How do Generous Leaders Hire? – An Interview

The New GuyGeoff Younghusband, Residential Portfolio Manager at Ottawa-based Osgoode Properties, once had to let a disruptive employee go. That’s always difficult, but this time Younghusband started to wonder, “How did we hire this kind of personality in the first place?”

“We had higher turnover than we were comfortable with, and not just the problem people. You can lose good people too if you hire disruptive individuals, and everyone gets discouraged with upper management for poor hiring.”

Admitting they weren’t as good as they wanted to be at hiring was Younghusband’s first lesson. “Personality is hard to uncover in an interview, and like most of my peers in the industry, I haven’t had any training in how to identify those traits. Now we’ve created a much more precise and deliberate process. We know that for the right people, we can teach hard skills. But we can’t teach how to work with other people, or genuinely care about tenants.”

So now Osgoode’s hiring process has begun emphasizing strong personality traits that help candidates work well with their immediate colleagues. For a field rental agent, for example, phone interviews are held with the property and HR managers, but the final interviews are with the supervisor the new person will actually report to, held onsite at the building where they’ll actually work.

Osgoode also hired a full-time training manager, who doesn’t just do training. They’re involved in the hiring process right from the beginning, at the onsite interview, to observe interactions between supervisor and candidate. This way the training manager understands early what a new staff member needs and what they don’t need to help them succeed in their new job, “so the building manager doesn’t just throw them the manual and call it done,” as Younghusband describes it. After 90-days probation, the training manager is part of evaluating the new hire’s performance and providing any further training needed.

If a problem arises, the training manager is there to see if it’s the employee, or the supervisor. “Property managers are generalists. Managing people isn’t always their best skill. If there’s a problem with an employee, maybe the manager’s the one who needs some training,” says Younghusband.

This precise and deliberate, process-focused approach integrates hiring, training, evaluation and supervision in the service of every new employee’s success. It has paid off. “We now hire better people who accelerate faster and stay longer,” says Younghusband. “Our training manager is an internal hire who can project Osgoode values, and having them there from hiring through training, evaluation and more training means our employees have the best support they can get.”

The process costs time and money, Younghusband admits, but “it was costing us more being hasty, and having all that churn. Now good people see us favourably as a place to work. Ottawa isn’t Toronto. A good property manager isn’t so easy to find.”

An unexpected benefit comes from what looks like a problem: the longer time it takes to fill vacancies. “If someone gives two weeks’ notice, we still take 6-8 weeks to go through our process, but that’s better than getting the wrong person fast. During that time, people in different positions step in to fill different parts of the gap, whatever’s needed. Then everyone starts to understand and appreciate each other’s jobs better. People organically start to help each other out more, even after we hire someone. Management has to be flexible with short term performance as everyone tries to do their best in the gap, but in the long run people appreciate the reason for it, and it’s team-building.”

This is a generous approach that benefits everyone. “Clarity is generous,” Younghusband says. “Having a clear, precise and deliberate process for hiring and developing people, that’s a gift.” Osgoode now promotes more people from within, turnover is down, performance is improved, and Younghusband says he sleeps better knowing they’re doing the right thing by people.

Claustrophobia and Space

Claustrophobia in the midst of spaceOur culture teaches us to be addicted to activity, and this is how we learn to mistake claustrophobia for engagement. We fill up the space of our lives with tasks, with talk, with preoccupation, with judgment, with assumptions about things we’ve never bothered to really ask about, with expectations and tensions and conflicts, with deadlines and ambitions, and the list goes on.

This intensely over-full world we usually create for ourselves is vividly reflected on a Nova Scotia Sea School voyage, where 13 people live in a boat that is 30′ long and 7′ wide, for 5 days or longer. We are all literally on top of each other all the time; cooking and eating, getting at our gear, sailing, rowing and navigating, changing clothes, squeezing between each other to sleep, everybody talking at once. It can be an intensely claustrophobic experience.

But we’re also out along the magical Nova Scotia coast, with remote islands and rocky shores on one side, the ocean and horizon on the other, the spreading sky above. We are surrounded by vast space.

The choice between mental claustrophobia and the more spacious, expansive frame of mind depends on which way we choose to look.

So as a practice of shifting our attention from claustrophobia to space, we regularly take time to turn away from looking in at the crowded boat, and sit in silence facing out into the big world. We might do this for 5 minutes, we might do it for 30, depending on how we feel. This practice of regularly relating to space makes the claustrophobia manageable.

The Magical Coast

Of course we don’t need a boat to experience this. Mental space is always available to us. It just depends on which way we choose to look. We can look out a window, or go for a walk. I’ve had business groups around a board room table turn and look “out,” especially when the conversation gets difficult or needs a fresh perspective. Everyone turns their chairs around and faces out, and even if they’re just looking at a wall, it’s remarkably, unexpectedly effective.

And space is just as available without any of these techniques, when we look for it in ourselves. Learning to look out into the big world is good practice for being able to look within ourselves and find that sense of expansive mental space, when we need it, on the spot. This is how we practice self-engagement.

Of course a voyage on a sail boat requires a great deal of activity. So does raising a family or building a career. Activity is not the enemy. But we don’t really benefit from jamming activity into our lives like a stuff sack. We accomplish more when we feel we have space to move.

The Sea School experience is designed to be intensely claustrophobic because it highlights the alternative. Our days stuffed with people and tasks are a great teacher about the value of space. And when we find that sense of mental space to move, when we can bring that expansive state of mind to whatever we need to do, we become all-accomplishing, and our world gets very big. This is a self-leadership skill we can train ourselves in.

I’m leading a 5-day Professional Development voyage with the Sea School,intended for a broad range of corporate, government and NGO leaders, educators and others who lead groups. No sailing experience necessary. September 17-21, based in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia. Contact me for more information.

How to Draw Our Swords

Showing the bladeThe Zen sword masters say, “If you have to draw your sword, you’ve already lost the battle.” If a situation that we’re responsible for has gone so far that the only way forward is by violent destruction, then we have made some blunder along the way. Once we have destroyed something it is more difficult to engage what is left. Anyone who thinks it’s their job to hack away at the world with their sword in the hope of waking people up and getting things moving dulls their blade and creates a culture of fear and resistance.

But there are more ways than one for us to use our sword. Both kindness and directness can also be extremely sharp. Before Nelson Mandela was elected president of South Africa, he invited the leader of white armed resistance, General Viljoen, to meet in his living room (see post Finding Allies at Work).  Mandela’s disarming hospitality and cordiality, the genuine kindness with which he served  his enemy tea, cut through the general’s initial resistance. Then in the course of the conversation, when the general said that he and his white followers had the power to stop the upcoming election by violence, Mandela replied, with great directness but without raising his voice, that they could not possibly hope to win. The black and coloured population would never give up their new freedoms, they would resort to guerrilla operations from the bush, and any white armed resistance would lead to decades of civil war. “Is that what you want, General, for your children and your grandchildren?” The general said no, and with that word, the possibility of civil war was defeated. Mandela had not drawn his sword, but he had pulled it an inch out of its sheath, showing the blade. It was enough.

The Aikido master Wendy Palmer talks about the two swords. There is the sharp sword, sharp enough to cut something away. And there is the sharpest sword, sharp enough to cut something into place. When we cut with kindness, intending to protect the enemy as well as ourselves, we cut into place a decency and clarity that has the power to overcome even the most entrenched obstacles. We cut into place the power of our shared human heart.

Golden Chains – A Personal Story

Golden ChainsThis is the anniversary of when I fell off a ladder at the Sea School’s old wharf building in Lunenburg, and broke my left heel bone.

Now I don’t see ghosts, but some of the Sea School staff have seen ghosts in that building, and other people in Lunenburg say, “Oh, yes, there’s ghosts in that building for sure.” So some people were thinking, maybe I was pushed.

I don’t know. I didn’t feel anybody push me. But I don’t have any other explanation for why I fell. I’ve been going up and down that ladder between floors for 20 years. My foot didn’t slip. I have no memory of losing my balance. Suddenly I just wasn’t on the ladder, and I fell 6 feet and landed standing with all my weight crashing onto my left heel. And that was that.

If I was pushed I don’t think it was anything malicious. Maybe there was just someone who saw me, and could see that I needed a noodge. Like, “Hey, buddy, (shove) wake up.” Maybe on some level I even saw that myself. Could I have pushed myself?

However it happened the result was surgery, two screws, crutches for 5 weeks, and an incapacitated summer.

But there was an upside to my injury, because there’s a golden chain tree in my back yard, and for two weeks every June it’s covered in bright, glowing yellow flowers, hanging densely like bunches of grapes from every twig, blazing in the sun and dancing with the wind against the clear blue sky. It’s mesmerizing.

Since I couldn’t go anywhere, I spent a whole week in the back yard with this tree. I tried to work, but my computer kept falling asleep in my lap as I sat captivated by that glorious yellow. I felt so fortunate that I had this natural blessing right in my own back yard, and that I had the time to really soak myself in it.

And then it hit me. I felt captivated by the beauty of the tree, and I loved it. I felt held captive by the pain in my foot, and I hated it. And I wasn’t sure I really understood the difference.

The Golden Chain Tree suddenly seemed well-named. My mind was bound in its golden chains, like a luxury prison, and I began to doubt my own delight.

My back yard, especially on fine summer days, is a place I have trouble leaving. I want people to come to me, and share my golden chains. Share my mud hole.

Because maybe my back yard is really a mud hole. A very fine mud hole, mind you, with the most exquisite, velvety, high class mud, made from the finest mountain spring water and rare ooze hand-imported from the soft banks of the upper reaches of the Amazon. The best mud you’ll find anywhere. But no matter how exquisite it is, maybe it’s still mud, and I’m a stick.

So if someone did push me off that ladder, if someone did realize I needed a noodge, and said, “Hey buddy, (shove) wake up,” maybe this is the question they thought I could wake up to. What things that I cherish, that I find so nurturing and delightful, are really my mud, that I let myself be stuck in?

This feels like a subtle, even profound question, and I’m still puzzling over the answer. But that’s okay, because questions are more trustworthy than answers. So this story doesn’t end with a moral or a lesson. It ends with a question. What are the things we cherish that are really our favourite mud?

But this story also ends with a song. A very appropriate song by Flanders and Swann, an English duo who wrote comic songs in the 40’s and 50’s. The song includes an invitation that I always found fun and delightful. But now when I sing this song I wonder, is this an invitation I should embrace, or an invitation I should be wary of?

This is the chorus from the Love Song of the Hippopotamus. If you know it, please sing along.

  • Mud, mud, glorious mud.
  • Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood.
  • So follow me follow
  • Down to the hollow,
  • And there let us wallow
  • In glorious mud.

 

How to Assign a Task So It Gets Done


How to get there?

Here’s part of a conversation roadmap for talking with people about what they need to accomplish. The key to not getting lost in these conversations is reading the signposts of what people need and don’t need.

So we don’t start with, “Here’s what I need you to do,” or what the boss or the head office needs you do to. Do we really want people to see us, as leaders, as the focus and purpose of their work? We don’t motivate people with our needs. We motivate people with their needs.

Even if our team admires and respects us, and wants to give us what we need, the cult of the personality isn’t the best long-term motivator.

So what is the best motivator? This is specific to the individuals we’re talking to. If we’re leading people, we should have taken the trouble to know what motivates them, so we can customize our introduction of the task to suit.

If people have a strong customer-first attitude (different from a customer-first company policy), the motivator may be what the client or customer needs. So we can start with, “This is what the customer needs.”

Or, if people have had a recent success, we might start with, “Here’s another chance to do the kind of work you did on your last (report, design, whatever). I’m confident you can do as good a job or better on this.”

Whatever way we find to start, the key question to ask next, after explaining the task, is this: “What do you think?”

It’s an open-ended invitation, and we have to say it with genuine curiosity. People may talk about the best way to accomplish the task. Or they roll their eyes. Or they suggest who else would be good to work on it. Or they ask for specific additional information. Whatever their answer, it tells us a lot about what we’ll need to do to be sure the task gets done.

Then we follow their lead. We address their concerns, express interest in their view of the way forward, discuss the steps they suggest taking. The conversation is about them, their view, their concerns, and so on.

Only then do we insert ourselves in the equation by offering our experience in places they may not see as clearly.

But we don’t say, “Here’s what you need to understand.” Even said with helpful intent, it’s really a command, not an explanation.

We say, “Here’s what I experienced in a similar situation.” Or, “Here’s something you might look into.” Or something else that still expresses our appreciation of them.

We also don’t say, “I’m here to support you.” It’s a phrase that effectively takes responsibility and ownership away from them. Do we have an “open door” that invites them to interrupt us with a question when they don’t want to make a decision?

Instead we might say, “I trust you to do this. I know you have the experience, and judgment, and tenacity. All I ask is that we check in together regularly so we can be sure you’re getting all the big picture information from me that you need.” These check-ins are of course the chance to correct the course, assess the competence, expect accountability and so on. Those things are part of the big picture that we as leaders are responsible for. But the check-ins start with, “Where is this going well? Where are there difficulties? What can I do to help?” We give people the chance to bring up the shortcomings themselves, before we do.

But what about real resistance? What nice words do we use then?

At the start we said, “What do you think?” We may have to probe here, to invite resistance early. We might even say, “I’m not sure if this is your personal first choice for a project right now.” Or, “I can see that this task might have some downsides for you.” Then we wait, but with a warm, sympathetic attention. We make it safe for people to raise an objection. We’re not laying a trap.

If someone does raise an objection, however small, we say, “Tell me more about that.” If it’s an objection we think others may share, we can ask them, “Who else feels a little of what Joe’s talking about?”

We let people feel heard. More importantly, we actually hear them. And then we ask, “What would make this work better for you?” People may have surprisingly useful suggestions that will improve the effort significantly.

And finally, when objections remain, we say, “I’m sorry this isn’t exactly how you want it to go. What do you need now to go along?” This is a powerful question. It acknowledges resistance, and invites goodwill anyway. And it opens the door for mutual accommodation.

This approach takes time, yes. It requires a lot of trust, yes. It’s an “eyes in, fingers out” approach that can make many leaders nervous, yes. But it saves time in the end. It builds capacity in the people we work with. And it builds capacity in us too.


(Some of the questions about resistance used here come from the Deep Democracy work of Myrna Lewis.)

The Power of Not Knowing

keep-calm-i-know-it-all

A famous English scholar of Asian studies visiting Japan managed to get himself invited to attend a traditional tea ceremony conducted by one of the greatest living tea masters. The scholar considered himself an expert on the history of the tea traditions, and viewed attending the ceremony as an appropriate recognition of his status.

The guest at a tea ceremony is expected to follow certain ceremonial protocols, which the scholar knew well and executed flawlessly. He was very pleased knowing he was doing everything right. When the master began to pour out the tea, he filled the scholar’s cup with great care, and kept on filling it, until it overflowed onto the table and then onto the floor. The scholar cried out, “Stop! Can’t you see the cup is full? There’s no room for more tea.” The master kept pouring, and replied, “Yes, like your mind, so full you can receive nothing.”

One of the most valuable things I’ve learned from being in positions of leadership over the years is how to proceed on the basis that I don’t know. This approach has opened innumerable doors for me that a need for knowing would have kept closed. I have found this to be true of my work with teenagers at the Nova Scotia Sea School, and equally true, with different methods, of my work with executives and their teams in business.

Teenagers are trying desperately to understand the world around them, but they are not alone in being tormented by what they feel they don’t know. We all know people of every age who need to know it all, and whose need for knowing has a desperate edge. This makes them cling like limpets to the “truth” of whatever they think they know. Paradoxically, this need to know hampers their learning and limits their potential knowledge. They want to proceed only on the basis of already knowing, which makes them difficult to engage in anything new and unknown. An encounter with someone who is confident enough to say, “I don’t know” becomes shocking and disarming. This is good. It creates an opportunity. Once the fortress of knowing is disarmed, we can enter.

To keep the defenses down I rarely give the teenagers in the Sea School crews a straight answer, so that after a while their dependence on me as the “leader” breaks down. They need to feel that in the big picture I am trustworthy, that they are safe with me, but they also need to learn to distrust me and trust themselves, with a self-confidence that doesn’t depend on knowing. Rather than knowing on my terms, it’s better that they don’t know on their own terms, so they are inspired to find their own answers.

The Sea School technique of never giving a straight answer may not be the best approach to take with employees, but the principle is the same. If I am in a position of leadership, those I lead need to feel that I am trustworthy, that we are heading in the right direction. But if trusting me undercuts people’s trust in themselves, we have a problem.

To speak with Crane about support for your organization’s performance development, or for personal performance coaching, please call him at (902) 240-5904, or fill in contact form in sidebar.

To receive Crane’s articles by email, twice-a-monthclick here to sign up.

Or if you would like to read Crane’s book, (or for a short read, his mini-books) click here for the free ebook or audiobook downloads.

How to Take a Difficult Step

The Big StepThe deck of a container ship is 30 feet above the ocean, or more. If the ship catches fire or starts sinking, the crew may need to abandon ship, and if the lifeboats can’t be lowered with the crew in them, the crew may have to jump into the water from the deck. But jumping can be a way to lose control of the fall, and can be dangerous, so they don’t jump. No great heroic leaps. They just step. They step out into space, and fall. One small step for the body, an immense step for the mind.
In the abandon ship training the metal platform that simulates the deck juts out over the pool about 20 feet above it. The instructor tells me to stand a few steps back from the edge and walk forward. And just keep walking. To make sure I fall in an upright position, not landing in a belly flop or twisting backward and hitting my head on the side of the ship, I walk upright out into space and fall.

The simulation is perfectly safe, divers waiting in the nice warm water to help me, an instructor next to me on the platform who just demonstrated how easy it is, thousands of people before me who have safely taken this step. I know I can trust the water to catch me. Three ordinary steps, and then a fourth ordinary step. What’s the problem? Just because there’s nothing to step on? Nothing but space? It feels like my body freezing, but of course it’s really my mind. Then my body steps anyway. And I fall 20 feet. And go to the shower. And put on my clothes. And go to lunch.

So often the consequences of making a move may seem huge, but the step itself is actually simple; as simple as saying yes or no, or picking up the phone or opening my mouth at the meeting table. My body knows how to do these things, but sometimes it’s as if my mind just can’t follow along. Because it’s not the step that’s hard, it’s the space, the open but passing moment. Isn’t it strange that the space of the moment can feel so solid, impenetrable, a mirror in which I see only my fear? In fact it’s actually completely open, even welcoming. Once I take that first step, the space opens up in front of me, possibilities arise, things that are stuck begin to move, and often I look back and say, “That wasn’t so bad. Why didn’t I do that before?”

If I focus on the steps, it helps. They’re just steps. Gearing myself up for a great heroic leap at the problem may not really help. I know how to pick up the phone. Dialing numbers doesn’t take strategy. When someone answers, I know how to listen. I know what needs to be said. Or if not, I’ll find out. I can proceed, step by step. By step. By step. And that’s how we make the leap.

To speak with Crane about support for your organization’s performance development, or for personal performance coaching, please call him at (902) 240-5904, or fill in contact form in sidebar.

To receive Crane’s articles by email, twice-a-monthclick here to sign up.

Or if you would like to read Crane’s book, (or for a short read, his mini-books) click here for the free ebook or audiobook downloads.

Engaging Leadership – An Inspiring Example

What are the conditions that foster a culture of engagement? What kind of leadership do you need to create them?

The Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu summed this up more than 2,000 years ago when he wrote:

The bad leader is hated and feared.
The good leader is loved and praised.
The great leader, when their work is done,
The people say, “We did this ourselves.”

Here’s an example that inspired me at the time, and inspires me again in telling the story.

Corwith CramerI once sailed with a young woman named Stephanie on the tall ship Corwith Cramer. The Cramer is a modern sailing research vessel that takes university students to sea for semesters of oceanographic science and seamanship training as part of their undergraduate degrees.

We sailed from Key West on a two-month voyage to the Dominican Republic, the Cayman Islands and back to Key West, taking scientific marine samples for the students’ experiments. We recorded the extent and condition of Sargasso seaweed (the Sargasso Sea is vanishing), the distribution of plastic debris, and so on. We anchored on Silver Bank, where the humpback whales come to breed, and lowered a hydrophone over the side with a speaker on deck to listen to the songs of the whales all night.

There were 18 student crew on the ship. At sea a third of the crew were on duty for four hours at a time, around the clock. Half were on duty in the lab with one of the scientists, while the other half, three students, were on deck, sailing and navigating the ship with the officer of the watch. If we needed more hands to handle sails or for some other maneuver we could call out the crew in the lab for a little while, but this 134- foot, 280-ton ship was operated most of the time by one professional and three students. People had to be pretty engaged.

As the weeks progressed the student crew became more and more proficient as sailors, and in the last month they started taking turns being officer of the watch in training themselves.

Late in the voyage Stephanie was the student officer of the watch off Miami, under my supervision. It was night and Captain Deborah Hayes had drawn a square on the chart away from the traffic lanes for big ships, told Stephanie to keep the Cramer within that square, and gone to bed. The organizational goal was set; stay inside the square. To meet the goal, the crew would have to do a good deal of tacking back and forth, maneuvering the ship.

One might have expected Stephanie, relishing her new competence and trying hard to fill the role of ship’s officer, to begin by undertaking some kind of engagement activity to ensure she got the performance she expected from her crew. She might have gathered us all for a pep talk, told us what kind of “buy-in” was needed from each of us to succeed in achieving the organizational goal, maybe even threatened us with consequences if we didn’t collectively meet that goal. This might have been followed by detailed instructions about what each person should do and what the timing would be and so on, to guarantee that our actions would be aligned with her intentions. She was under pressure to look good as officer of the watch, and she might have thought that her supervisor, me, standing right there listening, would want to see her demonstrate that kind of strong leadership potential.

This might be the way of Lao Tzu’s “good leader,” wanting to be praised for her “leadership.” But when it came time to tack, Stephanie called the other crew out of the lab, gathered us all together and said simply, with an excited smile, “Places, everyone.”

The delight of the rest of the crew was palpable. Everyone suddenly realized that they, a handful of university science students, knew exactly what to do to tack this massive ship and could be trusted completely to do it. Everyone headed off to handle a sail, with Stephanie’s excited smile shining on their faces too.

Stephanie didn’t make maneuvering the ship about her and her leadership. She didn’t make it about the organizational goal either. She made it about the crew. She made it personal. She recognized that the crew’s goal was not simply to follow Captain Deborah’s orders, or to be skilled sail handlers, or to work together as a high-functioning team. Those things did appeal to them and could be engagement points. But what they really wanted was to be Sailors; the kind of sailors that could tack the ship on their own, with nothing more said than, “Places everyone.”

Stephanie was obviously excited about being a Sailor herself, and understood her crew’s aspiration. She also understood that by trusting her crew to know their job, she made them want to be trustworthy. And she knew that when it comes to leadership, very often, less is more. We maneuvered beautifully and tirelessly inside our box through the night, and everyone brought their personal best to every tack.

When you hear this story, do you think, “Wow, we could do more of that?” Or are you thinking, “That would never work with our people?” If the latter, is competence lacking, or is clarity lacking, or something else? What would it take for people to say more often, “We did this ourselves?”

The Simple Rule to Make Networking Pay Off

The art of givingThe best networking communities have a sense of wealth and generosity. By offering something of value to our colleagues we foster a culture of giving that makes our whole business environment richer and richer.

At a recent networking gathering I attended in Halifax, hosted by a local magazine, I was offered an invitation to speak about leadership to a local business group. I hadn’t asked for it, someone just offered. I went to the event with a colleague, and he was offered an invitation to be introduced at a prestigious private club. He hadn’t asked for it either. Someone just said, “That’s where you’ll find the people you should be talking to.”

One young man at the gathering had an opposite approach. He came up to me and a woman I was talking with and interrupted us to give us his card, saying a version of, “If you’re looking for the kind of services I offer, I’m the man. Be sure to call me.” Then with a nod he walked off to do the same with the other people in the room.

His approach may seem like confidence, putting himself out there and asserting his worth. But it felt more like poverty. He had nothing to give, and only wanted us to give him business. He seemed small.

In contrast, the woman who offered to introduce me to a speaking opportunity felt like a leader in her field. If I need help with the kind of services she provides I’ll call her, not her competition, because I’ve already experienced how helpful she can be.

“We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.” (Winston Churchill)

I’d go a step further. A good living and a good life aren’t two separate things. Business ethics are community ethics, and generosity is a best practice in either one.

For more on generosity as a business practice, click here.

Without Enemies, We’d Be Lost

In the thick of it“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer”, said Machiavelli. Which may be another way of saying that by keeping people close, we can defeat the enemy in them.

It’s a tricky business navigating to cross a bay full of rocks and shoals in thick fog, when we can’t see more than 200 feet. The rocky enemies are many, scattered and unseen. In a modern motorboat with electronic navigation we can stay clear of the dangers by setting a course from one safe landmark such as a navigation buoy to another, and then traveling quickly over open water with the electronic magic boxes telling us when we’re off course and when the next safe mark is approaching.

In the traditional wooden expedition boats of the Nova Scotia Sea School that doesn’t work. We don’t have electronics, or even electricity. We navigate the old fashioned way, with a compass, a chart, and a lead line to drop down and feel the bottom when the water’s shallow. Our safe passage is entirely up to us. The boats have no engine, just sails and oars, so moving quickly isn’t an option. That means it takes us a long time to get from one buoy to the next, so any steering errors are amplified. The crew is made up of young trainees, many of whom have never been in a boat before. Getting one of them to steer a straight course over open water even a short distance is very unlikely. The next buoy is a small thing in a big body of water, and with 200 feet of visibility we’d have to hit it right on, and that’s just not going to happen.

So we transform our enemies into guides. There are a lot more of them than buoys. We head for a nearby rocky outcropping that will have waves breaking on it, waves that could break us to splinters if we let them. But the waves also make a lot of noise, and we’ll hear them before we wreck. In fact, we want to be sure to pass close enough to the rocks to hear those waves, because that tells us where we are.

From there, we head for another shoal where we know the seagulls gather to feed. We’ll hear their cries, and know where we are again. From there, we head for an island that has more nasty rocks off its shore but that is big enough to have a stand of pine trees. When we smell that dry, woodsy land smell on the breeze we know the island is close upwind of us, and it’s time to turn toward the high cliffs of the next island on our route. The water is deep right up to these cliffs. If we were traveling at high speed we would have no hint from a depth sounder that land was near, and the fog would reveal the cliffs too late to slow down. At our slow speed we know we’ll be able to turn as soon as we see the cliffs, and then we can follow them in deep water until they drop down to the entrance to the cove where we plan to anchor.

When we move too fast, the cliffs are our enemy, When we move slowly and carefully, we get close enough for the same cliffs to become our guide.

We can not defeat the rocks and cliffs, or the metaphorical rocks and shoals of difficult people in our work and life ashore. In a direct confrontation they may defeat us. But we can defeat the enemy in people by knowing how to get close enough to work with them. We don’t get so close that we trigger their destructiveness. We get close enough to make a relationship with what is useful about them, to learn what they have to teach us about where we are in the world, and how we can move forward. Without our enemies, we’d be lost.