Author: Tenneson Woolf

“A vocation is not an ego thing; it is the opposite of an ego thing.
It is a call from history, the ancestors,
and those not yet born,
to be thoughtful, just, caring, courageous,
imaginative, creative — that is, alive.”

I appreciate these words from Matthew Fox in his essay, Leadership as Spiritual Practice. I haven’t met Matthew Fox. Yet, many people have pointed me to his writings and work. Leadership as Spiritual Practice is a theme that has centered my soul and carried expressions of my work through the last twenty plus years. And, it will likely continue to be so for the next twenty. My particular focus has been “participative leadership” as spiritual practice. Bringing people into shared contexts to animate and activate the energy and insight of the whole group.

Last night I shared some of this article with my daughter, a sophomore in college. She is finding her way into her major classes. Like most her age, she has dreams for the future. Some doubts too. How can one not in this era. She has many criteria for this stage of choosing vocation, including, “what would lead to a good job?.”

I feel for the people that are fixated on utilitarian aspects of jobs. Fitting in. Securing income. Securing security. Is that even possible anymore? All of this was very strong in me at that age. It still is. Some dispositions don’t go away.

Yet, what has become stronger in me with age, is the spirit of “calling” to what you want to offer to community and society. It is less about what the world will provide for you. It is less about what you feel entitled to. It is more about offering the gift of who you are. As Matthew Fox says, on behalf of ancestors and those not yet born.

That changes it, doesn’t it.

I dream of a world in which our primary medium for organizing human endeavor is to welcome gifts. To discern gifts together. To welcome surprise. To welcome even the wobbly paths that refine vocation and its new expressions, rather than chain one to a bad choice.

Crazy? I hope not. Spiritually grounded practice? I hope so. For my daughter’s sake. For all of us.

I wrote this poem last week, in support of The Berkana Institute’s initiative, Gathering Friends. It is particularly inspired by my friendship and colleagueship with Margaret Wheatley.
.

In These Times, Friends Matter

In these times,
friends matter,
the people we turn to.
To listen.
To be heard by.
To be seen by.
To see.
To love.
To be loved.

In these times
staying awake matters.
Interrupting the many seductions
of numbness.
It takes discipline, doesn’t it.

In these times
dwelling in complexity matters.
Old fixes don’t work.
Imposing them more loudly doesn’t work.
Waiting.
Listening.
Looking for patterns does.
Welcoming surprise
and union with life itself.

In these times
presence is core competency.
It is the core competency.
We grow it together,
telling stories,
and asking questions.

What matters to you?
What is it like to be you?
What has your attention?
Sometimes even,
What makes sense for us to do now?

In these times
friends matter.
Turn, and turn, and turn again
to one another.

Last week I spent an hour on the phone with Chris Corrigan and two other colleagues. I, and we, wanted to deepen our understanding of complexity, something that never stops and feels utterly useful.

One of the things I like about Chris is that he has unique and remarkable ability to synthesize teachings and spit them out as stories. Simple stories. Easy to get stories.

The post below is an excerpt from his writings (the full post is on his blog). What I like in this is the easy distinction between complicated and complex challenges. Most of the world is not “either/or.” Yet, much of the prominent thinking of people in the world remains as “either/or.” These distinctions offer a familiar spot for most people, from which then can be explored deeper, more nuanced aspects and implications. And they are just plain smart. It takes skill to get to such simplicity. The distinctions are remarkable ways to continue to engage a system or team of people in what matters.

The basic difference between complex problems and complicated problems comes down to whether a problem is solvable or not. Is there a stable outcome? Is there an end state? Can research and expertise provide us with answers? Is the situation predictable? Answer yes to these questions and you have a complicated problem. Answer no and you have a complex one. It comes down to the difference between building a community and building a building.

• Complex problems aren’t solvable; complicated ones are.
• Address complexity by sense patterns and weak signals and amplifying them; solve complicated problems by analysing data and problem solving.
• In complexity, pay attention to what works and ask why?; for complicated problems, keep your eyes on the prize and study gaps (ask why not?)
• Be informed in your strategy by stories, myths and parables that translate across many contexts; for complicated problems, adopt “best” practices and rule based solutions.
• Employ collaborative leadership to address complexity; employ experts to solve complicated problems.
• In complexity, truth is found in stories; for complicated situations, truth is found in facts.
• Complex planning requires anticipatory awareness, meaning that you have to constantly scan for meaning through the system; a vision won;t help you. In complicated situations a vision is useful and the end state can be achieved with logical, well planned steps.
• In complexity, the future is already here, but it is quiet and hidden in the noise of the culture. in complicated systems the future is not here and it is well understood what it will take to get there from here.
• In complex systems, the solutions will come at you obliquely, out of the blue and in surprising ways, so you need to cultivate processes that allow that to happen.  In complicated systems, problems are tackled head on from a position of knowing as much as you can about how to proceed and then choosing the best course of action.

Last week I had a wondrous experience. As I walked my dog Friday evening, March 20th, the first official day of Spring in this Northern Hemisphere, I saw 7-8 neighbors gathered at a fence near a horse field. Where I live, Lindon, Utah, is a place that I often describe as “where urban meets rural.” What used to be apple and peach orchards, and what used to be farms and ranches, have given way to housing developments. Many, but not all of them. This means that within walking distance of my town home, there are a couple of horse pastures. It’s not countryside. It is country wrapped within municipality.

I stopped with those neighbors to see what they were watching. It was a foal, born 15 minutes prior to my arrival. Not more than 20 feet away from where I stood. The mom, the mare was grazing. The foal was wobbling on her new legs, awkwardly so. Then falling. Plopping to the ground. Then trying again. The neighbor that lives there was helping the foal. Supporting her a bit to find her balance. In this picture taken two days later, the mom is the white horse. The foal is the cute one posing for the camera. The dark horse in the background is a sister to the foal.

“New life,” I thought, with awe. Other neighbors gathered, up to a group of about twenty. It was celebration. Many of them are far more familiar with horses than me. I stayed and watched, about 30 minutes, until it was too dark to see further.

I’ve shared that story with several people since then. Seeing this, what, 50 pound, 3 feet tall “baby” filled and fills me with awe. “New life,” I’ve celebrated as I’ve shared it. A friend, Chris Corrigan, reframed it for me. “Life in a new body.”

Ah yes, that’s it! He reminds me. Life is. It moves to new forms. Life as spirit. Life as energy. Life as a human. Birth and death are associated with form. Many of us tend to associate “life” with the temporal body. But the story that is more compelling to me is that life and energy continue to express itself in new forms.

There are at least a dozen immediate implications of this awareness that come to mind, applied to leadership. I find myself thinking immediately of structures in organizations. Committees come and go. Teams come and go. People come and go. The life energy that each carries, and that generates together, serves for a time (or doesn’t), and then, stops. Another friend calls this “disappearing structures.”

Yes, so there are many meanings and insights that come from witnessing this life. This foal. These wobbly legs. Key among them is the reminder that life changes forms. It’s invitation and reminder to me to be flexible. Curious. Not hold too tightly. Adapt. Like life itself.

I’ve walked each day since in that direction with just a bit more anticipation. This foal is so not “mine.” Yet I feel a kind of added link with her in seeing her so young.