photo credit: valentin.d

I’ve been away on holiday as the new year has begun. Even with the gift of a new American president, I find it hard not to wonder how we will fare in the coming year. One of the approaches I have been taking with clients is to return to some  classic mythological motifs as a way of understanding the broader narrative patterns at play in organizations and in the lives of its people. In doing so, I am increasingly drawn to my work on liminality and the role of ‘in-between’ spaces in development. In the Western world, the Grail legends provide a powerful set of stories about these spaces as part of the human quest for knowledge and growth. It is important to remember here that the Grail is about who we become not an object we obtain.

In her magnificent book on the centrality of language in understanding the Grail stories, Linda Sussman writes, ”The person seeking initiation at the end of the twentieth century is called not just to connect with the tribe(s) of the past but also to prepare the way for the ‘tribe’ of the future. Obviously, this tribe will be very different from the ones our ancestors knew. . . .  We are the tribe of the ‘in-between.’ ” It seems to me that history is marked by certain periods in which humanity’s choices become even more pronounced. I believe we are in one of those periods.

We can no longer take for granted that the technologies of the future will save us from the unintended consequences of our present lives, but must instead be more accountable to previous generations in terms of what it means to be ‘sustainable.’ We can no longer take for granted the historical notions of continuous progress, but must instead factor in the future generations in terms of what it means to ‘succeed.’ For many of my clients, it is about recognizing that we are moving into new territories in which new approaches to leadership are required. We are leaving behind one era but are only beginning to discern the contours of a new one. As Sussman writes, ”In the process, one has quite often to give up a favorite storyline to gain access to a larger context.”

Three tips on living an in-between life

1. Recognize that there is no ‘normal’ to which to return. Much of what has enabled us to get this far may have to be set aside to make more room for what has yet to be imagined. What you are being asked to leave behind in order to take your next steps? In my own professional life, it has involved letting go of the need to “fit in’ in order to make more room for my own vision and leadership.
2. Recognize that we each must enter the ‘forest’ where it is darkest for us (as it was for those who sought the Grail). This darkness is about aspects of ourselves that remain hidden within and/or from us, but that hold the key to the next stages in our development. Only when we move out from the safety of what we know and who we once were can we see what else is possible. I saw this in a recent workshop in which a new leader came to face her fears around claiming her Voice in relating to her boss (by moving beyond waiting for him to grant it to her). 
3. Recognize that the greatest opportunities for growth are found in-between what was and what is not yet. It is in these spaces that we can most clearly see what is being asked of us now. To be successful, seek out new allies, draw on new resources within yourself, lead with strong resolve and true humility. I saw this in a coaching client who was willing to forego the comforts of a familiar place in one leadership team in order to discover a new role (in a new organization) that challenged him to grow in some profound ways.

Those who have gone before us and those who will come after us—in our families, our communities and our organizations—are calling on us to rise to the occasion as part of the ‘tribe of the in-between’. What is your Grail?

photo credit: wadem

As I travel to work my clients or research a subject for my next book, I am increasingly convinced that these three aspirations have a lot to say about what people hunger for in organizations and communities. This seems particularly true as we head deeper into a brave new economic world in which many of our assumptions and plans are being dashed. What will breakthrough from this time of breakdown? It remains to be seen how and when the proverbial phoenixes will rise from the ashes that are unfolding around us. However, the ancient practice of using stories to help people frame adversity as part of a larger Narrative are helpful here as a means to retain a sense of faith, hope, and love.

I begin here with Faith. Hope and Love will follow . . .

Faith

While known for his sage insights on marketing, Seth Godin offered this distinction in his book, Tribes: “Religion is the way things have always been done, whereas faith is the underlying commitment to ‘the big idea.’” Religion is about resurrecting the old General Motors; faith is about the commitment to rethinking transportation, communities and lifestyles. My work is about helping clients find the ‘big idea’, the core ‘story” at the heart of their work—and finding new ways to bring it to life. As institutions and certainties wobble, faith is the commitment to the big ideas that truly matter.

Faith is the balancing force to the fear that has crept into many our consciousness (and into our checkbooks) to varying degrees. Faith is not the same as blind trust; it is the return to what is essential and what needs to be done. Faith is not about a naive idealism or a narrow fundamentalism; it is an opportunity to ask the hard questions and make the hard choices in service to the ‘big ideas.’ Faith enables us to build bridges from the ‘religions’ of the old world to a new world based on a deeper understanding and courageous embodiment of our commitments to the human story.

Narrative work and coaching are powerful tools to help people and organizations to create and cross these bridges. As I recently shared with the top leaders in a large professional services firm, “there is no ‘normal’ to which to return.” They can either settle for sifting through the ashes or they can get to work on building the phoenix. My role is to coach them to fully rise to this occasion. All they need is a little faith. . .

What would you be doing if you had more faith?

Have you ever noticed that certain stories or story lines keep returning in your life? Sometimes these returns are developmental, e.g., as with the notion of karma and the integration of shadow elements we’ve discarded along the way. Sometimes these returns are intentional, e.g., the final stage of the heroic journey as we return ‘home’ with the gains from our passage. I see this all the time with clients who keep circling back through a series of stories—all revolving around a similar theme that slowly crystallizes and the heart of it becomes clear. It is from this clarity that the deepest sense of their calling becomes apparent . . . and they now know what must be done.

Finding our way

The goal as narrative-based coaches is to be patient and present enough to let clients’ stories flow, gently guiding them along the path as it emerges.

Do you have the patience to wait
till your mud settles and the water is clear?
Can you remain unmoving
till the right action arises by itself?
(Lao-Tzu)

In the busyness of our lives, it is so easy to overlook these often subtle rhythms and patterns. As part of my own discernment process these past few weeks, I’ve been slowing down to think about the purpose of money in my life. One outcome of this process led me to Frederick Marx, a documentary film maker most well-known for his role in Hoop Dreams. In doing so, I realized that I had lost touch with the importance of place, of home, of sanctuary to me. Is not that in some ways what the innate drive for “return” all about?

Making new choices

As a result, I’ve decided to make a serious donation to help him finish his next film about Zanskar, the last remaining Tibetan Buddhist society with a continuous lineage (dating back thousands of years). The story is about two monks who are instructed by the Dalai Lama to do everything in their power to insure that Zanskar’s culture, language, and religion survive. This is a movie about their journey back to Zanskar. You can read about the 17 paths here.

What stories are cycling back into your life these days, carrying with them messages for you? What “mud” needs to settle in your life settle so you can more clearly see the next right action on your journey?

As the United States approaches the election of a new President later this year, it is clear that there are no easy solutions to our ill-conceived and ill-fated intervention in Iraq. I use this picture in my narrative coaching workshops to explore with people the power of symbols, the cognitive and narrative patterns that shape our reactions, and the role of power in being able to tell our stories.

I learned a key lesson about power in the early days of my training business. I was doing a two-day program on leadership and coaching for 100 new managers in a federal social services program. 98 of the participants were women, the majority of them were non-Caucasian, and many of them had started out as low-income parents in the program. While I intellectually recognized the disparities as a upper-middle class Caucasian male, I didn’t fully grasp what that meant until part way through the first day when I realized that the program was not working well. I stopped the session and explored with the group where they were experiencing the disconnection.

In the end, I came to realize that many of the leadership theories, models and admonitions about leadership were written by and for people like me—and implicitly assumed a sufficient privilege and access to power. As a result, I dropped the rest of the design for the workshop and asked these women to talk about who had power in their communities, what enabled them to have this power, and how they used their power. We used these stories to develop some new models about what effective leadership and coaching would look like in their programs.

Much of the work in narrative coaching is to help people discern and transform the often unexamined boundaries of their narration. I work with coaches to get clear on the ethics and implications of narrative work. I am reminded of the work in this area by my colleague Paul Costello. I close here with a quote from Salman Rushdie as a reminder of the role of power in being able to tell one’s story.

Those who do not have power over the story that dominates their lives, the power to retell it, to rethink it, deconstruct it, joke about it, and change it as times change, truly are powerless, because they cannot think new thoughts.