What if we ride off the map? What if we explore places that we just encountered in the territories ahead? What if we let the road/trail take us somewhere? Does it increase the journey’s value or diminish our experience?
When was the last time you traveled off the map?
Sometimes it is not until we ask the right questions that we consider all the opportunities and challenges. Like wearing a headlamp during a hike. We do not always know what we might encounter. When illuminated, objects grab our attention that we might otherwise pass without notice.
Somebody had to figure out how to put in the first path. Then it the trail was updated and perhaps improved. Maybe another individual found a better route. Eventually, a group decided to construct a road. It was not easy, but now buses, cars, and cyclists pass without considering the obstacles.
What paths have you blazed or improved? What is their impact? Does anyone notice anymore? If they are well-designed, perhaps the purpose is not to point out what was near impossible during construction.
Do you climb to see what is above? Not a right or wrong approach. An option. This may be one of the countless choices we encounter. Some add depth and dimension to our journey. Others require decision and and move on without reflection.
What decisions remain in the stories we tell?
Energy comes from numerous of sources. It is easy to take it as an absolute, there will be power when needed. It is omnipresent. However, how we channel it becomes the question. It can propel us across the sky, turn on our lights, move us across open ground, or focus our attention. How might we direct our energy sources to have the greatest impact?
I have re-framing the act of strategic planning as an energy management plan. There is much we can work on, but where we direct our output is a critical decision.
I was out for a morning run in Wyoming. It was rainy and low clouds hung in the valley. I decided to deviate from the main gravel road to a 4×4 track that led into the hills. After four strides on the muddy surface, I noticed animal prints. Quickly I assessed it was a grizzly bear, the claw marks at the top being the most evident. I decided I did not need to run into the woods, charging up behind a grizzly that was out for a morning forage. So I changed directions.
Further out the main gravel road, I encountered a bull elk standing on a high point just off the road. He eyed me as I progressed towards his elevated position. The elk turned and faced me, still a reasonable distance away. After a loud haunting bugle, he started trotting in my direction. I quickly recognized that I was a threat and decided to change directions again. I ceased the unintended battle for the high ground without thought and retraced my steps.
We do not always know what we will encounter on our adventures, and we can possess enough clarity about the work that matters to decide when to proceed and when to find another path. Changing directions is not defeat; it is the reality of navigating, and it does not always take bear tracks and aggressive elk to shape our new path.
When a forest fire is actively burning in our proximity, it is easy to get distracted by the smoke, air quality index, and potential evacuation status. The forerunning indicators create anxiety and impact our life patterns. The fire is the bigger threat, the element that is going to fundamentally change the landscape.
Being distracted by the peripheral conditions is convenient but not the priority. A smoke free day is not an indicator that all is well.
The other day, I sent the above photo to Rebecca’s Private Idaho (RPI) Race Leadership Team. RPI is an Idaho-based gravel cycling event consisting of three major races. The photo captured a snapshot of trash I encountered on a popular trail the day after RPI’s first day of competition. As I stuffed used gels and discarded wrappers into my jersey pocket, I realized race participants had adopted a mindset that littering was acceptable (despite being asked to keep the trails pristine at the pre-race briefings). I sent off a quick email with three suggestions in hopes it might curtail racers from depositing trash on the course during the events.
What followed was a master class in responsibility. Rebecca (of local and national cycling fame) responded quickly, despite being in total demand as leader of the weekend, acknowledged there had been a volunteer breakdown. The trail was not swept (ridden afterward) with a crew specifically assigned to collecting trash. Further, she was sending out a team that day to take another pass and collect remaining items. Most importantly, she was committed to making an emphatic announcement about rider expectations at the next rider briefing before the largest part of the event. Lastly, I received an email with a photo showing a few additional pieces of trash collected by the follow-up team who had checked the trail by that evening.
I share this story because at no time did anyone try to dismiss the issue as unimportant. There was no way to confirm all the trail litter was from the race. The RPI event used the trail system and took responsibility for returning it for public use in good shape.
How might we take responsibility like RPI, even when the actions that cause friction are outside our control? If our name is on the banner, how do we live our organizational values to provide uninterrupted accountability? When we seek to create trust and authenticity, we say what we believe and then act in a manner that reinforces our beliefs. There are no shortcuts to integrity (or hosting a large cycling event).
We cannot always see the route to the summit. It might be visible on our map but not from our current location. Does that mean we abort the peak ascent? If we are committed to the journey, we move forward, wayfinding as we encounter each obstacle while focused on keeping ourselves oriented to the summit. Even when we lose sight of the pinnacle, we ascend, knowing the journey will forever change the context of the work that inspires us.
Making the inner workings of our organizational visible might be more revealing than professionally polished inspiration. As a former fire fighter, almost everyone who peeked into the fire department’s open bay doors was glad to be offered a tour. Their curiosity to see the fire engines, ambulances, emergency response equipment, and fire fighters in person enhanced their appreciation for the responsibility of the fire service.
How might we provide behind the scene tours that provide greater depth and dimension to our work. How might we engage our community with an authentic show-and-tell moment?
What-if-concepts 