Leadership Notes

The geologist, the fisherman and other matters of perspective

By Tom Kirch, Oregon State University, NIRSA President

I recently came upon an article by Margaret Wheatley, a writer and teacher, that speaks about new practices and ideas for dealing with chaotic times. She wrote about relationships:

The scientific search for the basic building blocks of life has revealed a startling fact: there are none. The deeper that physicists peer into the nature of reality, the only thing they find is relationships. Even sub-atomic particles do not exist alone. One physicist described neutrons, electrons, etc. as ‘… a set of relationships that reach outward to other things.’ Although physicists still name them separate, these particles aren’t even visible until they’re in relationship with other particles. Everything in the Universe is composed of these ‘bundles of potentiality’ that only manifest their potential in relationships.

What struck me about this message was the ‘bundles of potentiality’ that comes in relationships. And the possibilities that we may find when engaged with others and what we may miss when we are not. The work we all undertake has, of course, everything to do with relationships. We support the success of students through our interactions: delivery of programs and services, leadership opportunities through employment and involvement, teaching and training, mentoring, and an interest in the well-being of those we encounter.

We also are members of our institutions and communities where the establishment and nurturing of relationships are critical to our own success and happiness. We do not live in isolation but rather in a world where interconnections are vital to our existence, just like it is for the neutrons and electrons.

However, on reflection, I wonder if I am missing something in my relationships. As open as I think I am, do I always see the potential? How much do I accept others for what they have to contribute rather than how they ‘fit’ into what I already know? How open am I to change in my world when faced with unexpected possibilities that I did have a part in creating? I want to share a story that I think illustrates this point.

There was a geologist being interviewed during a recent hurricane season. He was a beach geologist, so his field of study was beaches and sand and the like. And at the time he was being interviewed, there was a storm. One of the large hurricanes was pounding the Outer Banks off the Carolinas. And he was being asked about what hurricanes do to beaches. We all know what hurricanes do to beaches. They destroy homes and take down power lines and take away sand and even whole beaches. The geologist said, "You know, I can't wait to get out on those beaches again once these storms have passed." And the interviewer said, "What do you expect to find out there?" I thought he was going to talk about all the destruction he was going to find. What he said really surprised me: "I expect to find a new beach." Now wouldn't it be wonderful if we could be in the same relationship with life as that beach geologist, where we would look for newness rather than predictability, where we would look to see just what happened rather than agonize over what we expected to happen but didn’t? I'm struck by the geologist’s anticipation of, and wonder at, what he was going to find.

As someone who is trying to help our association move into the future, I have to ask myself what my position is towards newness, towards creativity. So often, we are surprised by newness in a way that makes it impossible for us to welcome it. We actually see newness as an affront to our plans. We see other people's creativity as an affront to our leadership. It is the limitations we set on ourselves that prevent us from being surprised rather than fearful of surprise, that make us ask people to conform to the conditions in which we feel safe and comfortable rather than enable us to look for potential. This is something we all should contemplate.

So, one more story.

There was this old, crusty fisherman who would walk out to the end of the pier each day with his old rod, rusty reel, bucket, and a stick that was snapped off at the 10-inch mark. Each day he would cast his line and catch fish. When he measured the fish against his stick, he would throw back the ones that were bigger than 10 inches and keep the ones smaller than 10 inches. Since this was the opposite of what most fishermen would do, someone asked him for the reason. The old fisherman stated, “’Cause my frying pan is only 10 inches.”

When it comes to possibilities and limitations, do we think like the fisherman? How narrowly do we measure the value of a new idea? And if someone were to suggest to us that we get a bigger frying pan, or cut the bigger fish in half before frying, or cook them another way, or even sell or trade or share the bigger fish, how would we react?

Take care, TK