I recently asked my colleague Priya Chhaya to open a retreat with a reflection on changing perspectives. We were discussing a familiar theme, the future of the American city, in an unexpected place—in this particular case, under the night sky in the American west. For one of the readings, she chose the Sylvia Plath poem Stars Over Dordogne, calling out the second verse in particular:
“Where I am at home, only the sparsest stars
Arrive at twilight, and then after some effort.
And they are wan, dulled by much travelling.
The smaller and more timid never arrive at all
But stay, sitting far out, in their own dust.
They are orphans. I cannot see them. They are lost.
But tonight they have discovered this river with no trouble,
They are scrubbed and self-assured as the great planets.”
Priya noted that when in a city, which is home for many of us, you often only see what is right in front of you: the buildings, the roads, the cars, the noise, the obvious density. But a change in place can clear our minds to think beyond what is immediately in our line of sight to things that exist but which can be difficult to comprehend. Our perspective is changed.
Plath takes a similar line of thought in ending Stars Over Dordogne:
“And what if the sky here is no different.
And it is my eyes that have been sharpening themselves?”
August is a time when many of us head off for summer vacations. If that fits with your plans, think about how a change in place can bring a change in perspective.
The Montana landscape following a western thunderstorm
This is my season for strategic planning. Last week I spent a full day with our colleagues at the National Trust Historic Site Filoli for their strategic planning retreat. As you read this, I’m on a plane for another retreat with 20 team members designed to scale up one of our most important organizational initiatives. When I return, I have a half-day financial planning retreat set for early August.
That’s a lot of planning!
There are some who say that strategic plans are useless. They generally throw around the phrase “no plan survives contact with the enemy,” which is a popular adaptation of a phrase uttered by Helmuth Karl Bernhard Graf von Moltke, also known as Moltke the Elder. He was a German Field Marshal who lived between 1800 and 1891 and is credited with creating a new approach to directing armies in the field. This entailed developing a series of options rather than simply a single plan. Note that he didn’t stop planning. He simply recognized that in changing environments, you need options and the ability to move within a widely understood general strategy.
Writing in the Harvard Business Review, Graham Kenny helps explain why some have challenges with the idea of plans and planning.
“Mention the word ‘plan’ to most managers and the image that springs to their minds might well be a travel plan. Drawn up by travel agents, these lay out in clear and certain terms the sequence of your trip and what to expect when, specifying: where you’re going from, your destination, where you’ll stay en route and when, how you’ll travel, and so forth.
Or they’ll think of the kind of plans builders employ, often referred to as ‘blueprints.’ The result is much the same as with travel: a specific beginning and end with precise steps along the way. Both plans are neat, prescribed, determined — and manageable. You figure out what to do and then do it.
But not all types of plans have that level of precision. In a fluid, unpredictable environment you need to have a very different understanding of plans and planning.”
Kenny quotes Churchill (“Plans are of little importance but planning is essential”) and then he moves on to note that in fluid environments, as one sees with strategic plans, we too often think of this work like travel planning when we need a different mindset. The HBR article has several important principles to consider when planning. Here are two that resonated with me:
First, think of your plan as a guidance tool. Many managers “anticipate that by doing the necessary analysis and writing down how their business will succeed the world will be converted from uncertain to certain. In their eyes the strategic plan becomes a device for control rather than one of guidance. They’re not comfortable with the fluid and uncertain Moltke-the-Elder concept.”
Second, assume the plan is a work in progress. “A strategic plan is not a set-and-forget instrument. It’s a living and breathing document that guides decision making and helps marshal resources.” Harry Kangis, who developed the One-Page Strategic Plan concept we use at the National Trust, is fond of saying “We’re not pouring concrete here.”
I don’t have to remind many of you that the world doesn’t stand still while we plan. But that why planning’s important role is in preparing for change. We all know that change is going to happen. Will you have planned for it?
Earlier this month I attended a conference where speaker after speaker inspired the attendees while addressing some of the key issues of our time. My notebook was filled with thoughts and information. However, one note—a Chris Thompson quote—stood out for me above all the rest.
“Collaboration moves at the speed of trust.”
This simple assertion has been playing around in my mind ever since. When I came to the National Trust more than two decades ago, I recall sitting in a meeting where I asked a colleague why she was not engaging others in the organization on a particular project. Her response was, “I don’t trust them to do the job to the standard I want.” It struck me as a telling remark on a number of levels, but this long-ago exchange was one of the first thoughts that came into my mind when I heard Chris Thompson’s quote. This colleague—a wonderful person who now runs a successful one-person consulting firm—was upfront in admitting her lack of trust. And that lack of trust meant that she was not going to collaborate.
Trust is something earned, and when lost we have to work hard to rebuild it in others. I find that when I take an action that causes a loss of trust in others, or when others make decisions or take actions that cause me to lose my trust in them, the first step to rebuilding that trust is to acknowledge the loss. Together. Disagreements don’t necessarily break the bonds of trust, as they simply represent different perspectives. However, at other times disagreements, as well as mistakes that go unacknowledged, break those bonds. We are so often focused on making an excuse for a mistake that we don’t step back and say, “I didn’t act out of my values, and I recognize that I’ve lost your trust.” That simple acknowledgement goes a long way towards building a culture of collaboration. The poet David Wythe has noted that as individuals are promoted in organizations and businesses they often move away from original core technical competencies and move into the field of key human relationships, relationships that are mostly sustained through holding necessary and courageous conversations. I find in many organizations, that’s true at almost every level. Those conversations and the actions that follow are what build trust.
Collaboration is so important to our success that it is worth the effort to build—and sometimes rebuild—trust. As the old African proverb says, “If you want to go quickly, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.”
Let’s commit to collaborating at the speed of trust.
There’s an old saying that goes, “The only constant in the world is change.” That may be hard for some in historic preservation to accept, but I’ve often said that our job as preservationists isn’t to block change, but instead to work to manage the type of future—and communities—we want.
Right or left
I was thinking recently about the concept of resilience when facing change. Author Kathleen Smith has suggested that “Many people spend a great deal of time and energy trying to avoid change, but it will inevitably catch up to them.” When building personal strategies for strengthening resilience, she begins with the Stephen Covey construct of the ”Circle of Concern/Circle of Influence”, urging us to focus on what we can control. She also encourages her readers to check their thought patterns.
“In times of change, it’s easy for your mind to cut corners. You might see everything in black or white, or you assume the worst will occur. But if you take the time to examine your thought patterns and assess how rational they are, you might find some space to nudge your thinking towards resilience….You can also generate more positive thoughts if you take the time to remind yourself about transitions and challenges you successfully navigated in the past. Make a list of ways you’ve been resilient in your life, and consider what traits and actions might be able to see you through the current challenge. By focusing on your strengths instead of your weaknesses, you will feel more empowered to meet what lies ahead.”
There are several elements of this passage that strike me as true. I’ve seen, in myself and others, the tendency to cut corners in our thinking and focus on the “worst case scenario” when faced with change. And while the past doesn’t decide the future, we can certainly benefit when we let our present be informed by what we know from the past.
Charles Darwin once said, “It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change.” Change is inevitable. Resilience is not. We have to work at it to succeed — both in our communities and in our personal lives.
It was a flight like dozens of others I’ve taken in the summertime: delayed, due to thunderstorms, and the prospect of climbing into bed much later than planned with an early morning wake-up on the other end.
When I finally boarded last Monday’s flight from Nashville after a day’s work on our campaign to save Music Row, it barely registered that my two seatmates had stashed guitars in the luggage bin. This was Nashville, after all. I mumbled a couple of hellos, and promptly fell into my customary power nap around take-off. Waking up thirty minutes later, I opened my laptop and started work on a project that was overdue.
Only after returning to my seat later in the flight did I exchange real conversation with the woman seated in the middle seat, between her boyfriend and me. As I often do, I asked what type of guitar she played. She replied, “One’s a harp guitar and the other is a flamenco guitar.” Bing! My mind suddenly woke up. Harp guitars are pretty esoteric instruments, and those who play them approach their music with religious zeal. They also tend to be very good musicians. I mentioned to her that I enjoyed the music of Stephen Bennett, a harp guitar devotee. In fact, I was listening to some of his music at that moment on my iPad. She replied that she knew Stephen, and then seeing that the terrific guitarist and composer Alex De Grassi was next in my musical queue, she said “I’m playing with Alex next week.” She followed that by asking if I knew Tommy Emmanuel, another stellar guitarist. I replied that I knew his music, but didn’t know him personally, upon which she handed me her headphones and played a video from a recent concert where he joined her for an impromptu—and beautiful—duet on one of her compositions.
At this point I stuck out my hand and said, “Hi, I’m David Brown.” She replied, “I’m Muriel Anderson.”
Oh my goodness. I was sitting next to the woman who I’d proclaimed my love for to God and the internet, after hearing her version of the Beatles tune Day Tripper. I had wandered all over BWI airport several years ago trying to find where she was going to play in a gig promoted as BWI Live.
Muriel Anderson
Over the last half hour of the flight we talked guitar makers (her harp guitar was built by Mike Doolin and I showed her pictures of my two Running Dog guitars by luthier Rick Davis), harp guitar festivals, historic preservation and the importance of saving Music Row, and her newest album Nightlight Daylight, which is a two-CD set with music for the morning and music for the evening. She was pleased that Guitar Player magazine named Nightlight Daylight among the top 10 CDs of the decade but even more pleased, I think, to show me the interactive fiber-optic lighted CD cover. (Push on the moon and the night stars come out. Very cool!)
This is a musician who has collaborated with some of the best: the late guitarists Chet Atkins and Les Paul, for example. Yet she was as engaging, lively, down-to-earth, and interesting in person as she came across on stage and in her music. When I mentioned the National Trust had a hand in saving RCA Studio A in Nashville, she immediately said, “And you saved Chet’s office!” I told Muriel that I’d had the privilege of sitting in that very office, finger-picking on a beautiful guitar owned by the man who bought the building at the 11th hour. As we were leaving I said, “I have a Gallagher guitar at home, and I bet you can guess why.” After thinking a bit she said, “You’re a Doc Watson fan, and that was Doc’s guitar.” Then she added, “He was my first guitar hero.” I knew that, having read it online at some point. He was mine as well.
I know I can be oblivious at times, but this experience reminded me—once again—of how much we need to wake up and focus on life. Not all encounters are so serendipitous or pleasurable, and yours—when they happen—will be different. Perhaps you’ll get to meet the writer you’ve always admired, or gain an insight for work you’ve long sought but needed a serendipitous moment to find. When it happens it can be wonderful. Trouble is, you won’t have the chance if you don’t take your head away from the screen or out of the conversation in your head, and talk with real people.
Have a good week, and when a bit of serendipity comes your way, may you be present to receive it.
If you look at the Wikipedia entry on ritual, one might wonder why I’d ask the question. Ritual is described as inflexible, where one is governed by rules, and the term is sometimes used by psychologists in a technical sense for a repetitive behavior that is seen as a symptom of obsessive-compulsive disorders.
That’s not my experience with ritual. Writing in Forbes, the author Alexandra Douwes encourages millennials to establish a morning ritual. Her reasoning is aligned with mine.
“Establishing a morning ritual, preferably one that does not involve a screen, can set the tone for your entire day.
Whether your morning ritual takes place at home or in the office, it’s important to ease into your day, and do it on your own terms. Before you let external factors such as screaming children, urgent emails, and smartphone notifications send you into a state of anxiety, start the day by focusing on the things you can control. A consistent morning ritual will put you in a proactive versus reactive state from the get-go: instead of feeling like you’re playing catch-up, you’re composed and ready to tackle whatever obstacles come your way.”
I was reminded of the importance of ritual—regular, habitual, thoughtful action—while having breakfast with a long-time friend and colleague who now serves as the Master of Emmanuel College in Cambridge. Fiona joined me for our meal and mentioned that she’d just returned from her two-hour walk, a long-held ritual that she honored every morning, even after enduring a trans-Atlantic flight. We spoke of how this part of her day helped clear her mind and focus on what’s really important now and in the future.
For many years, my morning ritual involved a partner: Lilly, our Sussex Spaniel. There was never a question that we were going out for a long morning walk around 5:30, rain or shine. But I soon came to see it not as a chore, but as a daily ritual when I was free to let my mind roam. To think of the day ahead. To begin to stretch my limbs and awaken my bones. To put me in a proactive rather than reactive state of mind. After talking with Fiona and being reminded that I didn’t need Lilly to continue that wonderful part of my daily ritual, I’ve added it back into my life.
My long-time partner in morning ritual
Rituals vary, and they should be personal. Some people read in the quiet of the morning before stirring out of bed. Yoga practice is a key part of many morning rituals. Others play piano before facing the world. Douwes has five tips in her article for how to make a ritual that works and that sticks, and she suggests that a vacation period or a weekend may be a good time to try and begin a new ritual. As we approach the July 4th holiday here in the U.S., consider whether something small—reading, a walk, taking the time to grind your beans and make a great cup of coffee—could help you begin the day in a proactive state.
Our 15-year-old nephew—a budding musician—was in town this past weekend, so I took him to the House of Musical Traditions in Takoma Park. There he could see every type of musical instrument known to humankind (plus some) and, frankly, it gave me an excuse to play a few good guitars. Not that I don’t have good guitars at home. Later in the day my nephew had a chance to see and play my two prized Running Dog guitars made by luthier Rick Davis.
Playing one of my Running Dog guitars (photo by Claire Brown)
Davis was profiled in Tim Brookes’ 2005 book Guitar: An American Life, where the author seeks to replace a badly damaged first guitar with a hand-crafted one “for the second half of my life.” He writes that as he nears 50 years of age, he finds an itch that can only be scratched with a new guitar. And as Brookes notes, “Guitar makers even have a word for these baby-boomers-who-always-wanted-to-be-great-guitarists-and-now-have-the-money-to-indulge-those-dreams: dentists.”
“Much later, after the guitar is finished, Rick will refer to ‘the eternal and infinite capacity of the consumer to confuse making a purchase with falling in love.’ I should have known better, I suppose—but then again maybe not. First guitars tend to be like first loves: ill-chosen, unsuitable, short-lived, and unforgettable. I’m not sure I ever want to get to the point of making a rational decision about a guitar.”
Lately, I’ve been thinking about decision making at key junctions of life. Like Tim Brookes, there are some things—guitars among them—where I don’t want a rationale decision model to get in the way of my emotion. But we face many decisions that require serious thought and calculation. Daniel Kahneman, the Nobel prize winning author of Thinking, Fast and Slow, would suggest that we let our emotions make all types of decisions where a slower, rational model should come into play. There is a recurring theme in Kahneman’s book that “many people are overconfident, prone to place too much faith in their intuitions. They apparently find cognitive effort at least mildly unpleasant and avoid it as much as possible.”
We put too much stock in the fact that we’re confident we’re making the right choice. We put too much stock in our emotions.
“Subjective confidence in a judgement is not a reasoned evaluation of the probability that this judgement is correct. Confidence is a feeling, which reflects the coherence of the information and the cognitive ease of processing it. It is wise to take admissions of uncertainty seriously, but declarations of high confidence mainly tell you than an individual has constructed a coherent story in his mind, not necessarily that the story is true.”
When important decisions have to be made, I’m trying to take the time to step back, work through the crux of the matter, set aside emotions, and push back against a quick confidence that I’ve reached the right answer. Thinking and decision-making—deep thinking around critical moments in your work, career, or life—requires time.
