The Yes State, now with dance moves.
I’ve just walked out of the gym, after a week off and a belly full of pasta (thank you Sicily!). And rather than cursing my trainer’s name, I’m thinking about why he is so bloody good at what he does.
Yes, Wilson is technically brilliant. He moves well and models the exercises with a real care for his own body — which, if you’ve ever watched a trainer wreck themselves demonstrating something, is a small miracle.
But that’s not what makes Wilson Wilson.
He’s encouraging, relentlessly. And I’ve got a finely tuned radar for the brittle kind of positivity — the chipper and slightly hollow variety that leaves you feeling worked on rather than worked with.
Wilson isn’t that. He’s in it with you. He’s a champion for you.
And best of all, he laughs.
His laughter is a tonic. When somebody laughs with you, really laughs, it means they get it.
They saw what you were thinking. They caught the wobble and the effort and the small absurdity of the moment, and they met you there.
Being laughed-with is being seen.
The Yes State
Walking home, I found myself remembering something my friend Mark Bowden taught me years ago.
Mark is a wonderful teacher of communication, body language, influence — the soft stuff that turns out to be the hardest stuff. And he told me once about the power of what he called The Yes State.
The Yes State is when you open yourself up as a human being to receive what is coming at you.
You accept the other person.
Physically, it has a shape — you nod while they’re speaking, you rest your hands near your belly button rather than folded across your chest, you keep your palms open, you smile.
And the smile crinkles the corners of your eyes. I’m not talking the paparazzi smile; this is a real, honest smile.
It’s the same instinct improvisers train for years: “yes, and,” where blocking your scene partner kills the scene outright. (Which has a certain “and what else?” vibe to it, don’t you think?)
The Cost of the Instinctive No
What’s powerful about living in the Yes State is that it bakes in a reluctance to contradict.
Because the moment you contradict someone — the instinctive “no, you’re wrong” — you one-up yourself, or you one-down yourself.
Either way, you’ve just disengaged.
There are, of course, good ways to disagree or debate or push back thoughtfully. But the reflexive No is a small door slamming shut.
When somebody says something you think is frankly mad, the Yes State lets you say, “Oh. Okay. That’s interesting.”
And you stay in the room so you can stay curious a beat longer.
That’s what Wilson does on the gym floor. That’s what Mark has been teaching for decades.
And it’s the culture I want to keep building around me — arms open, eyes crinkled, laughter close to hand.
I’m still practicing, imperfectly. But practicing (with a crinkled eye smile, of course).
