My name is Andy, and I have limited access to reality

You and I can be more effective communicators if we keep in mind some quirks about human nature.

I’m starting to think that stakeholder meetings and town halls should begin with speakers introducing themselves with a serious confession before addressing the room. I’ll go first. 

“My name is Andy, and I have limited access to reality.”

“Hi Andy.”

Each of us has a limited understanding of the world. We’ve got our own sensory experiences and our own trustworthy external sources—each of which can be manipulated. So when two people have a conflict, it might be because they’ve each got their own lived experience, memory, or received wisdom that feels concrete. You don’t like speed humps because you’ve driven over speed humps. I do like speed humps because I’ve driven over speed humps.

Infrastructure professionals are expected to facilitate meetings with human beings, but most of us weren’t taught the squirrely nature of human beings. Understanding a smidge of psychology can be incredibly useful. At a minimum, it can lessen your frustration when someone wants to philosophically die on a hill that you think is moronic.

I’m not naive enough to think everyone will readily admit they have limited access to reality, but I am confident that some people will be more effective communicators if they keep in mind some quirks about human nature.

Relying on interpretations

Our understanding of the world is shaped by our fallible sensory experiences. We use our personal anecdata as filters and capture only a fraction of the world around us. It’s funny that we tell kids their experiences with the world are limited and subjective, but as adults, we pretend like we know it all. 

Media, education, and other information sources extend our sensory capacities, teaching us about events, concepts, and experiences beyond our direct perception. But even then, our teachers (in whatever form) are using their own communication filtration systems. A person consuming their favorite subject matter expert is inclined to subconsciously think, “tell me what it means.” This is so widely known among editors that they deliberately write headlines to shape a reader’s opinion. 

Everything coming at us has been interpreted somewhere along the line. It’s not always deliberately manipulative. Remember the story of the blind men describing an elephant? They were all right and all wrong. Each had a wildly different interpretation of elephants. 

Constructing a subjective reality

Our upbringing, culture, social interactions, and personal experiences all contribute to perception. Personal histories and psychological makeup significantly influence how we interpret information. For instance, confirmation bias is interpreting information in such a way that it supports a preexisting opinion. 

I heard about a pedestrian fatality on a 6-lane arterial, and my confirmation bias knew right away that the road design is what led to the tragedy. It happened in the dark, on a road that’s far too wide, and has a history of speeding. Later, I learned the victim was someone who stopped their car in one of the lanes, got out, and laid down in another lane while overdosing. Another driver hit and killed them. It’s up to me to either see my own confirmation bias or to “yeah, but the road design.” 

Two things are true: the arterial needs calming, and the arterial isn’t to blame for substance abuse. 

Language, the greatest technology

Words never stop falling out of my face, so I guess it’s fair to say language is my favorite technology. Our word choice and sentence structure directly influences how an audience perceives and categorizes concepts. Nuances like tone and metaphor add more interpretive layers.

So when a narrative is delivered, it’s not just the content we’re persuaded by, it’s everything about the delivery of the message. There are definitely moments that I’ve thrown my hands up like what’s the point in trying to communicate if we’re all going to forever have limited access to reality. But then I shrug it off because hey, I’m not changing human nature. You and I are not going to change human nature. But we can certainly be better urbanism advocates by understanding and adapting to human nature.

“Trust me, dangerous streets are safer!”

In Austin's upscale Jester Estates, a controversy erupted over the installation of speed cushions designed to slow down drivers. Initially supported by residents, the proven safety tactic later faced backlash from new residents who moved in. 

They don’t fit the character of the neighborhood. Everyone feels like we live in a cheap apartment complex. People are worried that home values will come down. —NIMBY Susanne Paul

Vertical speed bumps are the worst way [to reduce speeds]. —Commissioner Preston Tyree

The opposition was well-organized, leading to the collection of hundreds of signatures and public meetings. Eventually the city gave in and removed the traffic calming measures. In another Austin neighborhood, 

Resident Michelle Estrada thinks instead of adding speed cushions, Austin Transportation Department could trust that the community can adjust its driving to make it safer through a campaign. —KXAN (NBC affiliate in Austin)

You see this type of debate in all types of communities across the country. People get fired up over infrastructure, positive that they’ve collected all the possible research to prove their point. But like I said at the top of this article, I think public forums would cut through the noise faster if each person had to begin their position statement with “My name is _____, and I have limited access to reality.”