Inside the Decision: “Thinking About How You Think”: A Lesson in Communications and Decision-Making

Some time ago, I hired a business coach to help me communicate more effectively at work. I’ve always felt confident one-on-one, and I’m comfortable in front of a large audience. But in the boardroom—surrounded by peers or superiors—I would often grow frustrated. Something about that setting exposed a blind spot. Despite my preparation and expertise, I’d leave those meetings feeling like I’d alienated the very people I was trying to connect with.

So, I hired Laura, a communications coach.

My goal was straightforward: to become a better communicator in small group settings, especially with decision-makers. After a few sessions of observation and general coaching, Laura asked me a question that stopped me dead in my tracks: “How do you make a decision?

‍”I stared blankly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what thought process do you go through to make a decision?”

I had no idea. I had never thought about it. That became my first assignment: spend a week thinking about how I think—about how I come to conclusions—and report back to Laura. At first, I treated it like a riddle with no answer. But then, one afternoon at a softball game, standing on third base waiting for a teammate to drive me home, it hit me. (The realization, not the ball.)

Here’s the best way I can explain it:

In my mind, I picture a wireframe globe—like a spherical spiderweb. It has no surface, just interconnected lines. That’s how I hold and process ideas. As I encounter new facts, I mentally place them on that spherical structure. With each new detail, the surface begins to reveal itself. Even with just a few pieces in place, I can glean what the full picture will look like. The more data I gather, the clearer the picture becomes. I can also “look at” the incomplete globe from different angles—different perspectives. That’s how I make decisions—by rapidly assembling a mental model until it coherently reflects reality.

I described this process to Laura the next week, proud of having cracked the code. She smiled and asked, “How many times do you need to encounter a piece of information before it becomes part of that model?”

I thought for a moment. “Once,” I said, “maybe twice”. One exposure is usually enough to let me place a fact in the puzzle and feel its implications ripple throughout the bigger picture. Later, as I analyze the picture, and integrate more refined data into the model, my interpretation of that original fact may evolve, but I only need to encounter that piece of data once to integrate it into my spherical model.

Then came my next assignment: How do you know when you’ve arrived at a decision? That one was easier.

I have a point deep inside my chest—just below my sternum—that activates when I’m certain. I call it my “truth button.” It’s physical, visceral. When it lights up, I know the decision is made. Ironically, the same spot activates when someone’s lying to me. So, I also call it my “bullshit detector.” It doesn’t rely on facts alone—it’s a gut feeling, but a highly calibrated one. And it’s been uncannily reliable over the years.

Laura listened carefully and then laid out a few key insights—truths I’ve come to appreciate over time.

First, most people need to encounter the same piece of information six to twenty times before it clicks. Through different media—spoken, visual, written—they slowly integrate new information. For me, one or two exposures is enough. That makes my decision processing speed unusually fast.

Second, this so-called “truth button” is known in neuroscience as a somatic marker—a bodily signal that helps guide decision-making. They’re not uncommon, but few people trust them as fully as I do. It gives me high confidence in my choices. That’s not the same as being right, Laura warned—it just means I feel right, and others can sense my certainty, even if they don’t share it.

Third, a large proportion of people—about one in three—need to talk through a problem to understand it. They verbalize ideas to process them. I, on the other hand, process everything instantly and internally. I rarely need to say things out loud to sort them out. That makes me efficient—but not always relatable.

“Can you see,” Laura asked, “how that might make you intimidating or frustrating to the people you work with?”She listed a few scenarios—ones that struck uncomfortably close to home:

·      Do I often know the right answer long before others do, and do I get impatient waiting for them to catch up?·      Do I grow frustrated when a group heads in the wrong direction, only to arrive at the solution I proposed from the outset?

·      Do I finish other people’s sentences because I already know where they’re going?

·      Am I dismissive of opinions from people that I think lack relevant expertise?

Yes. Yes to all of them.

Laura’s diagnosis? My poor communication habits crushed any benefits my exceptional decision-making skills generated. “Guard your decision-making process like a rare gift—because it is,” Laura suggested, “but stop wielding it like a blunt instrument.”

She offered a few suggestions:

·     Let others finish their sentences.

·     Let the team wade through less-promising ideas before they reach what I already know to be the right conclusion.

·     Respect the importance of the journey to others, even (especially) when I’m waiting at the destination.

·     Recognize when someone is informing me versus when they’re processing information out loud.

·     Keep my decision-making process to myself (so I just violated that one). People don’t need to know how my mind works. They need to believe that I value and include them in the process.

That advice changed the way I show up in rooms where decisions are made. And it has made me a better decision-maker, because by forcing myself to sit through other smart people’s ideas, I gain greater insights and perspectives than if I had just leapt to my own conclusion.

Laura’s advice is still paying dividends, and not only at work. It saved my marriage. My wife processes ideas by talking them through. It used to drive me nuts. Now, I understand when she is processing, and more than that, I am honoured when she feels safe enough to process them—unguardedly—in front of me.

It turns out that learning how I think, how others think, and how I communicate might be one of the most powerful decisions I ever made.