The case for composition over disruption

We had no choice but to remove the red oak tree that had stood proudly in the backyard for fifty or so years.

A springtime lightning strike snaked down the trunk, leaving an open zipper of woody core and jagged shards of bark. For six months my husband and I stood at our kitchen window, coffee in hand, observing the slow progression of death: the oak’s branches turned brown and brittle, its waxy, pointed leaves curled into little cups. On more than one occasion I sobbed over the demise of the great and gentle giant.

At the same time, new life sprang forth. Woodpeckers and nuthatches gorged upon insects nested within grooves of burnt bark. Hawks, owls, and vultures found advantage perched upon the oak’s broad, barren limbs.

I would have happily left the tree standing as food and an observation deck for wildlife, but within the statutes that govern modern suburbia, it was not an option.?

On the morning the arborists came with their chain saws and pulleys, I woke early to sprinkle rose petals around the oak’s perimeter, and to offer a prayer of gratitude for its years of unquestioning generosity and joy.

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A month or so after the tree was felled, my husband and I noticed how the canopy of neighboring trees appeared to shimmer with new vitality: leaves and branches occluded from sunlight by the sprawling oak now drank from a fountain of rays. The void in the yard gave way to a view of the rising sun, afternoon fox-play, and the low harvest moon.

I found myself reflecting upon the tree’s long arc of continual unfolding, of becoming, of having become.

Aristotle refers to this dynamic state of potentiality as teleology—the transference of matter into final cause. What is the final cause, or purpose, of an acorn? To become the best oak tree it can be.

Likewise, human beings unfold in accord with the laws of nature. By this I mean no matter what I do, I can only ever evolve from a human baby into a human adult, and not an aardvark. (Insert your own joke here.)

But unlike an acorn, or an aardvark, we get to participate in the cocreation of our best selves. Aristotle has a term for this, as well: eudaimonia, human flourishing.

Telos and eudaimonia are foundational concepts in Western political theory: a civil, well-functioning society is what results when human beings are permitted to flourish. Or vice-verse, human fulfillment contributes to a healthy nation.??

As envisioned by Aristotle, this is not a free-for-all, my-way-or-the-highway kind of flourishing. It is not economic liberty run amok. Neither is it materially seeking or self-indulgent. Eudaimonia is individual excellence in league with a higher or common good.

In modern parlance, we might say it eschews an exacting obsession with identity for the measured cultivation of individuality—an individuality that is at its best when interwoven with and supporting a greater whole.

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I find these ideas from antiquity utterly beautiful. They suggest an inherent code to the cosmos: where there is sunlight, water, and nourishment, an acorn will grow into the best version of itself.

Of course, as human beings we are considerably more complex. We crave big ideas and new forms. We are drawn like moths to light by the infectious, excitable creativity that occurs when we break the rules, color outside the lines, smash sandcastles, and throw handfuls of sand at one another. ??

Having said this, I’ve never cared much for the (now worn) consulting lexicon of disruption. I’d much rather talk about unfolding, about becoming, about the unity of a thoughtful, well-wrought composition.

Disruption is reactionary, radical, and very fashionable. It’s also disorienting and often destructive, not always in a good way. (Question for another day: is disruption small ‘p’ progressive? Does it truly advance the best outcome, or final cause? I wonder.)

Disruptive people. Disruptive technology. Disruptive models. Let’s swim, no let’s backstroke! in all the wonderful, wild disruption.

Let’s not.

How about a breather from disruption. I’m a bit tired of it. Aren’t you?

Important note: I’m not denying the reality of disruption, just negating the reaction to it (usually, more disruption). What if we use more encouraging language? What if we reimagine and co-create? What if we talk about composing something new and beautiful? Together, alone, or both.

Composition is elegant: it discards or exchanges elements that no longer work for ideas and ideals with timeless value and potential. Like a kaleidoscope, composition merges wholesome parts of the past with imaginative elements of the future to create an entirely new picture. A picture that is never static, but ever-unfolding.

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The implications of seeing through the lens of thoughtful composition vs. the funhouse glasses of disruption are legion: in business, civic life, and personally.

In her book “Composing a Life,” cultural anthropologist Mary Catherine Bateson writes about living well, living creatively. I love that phrase: composing a life.

I’ve been composing a life for about as long as the oak tree: marrying someone 19 years my senior; making a personal choice not to have children; holding different careers in different cities; returning to graduate school in my fifties; drawing from the best of my experience to help organizations and individuals tell their best stories.

More recently, I’ve been learning the ancient art of Chinese brush painting (more on that another time). I’ve begun writing about art, books, landscape, and nature. Between the lines and the years, there has been disruption of varying degrees. My preferred mode has always been to try and make something new and beautiful by merging the best of the past with enthusiasm for the future. It’s less of a pivot and more of an arc, a gradual bending toward a new composition.

Those who love to ride the crashing wave of disruption, enjoy! But know there is as much risk and reward in composition. Just ask any leader, community organizer, strategist, creative, or writer. We wonder if the composition will hold up. We strive to not leave out what is important. We hope emphasis on one area doesn’t overshadow another area. We strive for something—a self, an organization, a story—where individual excellence is interwoven with the greater good.

Like the backyard oak, I will extend my canopy until the day I can’t. I plan to write more in this vein: specifically, to share thoughts and ideas on how the #LiberalArts and #Humanities are paramount—to composing a life, to individual excellence and a higher good—to organizational and civic storytelling. It is something I am passionate about, central to my own sense of flourishing. I hope you will follow along here on LinkedIn, or my Instagram, or at cherylsadowski.com.

In the meantime, if you’ve come this far in this effusive missive, I thank you for being a part of the composition.

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