More about moving dreams to action. This is from skydiver Cheryl Stearns who is set to make a jump from the edge of space to see what is would be like to bail out of the space shuttle at 100,000 feet. Here she describes how she got started in skydiving:
“I used to have this recurring dream, which started when I was 8 years old. I would remember it vividly when I woke up. In the dream, I would step out onto the window sill of my house, and it would be pitch black outside, no moon nor stars nor lights of any kind. Then I would jump off the window sill and it seemed like I was floating on a big cushion of air. I never saw myself in the dream, I just had the feeling of floating or flying. I had that dream about once a month until I was 15, but by the time I was 16 it was coming about once a week.
It bothered me so much that I told my mother I had to do a parachute jump to find out if the sensation in the dream was real. All I wanted to do was the free-fall bit, but I found out you had to do the static-line stuff first. On my first jump the parachute was open almost as soon as I left the plane so there was no free fall to experience. It took another 15 or so jumps before I could see and feel everything, because there is such a sensory overload when you first start jumping. After that, I never had the dream again. It was directly responsible for getting me interested in skydiving.
I’m interested in how her dreams were full of sensory perception that led her to have to actually perform the actions of free falling for her to find out if they were right or not. This is a beautiful example of self-fulfillment coming through vision.
Why local matters:
When a train car overturned in Minot, North Dakota last year, a large quantity of ammonia spilled out, sending up a cloud of poison gas. Local officials quickly tried to contact the town’s seven radio stations to send out the alarm — only to find that there was no one actually working in six of them. They were simply relaying a satellite feed from Clear Channel headquarters in Texas — there was plenty of country music and golden oldies and Top 40 and right-wing chat, but no one to warn about the toxic cloud drifting overhead. It’s true that you can hear anything from anywhere at any time but oddly, it’s gotten a lot harder to hear much about your immediate vicinity
From “Small World: Why one town stays unplugged” by Bill McKibben in this month’s Harpers Magazine.
The story actually became a cause celebre with groups fighting the USA’s Federal Communications Commission over the FCC’s attempt to give large companies more control of the airwaves. More on the story here and here.
Beatbugs
The folks who live and work at MIT are irrepressable. There is nothing out of bounds for researchers there. Now they are inventing a whole different set of musical instruments which you can read about at the Hyperinstrument Homepage. Included are the above-pictured beatbugs, described as
… palm-sized digital musical instruments that are designed to provide a formal introduction to mathematical concepts in music through an expressive and rhythmic group experience. Multiple Beatbug players can form an interconnected musical network by synchronizing with each other, trading sounds, and controlling each other’s music. Since interaction among players enriches the musical experience, the Beatbugs also encourage collaboration and social play.
My mind is whirling at the possibilities of using these in group processes.
From a site called ProjectJazz comes this paper called Playing the Live Jazz of Project Management (.pdf). The paper revolves around five principles that apply to both jazz and dynamic management:
1. Plans are enabling, not constricting.
2. Aberrations are normal.
3. You work with what happens.
4. Order is emergent, not pre-defined.
5. Disorder is not chaotic.
2. Aberrations are normal.
3. You work with what happens.
4. Order is emergent, not pre-defined.
5. Disorder is not chaotic.
My favourite of these is the one on emergent order:
There is a myth in organization theory that order and structure comes from some strange place out there, that it can be simply imposed upon organized action. This can be seen in project manage-ment, for example in habitual planning beforehand, where master plans and masses of charts are put together to impose structure on the project. In jazz this is reversed. Initial structures are kept to the minimum needed to keep the group together, and order is allowed to grow organically out of the collaboration between the players. As projects always retain some unique elements, neither does their order exist solely in the pre-determined master plans of the project. Just as the jazz mu-sicians find new and functional structures in the act of playing, project managers find ways of doing things in the acts of building.
Link from a newly discovered blog, Reforming Project Management.
Dina Mehta lost a cousin in Gujarat last week in a tragic car accident. In traveling back to be with her family, she reflected on the Indian Joint Family, a family structure where everyone lives under the same roof, but the structure of the house is flexible and malleable to reflect the relationships in the dwelling:
This is a classic Indian Joint Family – man and wife, three sons and their wives and children. Individual quarters built for each of the sons and their families – yet under one roof with common kitchen, dining and washing areas. Provisions made to partition the home in case of rifts. That’s the structure – but what really struck us were the relationships and interactions. The grandparents are old, have been really hit badly by this – yet were always encouraging the younger ones to get on with life. The sons going off to work – but dropping in almost every hour – silent support. The daughters-in-law (including the mother who had lost her child 4 days ago) working cohesively and harmoniously – looking after so many guests – food, laundry etc – yet spending time with us sharing stories about the young girl, breaking into tears sometimes, one taking over when the other was distraught, at other times smiling and enthusiastically showing us the house they had just moved into a year ago, and buying local goodies for us to sample from the hawkers that came by the door. The children too – lovingly tending garlanded photos of their cousin, never once letting the incense sticks or lamps go out.
I was quite touched by how the structure of the house, and the family came to be used in a time of crises, creating a robust environment of care. Even in the midst of grief, everyone is looked after and there is space to cry, space to socialize, space to be alone, and still the incense keeps burning and all are fed.