A Better Process
Some processes are better than others.
Take the process of spring cleaning for example. In time for yesterday’s vernal equinox, I read Marie Kondo’s book on tidying for some inspiration. I certainly found it, but I also couldn’t help noticing that this inspiration came wrapped in process. Kondo’s approach to tidying is energizing, motivating, and inspiring because her principles and process are so good: sort by type, discard first, et cetera.
To improve my craft as a communicator, I also recently read John McPhee’s book on writing. He too shares a great process. But an extra surprise for me in his book was a passage he offered about editors and writers:
…no two writers are the same…No one will ever write in just the way that you do, or in just the way that anyone else does. Because of this fact, there is no real competition between writers. What appears to be competition is actually nothing more than jealousy and gossip. Writing is a matter strictly of developing oneself. You compete only with yourself. You develop yourself by writing. An editor’s goal is to help writers make the most of the patterns that are unique about them.
fromDraft No. 4, page 82
If one substitutes “working” for “writing” in the passage above, it could describe most of us. Just as a writer follows a process in which she submits her text to examination by a cadre of grammarians, fact checkers, and guardians of the style guide, most other professionals also have processes through which others check, critique, or correct their work.
But for how many of those professionals does the process include the kind of “editor” McPhee describes, someone to help them “make the most of the patterns that are unique about them”? In work and life, there seems to be an abundance of critics to help us make our work better, but far fewer who offer the constructive insight, challenge, and encouragement that help us make ourselves better.
If you could benefit from a conversation with this sort of “editor”, schedule a time to talk. The only thing it will cost you (and me, for that matter) is time. But isn’t time well spent if it leads you to a better process?
A Path toward Purpose
In a memorable scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, the Black Knight, who has just lost both of his arms, replies quite matter-of-factly to King Arthur that his traumatic injuries are “just a flesh wound.” It’s the knight’s absurd denial of reality that makes the scene so funny. In real life, it’s not funny at all.
Sadly, many people go through life unaware that they have suffered some form of trauma. Physical or sexual abuse of children, for example, can be buried in their consciousness as part of a natural human defense mechanism. And there are countless more who experience emotional trauma both as children and later in life.
One of the lessons from Bessel van der Kolk’s excellent book The Body Keeps the Score is that trauma can rob us of a sense of purpose. If purpose is a connection to something beyond and greater than ourselves, it makes sense that a self wounded and compromised by trauma would have difficulty experiencing purpose, along with the energy and meaning it gives us. If you feel you are lacking a sense of purpose, trauma is one of the possible reasons.
To connect with a purpose that takes us beyond ourselves, we require some minimal threshold of wholeness and integration. Most people have not suffered extreme trauma and may already be across that threshold. But it is probably safe to say that all of us have been wounded to some degree or another, so for all of us, the path to purpose may very well begin with healing.
If you want to discover or clarify your purpose, a good way to start is with a conversation. I welcome the opportunity to speak with you about purpose, and if I can’t help you, I’ll help you find someone who can.
Listen from Below
Purpose can supercharge an individual or an organization. This has been well documented. Unfortunately, “purpose” can seem like a vague thing, something abstract and philosophical that we’re supposed to grasp through some sort of contemplative process. But it’s really much simpler than that:
Purpose is first and foremost something greater than any one person, something above me or you. And to understand it, we first need to adjust the way we seek it, the way we listen for it. We need to listen from below. Not from above, which is the place of authority, power, judgment, and criticism. And not even at the same level, as we do with friends with whom we’re on equal footing.
So what does it look like to listen from below? Here are three practices that clarify this idea:
- Associate with the humble—These are not necessarily the poor but anyone who exhibits the groundedness and other traits of humility. But this requires a real connection or conversation with humble people. Listening to their perspective can often help us listen from below.
- Be curious—respectfully and appropriately, of course. One can begin with Stephen Covey’s classic direction: seek first to understand, and only then to be understood. The great virtue of humble curiosity is that it helps us be less self-centered and more focused on the other. Another way to be curious is to look for the greater story in every conversation and experience we have. Purpose always lives in a greater story, and we have a much better chance of seeing purpose if we’re looking for that greater story. This naturally leads to…
- Invite others into a story of greater purpose—This puts some positive pressure on us to live into that greater purpose. After all, we can’t invite someone to a place to which we’re not willing to go. It also creates a community of purpose, which reinforces listening from below.
A story from a commencement address given by Fred Rogers, highlighted in the recent documentary Won’t You be my Neighbor?, brings many of these thoughts together:
I wonder if you’ve heard what happened at the Seattle Special Olympics a few years ago? For the 100 yard dash, there were nine contestants, all of them so-called physically or mentally disabled. All nine of them assembled at the starting line; and, at the sound of the gun they took off—but one little boy stumbled and fell and hurt his knee and began to cry. The other eight children heard the boy crying. They slowed down, turned around, saw the boy and ran back to him—every one of them ran back to him. One little girl with Down’s Syndrome bent down and kissed the boy and said, “This will make it better.” The little boy got up, and he and the rest of the runners linked their arms together and joyfully walked to the finish line. They all finished the race at the same time. And when they did, everyone in the stadium stood up and clapped and whistled and cheered for a long, long time. People who were there are still telling the story with obvious delight. And you know why, because deep down we know that what matters in this life is much more than winning for ourselves. What really matters is helping others win, too, even if it means slowing down and changing our course now and then.
—Fred Rogers, 2001 Middlebury College commencement address
These humble children with special needs had, perhaps because of their so-called disabilities, special vision and special hearing, the kind that doesn’t only see the finish line or hear the gun that starts the race, but which also hears the cries of a boy who fell and sees him on the ground. Because they were so unselfish and aware of the other, they saw more clearly than most that there was a greater purpose and a greater story than winning the race. They followed each other into that story, crossed the finish line together, and inspired by their human greatness an entire stadium of people.
If purpose is about something greater than me or you, then in order to see it, we must place ourselves below—in how we hear and how we act. Listening from below is how humility listens. And it is this humble mindset that gives us the perspective to see, work, and live with purpose.