In the famous treatise on military tactics The Art of War, Sun Tzu (or Sunzi, or Sun Wu depending on your preference) lays out a conception of the fundamental nature of war and warfare. Out of the 13 chapters of this timeless work the concept of "Know thy enemy" emerges as one of the most broadly applied and frequently quoted sentiments. I would like to say that I came to an understanding of this lesson by reading Sun Tzu, or by the closely modeled teaching from my communication professors "Know your audience." In reality I learned this lesson in far less formal ways from my cousin Luke. In our youth Luke systematically destroyed me in every strategy game known to humanity. Now, some 15 years since our last match up, the skill which began as a byproduct of a board game has become a crucial part of my professional life.
Starting around age 12, I spent a week every summer visiting my cousins Luke and Sarah in Ohio. At that point in my life this was an adventure I looked forward to all year long. Away from home, feeling grown up. In reality, I traded a summer in the middle of nowhere Indiana for a summer in the middle of nowhere Ohio. But that doesn't matter when you're 12, it's about the adventure. During those summer days we spent time swimming, building lego cities, engineering improvements on Luke's tree house, interrupted only by occasional trips to Cedar Point, tormenting Sarah, and playing board games. It was playing board games where Luke (consciously or not) taught me some fundamental lessons about life.
My Dad taught me to play chess when I was pretty young, but it was Luke who taught me how to lose. Unlike my Dad, who occasionally threw a game to let me win, Luke played for keeps. Whether chess, Stratego, Risk, Monopoly, The Game of Life, or any number of card games he won. In fact, I don't know that I've ever beat Luke. Don't get me wrong, I've seen Luke lose. My Uncle Dave could smoke us both without speaking a word and little more than a chuckle when he won. Luke, however, always managed to beat me.
The ultimate secret to his victories remains with him - truth is that he's very clever and I'm notoriously bad at games. But one element he had on his side was a presence in the moment, which comes so naturally to some, and at the time completely escaped me. He didn't worry about playing an imperfect game, he didn't over-analyze the game, he worried simply about beating his opponent. He was able to choose a strategy, identify my habits and trends, adapt his strategy, and emerge the quiet victor. Being the great extrovert that I am, I often spent several minutes explaining what I had tried to do and why -- inadvertently offering him more insights into my thinking -- but really who thinks about that when they are 12?
This entire memory was triggered a while back when Katie and I helped her friend Leslie move. On our way home Katie reminisced about fun times growing up with Leslie and shared that they used to play Stratego. That got me thinking about playing with Luke, which in turn led me to thinking about chess, strategy games, and my cousin's uncanny ability to win.
It's been said, that I'm a touch competitive. There is probably no surprise then that each summer before heading out to Ohio, I'd play as many rounds of chess as possible. I practiced and was determined to gain the upper hand. And every summer, Luke found new ways to beat me. After the distance of time and a discernment that comes with age, a though occurred to me on a recent run. Luke wasn't magic, and he didn't know a secret way to pull one over one me.
The secret is this, Luke was able to see the whole board, while I was trapped in the endless cycle of reactionary motion. When we played I was worried about my next move based on his last move: reactionary. Luke, on the other hand, saw the interconnectedness of the entire game, every piece, every move, every non-move and he adapted accordingly: visionary.
If we accept that impermanence is a reality, and therefore change is inevitable, then it's not a far jump to understand the value in the ability to shift between the immediate (the current move) and big picture (the whole board). In the professional world this skill is a fundamental trait of leaders. To balance execution and vision takes skill and time.
For those who have a vision, it's not always easy to maintain that visionary perspective. Our tendency is to be sucked into the seemingly urgent details required to achieve, achieve, achieve -- to get things done. It's surly not popular to be the one who sees 16 moves ahead and due to numerous extenuating circumstances are unable to share that knowledge with everyone around you. It's easy to become frustrated, and its even easier to frustrate those who may not see or buy into the vision.
But to lead, to usher a vision into reality, one must take risks. One must seek input. One must exercise discretion and patience.
These are all characteristics of a strong leader with a sound vision. A good idea will stand up to questions, concerns, delays, and resistance. A good leader addresses concerns and garners support for their vision. A leader must have faith in the quality and necessity of that vision, above all else. A leader must be able to keep hold of the vision, trust the vision, and share that vision.
A leader must be able to see the whole board.
After all of the education I've paid for, this most crucial of lessons didn't come to me from an ancient Chinese text, a sage family elder, or a tenured professor of communication. I learned it at age 12 from my cousin while sitting on the living room floor.
Life sure is funny.
Post Script: Writing this post reminds me of a scene from The West Wing. Season 3. Episode Heartsford Landing.
Sam and President Bartlet are engaged in discussion, and Bartlet encourages Sam to "see the whole board." When Sam finally does, this exchange takes place.
Sam: I...don't know how you do it.
Bartlet: You have a lot of help. You listen to everybody and then you call the play. Sam,
You're gonna run for President one day. Don't be scared. You can do it. I believe in you.
