Not sure about the amateur-professional framing, but some real wisdom from Farnam Street here.
In two weeks I will walk into the offices of an unfamiliar organisation to talk about their desire and need for a new strategy. For reasons known only by my subconscious, I woke up early this morning thinking about the conversation. Or more precisely, I was going through in my mind the requisite conditions that would make the effort worthwhile. And that’s before we even talk about the implementation of said strategy.
So, here are three conditions, without which it is not worth the effort embarking on developing a strategy. If any one of these is missing, don’t waste the time, effort or money.
1. Cohesion in the leadership group
Developing a strategy without leadership cohesion is like pouring water into a colander and expecting it to fill up. The leadership group, (the Executive Team, the Board or whoever is owning the work) is the container in which the research, debate and decision-making will happen. If the group is not aligned and operating with a foundation of trust, the best efforts to develop, let alone implement a strategy will achieve lip service agreement at best and white-anting at worst.
If the strategy development process is designed and facilitated well, it will help with building cohesion, but the foundations of trust must at least provide a basis on which to work together with good will. Functional unity at a minimum.
2. The CEO and effective visionary (if they are not the same) must be fully engaged in the process.
Strategy, if it is to have any traction in affecting the way the organisation operates must be owned by those who are steering, either by positional authority or relational influence. And the only way for genuine buy-in to be achieved is intimate engagement in the nitty gritty of the process.
A strategy cannot be ‘sold’ to a CEO as a package, so if they are not willing or able to commit significant time and energy to the process, do something else but don’t formulate a new strategy.
3. It’s about the strategy not the artefact.
Oh dear. How much do we love process and outputs, especially in large organisations! Unfortunately, it is too easy and too common for the process to end up being all about a good document rather than a good strategy.
At one level this is excusable, because strategy is useless if not communicated. But a strategy exists independently of any attempt to document it. For the sake of absolute clarity, articulating it in words or diagrams is crucial, but they are only a representation of the strategy, they are not the strategy.
The best indication of strategic clarity is that everyone in the organisation, when prompted, will give the same answer when asked about the strategy. Slight variations that account for language preference are good, but the substance will be consistent and succinct.
If the starting point is a template, beware. Be-very-ware.
So where do you start then? I often ask what has prompted the need for a new strategy. The most common answer is, ‘our old one is due to expire.’ Great, but that’s a pretty low bar.
Why do you need a strategy? What are the business issues you need to solve? What questions needs to be answered in order to solve those issues? Articulating these questions is the key starting point for strategy development. In most cases they will be tricky questions and the pursuit of answers will be interesting, even compelling for most people in the organisation. If not, you might not want to bother with an elaborate engagement process. Unless of course you are happy and motivated to oversee an administrative process that ticks the boxes and gives you something at the end to sit on the coffee table in reception.
This post is the final in a series of 16 posts sharing my personal manifesto. If you have stayed with me over the journey, thanks. And if you have have found some useful thoughts I’d love to hear from you. DM me, send me an email at firstname.lastname@example.org or just leave a comment.
The complete manuscript is available here.
A GENERATIVE LIFE is a life oriented to appreciating the beauty in the world (pleasure). It is characterised over time by a pattern of doing what we are good at (betterness), and has a defining direction of creating a better world for future generations (meaning). Saying it like this might sound a bit grandiose, but I can live a generative life with no public profile. It is not about impact per se or even recognition. It is about living appreciatively in the wonderful place that is our world, about being fully who I am as a contributing adult, with an innate understanding that I am connected with everyone else, that our collective destinies are ultimately different parts of a bigger whole.
External circumstances are important. Living in a naturally beautiful environment can enhance our experience of pleasure. But it can also tend to take what is readily accessible for granted. Only in exceptional circumstances am I, or will I, be robbed of opportunities to experience beauty (pleasure).
My particular life scenario might apparently prevent me from using my best skills, but even then, I gravitate to doing everyday tasks in ways that suit my innate or acquired competencies (betterness). And there are people all around me. The opportunities to make a positive difference to those who come after me are as plentiful as the interactions I have with strangers and loved ones every day. As is often quoted, “if I don’t stand for something, I’ll fall for anything.” (meaning)
The inner strength and moral capacity to harmonise my drive for pleasure, betterness and meaning comes from, in the first instance, a ‘home’ where I am fully accepted for who I am and in turn accept others for who they are. Unconditional love. This is my basic human need that, unless satisfied gatecrashes my motivation in virtually every other relationship and endeavor.
And I am a communal being. I do my best work, and experience my most pleasurable moments in relationship with others. So finding kindred spirits in my pursuit of pleasure, betterness and meaning is natural and necessary. I need community.
To enable and sustain mental health in this journey, there are a number of disciplines that, in essence help me live with the tensions of being fully in the moment, but with an orientation to broader patterns and new opportunities. Firstly, I must be alert to addictions. I must develop the mindset that chooses – intentionally – everything about my attitudes, behavior and routines. I must get and stay unstuck.
Secondly, I must resist the contemporary urban pathology of living a busy, cluttered life. To live a generative life I must say ‘no’ a lot. The ‘slow’ and ‘local’ movements are more than a fad; they are a healthy reaction to the unhealthy excesses associated with the increased expectations of speed, efficiency and globalisation. I need to unclutter my life.
Thirdly, the capacity to understand what each of my roles in life requires of me (physically, emotionally, and mentally) to optimize my engagement in each associated context – the discipline of modal living – will equip me with that powerful but too rare trait of being fully present.
Finally, I need to become a master of contentment. Contentment comes from the discipline of opening my eyes, ears, hands (and yes, I guess nose and mouth) to the opportunities for satisfying experiences of pleasure, gratifying contributions aligned with my skill set, and purposeful and meaningful service, right here right now. Contentment is the foundation piece. Its antithesis is restless fantasizing about my future or the current lives of others. Contentment does not trump ambition, but it does trump the obsession with getting and experiencing what I don’t currently have.
Yes, external circumstances are important, but living well, living a generative life, is mostly about choices to have positive attitudes and develop live enhancing patterns of behaviour. This is a good thing, because so many of life’s circumstances are outside my control whereas the communities of people with whom I choose to share life and the associated habits of thinking and doing, are entirely up to me. I will not settle for anything less. I will figure out what I need to do to live better, right here, right now.
1. A generative life has these elements (as above).
2. How this is expressed is up to me. But I know that a generative life will be continually and intentionally evolving, growing, developing, changing, not for change’s sake, but because stagnation, equilibrium is death. The external environment in which I seek to live is relentlessly asking different things from me, and offering me new experiences of beauty and wonder.
3. And ultimately, the essential characteristic of a generative life is that it facilitates the possibility of a positive future for others. This is the litmus test. In theory, all the other elements could get ticks, but if my commitment to living a life oriented toward the welfare of others is inconsistent over time, then, in old age, my answer to the question “What kind of life have I lived?” will leave me with deep dissatisfaction.
I aspire to live a generative life. I am happily determined to look back on life with no regrets; I intend to experience as much beauty in the world as I can; to become the best I can possibly be with what I’ve been given; and to ensure that my legacy is to have facilitated a better life for others.
I can sustain engagement with a cause, an employer or a recreational activity when what I give and what I get are generally in balance. There are three ‘currencies’ with which I give and take; physical, emotional and intellectual. It doesn’t matter which ones are in play, but overall, what I give compared to what I get will need to be correlated.
For example: If what I give at work either physically or intellectually is significantly less than what is deemed reasonable given the size of my paycheque (physical), then I am likely to get a tap on the shoulder and asked to lift my game or lose my job. If what I contribute through volunteering at little athletics is not matched by the emotional satisfaction I take, I am likely to opt out.
Further, if my engagement involves my core values and decision-making drivers then I am likely to give more, resulting in a deeper engagement. If I do not, my engagement will remain superficial. The deeper I engage, (usually accompanied by strong connection with others who are also engaging, see notes on Community above) then the deeper I will be drawn in. It is possible, that the ‘reason for being’ of a particular community or cause, becomes or is recognised as being aligned with my own sense of calling and passion. At this point the engagement actually generates energy and the giving is overshadowed by the positive flow outwards.
We can call this generative engagement.
A generative life, is therefore not just a life that ticks the three boxes of pleasure, betterness and meaning. Generativity happens when I engage deeply in the different dimensions and experience an energising that enlivens my life and flows onto others. This most typically happens in the context of ‘community’, where my engagements tap into the purpose and meanings associated with the entities.
Surfing is somehow more enlivening when the routines and activities are shaped by the reality or fantasy of belonging to the surfing tribe. When what I experience is the same as what I imagine that reality to be, it is a generative experience. This is what I love.
When I burn the midnight oil to solve organizational problems and design and facilitate change processes that deliver the outcomes that are at the centre of the organisation’s reason for being, I feel pride and confidence. My facilitating is a generative practice. This is what I do.
When I collaborate with kindred spirits to enable a real difference for people, whether via an international development project or a empowering a local values driven organization, I feel like I am living in tune with my purpose. It usually takes blood sweat and tears, the effort is substantial but the outcomes pay me back with surplus. The world is a better place because I have linked arms with others and done something that wouldn’t have happened without us. It’s a generative contribution. This is what gives meaning to my work.
As with generativity in other domains (see my last post), the elements do not predetermine what the outcome looks like. Rather, they are the basis from which individual decisions and creativity happen. So this is not about saying what I must do, or how specifically I must live in order to live well, it is about identifying why a particular season of living, or even a life overall, just works.
The three common dimensions I observed in generative domains were:
- Hard coded, non-negotiable but non-prescriptive design elements. From my observations of my own life and those around me, the drivers and foundations of a well-lived life outlined in Part 1 are the design elements of a generative life.
- The outward expression is intentionally and continuously evolving creatively. A generative life is intentionally and continuously evolving. This applies to pleasure, betterness and meaning, the pursuit of which draws me to experience more of the beauty in the world (pleasure), continually develop my innate and acquired talents to be the best I can be (betterness), and contribute with ever increasing effectiveness to a better future for others (meaning). The disciplines (getting and staying unstuck, uncluttering, modal living and contentment) equip me to navigate this ever-evolving terrain with determination and grace.
- Positively oriented; it generates positive experiences and cultivates a positive future. A generative life generates life. The meaning here is not about physical reproduction. A generative live is life-enhancing, life-giving. There are two expressions of this: Firstly, generative living is engaged with communities (see note above) in ways that generate internal energy (see note of generative engagement below). The harmonizing of the design elements creates and sustains energy for living.
If any one of these three dimensions is lacking, life misses that generative edge. If the foundational drivers of pleasure, betterness and meaning are unharmonised, then generativity gives way to striving, restlessness and a sense that something is not quite right. And if my life is not continually evolving, moving from the known to the unknown, then stagnation takes over. As biologists remind us, equilibrium or static balance is death. And lastly, to live generatively, my orientation in life must be positive. Always hoping the best of and for people. Always looking to build up rather than tear down, always seeking to leave the word better than how I found it.
And then in addition to these three dimensions, a generative life energises those with whom it engages. In simple words, being around a person living a generative life is inspiring and motivates us to experience pleasure, be more fully ourselves and prioritise what matters most to us. A generative life is a potent, if not always publicly acknowledged force for good in the world.
My previous post on the discipline of contentment was the final piece of Part 1 of my personal manifesto. Part 2 is about generativity and how it relates to the four drivers, two foundations and four disciplines that made up Part 1. The diagram below pieces the bits from Part 1 together.
A well lived life harmonises pleasure, betterness and meaning. The contexts within which I pursue these are the communities from which I derive my identity. The quality of my engagement in these communities is largely determined by my experience of unconditional love within spaces where I can be freely myself; my literal and figurative home(s). Further to these foundations, the disciplines of getting and staying unstuck; uncluttering my life; priming myself to be my best for the recurring contexts of my life via modal living; and active contentment, make up the elements of a well lived life.
An introduction to generativity
There were a couple of hundred of us in a large room, scattered around small tables. We were in intense conversation. I had never heard the word before, but when I heard Peter Senge describe a particular kind of learning as ‘generative’ I intuitively understood, at least partly, what he meant. The word resounded with meaning for me; I heard something about creativity (generating). I heard something about people (generations). But it was more than understanding, there was something about the word, so pregnant with meaning that captivated me. That was a long time ago, and I had been using it for a number of years before I decide to dig a bit deeper. What I found intrigued me even more.
Unknowingly I had encountered the concept of generativity way back in my year 11 English class. Being a mathematically oriented student I tolerated English classes, managing to get through most literature assignments without actually reading the texts. But there was a unit of year 11 English that suited me down to the ground. In our class it was called transformational grammar. In transformational grammar we learned the ‘code’ behind sentence structure. The idea was that if you understood the basic elements of a sentence, you could then create meaningfulness by inserting your own content. It was the ‘science’ of English that facilitated creativity. But if the elements we not well formed, no content would make sense to the reader/listener. As with any design practice, the application extends to diagnosis as well as construction. If a sentence is non-sensical, transformational grammar allows us to diagnose why.
When linguist Noam Chomsky developed the theory I encountered as transformational grammar he had called it generative grammar. I was curious about the common meaning between Senge’s generative learning and Chomsky’s generative grammar. So I dug further.
Psychologist Erik Erikson, known for his work on stages of human development, coined the term generativity in the early 1950s to describe the struggle against adulthood stagnation. In his work, it meant living with a concern for the next generations, typically characterised by an optimistic outlook. More generally, generativity came to mean the ability of an independent system to generate new content, unique to that system, without external intervention from the creators of the system.
OK. So that started to make sense of the other uses of the word I was now discovering.
Renowned music producer Brian Eno used the word to describe ever-different and changing music that is generated by a system. While Eno’s generative music is electronic, we could also think about a wind chime in a breeze as an example of generative music. Generative art, similarly, is art that is autonomously created, whether by computer algorithms or other patterned systems.
In 2011 I came late to the genius of Christopher Alexander. After a trusted recommendation I trawled the specialty bookshops in Melbourne for his 1974 classic Pattern Language. The day it arrived I sat down to skim the contents and was instantly mesmerised.
The scope and brilliance of the book was intoxicating. From the design of the universe, through how to arrange nation states, right down to where to put windows in hallways, here was a mind so attuned to ‘what works’ it was like ‘waking up’ to a way of thinking I didn’t even know existed. Alexander had understood the design of ‘things and people’ in the same way Chomsky understood language, and had broken it up into rules that everyone can understand. Generative design. (My label)
While the dictionary definitions of generative tend to focus on the ‘capacity to generate offspring’, the use of the term in the contexts I have come across imply a richer meaning. From these examples I have distilled my own, more nuanced appreciation of generativity.
For me, generative has three dimensions.
- Hard coded, non-negotiable but non-prescriptive design elements.
- The outward expression is intentionally and continuously evolving creatively.
- Positively oriented; it generates positive experiences and cultivates a positive future.
I then reverse applied these three dimensions to the uses of generativity I’d come across:
- Erikson’s struggle against adult stagnation,
- Chomsky’s generative grammar,
- Peter Senge’s generative learning,
- Eno’s generative music,
- Generative art.
- Alexander’s generative design (my label).
But as interested as I was in language, learning, music, art and design, for me the main game was about living. And so I wondered what generative living might look like.
So, next time: what does generative living look like?
Practice and master the art of contentment
We raised our family of four children with little money. Until our youngest child went to school we had no guaranteed salary cheque, and what we did get put us in the lowest income bracket. We had made conscious choices to live simply and frugally. We were immensely happy and for many years felt we lacked for nothing. We practiced the discipline of contentment.
It wasn’t just about money. We chose to savour the seasons; when we had babies, when we had toddlers, kids and when we had teenagers. Without mastering contentment, seeking change is like chasing the wind. Getting unstuck adds colour and stimulus, it expands our appreciation of life and the world in which we live. Contentment facilitates peace.
A commitment to ‘live in the moment’ can sound like a foolish short term approach to life. And wrongly applied that is true. Living in the moment does not mean that every time I see a piece of caramel slice in the café cabinet, I am committed to engaging! It could also imply that I throw caution to the wind in regard to long term financial planning and save nothing for the so-called rainy day or old age, whenever that is supposed to begin. In an ambitious world, where growing your audience is king and the law of the jungle seems to define corporate life, a commitment to contentment can be perceived as weakness. Not so.
A life well-lived is a contented life. The discipline of contentment is the daily commitment to open my eyes to the good and the beautiful on offer now. This is not in conflict with driving ambitions in the arenas of pleasure, betterness and meaning. It is in conflict with an attitude that is so focussed on the fantasy of a desirable alternative, that I am robbed of the opportunities for deep satisfaction and appreciation today. It is about doing my best with what is on my do-list right now, not about an illusion of another do-list.
A contented life also recognises the seasons of life. The freedom (or lack thereof) I have when, for example, there were small children in the home, is fundamentally different than retirement. It feels normal to live for tomorrow, lusting after someone else’s lot in life, or the prospect of a more attractive future. The consistency of life means that if I live for tomorrow now, I will always live for tomorrow. Tomorrow never comes.
The wonderful thing about mastering contentment, is that I always have today. In fact, today is all I ever have. The discipline of contentment is about urging myself to be at my best today; to open my eyes and see the beauty I can engage to feed my desire for pleasure today; to take the opportunities to improve who I am, to become better at what I do today; to be alert to how I can put another little incremental dent in the universe by my actions and behaviour before I go to sleep tonight.
Questions that help me practice contentment
1. What is great about my life right now?
2. What else?
3. What else?
4. How will I enhance my active appreciation of these things?
Modal living: being intentionally present
We started living and working from our caravan about the same time as I started working week on, week off, in Port Moresby. That meant I was spending large amounts of time in three places; at home, where the focus was family and work; in the caravan where everyday meant swimming in salt water alongside working remotely; and in Port Moresby which was hotel living and office based work.
This stark variety prompted me to behave differently, to develop patterns of living that were customised to each environment. The kinds of clothes I wore, the way I related to people, the pace of life, my diet, work rhythms, were pretty much unrecognisable between contexts despite the reality that I was doing similar work and for the most part maintained relationships with the same people.
What emerged over the year was a conscious effort to acknowledge the particular environment I was in, and adapt my living style to it; I called it modal living.
Being intentional about my inner world and physical habits helps me be fully present. Who am I here for? What do they require of me? What do I need for myself in this space? … are all questions that arise from modal living.
It is immensely frustrating that I only have one go at life. How good would it be to know what it would be like to be a court judge and a hermit? An implication of the discipline to unclutter though, is that I make peace with a focus, to be the best at being myself. Knowing what gives me pleasure and investing in infusing my living with associated experiences. Knowing what I am good at and taking every opportunity to become better and to pursue mastery. And being in touch with what matters most and prioritising my own efforts to contributing to a better future in relation to it. Which is about taking this one life and making peace with all the things I can’t do.
Kind of. There are two ways I can live multiple lives while maintaining the disciplines of contentment (see next week’s post) and uncluttered living.
The first way we can cheat the ‘one life’ shackle is to get and stay unstuck. Who says I can’t do something completely different for a season?
Secondly, I recognise that I live multiple lives within this one life. I have a work life, a home life and some kind of social life. For the purposes of this discussion, let’s call them modes of living.
A well lived life is to be fully present within the spheres that make up my living. A common tendency is what I could call vanilla living. Rather than contextualise my attitudes and behaviours to the environment in which I find myself, I impose my undisciplined or that’s-just-who-I-am state on the environment. What I am aiming for here is not about being a conforming chameleon, unsure of my true identity. The discipline of modal living identifies the different roles or contexts that define my living. For each of those modes, I then determine the inner world attitudes and the outer world realities that optimise pleasure, betterness and meaning in those environments.
For example, at work I need to be switched on, organised, agile and confident. While some of these things might come naturally to me, on any given day, they may not. Modal living will mean I determine the things within my control that enable me to be at my best. Interestingly, apparently superficial things make a big difference; the clothes I wear, the radio station I listen to over breakfast, and the speed at which I intentionally walk.
At home on the weekend, wearing different clothes, putting my work bag out of sight, grinding my own coffee to slow me down … all these things help me adopt a fundamentally different demeanour.
Of course, some of this comes naturally. Environments have extraordinary power over me so I involuntarily conform. But simply going with the flow of what the environment imposes on me is not what a well lived life looks like. I am talking here about being precise about what the people and environment needs from me, and determining ways to get my head and heart in the right space.
Variety is the so-called spice of life. By appreciating the different roles I play and being intentional about being at my particular best in those spaces, I can ensure my life is less vanilla. One life, yes, but multiple expressions within it.
One of my hindrances to doing this well is my inability to leave things behind. I take my work home, or I take my holiday fantasies to work. So within the discipline there is an opportunity to apply the discipline of being uncluttered. What does this look like?
In each mode I figure out what is essential. In order to deal with what is not (essential), I must use or create systems, tools or processes that enable me to manage other things in my life with the absolute minimum expenditure of time and energy. This might mean allocating time every early Saturday morning or late Sunday evening to capture the distractions from work. It might mean a regular lunchtime message to Maria as a container to check in on important family matters. Typically, it will involve routines and practices that manage those things not essential to my current mode. They enable me to be fully present, without the constant distraction of ‘the rest of life’.
Modal living is not about sitting at my desk dreaming about the next holiday. It is about committing to booking it on the weekend, and getting back to work. Modal living is not about snapping at the kids when I walk in the door, it is about taking the five minute walk from the tram stop to figuratively stuff the worries of the office into my satchel and throwing it behind the bedroom door on the way to the kitchen. It is about being full alive to the possibilities for pleasure, betterness and meaning in my current environment and making sure my mind and body is primed to grab them.
Questions that help me stay intentionally present
1.Identify my main modes of living. (Think about the different places I am in regularly, the groups of people with whom I live etc)
2.What does each role require of me?
3. How will I manage the other ‘distractions / inclinations / temptations that distract me from the main game in each mode?
Uncluttered: trump wastefulness
My dorm room in the residential college at university was cluttered with stuff. I liked having bits and pieces around me, symbols of things, posters, ornaments … stuff.
Maria was a minimalist. I’d never heard the word or even knew of the concept back then, but I was drawn to the simplicity of her living. If she hadn’t worn an item of clothing for a while, she would give it away. Somehow, bare rooms still had character … it was an odd and attractive characteristic.
I was slow to learn, but over the years I have loved learning the discipline of purging our lives of stuff. Books have been very important to me, so the three occasions when I have given most of my library away have been emotional. Before the days of digital music I similarly purged my record, cassette and CD collections. I am attracted to the idea, not of ‘how I could live with less?’, but with, ‘what can I not live without?’. When we moved to the Sunshine Coast a few years ago, we took some favourite kitchen equipment and personal belongings that fitted into two cars (and a caravan). We put some photo albums and kids toys in a very small storage unit and gave the rest away … a house load of furniture and memories. So liberating. It was an exercise in determining what we wanted to keep to enhance our lives, and to discard the rest, despite the financial loss.
It is hard to get unstuck when our lives are cluttered with stuff that ties us down.
Busyness is a curse. In a well lived life, it is not worn as a badge of honour. Busyness normally refers to the volume of activity relative to the allotted time, but can also describe the state of my inner world. Cluttered usually means scattered.
Paradoxically, it seems to me that the highest achievers say ‘no’ habitually, in fact they say ‘no’ most of the time. Some people say ‘no’ as a power play, but that is not what I am talking about. I am talking about the crystal clarity that comes from determined focus; a simplicity about choices that reflect the underlying outcomes that are being pursued.
A well lived life is characterised by a determination to know the essentials and discard the rest. This commitment to embracing what can’t be lived without, is not an austere minimalism, it is a robust appreciation of what enhances ones experience of pleasure, pursuit of betterness and engagement with meaning.
I accumulate stuff relentlessly. The only antidote is to abstain from my accumulation impulses (committing to not replacing items and making purchasing decisions that will last the long haul) and then periodically doing a de-clutter. The de-clutter can be applied to stuff, to activity, to responsibilities – to anything that hinders my capacity to focus on the things that matter most to me.
The skill to effectively juggle multiple tasks, and the ability to absorb and respond to the complexity of hectic urban living is admirable. But there is an inherent attractiveness about clarity. It betrays a quality of life that charts an intentional course, one that knows where it’s going and what it needs (and doesn’t need) to get there.
Questions to help me stay uncluttered
1. What is essential for me to optimise pleasure, betterness and meaning?
2. What other things are cluttering my life? What could I get rid of?
3. What will I get rid of?