When the Path Isn't Clear: A Framework for Embracing Uncertainty
In the many points of origin of Forest & Trees, there is one I quite enjoy revisiting—our big adventure day at the American Museum of Natural History and all the lessons it taught us about creating a business together.
After months of brainstorming in conference rooms and the creation of strategy documents and many many (many) great diagrams, Sam and I realized we were going around in circles. We knew we had a set of strong and complementary skills and we knew we both had the kind of leadership experience that gave us the credibility to form an impactful and trustworthy company—but we couldn’t figure out what it actually was that we wanted to offer together. It’s an interesting feeling to have found the person you want to work with and know there’s a good solid partnership idea brewing but not be able to put a finger on what it is. Of course, in retrospect, it makes perfect sense that our abilities and expertise would come together as this kind of company, but on that blustery day in spring, we were searching for answers to all the questions that were weighing us down.
We agreed that what we needed was an “Adventure Day”: a day in a completely different setting that would take us away from the mountain of data that had been accumulating and into the world. We knew we needed to have conversations, think about the connections that appeared naturally before us, absorb some visual stimuli and, ultimately, just take the pressure off ourselves. We were playing around with company names at the time, some of which took their inspiration from the natural world so, finding a place to be inspired by the breadth and depth of nature was just what we needed. After a quick discussion, we decided to go to the American Museum of Natural History (AMNH) on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. We settled on Thursday of the next week. The forecast said there was a chance of rain; but there’s often a chance of rain in New York; we are New Yorkers, nothing could stop us, we were going to a museum.
We knew we had a set of strong and complementary skills and we knew we both had the kind of leadership experience that gave us the credibility to form an impactful and trustworthy company—but we couldn’t figure out what it actually was that we wanted to offer together.
The morning of Adventure Day it was indeed looking like rain. I grabbed an umbrella on my way out to meet Sam at the 81st Street subway station on the Upper West Side. As I walked to the train, I remember noticing the ominous looking sky but I was so taken by the certainty that we were on our way to find the answer to our uncertainties on this special day that I paid it little heed.
By the time I arrived at our meeting point, it was clear by the throng of people trying to avoid stepping outside that what awaited us up the stairs was a storm. I found Sam in the crowd clad in a parka and good rain shoes. Undeterred by the timid crowd before us, I opened my umbrella, she put up her hood and we stepped confidently out...into a downpour that can only be described as a fire hose directly above our heads.
The museum was only a stone’s throw away from the subway stop but, as we walked towards it, we were very quickly drenched from head to foot. We decided to head to a nearby coffee shop to wait out the rain before continuing on to our Adventure. On the way to our destination, we crossed small streams where once sidewalks were and entered the coffee shop, less as the Cofounders of a budding consulting firm and more like wet cats trying to catch our breaths. As we stood at the counter waiting to order we admitted the day had not started in the inspirational way we had envisioned. Nevertheless we persevered—I shivered through the cold and Sam wrung puddles out of her jumpsuit—got ourselves some very good (and warm) coffee and grabbed a table to collect ourselves. Once seated we talked through some thinking we each had done individually that could potentially reveal some patterns and insights for our partnership. Shortly after we realized that the lists were interesting but left us with even more questions than answers, the rain stopped. The downpour lasted all of 15 minutes but we had managed to be completely out in the open during the worst of it.
Damp but still determined we made our way to the AMNH. We had vague notions of what we wanted to encounter while we were there so we started walking—or more aptly, squelching around— from room to room. I wanted to see the new Gilder Wing which was said to be an imaginative space in the museum and Sam thought the Tree of Life area might be a good place for us to spend some time.
As we wandered, we realized quickly that we were very very lost. It was hard to find our bearings in the large building and the digital maps weren’t necessarily working. It felt like our Tree of Life was nowhere to be found. When you're grappling with metaphorical ideas of grounding your new business in something solid, being very literally lost in a huge space can feel like a bit of a judgment on your undertaking. Still, we persevered.
When you're grappling with metaphorical ideas of grounding your new business in something solid, being very literally lost in a huge space can feel like a bit of a judgment on your undertaking.
Eventually, Sam oriented us in the museum and we set off to find what we were looking for. The Gilder Wing was indeed a beautiful warm space filled with soft corners and organic openings. We talked about how we had always felt drawn to the setting, the framing and the space around how productive meaningful moments happen in gathering and codesign. We walked through Dzanga-Sangha Rainforest and Sam remembered how when she was younger she had wanted to become a Canopy Botanist and I talked about how I had been a pre-med student aspiring to be a doctor. We marveled at how winding our career paths had been and how we would never have been able to foresee where we'd land these fifteen or more years later.
Finally, we wandered through the Hall of Biodiversity and saw an exhibit called the Spectrum of Life. We were most enamored by the Gorgonian Fan Coral, a type of soft coral that looks like beautiful trees with many thin branches. Working entities are so often built around hard inflexible structures that we were looking forward to seeing a natural form that echoed the concept we kept coming back to: a central branch with arteries creating a flexible framework or skeleton that sprouted multiple possibilities, approaches and pathways. We both feel strongly that centering people and using malleable approaches to problem solving is the key to fixing rigid structures that plague workplaces. There was something beautiful seeing this core value reflected back to us in the natural world.
We exited the museum into a day that was significantly warmer and drier than the one we entered from. With hints of watery sunshine peeking through the clouds, we decided to grab lunch at a Mexican restaurant that made us feel like we were decidedly not on the Upper West Side anymore. Over hot food we debriefed on what the day felt like. It was a mixed bag. The rain had disoriented us, the museum had not immediately given us the clarity we were seeking and our individual brainstorming had yielded more questions than answers. And yet—something felt like it had shifted even amidst the mess. We couldn’t quite articulate it then but we knew, from our own experiences and our work together, that we have a strong foundation so we had to trust the process. We were arriving at something but we needed to let it percolate and not rush it. So we re-established our commitment to sitting in the discomfort of the unknown because we knew we were still moving forward. There were many more days of questioning in the months that followed as work and life happened around us but the commitment to trusting the process and allowing it to take the time it needed to—a reminder we sometimes had to give each other—helped keep us sane. But, more importantly, it helped us to do the work that got us to where we eventually needed to go.
And yet—something felt like it had shifted even amidst the mess. We couldn’t quite articulate it then but we knew, from our own experiences and our work together, that we have a strong foundation so we had to trust the process.
I think back on that day often as we launch Forest & Trees. It’s so easy to pick up the breadcrumbs scattered through that day— and the messy ones before and after it—and lay them out in a clean line to chart a path to where we landed. But that would be a fictional story. Work and life seldom gives us clean lines from A to B. The truth of any transition is that as you go through a large change it can feel overwhelming, complex and it can be extremely hard to see the forest for the trees.
Here are some principles we found helpful for making it through the messy middle:
A strong foundational partnership: Our partnership is built on mutual respect, the recognition (and celebration) of our individual strengths, our complementary skill sets and alignment on values. We communicate honestly with each other, even when things feel messy. Communication may not always come easy when things get messy, because you want to show up with a solution but that's not always how it works. Sometimes self awareness is what you can show up with, and that can be enough.
Perseverance: We persevered even when it got messy. This is a trait that we would say was especially important when it got messy. The key to perseverance in this context is looking at the data points from different perspectives, stepping away sometimes, and to come back anew. But to always come back.
A thoughtful framing of expectations: It takes time to create change that lasts. Reframe your expectations so you can be in it for the long haul. This helped us see the bumps along the road not as failures, but as learnings and information that would help us.
Sit in the mess: Our process was messy by nature and because we are both consummate organizers and perfectionists, this was hard. But there are times when you have to sit in the mess and there's no working around that. You just have to be patient.
Get a change of scenery: If you’re feeling like you’re hitting a wall, it’s time for a change of scenery. Expose yourself to different stimuli, step into the world, go for a walk, take a hike, a trip or as we did, go to a museum. Stepping outside of the usual places you solve problems in may help jolt you into a different perspective and inspire new connections.
Follow your gut: We’ve made many decisions along the way, including the decision to go to AMNH, that felt odd but right for us. Don’t be so taken by looking at what everyone else is doing. See what’s right for you and if you don’t know what that is, step outside of where you would usually find answers. For us, it meant stepping outside of documents, diagrams, post-its and into the world.
Be open to creating a map along the way: It can be hard to find your bearings particularly in the beginning. Choose a process (and/or partners) that will help you move through the feeling of being lost. Stick with the process and be open to making different decisions as you learn more about where you are and the context you are operating in.
At some point, you need to take a step. Begin: This is an important one. For all the thinking, strategizing and looking inwards and outwards, once we had followed a process that felt good, we needed to begin. This is a lesson that we keep coming back to as we reflect on our individual careers and work with our clients. It’s also a point that shows up in many readings on change and transformation. At some point, you need to shift from thinking to doing. The act of doing will give you new inputs, its own set of learnings and you will be able to integrate those learnings into your new plan.