Against all odds, a stranger saves me from myself Link to heading
I’d been looking forward to this trip for months. I’d already paid for the condo. I hadn’t seen my friends in a year. The sunk cost fallacy was hard at work. So here I was, driving through falling snow on unplowed Wyoming service roads. I could see the highway, which my phone insisted was closed. I had confidence in my car, my tires, and my driving ability - but as I watched the occasional vehicle on the highway, I didn’t have confidence in my phone’s directions. Nevertheless, I was convinced that I could still make it to Jackson in 10 hours as planned. Maybe 11. I just needed to know which route to take.
As my phone directed me through a small town, I stopped to ask for advice. Trust my phone, or jump on the highway?
A few men were loading bales of hay into a truck. It looked brutally cold and miserable. When I asked a fatherly gentleman, “Ben,” about my route, he invited me into the general store to warm up. I was in a hurry - but it seemed rude to decline, so I joined him. The store was cozy and warm, with a pot belly stove pumping out heat in the corner.
I asked him again - Was the highway actually closed? Did I really need to follow my phone’s convoluted route on unplowed farm roads?
Ben suggested dialing 511, the travel information hotline. It told us that I-25 wasn’t closed. Not exactly. Okay, it was only supposed to be open for local traffic, but it wasn’t CLOSED closed. They hadn’t actually shut the gates to block traffic. Not yet.
Ben talked me through my options. He was confident that I had the skills to drive in the snow; he agreed that between the highway and the smaller roads, the highway would be safer. The service roads were deserted; if I ran into trouble, it could be a long time before I got help.
By now, I wasn’t actually feeling very confident. The young woman running the shop told me, “Never trust Google Maps in Wyoming.” Despite the snowstorm forecast for much of state, I hadn’t reviewed the route before I left the house - I just knew that I’d take either I-80 or I-25. I found myself wishing for a paper map and a highlighter. I pondered my utter dependence on cell reception.
Ben told me that if I took the highway, I could probably (“possibly”?) make it all the way to Casper before Highway Patrol closed I-25 completely. He thought that if I stayed at a hotel for two days, the roads would probably (“possibly”?) be open, and I’d be able to continue my drive.
I began to doubt myself. On the one hand, I still believed that if I just kept driving, I’d somehow make it to Jackson Hole that night. But on the other, Ben was telling me that I’d probably (“possibly”?) make it to Casper - which is only a two hour drive in clear weather. If highway patrol actually closed the I-25 gates, I wondered, could I stay alert while squinting into the snow on unfamiliar service roads? Would I run out of fuel because I couldn’t see gas station signs? Would AAA even provide service in a blizzard?
I finally asked Ben if I should turn around; even then, he didn’t actually say yes. He said that I should avoid service roads; “We’d find you and pull you out, but it could take a while.” He mentioned that during past highway closures, the town had hosted as many as 20 people in cots. By now, I was getting antsy to get back in my car - and get back home. If continuing the drive meant spending two nights in a hotel, I’d rather be home with my husband and dog.
Over the course of our conversation, I learned a bit about Ben. Before he retired, he worked with people in some high pressure situations. I think maybe he’s had some experience talking stubborn people out of bad ideas. I wonder how many times he’s tried to talk travelers out of driving in terrible conditions; how many times they’ve ignored him.
I’m grateful that Ben took the time to talk to me. I think I possibly could have made it to Jackson - but it would have been a scary, lonely, exhausting drive. If I had been lucky, I would have slept in a hotel on the way; if I had been unlucky, I’d have been sleeping on the side of the road. Once mother nature brought the storm, I was never going to have the vacation I’d imagined - I just needed Ben to help me see it.
Ben’s Tools of Persuasion Link to heading
He changed my context. Ben literally invited me in from the cold. He gave me the opportunity to slow down and relax. If we’d been talking in 15F (-10C), I wouldn’t have stopped long enough to listen.
He validated my self-image. Another person might have called me a clueless suburbanite; an idiot driving in whiteout conditions with no idea where I was going. That narrative was certainly playing in the back of my head. But if Ben had said that to me, I would have headed right back to the road. Instead, his approach gave me room to absorb the facts without getting defensive. It did seem weird when he said that I had the skills to drive in the snow - I mean, he never actually saw me driving. It makes me wonder if he was trained in this sort of thing; maybe he was following an explicit playbook. Or maybe he’s just a natural.
He stuck to the facts, and he didn’t argue with me. Ben never contradicted me; he never told me to turn around. Instead, he gave me data. He helped me understand what the rest of the drive would look like. He let me draw my own conclusions.
Ben successfully navigated the many landmines of my ego. He let me convince myself to make the right decision.
I do not (currently) have the skill to do what Ben did - but I learned something that I’m going to put into practice. Persuasion is not about contradicting someone. In fact, if I want to change someone’s mind, I should probably avoid contradicting them directly. Instead, I can show them patience and respect, tell them what I know, and allow them to make an informed decision. As I grow into a role that is as much about persuasion as it is about technical insight, I will have plenty of opportunities to build that skill.
Originally posted on Substack