​Dear Friends,

As spring burgeons here, I wanted to connect with you and wish you well.
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I also wanted you to know that I'm back from a year in Siena, Italy. On sabbatical there, I was writing a book based on my change work of the past 30 years. As I wrote The Cycle of Change, I felt a vague but pressing sense of urgency. And now, I find myself sequestered in another historic city of great beauty - Santa Fe, New Mexico.

In the change projects I've undertaken, people have remarked on how much more they were able to accomplish than they ever thought possible. Consistently, people gain increased comfort, as well as a way forward, when big changes face them. Together, they form deeply human bonds and come up with bold ways to deal with pernicious problems. And most of all, the people themselves transform – becoming greater versions of themselves, individually and collectively.

And suddenly, in the midst of one of the largest change events of our lifetime, we, too, have this tremendous opportunity to use the changes facing us to expand ourselves.

While the book will be out later this year, I wanted you to be able to benefit now from The Cycle of Change. To that end, I'd like to offer you free access to my online course on facing large-scale change. And I invite you to share this with anyone who could use some support navigating change now and in the weeks ahead.

For now, I wish that you find solace and your way forward. As the Italians say, e' dura, ma ce la faremo - it's tough, but we'll make it through. And hopefully, grow from it, too.

Be well,
​Rebecca

Big Endeavor (BE) is currently offering several sessions with founder, Rebecca Reynolds, to acquaint you with what BE is all about. You can join in here.

In response to the first session, several people asked about how individual change relates to group change. This is an interesting and important question, and is a defining aspect of BE. So, we thought it would be helpful to post Rebecca's response to one of the individuals who asked about it. Here it is:

"Let me begin with your statement that 'the process of change is a personal journey, requiring self-reflection, an honest inventory of learnings (I took the liberty of reframing your word mistakes) and a ton of willingness.' YES. This is what I refer to as “readiness” – no one changes unless they are ready to do so. Or rather, no one evolves themselves through the change process unless they want to.

Your questions 'how is that process translated from an individual to a group/org? Can a group go through this process together?' lie at the core of what Big Endeavor is all about. In short, YES, groups (organizations, communities, families, countries) change together –  in fact, this is exactly what is taking place all the time. And the group entity is actually more than the sum of its parts…as an example, in a family, each individual is changing – at their own pace based on readiness etc., and at the same time, the family is evolving through the dynamic interaction of all the individuals. And seeing the family as its own entity of which you or I are a part can help us gain a useful perspective on the whole thing. Not only how the family's change may shine light on my own, but also how other family members are contributing through their own process.

To help understand the relationship between individual and group change, we can look at an orchestra – each individual musician has an instrument that has its own rules and voice and timing. That musician is part of a group – violins, flutes, etc., which are part of a section – strings, wind instruments, etc., all of which have timing and timbre. A symphony is made  up of the ebb and flow of the individuals and the groups as part of a whole – the conductor works with this dynamic enterprise to create that particular orchestra's expression of the score. The difference between a symphony and a change project is that the “score” is a bit more free form in the change project! 

Big Endeavor (BE) is about showing how the individual change process and the group change process are, fundamentally, the same - and in that sameness, we are better able to use the one to transform the other, and vice versa. BE models and practices are all about advancing this capability, so that all change can occur with more ease and greater result."

Join in the conversation at the next BE Sneak Peek here.

That’s right. On this day of days, when things may look bleak and confusing, troubling and hopeless, scary and insurmountable, this is the moment to begin.

Big Endeavor – or BE – is gearing up and we want you to know about it. Big Endeavor is a movement to enable people to instigate and bring about LARGE-SCALE CHANGE -- whatever cause, concern, dream or passion you have for yourself and this world.
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We don’t have to wait for our government or the media or a philanthropist or religion or any of the long list of folks we have traditionally thought “had it.” In fact, today I think we can admit that those traditional sources of leadership are not the answer. WE ARE.

So what’s stopping us? Not knowing how to go about it – knowing the steps and milestones of achieving large-scale change. Most of us think “oh, I could never do THAT! I haven’t a clue where to begin.” And that’s exactly the problem. If you knew how, wouldn’t you get started today?

That’s what Big Endeavor is about. We advance people’s ability to work with large-scale change, for the betterment of our world. The way, the steps, and the knowledge that you can use to bring about big change. And a community to BE a part of … for support, ideas, passion and solidarity along the way.

We’ve been getting ready…we’ve been noticing the signs that it’s time. Time for people like you and me to bring about the big ideas and innovations that we’ve been quietly dreaming of. Don’t you feel it’s time?

We have a practice that works and we’re building a movement to share it.
JOIN US.

Big Endeavor … launching just in time. ​

“The limits of my language mean the limits of my world." ~ Ludwig Wittgenstein

​Remember the phrase "the medium is the message"? Marshall McLuhan was pointing us to look at the medium, to be aware of its power and influence in shaping the content of our messages.

Medium as Message
This notion of considering the medium and how (as well as how much) it affects the message isn’t new. Each new technology, at least since the Industrial Age, has undergone scrutiny as an actor on how people communicate. But McLuhan, in the time of TV's rise, gave the idea a particular vocabulary with a passion that was persuasive. And, since we’re again in the face of, not so much an emerging technology as the thorough infiltration of it, McLuhan's ideas are on people's lips - whether they credit him or not.
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A case in point is James Gleick’s story about African talking drums (in his 2011 book The Information), which is a perfect illustration of McLuhan’s medium-as-message point. As Gleick explains, the drum captures the tone of the language and does so precisely because the language itself is rich in tone (drums don't work with English because it's largely monotone). But because the drum replicates the tone and not the sound, each set of tones can represent a number of different words, so drumming must supply context in order to make meaning clear. The drum is the actor shaping the message, but at the same time, honing the message sender, who must develop this descriptive ability in order to effectively convey ideas. Gleick reminds us that the telegraph did the exact same thing in another time and place, but where drummers were poets, telegraphers were our first texters.

Language
It's interesting and in some way quaint to examine cases like drums and telegraph, both of which are mostly lost media today. But apply "the medium is the message" to something extant and intrinsic like, say, language, and the whole exercise takes on new meaning. It’s a bit of a mind bender, but language really is the first technology, right? What is original is human experience, which resides inside me and inside you. We developed language to express what is individual and inside, to the other and the outside.

Even when we’re in our own heads, language runs like a river, at times spraying buoyantly over an idea and at others eddying around an emerging thought. Writers toy and struggle and cajole and muse over just which words - the units of language - to string together to make ourselves known. We humans rely on language in the same way we rely on the air we breathe: effortlessly, continuously, unconsciously, completely.

But if there’s one thing large-scale change work has taught me over the years, it’s that language is really a terrible analog for human experience. Get 20 people together to discuss anything of consequence, and you quickly find that language is so imprecise, it’s a wonder we ever connect at all. I spend much of my time, especially early on, asking “what do you mean?” to untangle the layered meaning inside one head so as to relate it to others. Wars are fought not so much because we disagree but because we misunderstand each other.

Those who use language well know it’s imprecise, and just because you say a word, doesn't mean the other person got your intent. Great communicators tell stories, describe ideas or concepts with metaphors and examples, using different perspectives, wording, and sometimes even language. And in the context of change, the bigger it is, the more critical our use of language becomes. The early talk about global warming is a good case in point. Bill McKibben, in his book Eaarth, describes how 100 years ago a Swedish scientist proposed that coal “evaporating into the air” could cause increased temperatures. Obviously, he was way out in front, and no one paid him any mind. Yet, it strikes me that his language was a big part of the problem: there were not yet words to express his message and no one had the foggiest idea what could be meant by coal evaporating into the air; it must’ve sounded almost mystical.
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A Powerful Tool for Change
But imagine if that scientist had been more skilled in messaging…where might we be today?
Despite its imprecision, language is our most indispensable and powerful tool for change. Using it well, we can inspire, galvanize, and focus. Use it badly and we’re ignored, or worse, taken for hucksters, gadflies, even traitors (Edward Snowden comes to mind).

What’s involved with using it well? Honing ourselves as messengers, who care deeply about what we are trying to convey, who notice and make use of the medium as we craft our messages, and most importantly, who approach each person with humility and curiosity. And the more agile we are, the more effective we will be in sharing the meaning of our human experience with others.
 

When we bring people in—whether we’re hiring a single person, creating a new team, restructuring an entire organization or starting a movement—we’re acting as a kind of host, inviting guests to join us. Like hosts, it’s essential that we invite the right people, that they feel welcome, they’re clear about the purpose of the visit, and they know how they’re going to get their needs met. And it’s the attitude behind these actions that endow their meaning. Anyone can go through the motions of hospitality, but it’s the underlying feeling of caring for others that makes all the difference.

As conveners of any human gathering, whether a team, an organization, or a party at our home, our mission is to create the right combination of humans to achieve the desired result. When we find the right mix, and bring them together in a way that recognizes each individual and his or her role as part of the group, we move toward our collective purpose with greater ease. And we achieve more together than we could separately, whether our aim is simply to enjoy an evening together or to change the world.

At the core of this practice of bringing people in well is the concept of role. Note the use of the word “role” here, rather than “job.” This is intentional. The focus on role has myriad benefits for both the host and the guest.

First, people work at a job, but they play a role. What’s the difference?

Fifty years ago, work meant a relationship between companies and their employees, which were often paternalistic, mutually committed, and lifelong. The result of the relationship was a job - which was a kind of resting place, providing both financial security and identity, and bestowed by someone in power.

Today we see work differently. The boundary between work and life is ever more porous with home offices, telecommuting, and 24/7 access. This fluidity means people can do more than one job, can start their own business from home, can work from an ocean away – which is changing what “workplace” and “job” mean. Rather than a resting place for life, people are looking for the places where they can express themselves and grow as human beings, while contributing to something greater. And this means they choose their work environment as much as the employer chooses them.

People are inspired by a role they are well-suited for, much more than by a To Do list. So, ideally, we want to bring people in who can be very good at their role and all that it involves, rather than simply able to accomplish a set of tasks. Unfortunately, too many employers still use job descriptions that are really just a list of duties. People working to a task list constantly need to be given new tasks, which takes time for the supervisor and also diverts that individual from her/his own role. This is both inefficient and tedious.

The urge to bring someone new in does often stem from the realization that we don’t currently have someone to do something. There’s a sense of urgency about it, which is good since that shows its importance. But like most perceived problems, the reaction is to hurry up and fix it.
Rushing into a search without the foundation of what the role is, a clear description of the contribution it will make and how it will fit into the team or department or organization as a whole will likely result in an unsuccessful search, or worse, a bad hire.

Describing the role, rather than the list of stuff that isn’t getting done, is a powerful way to counteract the bad hire. As an example, one duty on a job description might read, “Schedule team meetings.” A more effective approach sees past each discrete task to the purpose behind it: “This role’s purpose is to cultivate collaboration and a sense of community as a routine part of how our team operates.” Not only does the purpose enliven how the person will schedule the meetings, but it also enables the team to discover the character—not just qualifications—of the person who will fill the role well.

The best organizations manage to role routinely as a way to empower people not only to get tasks done, but to activate themselves within their role, thereby encouraging new ways to play them that increase efficiency and results. An emphasis on role actually fosters creativity and innovation, which are premium qualities in these changing times.

And that brings up another core benefit of role: it signals impermanence – no one plays the same role forever. Why is this important?
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Change. People, situations, the world. Within this changing context, it’s helpful to begin from the idea that all roles are evolving, as are the people playing them. In this way, the old employer as King and employee as vassal is replaced by a partnership, the goal of which is the evolving contribution of the worker resulting from his/her own development. The focus on role helps us all embrace the fluidity of our work lives, even to the extent that the guest can become host, and vice versa. This is the new paradigm – that reminds us to emphasize the human part of HR, with hospitality and caring as its core.

Want to know more about Bringing People in Well? Request a copy of our latest free webinar to understand the huge importance of role!

It's as if something from deep within us is compelling us, calling us, or perhaps our lives have somehow conspired to bring us to this point. And we step across. Into the unknown. It can look like whimsy or irresponsibility. It can ​​look like insanity. This is what it can look like from the outside – and we can even internalize this image and judge ourselves, even prevent ourselves from crossing over. But eventually, nothing can stop us. We do step. One leg led by one foot, moves forward and places itself on unknown soil – or into thin air.

The journey into the unknown has been called by many names and how we approach that step has a lot to do with how we name it, how we experience it. The dark night of the soul, the period of lunacy, the caldron, the topsy turvey, neither twixt nor tween, the void, the liminal.
We may do everything in our power to avoid it – scolding ourselves for thinking we can have more, diverting ourselves from the call with the details of day-to-day life, drinking or eating or doing any number of a thousand things to hold ourselves back. But there comes a time when holding back is no longer an option. So we step across. Or are yanked or pulled or shoved. We may look back with longing or dread or deep grief or relief, but whatever we were, whatever we knew is now definitely behind us. That much is clear.

What is not clear is what we are stepping toward. It is this that interests me. Not only what causes us to finally make the move, but what we do once we have taken the step. This time is so full of mystery and magic that there isn’t much written about it. It's so intensely personal, not many can share it. The poets attempt to describe it. In fact, this space is perhaps best written in the language of poetry because it isn't linear, not of the rational, it sits outside the constructs of normal life and living. It is necessarily so.

This liminal time is exactly for that: the time to be with not knowing, to reside within profoundest uncertainty. The mind yearns for clarity, for a way to understand and classify, to organize into steps. But after that first step across the threshold from the known into the unknown, the whole idea is for the steps to disappear. It must be this way if we are to reach the far shore. It is not a commute; it is an adventure. The definition of which is not knowing how to proceed, where to go and how to get there – perhaps even how to know when one has arrived.
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We humans have done quite a lot to demystify life. We have studied things at smaller and smaller scales, and named them, ordered them into meaning so we can know where we are. We carry GPS around on our phones so we can locate ourselves on maps, and those same phones enable us to communicate with anyone at any time no matter where we are. This gives us a sense of comfort. But it also deadens us, robs us of what we crave from deep inside ourselves: the mystical journey. Simply put, existing without knowing why or for what purpose, without the moorings of identity through those we call friends and family. There's nothing wrong with any of that, for we need times of rest and community. We find a certain sanctuary there, where we can suspend the feeling of uncertainty. But a life lived only there is one missing what is essential to us as humans: the tremendous gift of knowing that we do not know.

I have occupied this liminal space with myself and with others as the defining focus of my life. I am drawn to the transition places, because they feel to me like the locus of where things are born, where possibility resides. I am fascinated and humbled by the journey we make that causes us so much pain. The kind of pain that is distinguished from the other pain that comes from habit. The first enlivens us, the other deadens. One awakens us to an entirely new level of experience and being; the other needs to be drunk away into abeyance. It seems to me that our ability to use this pain, this angst, this anguish for our own expansion is what it means to truly live life.

Unfortunately, much of our suffering comes from thinking that somehow this crossing of the threshold from the known to the unknown is bad or wrong – somehow not “normal.” We seem to have forgotten how to greet and use this liminal space in ourselves or in others. It scares us, like dark moonless night. So we try to “light” it up with distractions, with the familiar, with our endless lists of preferences. And having things the way we “like” them makes us feel at home. But even the most comfortable and beautiful of homes can begin to feel like a prison after a while.

We want to rush each other out of the liminal space, or banish ourselves from its threshold, so as to avoid what comes of residing in it. Or we set time limits – it’s okay to be “in transition” for a certain period of time, after which it begins to look like laziness, depression, or insanity. We rush ourselves along simply because we do not know how to find comfort there. The idea of not knowing at our deepest level brings sadness. A chasm of unending sadness and fear from which we look up as if from the bottom of a deep well.

But what if we could reclaim the liminal space as one of creation and joy? Where true possibility resides, from which a deeper experience of love and communion can be found? What if we can befriend the unknown and come to trust that it is the seed of all beginnings, rather than a sign of weakness, failure, abnormality or cursedness? Why is living in the known, the familiar, the certain so much more preferable to our brains? To our societies? Why have we built monuments to knowledge at the expense of the vast territory of its opposite?
It's not an either or proposition, in my mind. While there is much we can know and the search for knowledge is meritorious, it is equally valuable to acknowledge, revel and welcome the opposite. Uncertainty leads to exploration, and that is the real adventure. Reaching the destination is grand and worthy of celebration, but it is a temporary respite only. Life is more lived in the liminal space than on the shores on either side of it.

I do not mean that most people live more often in the liminal space. No, civilization seems to mean building larger and larger monuments to the shores themselves. Few like to admit to not knowing; this is cause for despair and shame. What I mean is that actual life, life signaled by growth, expansion, greater comfort with what is rather than what should be, is lived more in the liminal space and as a result of it. This means that we could live a more enlivened life if we could find a way, not only to accept the liminal, but to embrace it. To learn how to recognize it and use it. To honor it in ourselves and in others.

In addition to celebrating achievement, we would commemorate experience. We would look for what is new in each moment, what that experience has to teach us, how we are being reborn through the happenings of our lives – which we do not dictate, but rather receive. We do not dictate our lives; we receive them. We do not make things happen. Instead, we tap into our deepest yearnings and attractions, we notice where we are intrigued and joyful, and we follow them. We follow them where they lead us, confident not that we know each step of the way or even the final destination, but that the journey is ours for the taking and that is what makes life worthwhile.

We worry much less about arriving and much more about what happens along the way. We practice the act of noticing our lives, and being present to them in each moment, rather than at some distant time when we reflect back upon them – or even worse, where we never experience them at all. As so many have said - Buddha, de Bingen, Nietzsche, King Jr., and more -  we each have the possibility of becoming a full human being, but few of us will use the raw material we are given to become one.

Over the ages of human existence, the Liminal has called and we have answered, each age and each person facing the threshold and understanding it anew. This is our great occupation: learning to cross over and embrace our own experience of the vast empty void from which everything is born. We can do this because it is, simply, ours to do. We do this by letting go of the "I know" mind, reawakening in each moment to what life is creating before our very eyes, and with curiosity and gratitude, we experience in full the life we have been given.

​Click here for more about the Liminal and the Cycle of Change.