I spent some holiday time on the Jurassic Coast this week looking for dinosaur fossils.
It was a wonderfully terrible endeavour.
It was wonderful because we were joined by much of my extended (and eclectic) family.
It was terrible because the weather was predictably cold, wet, and windy, making me grumpy.
My parents often took us down here when we were kids. But as I dragged my wet feet through the pebbles this time, the only thing I dug up was a forty-year-old memory of my brother and me submitting our collection of childhood fossils to the Natural History Museum in London.
They were promoting a big new dinosaur exhibition and inviting collectors to get their fossils valued, etc. Anyhow, after several hours of painful waiting, we were disappointed to have confirmed that our bucket full of belemnites and ammonites was utterly worthless.
So, as I watched my nephew running around with his colourful bucket and spade, expecting to unearth a full-blown T-Rex, oblivious to the howling wind and sea spray, I had to be very intentional to avoid dampening his forlorn enthusiasm.
Fortunately (for me), after a couple of hours sifting muddy pebbles and hammering stones in the rain, he finally tired and agreed to the offer of finding somewhere to get a hot chocolate and a biscuit.
Warmth and morale were quickly restored in the lovely little coffee shop we discovered at the top of the cliffs. It was one of those little artisan places (I love) where you can pick up second-hand books off the shelf and then sit down to read them in your own time.
I cannot think of a time when I picked out a book that genuinely excited me (a bit like my fossil hunting), but this time, I found a book that caught my attention.
Team of Teams, by General Stanley McChrystal, was different from what I expected.
It caught my eye because General McChrystal was in active command when I served in Iraq and Afghanistan, so it might give some additional insights into some of the strategic thinking that was going on well above my pay grade. It was challenging to know what was going on then, and it is becoming even more difficult as the years go on.
Flicking through the book and ordering my own copy to read later, I came across a short but very apt paragraph in which McChrystal describes a phenomenon he calls the “dinosaur’s tail.”
Here it is:
“As a leader grows more senior, his bulk and tail become huge, but like the brontosaurus, his brain remains modestly small. When plans are changed, and the huge beast turns, its tail often thoughtlessly knocks over people and things. That the destruction was unintentional doesn’t make it any better.”
I don’t know what type of leader McChrystal was — I never worked for him — yet the imagery of the dinosaur’s tail immediately resonated with me for two reasons.
Firstly, I am increasingly drawn towards models of human-centred and compassionate leadership. More so than ever, I appreciate leaders who think about the impact of their leadership decisions (or indecisions) on others. Leaders who know they have a flailing tail are much more likely to be careful about moving around in complex organisations.
Secondly, I’ve been walloped by that thoughtless dinosaur’s tail more times than I can count. It hurts. But when we know it’s coming, we can duck, jump, or take the hit better.
The nature of leadership is that decisions must always be made, so the dinosaur’s tail will always be there to be reckoned with. But it seems to me that good leaders will make sure that they consider the human impact on those closest to the work.
I also know I must be mindful of my own dinosaur’s tail. It’s not as mighty as that belonging to the brontosaurus (or, indeed, the diplodocus in my picture). Still, the destruction caused by thoughtless leadership will be just as destructive — or perhaps even more so as the world becomes increasingly complex and challenging to sustain.
I’ve never had any luck fossil hunting, but I’m pretty pleased with what I found this year. I might even show more interest next time we go.
McChrystal, General Stanley A., David Silverman, Tantum Collins, and Chris Fussell. 2015. Team of Teams. London, England: Portfolio Penguin.
Serendipities 