstrate and test the application of this theory, this evolving mental model. But in this article we’re going to touch on a basic overview of the nine primary elements of empathic communication.

Ten core human desires a touchpoint for empathy

The overview also touches on the “ten desires that drive us” theory expounded by social psychologist Hugh Mackay (mentioned in a previous Medium article, “Engaging the Grey Matter,” in this Frequency series) and proposes which core desires each element might spark and speak to.

As a quick refresher, those ten core desires (these are proposed core desires beyond our physiological needs) are the following:

The desire to be taken seriously
The desire for ‘my place’
The desire for something to believe in
The desire to connect
The desire to be useful
The desire to belong
The desire for more
The desire for control
The desire for something to happen
The desire for love

Highlighting these core desires might begin to explain why, when genuinely caring teachers, mentors, communicators bother to show up, we resonate so strongly on their frequencies.

Nine primary elements of empathic communication

It’s a new theory. An evolving mental model. It’s medium-gnostic. It’s a work in progress. This is the latest iteration, from the lab, tested on a few dozen peers and mentors and presented from the reader/viewer/listener’s perspective:

Empathic connection 01: Say something remarkable

Grab my attention with something worthy of remark.

Speaks to my core desire: for something to happen; for more

Remarkable: Purple

Empathic connection 02: Say something reliable

Earn my trust with your credibility markers and experience.

Speaks to my core desire: for something to believe in; to be taken seriously

Reliable: Brown

Empathic connection 03: Say something relatable

Capture my emotions with your personal origin story, lows and highs.

Speaks to my core desire: to connect

Relatable: Dark green

Empathic connection 04: Say something memorable

Hold my interest with your stories, anecdotes, analogies and metaphors.

Speaks to my core desire: to connect; to belong; for something to happen

Memorable: Light green

Empathic connection 05: Say something motivational

Engage me directly with your affirmations and personal pronouns.

Speaks to my core desire: to be taken seriously; for ‘my place’; for something to believe in; to connect

Motivational: Orange

Empathic connection 06: Say something meaningful

Transform my perspective with a synthesis of your findings.

Speaks to my core desire: for something to believe in

Meaningful: Yellow

Empathic connection 07: Say something proactive

Reward my investment (of time, attention, resource) with actionables.

Speaks to my core desire: for more; for control; to be useful

Proactive: Red

Empathic connection 08: Say something personable

Draw the circle bigger with inclusive language.

Speaks to my core desire: to belong; to connect; for love

Personable: Blue

Empathic connection 09: Say something playful

Introduce delight by using humor and novelty and multi-sensory input.

Speaks to my core desire: for something to happen

Playful: Pink

Combining empathic signals adds resonance

So this is a start to trying to break down a little bit behind this visualizing-empathy theory. I began developing this theory within big-idea nonfiction books, but since those are much longer-form reading, I’ve begun introducing the concepts through this lens of a TED talk.

Case study: Data viz of Shonda Rhimes’ 18 minute, 44 second TED talk.

“It’s all about the hum” case study: Data viz of Shonda Rhimes’ 18 minute, 44 second TED talk

Extrapolating the theory

The evolving theory involves the audacious question as to whether it was possible to build out a mental map that was truly medium-gnostic. Clearly, there would be special considerations for each platform. But when it comes to connecting — really connecting, engaging, learning to write or speak or sketch or audio-visually communicate words and ideas that resonate — might there be an overarching model for doing that effectively?

For creative allies

We’ll explore it more! Whether you’re a communicator or a reader, you might think about whether any of the signals —remarkable, reliable, relatable, memorable, motivational, meaningful, proactive, personable, playful — remind you of your favorite big-idea books, blogs, TED talks, events, workshops, or other informative and educational and entertaining types of communication.

I’d love to hear if this sparks anything in you, if it lights up your brain in any particular ways. And I can’t wait to share with you a visual case study of someone who’s been deeply embedded in working with resonant frequencies and colors that help to map light-up-your-brain communication.

(This is part nine in a twenty part introductory series exploring the intersection of frequency, resonance and nuance, first published on Medium.)

Anaik In Editorial

It’s all about the hum

On titans, global brains and driving an open road

(6 min read)

What does it really look like to be singing and saying things few others are singing and saying?

And what is the song anyway?

Showrunner extraordinaire Shonda Rhimes knows a little bit about this. And she tells us all about what it is to be a showrunner, in her 18 minute 44 second TED talk which has clocked over 3.7 million views to date. The TED talk description tells us:

The titan behind Grey’s Anatomy, Scandal and How to Get Away With Murder, is responsible for some 70 hours of television per season.

The resonance of a titan frequency

I’ve viewed Rhime’s TED talk, called “My year of saying yes to everything,” at least five times now, as well as pored over the TED talk transcript, and color-coded it.

This is the first time I’m sharing the end result, the data visualisation of something I’m calling “empathic colormapping.”

It looks like this.

Case study: Data viz of Shonda Rhimes’ 18 minute, 44 second TED talk.

This is Shonda Rhimes entire, 18 minute 44 second TED talk — color-coded and knocked onto its side (it runs from left to right).

You can of course listen to the TED talk for yourself, and read the transcript. Well worthwhile. And while it is a review of this work, in honor of the TED platform and her IP, I’m not replicating the full talk here.

However, there is one really notable thread in this talk that relates to our concept of frequency, and it’s something Shonda Rhimes calls the hum.

First of all, Shonda Rhimes explains why she’s in a class all her own — a titan — describing in detail the way she gathers her fans around the campfire to tell stories. And she disillusions us of thinking this is anything like a literal campfire, by clarifying that these campfires are burning all over the world.

These “campfires,” in fact, represent four television programs, 70 hours of TV per season, helping to create hundreds of jobs per program, and balancing a budget of 350 million dollars — all using her magnificent, global brain.

Humming a certain hum

But just when our mathematical-logical synapses are getting a little bit overwhelmed (and yep, pretty impressed) with all the numbers and data she’s throwing at us, she changes her tone to light up other parts of our brains.

“What makes it all so good,” she tells us — this remarkable level of activity and television show production — is “the hum.”

There is some kind of shift inside me when the work gets good. A hum begins in my brain, and it grows and it grows and that hum sounds like the open road, and I could drive it forever.

But more than telling you about what she said about the hum, I want to show you how she hummed it — in vibrant color — through just a few key pieces of her song.

First of all, she uses descriptives to explain this exhilarating abstraction she dubs the “hum”:

Shonda Rhimes: “the hum is music … light and air…”

And, because I’m still refining the exact colored highlighter to use, here are those color-coded words in readable black-on-white for those who might need more visual clarity:

The hum is more than writing. The hum is action and activity. The hum is a drug. The hum is music. The hum is light and air, the hum is God’s whisper right in my ear. And when you have a hum like that, you can’t help but strive for greatness. That feeling, you can’t help but strive for greatness at any cost. That’s called the hum.

And the only problem with exhilarating highs is that they can sometimes be followed by gut-wrenching lows. Shonda Rhimes shares one of her own a little later in her talk:

Shonda Rhimes: “I like that hum, I love that hum, I need that hum, I am that hum. Am I nothing but that hum?”

For this showrunner-extraordinaire, this global-brained titan, everything is humming along…

The nation I’m building, the marathon I’m running, the troops, the canvas, the high note, the hum, the hum, the hum. I like that hum. I love that hum. I need that hum. I am that hum.

Am I nothing but that hum?

And then the hum stopped.

Overworked, overused, overdone, burned out.

The hum stopped.

While in what she calls “the homelessness of her humlessness,” Rhimes comes to a startling realization when her toddler asks her a simple question.

Shonda Rhimes: “…I realize two things…”

And then my Southern waitress toddler asks me a question. I’m on my way out the door, I’m late, and she says, “Momma, wanna play?” And I’m just about to say no, when I realize two things. One, I’m supposed to say yes to everything, and two, my Southern waitress didn’t call me “honey.” She’s not calling everyone “honey” anymore. When did that happen?

The hero’s journey seldom runs smooth and Rhimes’ journey has many more twists to it, but we’re tracking with her as she gets back in touch with the three daughters, the titans-in-training who call this titan “Momma.” It is through them that she comes to some illuminating “aha” moments about the hum.

Shonda Rhimes: The hum is joy-specific. The real hum is love-specific.”

She hums the crescendo of this symphonic piece:

The hum is not power and the hum is not work-specific. The hum is joy-specific. The real hum is love-specific. The hum is the electricity that comes from being excited by life. The real hum is confidence and peace. The real hum ignores the stare of history, and the balls in the air, and the expectation, and the pressure. The real hum is singular and original. The real hum is God’s whisper in my ear…

Then, beginning to wrap up her talk, she closes out with some final notes about this enhanced, expanded, expounded upon hum.

Shonda Rhimes: “My brain is still global. My campfires still burn.”

I said yes to less work and more play, and somehow I still run my world. My brain is still global. My campfires still burn. The more I play, the happier I am, and the happier my kids are. The more I play, the more I feel like a good mother. The more I play, the freer my mind becomes. The more I play, the better I work. The more I play, the more I feel the hum, the nation I’m building, the marathon I’m running, the troops, the canvas, the high note, the hum, the hum, the other hum, the real hum, life’s hum.

It doesn’t feel like we’ve been listening for more than 18 minutes when she closes out her talk with an invitation to play. And it’s a relief to discover she has much more to say for those of us who resonate— including another TED talk on the future of storytelling, a book-length meditation on her remarkable “Year of Yes,” and a Masterclass on the intricacies of writing for television (the link points to her 1:48 minute official trailer).

But right here, right now, Shonda Rhimes has shown us — on several nuanced levels throughout this TED talk and in resonant tones that will speak to different people differently — just a few ways to channel our song, to dance our dance, to play in a globe-sized sandbox.

And to find our hum while doing it.

There is of course more to say about the color-coding — this empathic colormapping concept. This is barely the beginning .

But we might bask a little longer in that hum and save the empathic-intuitive underpinnings for another day.

(This is part six in a twenty part introductory series exploring the intersection of frequency, resonance and nuance, first published on Medium.)

Anaik In Editorial

Ravenous beasts among us

Celebrating the ones who are hungry, hungry, hungry

Dublin resident Niamh Sharkey’s charming story explores absurdity and tension in delightful balance. Image source: Candlewick Press.

(4 min read)

In 2003, author and illustrator Niamh Sharkey published a picture book titled “The Ravenous Beast,” a lighthearted tale about the insatiable appetites of several species.

Transformed into a five minute animation by Candlewick Press, the creatures strut around boasting that they’re “hungry, hungry, hungry.” Large and small, they meet on a grassy hillside and set out to prove themselves by consuming items like houses, boats, castles and tents and everything in between.

There’s even a whale in there (you can see her at minute 3:47) who consumes a number of things, including an entire sunken pirate ship.

In a recent spring-cleaning, I came across the book again and remembered how much my children had enjoyed this story when they were little, especially the lyrical repetition at the end of each animal’s ravenous feast, a variation of the Ravenous Beast’s initial declaration:

Gobble it up! Swallow it down!
Now THAT’S what I call hungry!

Now THAT’S what I call hungry

I’ve spent over a decade on a kind of literary pilgrimage, looking for hungry people who are a bit like the ravenous creatures of Sharkey’s creation.

Not in a predatory or competitive sense.

But in a hungry, hungry, hungry sense. )See how words fail me here? I’m still trying to articulate this.)

I found some of them too. In the pages of books, mostly. But elsewhere as well. Writer’s festivals. Creative conferences. Streaming TED talks.

These people are not your average hungry.

We all know what it feels like to be hungry on many different levels

Oh, they know all about the pyramid of need — the basic physiological hungers for the necessities of survival, the driving urge to secure those necessities in any way possible, and once secured (or maybe whether or not secured) the nagging hunger to find belonging, respect, and some kind of meaning.

But the hungry, hungry, hungry people I was particularly looking for — the ones I found in the pages of books, mostly, but elsewhere as well — their hunger drives them far beyond the base of the self-centered pyramid of need.
Hungry, hungry, hungry

Maybe they’re just the lucky ones.

I don’t know.

I don’t think so.

I don’t think the hungry, hungry, hungry ones are immune to physiological deficits at the base of the pyramid. To regular needs for food, sleep, oxygen, intimacy, and homeostasis.

Mortality bites, sooner or later.

No amount of wealth can protect us from terminal disease, in the end.

Enchantment. Meaning. Art.

So yeah, these are not super-humans who never suffer illness, longing and loss.

They’re subject to mortality, disease, accident, heartbreak — just like the rest of us.

But it seems like they’ve learned to channel their hungry, hungry, hungry into the creation of enchantment.

It seems like there are some people — regular mortals living among us — who have learned to channel their hungry, hungry, hungry into the creation of meaning.

It seems like there are some people — again, just regular mortals — who have learned to channel their hungry, hungry, hungry into the creation of art — whether transcendent, dramatic or ludicrous.

You’re sending signals to me

Maybe that’s you. Maybe you’ve channeled your hungry, hungry, hungry into enchantment. Meaning. Art. Maybe you’re trying to do that right now.

There’s something else about these hungry, hungry, hungry people. Something that I noticed in over a decade of searching for them.

They send out signals.

All day, every day, in the cacophony and cognitive dissonance that makes up the cultural landscape of our global village, you’re sending signals into the datasphere.

Salvation. Light. Lullaby.

They might not always be the loudest signals.

They might not always be the most obvious signals.

But to a certain kind of individual, receptive to that particular frequency, they sound like salvation.

To a certain kind of individual, teetering on the edge of the abyss, they sound like light.

To a certain kind of individual, alone in a crowded city, they sound like the hum of a lullaby from the divine mother herself.

Getting hungry enough

All day, every day, in the cacophony and cognitive dissonance that makes up the cultural landscape of our global village, there are some frequencies worth listening for above the others.

And if we listen long enough and hard enough, if we’re hungry enough, then …

perhaps, perhaps …

we’ll hear those frequencies that guide us towards what we’re most hungry for.

Perhaps, perhaps we’ll be able to join the ravenous beast and say…

Now THAT’S what I call hungry.

(This is part three in a twenty part introductory series exploring the intersection of frequency, resonance and nuance, first published on Medium.)