Vulnerability and Currency

        Not long ago, we endured winter in Illinois.  Scott Field was a bleak landscape on the Greenville College campus, reminiscent of that final wasted planet in the film Interstellar.  I don’t know about you, but I have grown less and less enchanted with winter in Illinois, and I hibernate whenever I have a chance.  Naturally, a winter night in Illinois leads to…Netflix.  What else? In order to chase away the winter blues, I finally watched the hit NBC sitcom Parks & Recreation.  If you aren’t familiar with it, you should be.  Set in fictional Pawnee, Indiana, the series depicts over-achieving deputy parks director Leslie Knope, her anti-government, sullen, mustache-sporting boss Ron Swanson, and a motley crew of apathetic city employees.  From emo April Ludgate to social media mogul wannabe Tom Haverford to office pariah Jerry (Gary/Larry), the show still reveals a beating heart at the center of its mockumentary humor. This cast of lovable, idiosyncratic characters got me through a rough winter, my friends.  

              So when I think of leadership, I just can’t help myself – I think of the fictional Leslie Knope!  Even as a TV character, Leslie Knope shows me what matters in leadership – passion for her work, love for the people she serves, tireless creativity and problem-solving, and desire for change and progress in her community.  As even the morose April Ludgate might say, “I love her.” Furthermore, others have noted Leslie’s appeal as a role model for women. From Twitter to memes to TV reviews, audiences are very pro-Leslie.  In her online article for Medium, writer Hanna Brooks Olsen examines the importance of Leslie as a female leader in a televised world.  Olsen writes: “Leslie’s positive traits -- her unstoppable work ethic, her deep, thoughtful love of her friends, and her nonstop motivation to succeed—are the ones that make her a role model.” 

         Leslie Knope’s real-life counterpart is, of course, a role model herself – powerhouse writer/producer/director/SNL alum/and improv artist Amy Poehler.   In her recent memoir, Yes Please, Poehler discusses her beginnings in improv and her journey to self-discovery.  The wisdom she shares throughout her book is not only hilarious but also straight-forward and truthful.   Here’s one truth that I love: “The earlier you learn that you should focus on what you have and not obsess about what you don’t have, the happier you will be.”  Such advice might remind you of Strengthsquest, our institution’s well-known inventory of personal strengths, the survey we all take here to reveal our best abilities.  But I’m going to tell you something shocking: knowing our strengths is not always the best path toward success or influence.

              Poehler’s advice goes deeper.  In her experience, she recognized that vulnerabilities defined her own currency and determined her influence.  She writes:

“If you are lucky, there is a moment in your life when you have some say as to what your currency is going to be.  I decided early on it was not going to be my looks.  Improvisation and sketch comedy helped my find my currency.  My plain face was a perfect canvas to be other people.  There is nothing I like more than picking out wardrobe for a character.  Looking silly can be very powerful.  People who are committing and taking risks become the king and queen of my prom.  People are their most beautiful when they are laughing, crying, dancing, playing, telling the truth, and being chased in a fun way.  Improvisation and sketch comedy let me choose who I wanted to be.  Every week on SNL I had the opportunity to write whatever I wanted.  And then I was allowed to read it!  And people had to listen! And once in a blue moon it got on TV!  And maybe five times it was something really good.  Writing gave me an incredible amount of power, and my currency became what I wrote and said and did.”    

Amy Poehler determined her influence by first identifying what did not validate her, what made her feel vulnerable.  Learning what we lack becomes a key turning point for how we work and what we do.

         One story I often share about my own vulnerability involves my experience as a middle school athlete.  Spoiler alert: My currency was not sports. I spent almost two years trying desperately to fit in with friends and play sports.  I was tall, so guess what everyone said?  You should be great at basketball!  But I was awkward and not very strong. I wasn’t a good runner.  I was inevitably teased and derided for my weaknesses by teammates.  Still, I kept thinking that I needed to be an athlete, I had to be an athlete – after all, that was about the only activity for a kid in a small Kansas town.  Everyone expected it from us. Finally, my 8^th grade year rolled around and I boldly rejected the idea of going out for track.  And it was lonely.  I would catch the after-school bus while many of my friends ran out to the track for practice, chatting and laughing. 

So what was my currency? 

          It was writing. That spring, my English teacher required our class to write poems for a state competition and publication.  I spent hours on my poem, and it won. It was published.  For the first time, I felt strong.  I wasn’t awkwardly forcing myself into sports for other people.   By the time I hit high school, writing and literature became my passions, and…the rest is history.  By owning up to my vulnerabilities, I found my currency, even at a young age. The takeaway?

Own up to vulnerability.

Learn your currency.

Reveal your influence.

          When it comes to research about vulnerability, there is no better writer than Brene Brown. First off, do not confuse vulnerability with weakness, Brown warns.  In her book The Gifts of Imperfection, Brown connects the acceptance of vulnerability to a constant practice of cultivating authenticity in our lives. Authenticity is not simply something you have or don’t have – it is a choice.  Brown explains: “Authenticity is a collection of choices that we have to make every day. It’s about the choice to show up and be real. The choice to be honest.  The choice to let our true selves be seen.”  From there, Brown built a model for creating an authentic self: “Authenticity is the daily practice of letting go of who we think we’re supposed to be and embracing who we are.”  For Brown, this means that we allow ourselves to be vulnerable.  We can influence others not by being strong, not by appearing perfect, but by acknowledging vulnerability and leading others with our authentic self.

          So how own up to our vulnerabilities and be leaders? This seems so paradoxical.  Leaders should be all self-assurance, right? Smug, polished, brave, unflappable, right? Well, no, because no person can do that. Plus, who can be influenced by perfection?   There’s no reality in it.  We influence others when we show them that they are not alone.  We are all imperfect, all vulnerable, all in need of grace. We’re all in this together.

          At Greenville College, many people are “in this together” as Christians.  When I think of Christian leadership, I go right to Henri Nouwen, and you probably should, too. In his book In the name of Jesus, Nouwen examines three distinctive temptations that leaders face – to be relevant, to be spectacular, and to be powerful.  In reality, Nouwen argues, our roles as Christian leaders should move us toward prayer, confession, and reflection.  Specifically, Nouwen describes the temptation to be spectacular as the temptation to do something that wins you great applause, something that allows you to prove yourself all on your own.  However, if leading others is more like shepherding, then we cannot be on our own.  Nouwen writes: “When Jesus speaks about shepherding, he does not want us to think about a brave, lonely shepherd who takes care of a large flock of obedient sheep.  In many ways, Jesus makes it clear that ministry is a communal and mutual experience.  The leader is a vulnerable servant who needs the people as much as they need him or her.”  We are in this together, owning up to vulnerabilities, identifying our currency, and striving to practice authenticity.  Brown actually calls it the “audacity of authenticity.”  It is countercultural to be authentic, and as Nouwen sees it, it is also against the grain to be like Christ.

          So what is your currency as a leader and as a Christian?  What do you need to acknowledge in order to practice your authentic self, your authentic influence? 

For me, this is a continual process.  What must I let go of?  That’s a constant question.  It didn’t start and end for me in 8^th grade track season, that’s for sure.  It didn’t start and end for me when I wrote a poem and learned that words and writing were my currency.  I ask this question nearly every day. In my work here at GC, being an English professor is just one of the many roles I play.  I direct an advising center, I direct our honors program, I serve on numerous committees, I write reports, I plan events, I organize with others, I debate policies, I advocate for students, I try to write about literature, TV, and film….sometimes I teach, too!  Bottom line: I have to take stock, let go of certain things, and determine my currency so I don’t burn out, so I can serve and influence others with my most authentic self.

          And although I am no Amy Poehler, by any stretch of the imagination, I have learned more about my own vulnerabilities and currency through taking improv classes at a training center in St. Louis.  Since January, and after reading Yes Please, improv has become more than a hobby for me – it has become my authenticity practice!  When you engage in improv scene work, you take a huge risk – you open yourself to the reality of the scene, the character you embody, and your scene partner.  By the simple rule of “Yes and” you tell your partner that you are open, you are vulnerable, and you are both in it together. Each one needs the other; each one influences the other. As Nouwen might say, you “shepherd” each other through the scene.

          To conclude today, I would like to tell you a true story from one of my improv experiences just last week, an event that ultimately “sparked” the topic of my talk.   Our instructor informed us that our class session would be dedicated to a vulnerability circle.  Each of us was required to move around the circle of our classmates, facing each one, and reveal something that made us vulnerable.  There are over 18 of us in the class, so yes, that’s right, we each had to say at least 18 things, out loud, that made us vulnerable. This was hard work.  All of us fight battles. We are broken, and grieving, and awkward, and shy, and all trying desperately to avoid any of it. To share what makes us vulnerable is the bravest thing we can do, the bravest thing to release.

          While I will not share any details about my classmates, I do want to share a beautiful image of them.   As each person moved around the circle, they eventually made their way to face the spotlights that flooded the stage where we stood in the theatre. These lights are blinding until you get used to them, and for most of us, we wanted to shield our eyes when we reached that position.   We laughed nervously as the people they faced would try to shield them from the brightness.  However, I saw something stunning that day.  I saw scared people confessing their vulnerabilities in the brightest of stage lights.  We were all terrified, but we revealed who we were to each other that day.  The lesson?  That we are all in this together.  Our currency emerges once we strip away who we aren’t and own up to vulnerability. Each face was brilliantly lit by the spotlight as they gave confessions of truth.  They were beautiful. As Poehler has said, “People are their most beautiful when they are laughing, crying, dancing, playing, telling the truth, and being chased in a fun way.” We can only realize our influence and our currency by first knowing our vulnerabilities.

          And so, I will leave you with this final statement of influence:  You should definitely watch some Parks and Recreation when the going gets tough.  You never know what truths comedy can teach.