Walk This Way

Phillipe Petit - World Trade Center - August 7, 1974

I find myself at the edge of opportunity. A stepping off point that is at once unexpected and the result of years of passionate exploration and refinement. It's as if I have suddenly arrived at a place I have been hoping to visit for a very long time. It's the moment - I think of my wedding day, becoming a father, giving my first significant speech - when anticipation gives way to experience. The feelings are fascinatingly polarized: this is exactly what I thought it would be AND I am an intruder in someone else's experience because this is certainly not my life!

As I consider the path that is opening up before me I find myself suddenly aware (if I am to inhabit this foreign land with fullness and belonging) of how much focus, energy and discipline it will take to walk it well. It feels like the difference between a walk on the beach and a walk on a tightrope.

On the beach: sand giving way under foot, footprints straying up and down the waterline; not quite directionless but a coming and going that is marked by neither intensity nor purpose. It is a wandering of the very best kind. Lose my balance and my pant legs get wet.

On the tightrope: eyes on the horizon, pole leveled for balance; one foot at a time testing the tension of the wire, the body relaxed and contained. Every move unified by the connection of body and mind. Lose my balance and I fall down and away, no longer going towards.

My challenge at this new frontier is to get into a rhythm that reflects my priorities. To give form and focus to the opportunity is to learn to deny that which will take me off balance. To move away from the comforting distractions - the wandering - and to find the relaxed containment necessary for a joyful journey across the tightrope.

I find deep inspiration in the story of Phillipe Petit, whose incredible feat of walking a wire between the Twin Towers, is brilliantly captured in the documentary "Man On Wire." His was truly a joyful journey.

© 2010 David Berry

"SHORTCUTS CAUSE EROSION"

Mt. Adams, Washington - photo by Marc Adamus

I received the following note from my friend, Molly, this afternoon:

"Two things this weekend made me think of you and thought you might enjoy...one is this quote:

'In the new economy conversations are the most important form of work.'

- Alan Webber, Harvard Business Review

The second came in the midst of our hike up on the flanks of Mt. Adams. Alongside the trail there was an old forest service sign that said:


SHORTCUTS CAUSE EROSION

...because as soon as I saw it I thought of your blog. Just loved all the possibilities with that..."

What a gift to have someone so generously toss a few fresh coals into the fire. It's great material to be sure, but it's how it fits together that is so gratifying.

If our conversations truly are our "most important form of work" then certainly it must matter whether or not we go all the way. It must matter if we sidestep, avoid or otherwise shortcut the real conversations; the big ones that scare us because they might just involve something dangerously close to the truth.

For me, the "big ones" are usually about unmet needs; experiencing disappointment in people I rely on. It's never been easy to confront that because, in the catastrophic version going on in my head, they will simply decide to leave me for a relationship that isn't so much bother. Instead of moving towards it, I think I gain their continued loyalty by refraining when in fact I'm just wheeling truckloads of unspoken resentment into a vast and ever-expanding warehouse!

My good work has been to discover that by stepping into those waters, by sharing what I feel as openly and as quickly as I can, I am actually strengthening the very foundations upon which these essential relationships are built. That's serious erosion control, folks. Of course, I know Alan Webber was talking about the "New Economy" (the one in which the speed of change is so fast that people feel more vulnerable than ever) and not so much about my marriage and my friendships. Still, I know that if I don't get those conversations right I don't stand a chance of having and facilitating the conversations necessary to help my organization make sense of the new world order.

It's first things first in my book. Get it right at home, and we just might get it right at work. And if we start to get it right at work (one tough conversation at a time) we may find that, once and for all, we can do away with "management," "performance reviews" and every other antediluvian constraint on authentic dialogue in the workplace.

Sure, I'm idealistic. Considering what's at stake, is there another way to be?

© 2010 David Berry

The Fire Forest

The longleaf pine woodlands in Georgia is one of the most fire dependent ecosystems in North America. According to The Natural History of the Fire Forest by R. Todd Engstrom, et al, "...these woodlands depend on frequent fire (every one to three years) to maintain their biological richness and ecosystem health today, as they have for tens of thousands of years."

For the system to survive and to thrive it has to burn. Clearing out the old growth to make room for the new.

When we are stuck; when we are caught in a pattern of our own making and it has outlived it's usefulness; when we know there is a bigger "more" waiting for us and we have no idea how to move towards it; when we are deathly afraid of taking the next, new step because it is just so foreign and we feel just so helpless; that's when we've got to create the Fire Forest in our own life.

And, from my own experience I can offer two things: (1) The burn of that fire, fueled by underbrush, tumbleweeds and ancient, explosive kindling, is a long, hot burn. (2) That burn produces a healing, life-giving heat that nurtures new growth like a greenhouse nurtures a tender seedling.

Just like the Fire Forest each of us is a system that needs renewal; one that is capable of adapting to the cycle of regeneration and growing more richly and more abundantly because of it. Unlike the Fire Forest, we get to choose if and when we will enter the cycle and just how much fuel we will bring with us when we do.

© 2010 David Berry

The Chaos of Collaboration

"Insanity in individuals is something rare - but in groups...it is the rule."

Friedrich Nietzsche

I finally figured out why so many people, so much of the time, would simply rather do things themselves than in collaboration with other people. Let me re-phrase that: I finally figured out why I, so much of the time, would simply rather do things myself than in collaboration with other people.

Collaboration is chaotic, unruly and messy. It quickly gets completely out of control. Boundaries aren't set. Expectations aren't clear. Roles are undefined. Needs go unfulfilled. It's enough to make you crazy. Collaboration is so often a Pandora's box of good intentions which, once opened, is impossible to close.

The problem with this, of course, is that nothing truly meaningful gets done alone. Sure, you've got your painters and your writers whose accomplishments are works of singular creative energy. The work of the world, however - the work that produces goods and services, creates jobs and feeds families - is not done by creative artists. It is done by people working together in organizations who, if they don't cooperate and collaborate, don't get much done. And, when that stuff doesn't get done, other people suffer - quality erodes and jobs are lost.

Furthermore, there are plenty of organizations in which the stuff gets done in spite of poor cooperation and collaborative efforts that are no more than lip-service being paid by "command and control" managers who think employees are too stupid to know better. Do you work there? Do you want to?

It is the rare organization, the one attempting to become truly great through a culture of meaningful relationships and learning, where the stuff gets done - the product designed, made and shipped; the service provided efficiently and effectively - because "we" matters more than "me."

Do you work there? Do you want to?

© 2010 David Berry