Flow. The Tiny Dancer.

Almost Famous is in my all time top 5.  The joy that film evokes for me goes beyond the wonder of ‘Tiny Dancer’ on the bus

to a whole other realm of sensory memory and yes, nostalgia.  Although it pains me to think that anyone reading this has not seen the film, it’s a coming of age story with the backdrop of 1970’s rock music – at time when the genre is changing (albeit a change that seems rather incidental considering what’s happened since).  Cameron Crowe wrote the film as a love letter to his youth, and to the music that forged him.  Although my own experience happened a few years later, when according to Lester Bangs music had well and truly died, the impact it had made me me. 

Music was me.  Alone in my bedroom, or in the car. 

But it came most alive in the presence of others. 

In clubs and arenas and huge outdoor stadia – hundreds or thousands of souls, in unison, vibrating with the overwhelming resonance of guitar bass and drums, and as that collective catalyst through which the vibrations passed, something else is created, something big and different and unique to the time and space.  A movement and construct that could only be in that time, bending in that space, and through that air, with our hearts and flesh and breath, creating an exteriorized organism called flow. 

Flow is very much in the zeitgeist these days  - a state that can provoke creativity, mindful and mindless practice, and a purity of output that requires this fine balance between skill and challenge and ease and purpose.  

In the case of a rock show, the skill and challenge role is played by the musicians and the lighting and sound crew, who push the limits of art; the crowd eases into it’s presence, serving the role of catalyst through which art flows, and is expressed in movement or singing aloud or meditation into the sonic meld.  Time evaporates. 

Present is all.  Collective unconscious or conscious; anything is possible.

The first time I recognized flow in my being was running – I lost time.  I literally felt like I came back to consciousness, and had no recollection of the past ten minutes – the signposts, the landmarks never happened.  I was there.  Now I was here.    That one time, I really noticed it, and it scared me a little.  But, once I had noticed it, I started to notice it, or at least be able to name it, more and more.  Carving a track on my snowboard, or a berm on the mountain bike – challenge and ease, challenge and ease = flow.  Limitlessness.

Next came abstract painting.  I always loved modern and contemporary abstract art; I thought I’d try it!  I registered for a night class at the local Art College, and voila.  From the very first night, flow was achieved completely effortlessly.  From the pallet to the brush to the canvas, I had no idea what I was doing or what was going to happen – all I knew was that 90 minutes had evaporated and it was time to wash up.  And what did happen on the canvas was of no consequence – what I was after, what I craved, what refreshed and enlivened and invigorated me was the flow state. 

Sometimes, if I’m really lucky, I can get it through writing, but it’s not a guaranteed outcome like it is with painting, or going to see my favourite band.

It’s the most connected, human place I can be. 

And I can find it, if I pay attention, in the most unlikely spots – during a collaboration session, or debate, or even a simple conversation, where there is that sweet spot of intense concentration and absolute grace. 

Sometimes I get scared that it’s like a shy spirit – that if you notice it and name it it will evaporate.  But I don’t think so.  Let’s name it, and intentionally seek her out.  The Tiny Dancer.

Transparency + Empathy = Vulnerability squared? or T≠E?

I once worked for a very talented entrepreneur who wore his heart on his sleeve. To the extent that he would bring his frustration, pain, and joy in equal measures to the office. It was great, I thought, that he was comfortable enough to be so open — so transparent about his emotions and fears. Clearly, and happily, the environment was safe enough for that. And that’s wonderful. To be able to be that authentic, trusting.

From my perspective, however, it wasn’t always comfortable. Or fair. (Did it need to be?) I didn’t own the company, I didn’t have either the pressure or the rewards (the business was quite successful) but I did have a stake — an emotional and financial stake; the gig was paying the bills, and I really enjoyed the work.

The transparency became a source of incredible stress for my colleagues and myself. Never knowing what ‘mood’ was going to walk in in the morning — was the sky falling? Or was sun shining just for us?

We balanced our frustration with empathy for the man. We were in transition; the investment and payoff cycle was unclear. But the work was purposeful, we all knew our part, and felt positive.

What we didn’t feel though, was empathy FROM the man. There was no balance between the transparency and sense of empathy. Had he no idea of how hard it was to hear his pain? And from a selfish place, when threats were made that he was going to ‘throw it all in’ or ‘shut it down’ how it made us feel? I don’t know, maybe he thought it would be easy enough for us to find other work. Or that he was so in his own head, held his responsibility so completely that it never occurred to him how we might feel or be impacted.

That’s not to say we were passive in all this — we tried to support, challenge, offer help. But he was too much in his own head. Not able to share the burden. Not able to really ask for help or be willing to co-create an alternative. And to be fair, it was his business, but what was being expressed with neither vulnerability nor empathy. I think he craved sympathy. But it’s not the same thing.

We wanted to help. Ironically, the transparency shut us out.

Collaboration to Interdependence

In the first dot-com boom (or was it the second?) in the late 1990’s, I had the pleasure of serving on a team who really paid attention to leveraging strengths. The COO of the organisation was a really inspiring guy who had read philosophy at Oxford and had a Harvard MBA. As a young female leader in the (still) male dominated tech world, it was so wonderful to have a real advocate and mentor with this unique blend. He had the vision to invest in the leadership team because he recognized it as essential for scalable innovation — remember this was at a time when the rate of growth and change that we take for granted today was a new phenomena, so his insight was critical.

We had a full-time organizational psychologist. We had a leadership development program that leveraged best in class diagnostics and psychometric instruments. They helped each of us gain insight into our preferences and strengths, and further develop as a team. Despite the pre-requisite awkwardness and skepticism, we all committed, and practiced rigorously.

Today it’s de rigueur to criticize these tools, especially Myers Briggs, which some claim is no more reliable or accurate than a trumped up horoscope. Regardless of how you hold it, this work gave me such a sense of liberation — that although of course, as an alpha-woman, I could do everything, I didn’t have to. I didn’t have to be great at the detailed creation of P&L’s and spreadsheets, because Mark was really good at that — and I could take that spreadsheet and in it see and interpret trends more naturally than he. Not only did it give me the confidence to focus on what I was good at, what I enjoyed, but more than anything, it gave me insights and practices to improve my communication with others.

Myers-Briggs wasn’t the only tool — there was Belbin and FIRO-B and something called the KAI adaptation/innovation diagnostic. Taken separately, each were interesting, but taken together, they gave us a collective language able to start to think about how to complete the circle, akin to the Full-Circle Leadership model Alanna Krause proposes.

I pause for thought when I recognize that what I’m describing happened nearly 20 years ago, and I pause again reflecting how grateful I am to have had that experience at a time in my life and career where it had the greatest impact.

For many reasons, the work I’ve done in the intervening years hasn’t afforded me the opportunity to work with a team so dedicated to supporting one another in our roles in the circle. There have been little glimmers of it, but never since on a leadership level; albeit until recently that would have looked like leadership that is ‘given as a role’, and distinctly hierarchical.

In the ‘bossless environment’, where leadership is created by momentum, I sense that the possibility and necessity to be intentional around this development work is intrinsic. The main arbiter is intention. What do we need to do to come together with the intention of spending the time and the energy to actually understand the gifts and archetypes that we as individuals embody, and actually work collectively to nurture the cycle.

Some questions that are consistent across many models of strengths based leadership is ‘what happens if all of the facets aren’t represented’? Which are the most important? How many can we do without? Is it possible to flex between archetypes or does that defeat the object? Should self-organizing teams ‘recruit’ for these missing skills and lenses?

Having thought about this deeply for a time, the unfolding for me is thatwhat is proposed here moves us past and through collaboration to inter-dependence. Like a flourishing forest, diversity ensures sustainability through resilience, which is held by inter-dependence.

The thing I absolutely love about this thinking is that it will be different in every collective, the way that is manifests will evolve, like the organism, and that with the intention, we can play and experiment and iterate! So, what archetype does that make me? I think I can flex between these three:

INQUIRE

The leadership of contextualisation 
Persona: the facilitator, Measure: inclusion, Shadow: permission-seeking

PROTOTYPE

The leadership of experimentation
Persona: the hacker, Measure: efficacy, Shadow: obsession

OPTIMISE

The leadership of improvement
Persona: the perfectionist, Measure: commitment, Shadow: meddling

What do you think? In which stage do you personally feel most valuable and valued? Which archetypes resonate with you? Then let’s explore the gaps — and think about what we are missing in our teams, and how we might round the wheel.

Are you root-bound?

Fromwww.lifeonthebalcony.com :

A plant is “root bound” when its roots take up all the space in the pot, or nearly all the space. If left in a root bound state, the plant will eventually suffocate and die.

Symptoms of a Root Bound Plant

1 The plant has stopped growing. This means that no new shoots are forming, even though the plant may produce some new leaves.

2 The leaves wilt a relatively short period after the plant is watered.

3 Regardless of the fact that you are properly watering and fertilizing the plant, an inordinate amount of leaves are dying. No amount of adjustments to the amount of water or fertilizer seems to help.

This isn’t a gardening post. Plants instinctively want to grow — they somehow know they NEED to grow, or die. People on the other hand, have a choice. I’m very clear that I have a growth mindset:

But sometimes, like that root-bound plant, I get stuck. And if you stop growing, you start dying.

I’ve felt like this a few times in my life. After a period of flourishing, a great sprint or the end of a project or the financial year, something happens.

I have a tendency to go hard, especially where there is a specific objective. But with my eye on the outcome, I can become blind to patterns of self-neglect.

It has also manifest from beating my head against a brick wall for a period. You get kinda numb.

Either from intensity or frustration, the ‘leaves’ start getting a little dull. Brown around the edges. The sense of ‘pushing against’ where before there was wiggle room to forge a new path, even if it meant moving around or through some obstacles. Stretching up to catch some sunlight, but never quite getting there. Stuck. Like that root-bound plant. There is nothing else for it but to smash the pot.

5 or 6 years ago, I decided to leave a corporate job (where the aforementioned head and brick action was a feature) for a new adventure. To celebrate, I took myself off to do something I’d always wanted to do, but never got around to:Outward Bound. I thought it would be an awesome re-set, and I was right. I don’t want to give away too much, but maybe the least-held secret of the Outward Bound program is Solo. Following challenge, adventure, team work and discovery with your watchmates, Solo is two nights, alone, in the bush, with a couple of apples, a bag of peanuts, a ground sheet, sleeping bag and a fly. Oh yes, and a bucket. Just you.

It was my favourite part. And maybe you’ll think I’m a little strange. Two days, sitting there, all alone, looking. You aren’t allowed to wander. So I sat, looking. The stiller I was, and the deeper I looked, the more I saw. And suddenly, everything was possible again. The pot was well and truly smashed. The roots started moving again– curving, seeking, growing. I grew an extra millimetre — just enough to reach the sunlight and start the miraculous process of re-generation.  I wrote this:

Squeezed up, mashed up, NO SPACE.  Root-bound, paralyzed.  Push until your strength abates--nowhere left to push.  In this useless place.  

But, in paralysis there is a stillness.  Turn your consciousness outward. Sit. Watch. Look. Pay attention.  Stillness is a SPACE CREATOR.

If you look hard enough, there is always a little opening.  A speck of light.  Or the inexplicable sense that the piece of wall you are staring it is not that thick; knowing that beyond it lies the chasm called potential.  Tap on it. Scratch the surface. Sounds hollow!  Close your eyes, and smash it down.

Now, as long as I pay attention, and notice, I can take preventative steps. Sit still. Be quiet. But every now and again, I still like to crack it wide open — just to see what happens. Growth is a Mindset. Growth is non-negotiable.

Success is a Team Sport

Strength in numbers, what does that mean?

What does that mean for those of us whose resistance tells us we are alone; our ideas are trite and trivial, success is a popularity contest we need to win with our cleverness? It’s up to the individual to try harder, dig deeper, compete. Look at me! Look at me! look at me…..

I believed that narrative. I don’t believe it anymore.

I believe that Success is a Team Sport.

It’s easy to give advice — to ask questions, comment and challenge. It’s an entirely different thing to put yourself in the hands and hearts of your teammates and say “I don’t know what to do” and “I need your help to get over the line”.

The trust required is boundless. But once you’ve found our tribe, you’ve found the place where we become as one, and cross the line like a rugby scrum — not a relay race. Holding each other tight, pushing against the resistance, and crossing the line together.

“A human being is a part of the whole…. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.” — Albert Einstein

The Company Broke my Heart

I’ve had my heart broken when I didn’t get the job, but without the complication of consummation, recovery is pretty quick. Sometimes heartbreak happens a few years into the relationship, once the honeymoon is over. Sometimes it feels like a lucky escape — like the time I was told by the MD, at the last hurdle, that I was “too much of a free thinker” to join M…

I really love work. Work that means something, work that makes me feel useful; allows me to express my whole-self and grow.

It took me a long time to understand this whole-self bit. For the first decade or so of my working life, I was just awed by the wonder of it all — SO much to learn, so much to do and try and explore. All these new ways of thinking and looking at the world. Acquiring new skills. Understanding the inputs and outputs, the process, cause and effect. As a young woman, I didn’t have the insight or the context to understand what it meant to me. I just simply was — this energetic, inquisitive, eager-beaver; with an open mind and open heart.

When I moved continents in my early thirties the new-ness re-presented — wow was business in Europe (even within a US based multinational) different! The multi-cultural dimension in leadership meetings — (why were the French team members always yelling at each other?) — the first time having a boss for whom English was a second language. I was the novelty! Fascinating, intriguing, a whole new set of variables to navigate. To a point.

To the point where I lost my (business) innocence. Not in a nefarious way, but in the way a little kid first realizes that the world is not as it seems. I was told, straight out, that if I continued to be my authentic self, I would never succeed. I think the words went like this: “Susan, you will never rise above middle management, because you say what you think”. I can still see the look on his face. Condescending, but convinced he was doing me a favor. I was an ambitious leader, and he was trying to counsel me based on his assumption of what was important to me. He was the European Executive Vice President after all. I did ponder his advice, and in that context, he was probably right.

It wasn’t too long after that I left to join even larger multinational, where the challenge wasn’t to my personal approach, but my approach towards innovation. The firm didn’t have the will or time to hear let alone entertain my ideas, so I joined a start up.

Best decision I ever made. Great company, real people, we had a purpose and made a difference. I was encouraged to be Susan, and I thrived.

Fast forward to another continent — correction — small island(s) in the South Pacific. A few zigs and zags, and then…

Back to Corporate. I still had it in me and wanted to exercise those muscles — for challenge and change and taking an axe to the silos. This is how the final interview for my last 2 jobs with multi-nationals went:

Susan (unfurling my peacock feathers): Look at me! Look at all of me! This is what you are going to get!

Company (shuffling excitedly in their penguin suits): Yes! Yes! That’s what we want

Susan: Are you sure?? Really sure?? Look me in the eyes — tell me you are sure!

Company: Yes! Yes! We are really sure! When can you start?

Susan: *blushing* You really really want me, don’t you? I can start today!

Typing this, I see nothing but (my) EGO. And I guess that’s right. I thought I’d done my due diligence, I hadn’t. I should have undertaken these 28 steps.

Does it sound silly when I say those companies ended up breaking my heart? I’d fooled myself into thinking they wanted me for my whole-self, when in truth, they only wanted me for a few tactical facets — like my ability to have the hard conversation, or make target, or negotiate the contract. And yea, maybe that’s what I sold/showed them. And I should have known better.

When you start dating (or start a new job) — you put your best self, or what you perceive to be your best self out front. If your new partner (or company) trusts you, makes you comfortable, supports you and encourages you to be vulnerable, to be real, to be awkward and clumsy and funny and silly and courageous, chances are what develops will be not only strong, but potentially magic. All those quirks and idiosyncrocies and what makes you uniquely you can come out, ask questions, spread mischief, provoke curiosity. To be met with delight, and joy, and a warm smile that says ‘wow, this is everything and more’.

If, on the other hand, these shy (and not so shy) hidden parts start coming out and are met with fear, or disdain, or shock, or sarcasm, beware. If they bring in the seamstress with a tape measure for your penguin suit, RUN! Or at the very least, wrap some barbed wire around your heart.

The Essence of Vulnerability (virtuous cycle)

Why is asking for help the hardest thing? A rhetorical question: Because it makes us appear weak. Because it makes us feel incapable or less than or dumb or lazy. All descriptors of what manifests the pain of vulnerability: Shame, Guilt, Embarrassment, Unworthiness.

Take a breath, reverse the lens.

Why is helping someone the most pleasurable thing? Because it makes us feel useful. Because it makes us feel worthy and smart, and alive and happy. And engaged. And connected.

Asking for help may be the essence of vulnerability, but it’s also the greatest gift we can bestow. Give another person the opportunity to feel the joy, the connection; the opportunity for growth inherent in helping. It’s a virtuous cycle.

The Close or Mr. Coffee and the Tiger

Everything in this post is true. Some names have been changed to protect me. 

It’s 1984. 

I’m sitting in a stuffy conference hall in downtown Los Angeles, surrounded by mustachioed men. All men in 1984 had moustaches. They made the beardy craze of today look weak. 

I have my notepad and workbook. I’m pretty sure people were smoking. Wide eyed, bemused, and utterly naïve I sat for what seemed like 8 hours, and was enraptured by the guru, no, KING of sales training, Mr. Tom Hopkins (feel free to cringe a little). 

You’ll be thinking, how in the world could she remember this, 31 years gone? I remember it for one reason – Mr. Coffee. I was reflecting today that for all the scores of conferences, courses and training I’ve been on, I normally glean one or two nuggets that become part of the soup (or compost) that is me.

This is (more or less) what Tom said: “Ask the closing question, then SHUT UP. Pretend you are watching your Mr. Coffee drip coffee maker. You know what happens if you remove the pot before it’s done! All hell breaks loose! A splattering, sizzling mess! WAIT! Just wait for that last drop. SHUT UP. Just wait. There is gold in the last drop.” 

I drew a coffee pot on my pad. The drips. Just wait. There is gold in that last drop.  What happened when I did this? I created an anchor.  

I have always been proud of being a salesperson. Maybe it’s just because I was always selling something that solved a problem. Maybe I wasn’t, but I always saw it that way. My first job was with a computer peripherals company – we sold printers and terminals, modems and cables, protocol converters and ribbons. For the first couple of years I learned all of the admin and accounting jobs. I liked talking to customers, helping them solve their problems, and I was good at it. It never felt like selling, not really. In 1987 and 1988, I sold more IBM 3151 green screen terminals than anyone else west of the Mississippi. 

I’ve carried those skills through my career and through my life. Over time the propositions and solutions became more complex. I was always at my best when the technology I was selling was making a market, and I was making change happen. 

I didn’t close every deal. I still had trouble reconciling the ABC principle with the coffee drip. Subverting my ego, endeavoring to truly listen rather than always be thinking of the next clever thing to say. It’s hard! But honestly, if the coffee drip hadn’t been anchored into my brain, it would have been even harder. 

When I moved to the UK and looked after and worked in multi-cultural teams, things became trickier. The stereotypes come to life – what happens when a confident, assertive American woman meets a neurotic sex-obsessed Englishman? Oh sorry I’m talking about my husband there – let’s use another example – an arrogant, dismissive Frenchman? Or a bureaucratic, humorless German? 

It became even more interesting when we emigrated to NZ. Kiwis can be incredibly passive-aggressive. Malaysians say yes when they mean no. Chinese sometimes say nothing at all, constantly deferring up. 

What’s the common thread? Silence. Asking the question and waiting. It’s the one technique that works with everyone, everywhere. 

I’ll close with a story that may seem too fantastic to be true. The cultural context: Macho Mexican Mafiosi. I’ve already shared my bungy background. One of our sites was a franchise operation in Mexico; operated by a tycoon I’ll call Carlos. The terms of the arrangement were that they licensed the brand and systems and payed a royalty. 

Royalties were to be paid monthly, but this never happened. Excuse after excuse, which meant that at least a couple times a year, me another manager had to fly into Acapulco to ‘collect’. 

Carlos operated a couple dozen establishments. Each night, drivers would go from place to place collecting the cash. From around dawn, a small armada of women would count the money, in the counting house, on the grounds of Carlos’ palatial home. Creditors would line up outside the gate, and wait for their turn for payment. 

On one occasion, I flew into Acapulco via Las Vegas (where we had another site) for a 3-day trip. I was told I would be seeing Carlos that first afternoon. By the morning of my departure, at least 3 meetings had been set and cancelled. On the last morning, we drove up to the house and the uzi-armed guards at the gate let me through. Carlos spoiled his son, and had given him a baby tiger for his birthday. The tiger was chained up in the garden. 

I was escorted through the counting house, into a sub-room that was like a bunker. Carlos sat behind a big mahogany desk. An assistant sat behind me. I presented the invoice. I recall it was something like $47,238.00, which represented 6 months royalty. 

Carlos hit the roof – swearing, yelling, screaming at me to tell my boss he was a loco bandido, slamming the invoice on the table. We negotiated a little. I gave a little ground. Gave my bottom line. Carlos was still steaming. But I just waited. I sat there, silently. Not reacting. Not explaining. Not negotiating. Drip. Drip. Drip. 

How was I feeling, inside? I was freaking out. This was like a scene out of a bad B-movie! But I didn’t panic, because somewhere, deep inside me, I knew that the silence would work. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Carlos got up, opened the wall safe behind him, and took out stacks of cash. His assistant counted it. I counted it. Then I left. I was a little nervous on the way to the airport.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.........

It’s interesting, and a little humbling, thinking and talking and writing about a product/service/experience for which ones own lens is truly unique. I would estimate probably around 50 but certainly less that 100 people who have ever lived have my share of experience of an activity that has been performed by around 4 million people (a little ironically perhaps, more or less the population of New Zealand).

You’d probably never guess, but I’m talking about bungy jumping.

At this point, I’d guess that half of you are intrigued, the other half horrified. For those of you who haven’t jumped, I’d guess that half of you would be keen, given the opportunity, the other half ‘never in a million years’. I’ll also allow for a few ambivalent ‘whys’.

I had no idea the impact my first jump, off a kind of random structure over a parking lot (the pool hadn’t been built yet) off the Las Vegas strip, would have on my life.

My Life in Bungy:

1994 – First jump, Las Vegas, USA

Dec 17, 1995 – Married Colin Basterfield on the Bungy Tower in Las Vegas, with friends and family watching on the platform. The Reverend JC Cunningham performed the ceremony, and when he pronounced us husband and wife and said ‘you may kiss the bride’ we fell backwards from the tower. I also met AJ Hackett, the father of commercial bungy on my wedding day.

1996 – 2003 Approximately 75 additional jumps, including Heli-Bungy, and a full-moon jump from the Verzasca Dam a la James Bond in Goldeneye, and an illegal ‘raid jump’ from the beautiful Pont de la Caille outside Geneva.

*Special Event – My husband Colin jumped from one millennium to the next, at midnight on Dec 31 1999 from the Nevis High-wire in Queenstown, New Zealand

2003 – 2005 Serve as AJ Hackett International’s Managing Director, responsible for the operations in Cairns, Australia, Macau, China, Bali, Indonesia, Acapulco, Mexico, Las Vegas, USA Normandy, France as well as development projects in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia and Germany. I approximate an additional 300+ jumps during my years with the organization.

2005 – Became the first woman to bungy jump from the highest suspension bridge in the world – The Royal Gorge Bridge (956ft) in Colorado, USA

I set that context to make clear my perspective on what bungy jumping is, who it’s for, and the kind of customer we are trying to create.

Commercial Bungy jumping was inspired by the Vanuatu ancient land diving ritual, in which young men jump from tall wooden platforms with vines tied to their ankles as a test of their courage and passage into manhood.

And for some, that is still what it's for – a rite of passage. Over the years, I’ve spoken to hundreds of jumpers, asking the ‘why’. Answers range from ‘looks like fun’ to ‘it’s a dare’ to ‘well, it’s just something you gotta do in New Zealand’.

Some have much more profound reasons. Some jump to celebrate recovery. Some jump to celebrate a letting go, or a coming together. Many people jump simply as a personal challenge – taking that specific decision to subvert the lizard brain and take a leap into the unknown.

Whatever the reason, the who and the why meet at one specific moment. The moment you step or jump or run off that platform is the same for everyone, regardless of the why, regardless of world view. It’s a choice.

That’s what it’s for. The choice to go against all human instinct, and leap into the void. No one ever gets pushed.

The minor exception maybe the drunken Aussie at the 66 Club in Bali, who has medicated his lizard brain into submission with alcohol. And I have, once or twice, seen someone so frightened that they literally shook themselves off the platform. Because no one is ever pushed, those are the only examples I can think of where it’s a choice, but not the pure experience.

The design of the experience is fundamental. Your first glimpse of the bridge or platform, to the process of signing in, being weighed, having your weight written on your hand with a big black marker. Arriving on the jump deck, music pumping, seeing the looks on the faces of those jumping before you as they are being tied up, watching as they do that awkward, tentative wiggle (needs must if you have a foot –tie) to the edge. Listening to the countdown, wondering if they are going to spring forward or lean back…… Your name is called, and it’s your turn. It’s a ritual. It’s designed that way.

I think the scariest jump is the face-to-face elevator. Facing one another on opposite platforms, you lock eyes with the other jumper, and the countdown begins – 5,4,3,2, - on 1 you bend your knees in unison, then spring sideways together, holding eye contact all the way down. Even for me, just typing that out gave me a slight squirt of adrenalin!

To combat market myopia, AJHB has diversified in some locations – with bridge swings and giant flying foxes and mast-climbs and sky-walks. Some of these activities serve as the ‘gateway drug’, but even after over 25 years, the real business remains bungy.

Because there are opportunities to jump literally all around the world, (though obviously not all with AJ Hackett bungy, who, incidentally, has never had a fatality) the primary worldview of jumpers varies wildly. When we brought bungy to Macau, China for example, we really were not sure what the response would be, because there was no precedent of personal challenge activities. It was a very cool experience, literally making a market.

For the first 2 or 3 years, the majority of jumpers were not mainland Chinese, rather western tourists or from Hong Kong. That’s changed now, and the majority of jumpers are from mainland China. One of the characteristics of Chinese that I’ve experienced in business is the importance of maintaining face. I hear from my ex colleagues that a lot of that mindset plays into why many young men jump. But that’s not specific to China – I’ve certainly seen that peer motivated behaviour everywhere.

The outliers fascinate me, because I guess perhaps in a way I’m one. Men and women in their 90’s. Paraplegics. Pretty much anyone who can arrive at the platform can have a go. And despite urban legend, your retinas will not detatch. It will not put your back out. Unlike skydiving, there is the sensation of ‘ground rush’ that makes it more immediate, and I think scarier. But besides taking the decision to jump, you don’t have to do anything. It’s not like base jumping or your first solo parachute – there is no skill required. The only thing you have to do is decide.

The most common reaction I hear after someone has jumped is ‘wow – if I can do that, I can do ANYTHING’. Other common reactions include ‘well, that’s one off the bucket list’ and ‘when can I go again!!??!?’.

Those are the types of customers bungy creates. All of the reasons for engagement, all of the reactions are fit for purpose for the individual. That’s what makes a great product and experience, and that’s what defines a market. Just like the iPhone and the Tesla, it’s not for everyone – but it’s for everyone who is open to putting their toes over the edge, leaping into the unknown, and being changed.

Bring all of who you are to everything you do....

Reinventing Organizations by Frederic Laloux

“The most exciting breakthroughs of the twenty-first century will not occur because of technology, but because of an expanding concept of what it means to be human”. – John Naisbitt

I am not a digital native. For most of my life, ideas, concepts, epiphanies and inputs entered my consciousness (or sub-conscious) at an analog rate. Today, bite-sized ‘dopamine snacks’ of information mainline into our brains in a virtually continual stream, curated to our unique way of thinking and being.

It may be nostalgic, but I’m grateful for my age in this particular instance! It’s meant that ideas and revelations, seemingly unconnected and unrelated, have been allowed years and sometimes decades to cogitate, marinate, ferment. Then something happens – the spark, the connection, like ‘hmmm I wonder what would happen if we connected the yellow and pink wires’ and BOOM!

That’s how Fredric Laloux’s work hit me. Finally, I was able to make sense of my sense that self-actualization and how we interact with the organizations in which we do our professional work are not separate, and that in fact, like us, the organizations themselves are evolutionary constructs.  Reinventing Organizations identifies the evolutionary conditions for transformation to Teal, where fear is replaced by the capacity for trust, thereby relinquishing our need to control others.  Integral theory, metaphors for evolution, wholeness and vulnerability, self-organizing management, work and teams, personal accountability, purpose centered work – all come together in this breakthrough exposition.

Using real world examples of organizations that are pioneering the paradigm of self-management, Laloux shows us what is possible when we are fearless. The Morningstar tomato processing plant where employees set their own salaries. The FAVI auto-parts factory in France, where radical transparency and trust breeds radical responsibility. Perhaps the most profound story is that of Buurtzorg – non-profit in the Netherlands, which self-organized into the largest neighborhood nursing service in the country. And of course, we’re all following the great Zappos experiment.

Beyond self-management, Laloux moots other two conditions as fundamental: Wholeness and Evolutionally purpose – that the organization is a living organism with it’s own life force.

Wholeness is particularly resonant for me; I believe the concept of work/life balance so unnecessary. What if we brought all of who we are to everything we do? Could we dare make ourselves so vulnerable? Are we strong enough to hold a space of trust impervious to judgment? That is the action I am taking, and invite us all to take – we can each play a part in tilling the soil – holding that space for us all to plant ourselves without fear – and readying it for the growth of the next fifty years.