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The late jazz trumpeter Miles Davis was once asked what he thinks about before he plays, to which he replied, “what to leave out”.  Jazz as I mentioned recently (ref. Abundant Living Vol. V, Issue 30) is unique to most other music in that it doesn’t resolve, that is very little of it is read from a score.  Instead it is a kind of music created by improvisation, at which Miles Davis whose head was filled with infinite creative possibilities was an absolute master.  His greatest genius, however, was not in the accumulation of music that existed in his head; rather it was in his ability to deliver the best authentic musical expression to his audience.  And in order to do that with maximum effectiveness he had to figure out “what to leave out”. 

“De-accumulate!” is the term Richard Foster uses in his magnificent book Celebration of Discipline.  “Masses of things that are not needed complicate life,” he explains.  “They must be sorted and stored and dusted and re-sorted and re-stored ad nauseam.  Most of us could get rid of half of our possessions without any serious sacrifice.” 

Too many of us I’m afraid have come to believe that our value in the world is determined by what we accumulate – money, possessions, successes, education level, and so forth.  Such accomplishments are indeed commendable, but if we are not careful they can become a disguise for who we were uniquely made to be.  We use them to cover up who we really are, and in doing so deprive the world of the best authentic expression of ourselves.  It’s like the early days of my corporate career when I would work long hours with the excuse I was providing for my family, only to be reminded by my wife that my family needed my presence much more than the money.  In other words, I was actually doing more depriving than providing.  The remedy was to figure out what to leave out. 

Miles Davis became a legendary jazz trumpeter, and more than a small part of his success must be attributed to the fact that he was always thinking about what to leave out – what was not necessary.  He understood as does Richard Foster that “masses of things that are not needed [only] complicate life”, and when that occurs the healthy thing to do is “de-accumulate”.

Well, I finally did it, something I am rarely able to do.  It took all the courage I could muster, but last week while having lunch with a friend I said it out loud.  I admitted to my friend that I needed help.  There, I said it again!!  Do you have any idea how badly my masculine ego gets bruised by those words, to ask for help?  But it wasn’t just any kind of help I was seeking such as asking for directions, changing a tire, or lifting a heavy piece of furniture.  For the most part asking for that kind of help is fairly easy.  No, this was a much more difficult request.  I was wrestling with a problem you see and simply needed someone to listen, to offer a shoulder to cry on so to speak, and to understand.

Several years ago a number of books hit the market attempting to explain the differences between men and women.  A couple of the more popular titles were You Just Don’t Understand by Deborah Tannen and Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus by John Gray.  One of the authors – I forget which book it was – had a theory that suggested that when men have problems they just want answers.  Women on the other hand are not so much looking for answers as for someone to listen and understand.  Now with all due respect to the writers of these books which I found quite insightful by the way, they may have over-stereotyped the two genders just a bit, for based on my own experience such as the one I just described, it seems to me that the emotional needs of men and women may not really be all that different.  Some men like me, though, don’t want to admit that. 

To illustrate my point, my friend’s surprising response to my plea for help went something like this:   “Gee, I never realized you needed help.  You always seem to be so self-sufficient, capable of working things out on your own.  I just assumed you would work this one out on your own as well.”  (Was I doing a great job of hiding my vulnerability or what?)  After that remark my friend became quiet and simply listened – unconditionally, without judgment or criticism –  and with a genuine sense of understanding.  At the end of our lunch he thanked me – thanked me! – for bearing my soul to him.  I was touched!  And it taught me something, that it’s not nearly as difficult to ask for help as I had thought, to surrender my vulnerability, especially when there is a close friend nearby who is willing to listen unconditionally – and to understand.

Somewhere recently I read something that suggested that few in our culture ever read poetry anymore.  I suspect that’s true.  When is the last time you saw a book of poetry on the New York Times Bestseller list?  Have you read much poetry lately yourself?  I haven’t, and I’m a voracious reader – books, newspapers, magazine articles – all sorts of prose, but not poetry. 

Once while pressing a client to derive at an answer to a difficult question that came up during a coaching session, finally after much thoughtful deliberation he stared at me with a perplexed expression and lamented that “thinking is hard work!”  It was an insightful response for both of us, for indeed thinking is hard work. 

Perhaps that is a consequence of our being such poor readers of poetry because in order to understand it requires us to think.  Prose is so much easier.  It is directive and conclusive.  In a good novel we can expect closure – boy meets girl, good wins over evil, life is happy ever after.  Similarly, nonfiction describes methods or ideas that work, or it tells true stories that work out.  The writer, in other words, gives us the answers.  All we have to do is sit back in our easy chairs and lap it up.  

In his book A Whole New Mind Daniel Pink explains that “the left hemisphere [of the brain] specializes in text; the right hemisphere specializes in context.”   To interpret poetry demands that we engage the right hemisphere which requires reflection, observation of the world around us, and creative thought.  In other words, to read and comprehend poetry requires us to think. 

That’s why my client in his lament really hit on something profound, for thinking it seems to me is the hard work of this dynamic age of complex issues.  No longer can we depend on pat answers and solutions.  Instead they must be created.  And for that we would do well to spend more time with Yeats, Byron and Emerson, the Psalms and Ecclesiastes – poetry that stimulates reflection, observation of the world around us, and creative thought, context not just text.  But to do that we must think, and thinking is undeniably hard work.

What I’m about to tell is not something I’m particularly proud of.  It happened this past week while riding my bicycle around White Rock Lake.  Pausing briefly at a water fountain to rehydrate I noticed an older model pickup truck limping into a nearby parking lot with a flat tire.  Giving it only a passing glance I continued on my way.  But something haunted me the further away I rode and has continued to ever since, for out of the corner of my eye it seemed that the driver emerging from his truck appeared frustrated, perhaps even a little desperate.  Still I moved on, too busy to turn back, my exercise program too important to be disrupted, needing to get home in time to enjoy a cool drink and a late afternoon dip in the pool – no time to stop and help. 

The story of the Good Samaritan which is universally and indisputably held up as the model for human response to such circumstances smacked me right in the face, I being the one who passed on by leaving the poor victim stranded and alone.  But, why?  I wish I could say it was out of fear of putting myself in danger, but since it was broad daylight in a very public place that’s not an excuse.  Nor was it apathy or lack of compassion, otherwise I would not be suffering such guilt.  No, I have to confess that the real reason is because it might be messy, for getting involved in someone else’s life is inevitably messy, and that would disrupt my own important schedule. 

Sometimes I think we expend more energy on creating orderliness in our lives than anything else we do.  We like things to be neat and tidy, not messy.  It provides us a sense of predictability and security, and we avoid at all cost anything that might disrupt that – including stopping to help a stranger in distress.  Yet, there is no human act more generous.  It is far easier to dig a few bucks out of our pockets or give away some old clothes out of our closets than it is to disrupt our precious orderly lives. 

I can only hope that some Good Samaritan came along to help that poor gentleman.  It could have been me, though.  I had my chance, but I chose to pass on by – and it still haunts me.

Mozelle was a shopkeeper.  Clifford was a master jeweler, watch repairman, and part time sheep rancher.  John was a farmer.  Odell worked at the county courthouse.  Jack was a grocer, Millie a nurse.  Irene was a teacher, Roy a car dealer.  Ordinary citizens, all of them, little known by anyone much beyond the small local community where they resided most of their lives, yet every one of them was a leader by the truest definition of the word.

Just so you know, it is not from sudden attacks of nostalgia that I am sometimes inclined to reminisce about my small hometown and the people such as these who were the heroes of my youth – no, not at all.  As fond as I am of these memories in fact, I do not care to go back.  Rather, it is because that small West Texas village represented a microcosm of real life in the real world such that even in this complex and sophisticated society we live in I have yet to encounter a life, family, or business situation that did not relate back in some way to a similar experience from that place and time.  Furthermore, I’ve yet to observe an elected official, civic leader, corporate CEO, or anyone in any position of authority more capable and effective in their respective roles as leaders than those ordinary folks I just named. 

Leadership is not about any authority we are given or power we might wield.  It is not about what we do for a living, the family we were born into, where we live, or what we have.  It is not about our success, education, knowledge, or talent.  It has little to do with the results of our doing, but it has everything to do with the character of our being. 

The names I mentioned are examples of people of great character who willingly bore the responsibility of caring for their neighbors, fellow citizens, and the world around them.  They saw their life purpose as being greater than simply tending to their own well-being.  They were role-models for selfless living – trustworthy, responsible, and dependable.  It was by their very character that others were influenced to follow them.  Many of us still do.  And that’s what made them great leaders, all of them – by the truest definition of the word.