I am indebted to
Steve Zaffron
who inspired this conversation.
I had seen him around the campus (so to speak) but I hadn't really
seen him around the campus - if you know what I mean.
Then one day I did see him. He was
leading a meeting
in a packed auditorium,
standing
at the podium in the front of the room when someone came in and
announced there'd been a schedule conflict, and half the audience had
to leave for fifteen minutes. As they stood up to walk out, noise
filled the room to the point of distraction: the drone of chit-chat,
briefcases' locks snapping shut,
footsteps
etc. None of it phased him. He continued speaking as if nothing had
happened. Then suddenly he strode off the podium to the center of the
auditorium, climbed onto a now empty chair, and continued his
presentation louder in spite of the noise, while
standing
on that chair. He filled the room with his voice and all
the material in spite of the interruption which was now in full swing.
He'd included all of it.
It was the first time I had seen (or heard) anyone do that. He knew
exactly what he was doing. Holding the space that way, he wasn't run by
whatever was going on. He stayed in the center of the auditorium
standing
on that chair, speaking loudly in spite of the din so as to be heard by
everyone including those leaving. When they began returning fifteen
minutes later, he was still
standing
on that chair in the center of the auditorium,
leading
undeterred. And when they'd all returned, he went back to the podium
without missing a beat. This was a complete, uninterrupted, seamless
delivery. No one said a word about it. No one asked questions about it.
I myself had never witnessed anyone capture and take command of the
space like that by
sheer presence
alone before.
That was the first time I'd seen him. But I was pretty
sure he hadn't seen me yet. That would come later. And
when it did, I found myself once again in a busy, crowded room with
him, a much, much smaller room this time than the erstwhile auditorium.
Once again, he was
leading a meeting.
This time I knew who he was, given my experience of him in the
auditorium. I kept my eyes on him, realizing the
privilege
it was to be around him. My job was to take drink orders / make coffee
and tea for
the participants
in that meeting, in a small kitchenette located just off the main
meeting room. I walked around as quietly as I could, whispering, asking
people for their orders, then prepared all the drinks in the
kitchenette and returned to serve what they had ordered. I could feel
him watching everyone in the group intently from the front of the room
as he
led the meeting.
Then abruptly, mid-sentence, he stopped and fell silent.
Everyone in the room registered the pause, wondering what he would say
next. And then he said "How long ..." and paused again. Although I was
serving, I was still following his agenda. So when he didn't continue,
I stopped serving, and looked over at him. I was surprised to notice he
was looking directly at me. Was he talking to me? Moi?
"Me?" I asked. "Yes, you. How long have you been creating
the world?"
he asked ... at which point everyone in the room turned around to look
at a startled me. I never did ask him what he meant by it, preferring
to dwell in the delicious possibility of what he may have
meant. But I will say this: whatever he meant by it left me with an
experience of being 1,000% totally gotten, of being fully seen.
I just smiled at him and nodded.
Our paths crossed frequently on the campus after that, each occasion
along the lines of "How are you?", "Nice to see you!", nothing more.
Then one day an event I worked on included a buffet lunch for staff and
workers. When my turn came to eat, I went to the dining area and filled
a plate with delectables, looking for a place to sit. There were many
empty place settings. I chose one and sat down, the only diner at that
table, and began eating, barely noticing someone moving a chair to sit
down at another empty setting at my table. I looked up. It was him.
"How are you?" he asked. "Nice to see you!" I smiled.
A bit of background now. He was a high-ranking executive in the company
he worked for. There had been a disagreement among upper-level
management about how many hours the staff were expected to work. And
although the number of hours was clearly stated (and agreed on) when
new staff were hired, another high-ranking executive contested the
hours as being excessive, in response to which he fired her - on the
spot, in full view of the rest of the staff at a strategy meeting. It
shook me. Why? Because I was a big fan of (if not a friend of) both of
them, so what this boiled down to for me was a question of loyalty.
There we were, sitting at an empty table in an empty dining area, not
saying much, eating lunch. And I was the first one to speak. And what I
said was this: "I want you to know I forgive you for firing (my
friend).". He stared at me, put his knife and fork down on his plate,
and suddenly
burst into tears.
It was an astonishing display, totally unexpected. It took me but a few
seconds to figure out what had just happened. This is what I surmised:
the decision to fire her was actually the correct one, yet the
roughness of it was regrettable. And being responsible, he was left to
manage both. His unchecked reaction told me how anguished he was by the
choice. I remained silent - and so did he,
tears
streaming down his cheeks. He offered no explanation - indeed, none was
necessary. When lunch was over, we both stood up, bussed our cutlery
and crockery, and left the dining area. It was an
extraordinary
display from an
extraordinary
man: enormously
powerful,
and yet at the same time, infinitely and compassionately human, not to
mention vulnerable beyond all measure.
Together with another staff member who was a PhD at the company they
worked for, he created and produced a series of conversations which
were titled "Relationships: love, intimacy & freedom". They were
brilliant,
succinct, and extremely well laid out. They had the hallmark of any
great conversation for transformation, which is this: just
be in the conversation ... and whatever the conversation
is about (in this case, relationships) would clear up just in the
process of life itself. Those conversations were available on CD
which I listened when I was
driving in my car.
And at the end of each topic, I e-mailed him a brief note acknowledging
him for the material, and where appropriate, offering my own
terse
comments and sharing, not expecting anything in response.
He didn't just respond. Oh no, he wrote volumes in
response. He didn't have to. "I'm glad you enjoyed the CDs" would have
been enough. There was no agreement that he would give up his time in
his response to me. But give up his time, he did. His responses were
detailed, useful, inclusive, insightful, and were filled with so much
more than brief "Thank you"s. In effect, I was the one to offer a brief
acknowledgement of each chapter I listened, to which he responded with
a full blown conversation. The sheer generosity of it was stunning.
That, I realized, was the difference between us: I provide basic,
terse
acknowledgement - to which he responds with an entire
thesis of
transformed relationship.
I was (in effect) swimming on the surface; he, on the other hand,
plumbed the depths. It profoundly affected how I listened and processed
transformed material (written, recorded, or presented live) from then
on.
On one of the last occasions I met him (or should I say on one of the
last occasions I experienced him), we had both traveled
(independently) to Cancún Mexico to
be with Werner,
he to
co-leadthe Leadership Coursewith Werner,
me to attend
the course
as
a participant.
I arrive early - for everything. And I had arrived early for one
of the days of
the course,
looking for a place where I could wash my hands and straighten my
clothes before claiming my seat in
the course
room. I found a men's room. Walking in, I noticed someone talking,
standing
in front of a large closet, straightening his jacket, in conversation.
I wasn't
paying a lot of attention to
it
and I didn't recognize whom it was or whom he was talking with. So I
went over to a sink and washed my hands, and the person continued
talking: "You've come a long way", "Thank You for being here", and then
"How are you?", "Nice to see you!", at which point I looked
over. It was him, deep in conversation with (as it turned out) me.
What the ...? How did he know? How could he
have known? You know, I never asked him those questions. I just
continued the conversation with him from the point I realized he had
been talking with me all that time. Then we both went into
the course
room, he
brilliantly
rivetingly
leading
until
Werner
arrived, me
in rapt attention,
having let all my questions about him and the latest incident go.
It's long been noted that
people who are most like
Werneraren't like
Werner.
Yes that's
a paradox.
Yes it does sound like a contradiction in terms. And it's true:
people who are most like
Werner
are people who are most like themselves. Even when
co-leadingwith Werner
(which requires enormous skill, hours of candidation and
certification after literally years of practice), he was most like
himself. So he never overshadowed
Werner
when he
co-led
with him, as he was often scheduled to do.
Werner
would deliver a tour de force presentation which no one
could match really, after which it was his turn to sum up - which he
did, closing with "That's it ... from me.". He didn't try to be
Werner.
He didn't even try to be like Werner. He was just being
totally, fully, 1,000%ly himself. "That's it ... from me.". It's
what made him indispensably
Werner's
friend, partner, and ally
- which is what makes him ourfriend, partner, and
ally.
