The opposite of a “fearless organization” is a nice organization, an agreeable one, which attends to keeping up appearances rather than attuning to shared purpose. The nice organization is a silent one – though perhaps noisy and chatty – absent of progressive dialogue, and beset with interpersonal fears because the perceived risk of speaking up is judgment and blame.
Author and researcher Amy C. Edmondson observes that cultures of silence are also characterized by concern with “reputation” and “a very strong desire to look good to the outside world.” Edmondson writes that the “gravitational pull of silence” is instinctive “self-protection benefits,” which are inherited from the “earliest years of schooling.”
Simply put, staying quiet feels safer than sounding, looking, or being different.
Edmondson’s organizational findings are microcosmic of a society that fashions consumerism as culture, where fitting in feels safer than finding out who we are.
What happens when the marketplace not only determines what we need and want, but also what our voice is worth?
“We are told from childhood onward that everything we want to do is impossible,” writes Paulo Coelho. We live our purpose by following our enthusiasm, but the path of our higher calling is blocked by fears if those desires do not appease the dominant culture. “And as the years accumulate, so too do the layers of prejudice, fear, and guilt,” Coelho continues. “There comes a time when our personal calling is so deeply buried in our soul as to be invisible.”
Dreams are dormant, the soul fractures, and we are silent.
Is this the cost of living?
Or the cost of conforming?
My favorite teacher growing up was Mister Rogers. He gave us permission to listen and notice. “What do you do with the mad that you feel?” he asked. Because if we can mention our feelings, he said, we can also manage them.
Writing opens the same door. Writing invites us to listen — most importantly, listen to others. But firstly, listen to ourselves; notice the still, small voice within, allow the gentle whisper, and acknowledge the feelings that make us rejoice and shout, that provoke tears and questions.
By seeking to understand, process, and make meaning, we can express fully, without convention or filter, because the intent is curious compassion. The experience of being human does not always fit so neatly in grammatical confines, just as coloring and thinking nudges us outside the lines, beyond the box, and into the embodiment of a spectrum.
We can get caught up with trying to make stories that are catchy or entertaining. Will anyone like this?
Try looking at it another way, and ask: Will this story help anyone?
Will this story help anyone mention their feelings?
Together is how we manage.
