A Place To Stand

What is it that you stand for?  

The greek mathematician Archimedes, demonstrating the principle of a lever, said that he would move the whole world if he had a long enough stick, and a place to stand.

So often, when we have a new task or role to live up to, we focus on the tools we will need.  Most training and development centres on improving our skills.  New organisations concentrate on getting the structures and processes in place.  But unless we are really clear about what we are trying to achieve; where we stand; what is important.... it is like poking at the problem with a stick.  Sometimes a very big one.  Without a place to stand, we have no purchase.

Knowing what we stand for gives us a place to come back to when the way is unclear.  It gives us a language with which to engage with others in authentic debate.  In organisations, getting really clear about a shared purpose - finding a common landscape - is key to success.

Working out what we stand for is more than deciding what we think about something.  Where we stand is not is our heads.  It is where we plant our feet.  We often say that we are committed to something, and yet it plays little part in our lives.  We might believe in or think about lots of things that are important to us; but what we are committed to is what we are doing right now.  Is what you are doing now the thing you say you are committed to?  And if you are not truly committed to some of the things you think about - the shoulds and oughts that you give yourself a hard time over -  maybe its time to let them go?  Maybe this would give you space to really commit to something?

As William Hutchinson Murray, deputy leader on the 1951 Everest Reconnaissance Expedition, said 

"Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back-- Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth that ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too.”

Murray’s love of mountaineering, and his determination to write about it, may have helped him survive three years in prisoner of war camps during world War II. While imprisoned, Murray wrote a book entitled Mountaineering In Scotland on the only resource available - rough toilet paper. The manuscript was found and destroyed by the Gestapo.  His response was to start again, despite the risk of its loss and his poor physical condition.  He was so malnourished that he believed he would never climb again. The book was finally published in 1947.

Do you have a place to stand?    If so, what does it give you?   If not, how might you find one?

Speak What You Know To Be True

Last week I went to see A Celebration of Harold Pinter, Directed by John Malkovich, and ‘Performed’ (although this is hardly the right word) by Julian Sands.  At times speaking in Pinter’s voice, Sands shared anecdotes, selections from Pinter’s poetry and lectures, and snippets from Lady Antonia Fraser’s deftly titled memoir Must You Go?  Above all, Sands shared his esteem for the one of the 20th Century’s greatest playwrights.  It is a very personal account, delivered in an intimate and effusive style that has brought mixed criticism.  I loved it....  

Moreover, it prompted me to watch Pinter’s nobel prize acceptance speech, which Sands quotes from in the piece.

“I believe that despite the enormous odds which exist, unflinching, unswerving, fierce intellectual determination, as citizens, to define the real truth of our lives and our societies is a crucial obligation which devolves upon us all. It is in fact mandatory.  If such a determination is not embodied in our political vision we have no hope of restoring what is so nearly lost to us — the dignity of man.”

Pinter recorded his lecture as he was too ill (with cancer) to travel to Sweden to deliver it.  His physical frailty and the strain in his voice are obvious and poignant.  But his wit is razor sharp; his prosody engaging; his words piercing; his passion irrepressible.  His views (especially on American foreign policy) are uncompromising, and no doubt discomforting to many.  He was not afraid to speak up.

And of course, Pinter understood the power of speech and the undercurrents of quiet.  His plays are renowned for his use of silence; and the Pinter pause.  

Pinter himself described two silences. One when no word is spoken. The other when “a torrent of language is being employed”. Beneath both of these silences, there may be things unsaid.

Today human rights activists across the world mourn the death of Troy Davis, executed after 21 years in prison in Georgia, USA.  The silent vigils held just before his killing by lethal injection shout loudly of outrage.  The obfuscating rationales for not granting clemency conceal a moral vacuum; and the twittering debates about when it is and isn’t OK to kill, only obscure.

As Pinter said, “So often, below the word spoken, is the thing known and unspoken.”  What do I know?  That this was wrong.  

To speak, clearly, what we know to be true - surely that is our obligation.

The Sweet Territory of Silence

As well as the outer voices we express, we all have inner voices too.  Some of these are not really ours.  They are the nagging voices of fear, regret or embarrassment.  The voice of a teacher, parent or boss who shamed us.  The envious voices of others who demand “who do you think you are?”.  Some of us call these our Gremlins.  As a coach and facilitator, I am often asked to help people to challenge these voices.  To chuck them some peanuts.  To tell them where to get off.....

We also have our own, genuine, inner voice.  The one that reflects the meaning we place on our experiences and the lessons we have learned.  The one that has guiding wisdom to offer. It is more subtle and less heard than the one we usually employ in public, especially in the workplace.  It often gets ignored and may be forced to get our attention in different ways - though a gut feeling, a sense of separation, a longing, or the physical ramifications of stress.

In my own experience, this voice is more lyrical and questioning.  Perhaps more poetic.  David Whyte describes how a poet: 

“tries to overhear himself 

say something, 

from which

in that silence,

it is impossible to retreat.
-- River Flow: New & Selected Poems 1984-2007

A coaching relationship creates the space in which a client can overhear herself.  At other times the coach picks up something the client says but does not really hear.  Notice that overhearing is different to hearing.  It is a snatched moment.  A glimpsed insight.  Something we might easily have missed in our busyness or business.  

Perhaps we could all make more space for this kind of silence in our lives.  Perhaps we would hear something really important.  Silence can be frightening.  It can feel like being alone.  It is unpredictable.  But there is comfort in it too.

As Gabrielle Roth says, in her powerful book Maps to Ecstasy:

‎ "In many shamanic societies, if you came to a medicine person

complaining of being disheartened, dispirited, or depressed,

they would ask one of four questions. When did you stop dancing?

When did you stop singing? When did you stop being enchanted by stories?

When did you stop finding comfort in the sweet territory of silence?" 

Voice (1)

I have noticed what seems like a recurring theme in my recent coaching sessions. Three of my clients in particular have highlighted issues that are fundamentally to do with how they express themselves through their voice: a newly promoted manager looking for a way to embody her new role and find a different vocal (and metaphorical) tone in her interactions with the team and her new peers; an experienced manager wanting to create the right impression in advance of (yet another set of) organisational changes - and wondering how he ensures that the clear thinking in his head is credible and convincing coming out of his mouth; and the emerging writer, looking to give voice to his story and characters without being overwhelmed by them.

As the key way that we engage with others, our voice is a bridge between our internal and external worlds. Our words — how they are chosen, strung together and expressed — have the ability to clarify, influence, persuade, motivate and inspire. They have a significant impact on image and long-term success.

As a coach, I listen carefully to what clients say and how they say it. Together, we explore the significance of what they say, and I reflect back my experience of hearing them say it. Their physical voice provides a window to their thoughts.

But using the abstract or connotative idea of ‘voice’ to explore a client’s sense of self provides another dimension. The concept of voice is closely related to our sense of identity. In choosing the voice we use, for example as leaders, we are saying something about the kind of person we want to be seen as. If this voice is to be heard as authentic, it must reflect our actions; the kind of person we are. If it doesn’t, however much we might admire those we would model ourselves on, we will struggle to “make that noise” (as described in Anthony Minghella’s book, Minghella on Minghella).

We talk about compelling voices as ‘resonating’ - having a certain quality of sound that is deep, full, and reverberating. But resonance also relates to the impact of our words; the ability to evoke or suggest images, memories, and emotions. A resonant voice will integrate inner values with outer behaviours; whereas a dissonant voice just doesn’t “sound” right.

Add a Comment to share your experience, or contact me via sam@differentdevelopment.com to find out more about exploring your Voice

First Footing.......

Welcome to the new blog from Different Development.  I will be sharing news, resources and my learning from our new creative development company, and from my forthcoming book on Leadership.  I hope you will find something interesting, thought-provoking, inspiring, or just plain fun over the coming weeks.  Do sign up for updates, and get in touch with any feedback.


Do something different today....!


Sam