Reboot: Leadership and the Art of Growing Up

by Jerry Colonna

“Shoot. The. Damn. Crow.”

When we hang our sense of self on the whisper of an idea; when we unwittingly insist that our love, safety, and belonging depend on what we do and, most important, how others feel about our feelings, our actions, and our work; then we leave little space for anything other than bitter, existential suffering.

For humane organizations are those that sit still, staying firmly in that place between the strong back of good processes, fiscal clarity, firmly held beliefs and values and the soft, open heart of wisdom, empathy, and fierce gentleness.

Resiliency isn’t the goal; it’s the path. The goal is the equanimity of a warrior.

really, we fear death, the pain of freshly cut logs from the felled sanctuary hurts. We fear shame because it rends our sense of who we might be and—we believe—threatens our worthiness to be loved.

True grit acknowledges the potential of failure, embraces the fear of disappointment, and rallies the team to reach and try, regardless of the potential of loss.

She then recounted the story of the woman who, having suffered the unbearable heartbreak of the death of her child, was asked by the Buddha to go to every household of those who had not suffered heartbreak and collect a mustard seed. “Of course,” she smiled gently, “the woman came back to the Buddha empty-handed.” The point wasn’t for me to make small my suffering by comparing myself to others. The point was to lean into the universality of the suffering. “I’d like you to add a practice to your meditation,” she answered. “Please consider all the children—yourself included—from the past, present, and future who have, are, and will suffer equally. Send them love.” I began doing that, opening my heart to exactly that searing, piercing pain—the universal pain of children who do not feel loved, safe, or that they belong—and I sat still with all our suffering.

As leaders, our task is to feel our way through the heartbreaking, fear-inducing roller-coaster rides, learning not to vomit with each rise and dip. Then, just as we’ve built up the resiliency needed to recover from each nauseating dip, we find that we no longer have the need for it. The little train that makes up the Cyclone comes to a stop and we finally, wisely, get off the ride.

Every rise and fall of the roller coaster is life at play.