The Art of Influence

Last month I tried to finish a book while my phone sat beside me. I read the same paragraph three times. Each time I reached the important sentence, a notification interrupted me. Nothing was urgent. Yet my attention had been divided into tiny pieces. That experience led me to a modest proposal: choose one device-free hour each evening for focused personal time.

I am not arguing that phones are harmful in every situation. They help us work, learn, find directions and stay in touch. My claim is narrower: protecting one predictable hour can make it easier to concentrate on something we value.

The first reason is simple. When the phone is outside our reach, we do not need to make a fresh decision every few minutes about whether to check it. We can finish a chapter, listen to a family member or practise a skill without constant interruptions.

The second reason is that an hour is manageable. A promise to disconnect all day may be unrealistic, especially for people who work or care for others. An hour, chosen around real responsibilities, is a smaller experiment.

In my case, I put my phone in another room from eight to nine and told the people who might need me how to reach me in an emergency. I did not become a new person overnight. But I did finish the chapter, and I noticed the difference.

You may reasonably object that some people must remain reachable. I agree. The idea should be adapted, not imposed. A parent might keep emergency calls enabled. A shift worker might choose a different hour. Someone who relies on a phone for accessibility should use whatever arrangement works for them.

So I invite you to try one hour, once this week. Choose something worth protecting, tell others when you are available, and observe what happens. You do not have to prove that technology is bad. You only have to discover whether a little uninterrupted time is good for you.

Imagine arriving at a meeting without knowing what decisions will be made. You listen, contribute a few comments, and leave unsure what happens next. Many of us have experienced that confusion. I propose a small change: send a short agenda before every routine team or community meeting.

An agenda does not need to be a formal document. Three lines can be enough: what we need to decide, what information we need, and who will follow up. My first reason is fairness.

People who need extra time to prepare, read, translate or gather facts can participate more meaningfully when they know the subject in advance. A meeting should not reward only the quickest person in the room.

My second reason is focus. When the purpose is visible, a discussion is less likely to drift into unrelated concerns. The chair can ask, “Does this help us make today’s decision?” That question is not rude.

It respects everyone’s time. Third, a short agenda makes accountability possible. If the final item is “Who will do what by when?” people leave with a shared understanding instead of five different interpretations.

Of course, some meetings are urgent and cannot wait for an agenda. Others are informal conversations where structure would feel unnecessary. Those are reasonable exceptions. My proposal is for planned meetings where a decision or coordinated action is expected. Even a message sent the previous evening can help.

The next time you organise such a meeting, try a three-line agenda. Share it early, refer to it during the discussion, and finish by recording the next step.

Ask participants afterward whether the meeting felt clearer. If it did not, revise the method. Persuasion should lead to a useful experiment, not a rule that nobody may question.

When someone joins a new learning programme, we usually tell them where the classroom is and when to arrive. We may forget a quieter question: where can they go to explore beyond the lesson? I believe every new learner should be shown how to access a library, whether it is a physical branch or a reliable digital collection.

This is not a claim that every learner must enjoy the same books. It is a claim about opportunity. First, a library makes exploration possible.

A person learning to speak confidently might discover a biography, a collection of speeches or a book about a subject they never expected to enjoy. They can follow curiosity without needing to buy every resource.

Second, library access can reduce an unnecessary barrier. A learner with limited money should still be able to practise reading, research a speech topic and encounter different viewpoints.

Availability differs from place to place, so a school should help learners identify the options that actually exist rather than promise resources it cannot provide.

Third, libraries encourage independent judgement. A good speech needs more than a confident voice; it needs ideas worth examining. When learners compare sources and ask questions, they become less dependent on one speaker’s opinion, including mine.

You may ask whether a library introduction is worth the time when the timetable is already full. That is a fair concern. I am not suggesting a lengthy compulsory workshop. A ten-minute orientation, a clear link or a short printed guide may be enough. The exact method should suit the learners and local facilities.

If you lead a class or welcome a new learner, consider adding one practical step: show them where they can find trustworthy reading material and how to use it. We cannot choose what someone will learn next. We can make it easier for them to begin.

At a recent group discussion, someone asked, “Who made this mistake?” The room became silent. Later, another person asked, “What part of the process confused us?” Suddenly people offered useful details.

The problem had not changed, but the question had. I want to persuade you to replace blame-first questions with learning-first questions when something goes wrong.

My first reason is that blame-first language can hide information. If people expect embarrassment, they may focus on defending themselves instead of explaining what happened.

We then lose the chance to understand the cause. A learning-first question invites a description of events: what was expected, what actually occurred and where the gap appeared.

My second reason is that better questions can produce better action. “Who is responsible?” may sometimes be necessary, especially when safety or misconduct is involved. But “What safeguard would prevent this?” points towards a practical improvement. A checklist, clearer instruction or earlier review may prevent the same problem for everyone.

The third reason is trust. When colleagues see that ordinary mistakes can be discussed respectfully, they are more likely to raise concerns before they become larger problems. That does not mean removing accountability. It means separating a fair investigation from public humiliation.

Some listeners may worry that a gentle approach lets careless behaviour continue. That concern deserves an answer. Serious negligence should still be addressed with evidence and appropriate procedures. My proposal concerns the first question we ask, not a promise to ignore consequences.

This week, when a plan fails, try asking, “What did we expect, what happened, and what should change?” Listen before reaching a conclusion. You may still need to make a difficult decision. But you will be making it with more information and less unnecessary defensiveness.

People often tell me they want to become confident speakers, but they are waiting for the perfect opportunity. They imagine a large stage, a formal course or a day when nervousness disappears. I propose something smaller: form a regular speaking circle of four to eight people who practise and give constructive feedback.

The first reason is repetition. Confidence is not simply a feeling we can order ourselves to have. It often grows when we prepare, speak, notice what happened and try again. A small circle creates a predictable place for that cycle. Each person can speak for two or three minutes without needing a special event.

The second reason is feedback. Practising alone can help with timing and memorisation, but another listener can tell us whether an example was clear or a conclusion made sense.

Feedback works best when it describes observable behaviour. “You paused after your main point, and I understood it better” is more useful than “You are a natural.”

The third reason is shared responsibility. One week a member may chair the session; another may time the speeches; another may summarise feedback. Those roles develop listening and organisational communication as well as speaking.

A reasonable objection is that not everyone feels safe speaking in a group. That is true. Participation should be voluntary, respectful and adaptable. Members can begin by reading a short paragraph or offering a thirty-second response. The circle should not become a competition over who speaks most fluently.

If this idea interests you, invite three people to try one session. Agree on a time, set simple ground rules and give everyone a chance to speak.

Afterward, ask whether the experience was useful and what should change. You do not need a perfect club to begin. You need a small, thoughtful opportunity to practise together.