There’s an old adage: You never forget your first professional moment of crisis.
I can still remember mine.
I was fresh into my first post-college job, working as a news producer in Midland, Texas.
My job was to put together the 5 PM and 10 PM newscasts — which made me a jack-of-all-trades.
I organized each newscast, determining which stories would run where. I coordinated with the reporters and made sure their full-length reports ran on-air as planned. I wrote news scripts for the anchors to read. And I contacted the authorities to confirm developing information as it arose.
These last two responsibilities were the most critical. For they helped get fresh information on the airwaves, while adhering to the three principles of news: Be First. Be Right. Be Best.
At first, I had no trouble with this part of my job. This was years ahead of the era of toxic anti-media sentiment, and Midland had something of a small-town feel.
The officials I talked to would generally confirm the information I was asking about instantly. And I was able to get most stories on the air with little to no trouble.
One day, that changed.
I can’t remember the story I was working on covering that day. A shooting perhaps. Or maybe a car accident. Whatever it was, I’d heard about it on the police scanner that sat by my desk.
I sent our cameraman to the scene to get some footage. But it was getting perilously close to 5 PM, and there was no way that footage was making the early newscast. So, I would need to write a short summary of the situation for the anchors to read on the air.
I picked up the phone and dialed the number for my police contact. But when I asked them about what I’d heard over the scanner, I got an unexpected reply.
“All we can confirm is that we have officers on the scene,” they said. “We have nothing more we can share at this time.”
I descended into a panic.
I couldn’t run the story. For I couldn’t confirm that what I had heard over the scanner frequency was accurate.
Yet, I couldn’t not run the story. If I did that, our viewers would be denied important information — and our competition would get the edge on us.
What was I to do?
My boss — who was both the news director and an anchor — overheard my dilemma and gave me some quick advice.
“Tell the viewers three things,” he said. “What you know, what you don’t know, and what you’re working to get more information on.”
It was a simple, straightforward tip. Yet, hearing it lifted a weight off my shoulders.
I got back to work, quickly typing out a news script that looked something like this:
Police are on scene investigating an incident in West Midland. We don’t know at this point if anyone has been injured in the incident. We have a crew on the scene and will bring you more information as we get it.
With three short sentences, I covered all three points of emphasis. And even without assistance from the authorities, I was able to get accurate, fresh information on the air.
What happened that day might seem like a small win. But it left a lasting impact on my life.
Since then, I’ve encountered many moments of uncertainty. Many times where I’m on the spot and I don’t have all the answers.
It’s no fun at all to be in this spot. To be caught off-guard. To feel trapped and dumbfounded.
But fortunately, I have the antidote. For I know there are three questions I can for sure answer:
- What I know
- What I don’t know.
- What I’m working to get more information on.
Yes, I’ve made those same three questions I used to get that story on the air into a blueprint.
I call these questions The Ambiguity Trinity.
The Ambiguity Trinity helped me plenty of times in my TV news career. But it’s helped even more in the years since I left the media behind.
In fact, it’s gotten me out of more tough spots than I care to count.
I’m no longer dumbfounded when a client calls me out of the blue to go over something out of left field. I no longer freeze when facing a gauntlet of questions after giving a presentation.
The Ambiguity Trinity is like a security blanket. It keeps me from losing my poise or getting exposed.
And unlike the art of shooting bull, The Ambiguity Trinity stands the test of truth.
There are no fancy elaborations required. Just the simple facts that are at hand at the moment.
It might not be a perfect solution. But it’s darn close to it.
The Ambiguity Trinity can help us out in a pinch. But could we be selling it short?
After all, what we know, what we don’t know and what we’re working to learn more about are the three fundamental pillars of our lives.
In a world where knowledge is power, expanding our knowledge base is critical. So is the act of reducing our unknowns.
Indeed, the quest to learn mirrors the directive to grow. It’s imperative.
So, why are we relying on these principles only in times of crisis? Why do we only aspire to answer these questions in times of crisis?
Is it because of our hubris? Our ego? Our misplaced self-assuredness?
Perhaps.
In a culture built on confidence, sharing what we don’t know is generally considered unwise. It reflects doubt and vulnerability. And each is a principle the confidence movement seeks to banish.
So we hide what we don’t know from the world until we figure it out. Unless the world calls our bluff, and we have to show our cards.
Then, and only then, The Ambiguity Trinity is our ace in the hole.
It need not be like this.
We can get much more mileage out of The Ambiguity Trinity. And we can glean so much more from the world as a result.
Sharing what we know, what we don’t know and what we’re working to learn more about can make us seem honest and self-aware. That transparency can breed trust. And trust can forge connections.
Yes, a little more openness can go a long way.
So, let’s stop hiding from the unknowns. Let’s embrace them head-on, with The Ambiguity Trinity as our guide.
For uncertainty might await. But so might opportunity.
Let’s seize it.