Lori Michelle Walsh Log 3

Before beginning this journey, my definition of leadership mainly consisted of a lead-from-the-front, break-down-the-door mentality.

This is one of the things I carried from my time in the Marine Corps, and even when I tried to reject the lessons of that period of life, they still served me well at times.

I also carried into this journey the idealized image of a servant leader. Jesus of Nazareth, I had been taught, embodied servant leadership. He washed the feet of his friends. He gave his life, and not just on the day of his death, but on every day before his betrayal.

There is an interesting juxtaposition worth noting here: Jesus and the Marines. Peace and Violence.

The notion of sacrifice nestles in the circular center of this leadership Venn diagram. Once I learned about the Bush Fellowship, I waited six years before applying. As I looked at the application materials, year after year, I was dissatisfied with my answer to questions about how the fellowship could be of service to my community, and so I waited to apply.

What’s in it for a community if a fellow is ‘successful?’ What’s in it for my community as I carry out my fellowship plan?

The past two years have acted as a call and response to that question.

Slowly, haltingly, the experiences of this fellowship journey have reshaped my notion of leadership and of myself as a leader. I no longer revert to the idea of crossing an imaginary finish line, broken and exhausted from a (potentially performative) sacrifice.

Recently, someone told me that leaders don’t need to tell people they are leaders. Upon reflection, I don’t believe that is universally true. I recall being in the emergency room, for example, and hearing a thoughtful physician tell me I was good hands and he would carry the anxiety of this moment for me.

Sometimes you need the person in charge to tell you they are in charge. And there are times when you need to tell other people, directly, that you have the helm. Accountability is a kindness. There can be freedom in speaking that aloud.

Oddly, dealing with trauma has been, in some ways, the simplest part of the past two years to explain — maybe because so many people have experienced trauma of their own. Maybe because so many people cling to the hope that reclaiming a sense of safety is doable, and that something bright and sparkling awaits on the other side.

Also fairly obvious to others — any element of the fellowship that appeared from the outside to have the patina of a project or a purchase. “I made something” and “I bought something” are easier to explain than “I am becoming something.”

I nearly came undone with the responsibility of spending fellowship dollars. Powerful voices shrieked ‘undeserving’ and perched on my shoulders; for a while I feared they would never leave.

What I learned to embrace during those moments was the mantle of compassionate accountability. I gave myself permission to not know everything right away. If I took a class, it was okay to be unsure how to apply it. Progress and commitment and curiousity mattered over mastery. I made lists. I made promises. I continue to keep those promises.

And that, in a phrase, is how my understanding of my own leadership changed. Before it was a quirky trail mix of guts, endurance, and humility (as I understood those terms at the time). Today it is about making promises to myself and keeping them.

I promise to take care of my physical self. I promise to improve my craft every day. I promise to be there for the people I love. I promise to take the work seriously without taking myself too seriously. I promise to listen deeply to the landscape … the rivers, the trees, the grasslands of my home. I promise to bear witness when witnessing is required. I promise to write what needs to be written, to say what needs to be said, to preserve what needs preservation, and to love, always to love.

I’m being intentionally general in this reflection, but my promises are more specific than they have ever been. Generalities are no longer enough. I expect more from myself, and I believe more in my ability to show up and fully engage in my leadership practice as I have defined it for myself. This is not self-indulgent. It is essential.

I have ideas. I have stories. I have priorities. I have maps of my own creation, landmarks of my own lived experience.

I have promises to keep.