Visceral
Where theory meets practice
Visceral. Adj. 1570s, "affecting inward feelings," from French viscéral and directly from Medieval Latin visceralis "internal," from Latin viscera, plural of viscus "internal organ, inner parts of the body," of unknown origin.
Etymyonline
I love that moment when an incomplete thought—little more than an awareness of something capturing my attention—gets catalysed by serendipity. In this case, serendipity appears in the form of a post by Sue Heatherington, a piece in the Guardian on proprioception, and a piece by Rory Stewart on ignorance.
Yes, I know…
I’ve put links to references at the end of this post, to stop it being, I hope, too clunky..
The incomplete thought had its origins in several small observations—watching my grandchildren playing computer games that involved dizzying movement, noticing the sheer number of posts and articles that offer “solutions” of one form or another, and conversations with clients and others that inevitably lead to sitting with what we don’t know, coming to terms with it, and moving on.
The movement in the game started it—it was impressive and deftly dealt with, but it lacked presence. Fifty-five years ago (ye gods), I was at the beginning of flying school, which involved getting to grips with the basics. Once we had learned to take off, not get too lost, and land without too much drama, we moved on to what might go wrong. First, the theory - stalls, spins, engine failures and the rest, and then, after having that understood, taken off to practice in the local flying area with our instructor in the back seat.
My first experience of the stall is deeply ingrained. The theory is easy - power off, nose up, go past the judder that precedes the stall into the actual stall. Recovery - nose forward, regain flying speed, power on, and off we toddle. The practice was different. The aircraft we were learning on were old. Well maintained, but like grandfather’s axe, most bits had been replaced with the result that introduced idiosyncracies. (Thinking of it now, I can think of organisations that are similar…)
Power off, nose up, go through the judder - but one of the idiosyncracies meant that one wing stalled slightly - fractions of a second - before the other, so instead of a lovely gentle stall, we end up in a vicious spin.
WTF? For a moment, total disorientation, mental and physical. It felt like like trying to read a book inside a spin dryer on fast spin.
The voice from the back seat addresses me like we’re having a coffee - what do you think has happened, what might you do about it? You have five seconds before I take control. Training takes over - rudder against the spin, stabilise, nose forward, regain flying speed, stop sweating. A voice from the back seat - “Let's do that again…”
When theory becomes practice, it’s visceral. It involves all our senses and emotions as we climb a ladder of capability, and the voice from the rear cockpit increasingly becomes the one in the back of our head.
Which is where the connection to proprioception came in.
Sometimes referred to as our sixth sense, proprioception is what helps high-level athletes take a penalty without looking at the ball, or orient themselves in the air while doing a twisting somersault. But it’s also what lets you touch your nose with your eyes closed, push open a door without shoving it too hard, or adjust your gait when you hit an unexpected root on a trail run.
“Any complex movement skill, from jumping to vaulting to climbing, requires a high level of proprioception,”
Guardian Article
Or, as I learned on that day, whether you’re in a right-hand, left-hand or (preferably not) inverted spin.
Our organisations and careers are no different. We are experiencing turbulence and are likely to experience yet more significant turbulence.
Unexpected things are going to happen.
Our orientation matters. The more exposed we are to the reactions of others—our organisation, our banks, increasingly capable technology—the more we need to be ready when the difficulty we anticipate turns out to be of a variety that surprises us because when it does, it will probably be visceral. We will feel it, not just analyse it.
Being ready means practice; in a complex and volatile world, I believe being prepared means conversations. Conversations exploring what might be, what if, why not and other areas that sit on the edge of the familiar so that when the metaphorical stall turns out to be a spin, we have done the work to turn conversations with others into a trusted voice in the back of our head.
Rory Stewart’s piece is a beautiful exposition around ignorance as a boundary, a source of inspiration, and a powerful reminder of how little we really know. Ignorance is our friend, and looking after our relationship with it matters.
Sue’s beautiful short post reminded me that we all sit in a möbius strip between being and doing and that getting trapped in either is a route to decay. Again, conversations are a great way to escape the deadening world of efficiency and productivity, consider the bigger picture we are all part of, act in accordance with our senses as well as our logic and give our soul a chance to make itself known.
The theory is great. Practice makes it real. Visceral embeds it.
Have a great weekend.
You need not see what someone is doing to know if it is his vocation, you have only to watch his eyes: a cook mixing a sauce, as surgeon making a primary incision, a clerk completing a bill of lading, wear that same rapt expression, forgetting themselves in a function.
How beautiful it is, that eye-on-the-object look.
W. H. Auden
This has been on my mind too. At a couple of recent gigs I've noticed that my body starts a thing that I only subsequently put into words. That liminal space where thought and action meet...