“Fun? In a Time Like This?”
I’m currently reading A Failure of Nerve, a book in which author Edwin Friedman articulates a theory of leadership developed over decades as a Rabbi, therapist, and organizational consultant.
Although I can’t fully-throatedly recommend the text (the man has some blind spots), his core idea is compelling.
Friedman argues that leaders don’t fail because they lack information, talent, or technical skill. They fail because they lack the nerve – the nervous system regulation – to stay steady in the face of emotional chaos.
As Friedman sees it, we live in an age of chronic anxiety, and real leadership demands resisting fear’s intoxicating pull. It demands differentiation – the magical capacity of maintaining a boundaried, non-reactive sense of self… while still remaining connected to others.
Friedman’s musings hit home. I certainly struggle to separate from the general climate of fear. Heck, I run right into the storm. Anytime I’m feeling bored, despairing, or vaguely content, I just call up a news app, mainline some cortisol. Get back to that enmeshed, twitchy state that’s become my baseline.
While I am not advocating for ignorance and detachment, I am recognizing that constant worry is not working. Rather than prepare me to face threats or be helpful to others, it leaves me overwhelmed, depleted, and immobilized.
But if not in recreational panic, how does one live?
The answer came while preparing for Seminary finals. Although I do not full-throatedly endorse the central text of that curriculum, I was pleased to rediscover a passage I’d noted from my first-year coursework: “Be not anxious about anything.”
I snorted the first time I encountered the entreaty; the concept was so foreign and absurd. Yet the koan burrowed into my psyche, and I’ve been contemplating it in recent weeks. There’s always something to stress about, always a “problem of the day.” What if I could just… not worry about most of them?!
I’m perhaps a month into this experiment, and pleased to report progress is possible (years of somatic therapy and considerable privilege also help). While I have not yet accessed cosmic joy, I’m taking the steps to get there.
My partner and I planted a garden for the first time this spring, and it is – against all odds – thriving. Each trip to the back porch brings a fresh discovery. San Marzanos topping out of their cages… Zucchini blossoms that were not there yesterday!
These moments communing with the cabbage are helping rebalance my psychic checkbook. They are a reminder that goodness still exists, and it is okay to step outside the sadness and revel in it.
Slowly, I’m learning that elation is not a luxury reserved for good times – that it’s only okay to be happy when there is no sadness in the world. Rather, the bad times might be the BEST times to pursue lightheartedness. Laughter ensures that despair doesn’t get the last word.
The work, I think, is learning how to hold the joy alongside the suffering – that definition of intelligence as holding two opposing ideas while retaining the ability to function.
Perhaps this is what it means to be a differentiated person – to have the capacity to garden and grieve at the same time. To have the internal wherewithal to allow sadness and pep to coexist, and the external awareness to remain compassionate to others without assuming undue burdens.
At least that’s how I’m understanding Friedman. I still have 4 chapters left to read. Fortunately, we still have 2+ months of summer… plenty of time to practice both these skills and my pickleball game.
