As Clear As Peanut Butter
It’s surprising how often we believe we’ve communicated clearly, only to realize, after the fact, that what we said made perfect sense to us, but not to anyone else.
We say things like, “Just run that report,” “Get that ready for the board,” or “Fix it.” These phrases feel efficient, even powerful. However, efficiency in speech is not the same as clarity in communication. Power without precision can lead to chaos.
Clarity is underrated. Its absence is often only recognized when something breaks—when expectations aren’t met, when work needs to be redone, or when frustration builds.
Let’s talk about this idea by making a peanut butter and jelly (PBJ) sandwich.
Yes, really.
The PBJ Test
Imagine for a moment you’re giving instructions to someone who has never made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You say:
“Just get peanut butter and jelly and two slices of bread and put them together.”
Simple, right?
Except it isn’t.
Because what you meant and what they understood may be miles apart. Maybe they don’t know what kind of bread you want. Perhaps they put peanut butter and jelly on the same slice or use the same knife to get both the peanut butter and jelly without cleaning it!¹ Maybe they don’t even know what peanut butter is!²
This is the reality of most workplace communication: we assume others know what we know. This is called “the curse of knowledge.” The curse of knowledge is a cognitive bias that occurs when a person, while communicating, unconsciously assumes others share the same level of understanding or background knowledge about a subject (i.e., “everyone knows that”).
Let’s try that again—this time, with as much clarity as possible. Assume you are talking to someone who has never made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before. Because you just might be.
How to Make a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich (The Clear Version)
Go to the kitchen or wherever your food supplies are kept.
Find the bread. You’re looking for a loaf of sliced sandwich bread. It’s usually in a plastic bag with a twist tie or plastic clip. White or whole wheat is common, but any kind will do.
Open the bread bag by untwisting the tie or removing the clip. Pull out two slices of bread and place them flat on a clean surface, like a plate or cutting board.
Locate the peanut butter. It typically comes in a jar with a screw-on lid. Brands vary, but look for a container labeled “Peanut Butter.” It may be creamy or crunchy.
Open the jar by twisting the lid counterclockwise. Set the lid aside.
Get a butter knife. Insert the knife into the jar and scoop out a small amount of peanut butter— the size of a golf or ping-pong ball. If you choose to use a spoon for this step, use approximately two tablespoons.
Spread the peanut butter evenly onto one of the slices of bread. Cover the surface, but not so thickly that it spills over the sides.
Next, find the jelly or jam. It’s also in a jar with a screw-on lid and might be labeled “Strawberry Jam” or “Grape Jelly,” etc.
Open the jelly jar by twisting the lid counterclockwise. Use a clean knife or spoon to scoop out enough jelly to cover the surface of the second slice of bread, in a ratio of approximately half the amount of jelly per peanut butter.
Spread the jelly onto the second slice of bread, the same way you did with the peanut butter on the first slice.
Put the bread together by flipping the slice with jelly over and placing it, jelly side down, on top of the slice with peanut butter (with the peanut butter side facing up). The peanut butter and jelly should now be touching in the middle. The edges of the bread should be aligned.
Gently press the two slices together to create a sandwich. You now have a complete peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You may cut the sandwich diagonally, or horizontally, or you may leave it as is. Kids often prefer the crust to be cut off. The crust is the darker part at the edges of the bread.
Now grab some milk and napkins, and eat your masterpiece! 🥪
The Sandwich Isn’t the Point
You may be laughing—or cringing—at the length of that explanation. But the sandwich isn’t the point. The point is: communication feels simple when we understand the task. But what feels “obvious” to you may be novel or confusing to someone else.
In leadership, this dynamic plays out constantly. We provide a directive that seems clear to us, but only because we are familiar with the context. We assume prior knowledge, shortcut steps, and default to abstraction. And we’re often surprised when the result doesn’t meet our expectations.
Why? Because we didn’t actually communicate. We started with an assumption.
Why We Default to Vague
There are several reasons people don’t communicate more clearly:
Efficiency bias: We’re busy, and we think brevity equals speed. However, time saved upfront is often lost in corrections later. Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.
Fear of insulting others’ intelligence: We assume that providing too much detail may seem patronizing. Ironically, when done respectfully, it’s often perceived as thoughtful and thorough.
Bias in shared understanding: We assume others know what we know or have done what we’ve done. But expertise varies, and prior experience isn’t uniform. It's okay to ask, “Have you ever done this before?” or " When you last did this, how did it go?”
Cultural shorthand: In teams that work together often, a kind of shorthand develops. That’s fine—until someone new joins, or the context changes.
Practical Steps to Improve Clarity
So, how do we avoid peanut-butter-level confusion in our leadership communications?
Assume less. Don’t assume knowledge. Assume curiosity, and meet it with clear steps.
Slow down your requests. Before you say it, take a few seconds to ask: “If I knew nothing about this, what would I need to hear?”
Ask for a playback. In an ideal world, your team is in the habit of playing back what it heard to ensure alignment. You might consider, with a first-time assignment, that after you give instructions, you ask the person to summarize what they heard. Alternatively, if that feels uncomfortable, you could follow up with an email stating what you asked for and ask if they have any questions.
Check your clarity, not their competence. When something doesn’t go as expected, start with: “Was I clear?” rather than “Why did they mess it up?”
Make it safe to ask questions. Psychological safety is all too rare these days. Be very intentional about making it ok to ask questions about what you are asking for, and be patient with each answer. The few moments you take to answer these questions thoughtfully will benefit you in the future when the work is done according to plan.
Document the process. If a task must be repeated frequently, write it as clearly as you’d write that sandwich tutorial. Don’t rely on verbal storytelling to elevate your team. While it might have worked a thousand years ago, it doesn’t in the modern world. Any solid process is thoroughly documented, vetted by another team member, and then shared widely. There is a reason a pilot has a checklist before they taxi for takeoff.
Wrapping it Up
Clarity in communication isn’t about dumbing things down. It’s about removing ambiguity. It’s about respecting the listener enough to ensure their success.
In a world where people are juggling too much, guessing too often, and rarely saying, “I don’t understand,” clarity becomes a gift. It reduces friction, builds trust, and scales teams.
So the next time you feel confident that your directions were obvious, ask yourself:
“Were they clear—or just clear to me?”
And maybe—just maybe—think about that peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
For more thoughts, visit me on LinkedIn or sethweissman.com
______________________________________________
¹ One of the very few things I miss about being single was that nobody cared about whether there were trace amounts of jelly in the peanut butter and vice versa.
² Peanut butter was "invented" in stages, with the Ancient Incas and Aztecs grinding peanuts into a paste centuries ago, followed by Marcellus Gilmore Edson patenting a roasted, heated peanut paste in 1884, and Dr. John Harvey Kellogg (the cereal guy) patenting a method for processing raw peanuts into a paste in 1895, making it more accessible for people needing soft foods.