Rongen Consult

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The wood for the trees

Boogschieten in bosA while ago I was invited to participate in a research project about the effectiveness of coaching. The researcher, Tünde Erdösz, does her PhD at Ashridge. Quite sound.

And, bonus, she was willing to look at the effectiveness of Coaching with archery.

A rough outline of the research:
The coaching conversation is recorded on video. A computer program then analyses the physical interaction of the coach and coachee. That is an indication of their rapport. After the conversation the coachee fills in a questionnaire.

The computer could not analyse the first video that I sent. And thus coaching with archery was taken out of the research. But, Tünde was nice enough to send me a piece of the video analysis:

At first it reminded me of the hallucinatory ultrasound videos that enthusiastic parents to be like to share.
Vaguely my shooting area emerged. Then the screen was filled with two figures from a Ghostbuster movie.
This would freeze any computer program instantly.

The clip also reminded me what is really helpful in coaching with archery and coach walks: the forest.

The trees seem to vibrate continuously. With tiny little movements. You perceive that subconsciously, and it keeps your body aware that you are in a natural forest. It’s soothing and promotes self regulation. The Japanese don’t need convincing anymore, and call it shinrin-yoku, forest bathing.

A regulated autonomous nervous system is more capable of reflection and curiosity: main ingredients for good coaching.

Tünde’s research will probably prove that a coach with great rapport skills is effective.
I suspect such a coach is way more effective in a forest.

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Titans

Blokes they were – but, nice blokes.
The nice bit was not what first met the eye though. I was struck by their curt movements. The firm build. Silent stare. Self control. Tight.

We had the shortest introduction round ever. Then, with a simple nod, they decided to go and shoot immediately. That’s what they came for, after all.

Maybe the archery would mellow down the ptsd that some of them had to deal with regularly.
It was an experiment for everyone. Myself included. But I had already seen some heartwarming effects when I had been shooting with refugees in the emergency shelter in Amsterdam.

The first session a lot happened. But, only if someone would come back could we have a conversation on the archery’s effectiveness.
Someone did come back. This was our complete conversation:

‘Well, did you notice anything?’
“Sure…”
‘Sure, as in…’
“Less aggression.”
Silence…
‘Shall we shoot?’
“Yup.”

hier en nuSince then I shoot once a month with whoever turns up. I got to know a couple of them as normal people. Very normal people who had done something very exceptional.
To protect others, they had risked their lives, lock, stock and barrel.
They’re now paying a high price for it. Every day. But not everyone understands.
So they have become very good at keeping up a tough appearance. Out of sheer self protection.

But sometimes, rarely, they let down their defenses.
Near the archery field a daft blackbird has decided to nestle on top of the wobbly blinds of the material shed.
That means for every archery session: take the nest down, take material out or in, put back the nest. Twice.

Fast, efficiently, quietly, as to disturb the birds as little as possible.
Three complete nests flew out this way.
That tells you something about the caretaking of these veterans.

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Certification and miracles

certificaatThe ICF offered a rare chance: I could register all my coaching hours from the past decade for my coaching certification. That would immediately land me the pcc-level.

Only the amassing of the hundreds of hours…
It loomed like the most tedious task ever.
Wrong.

I typed and sent tens of e-mails indeed.
No copy/paste, no mailing programme. All personally written and sent.

But the effort was well rewarded: everyone gave their permission to register their sessions. Sometimes recounting a beautiful personal story about how things had developed after the coaching.

Then the following mail dropped into my mailbox:

‘Let me write a text for you to hammer some sense into those administration addicts.
Why certify everything? It kills the magic!’

This was the heartfelt complaint of a writer with a congenital allergy for petty rules and regulations. For him, coaching with archery had been magic come to life.

I recognized his sincere tone, and realized he would only be too happy to throw in his verbal virtuosity to demolish the concept of certification for once and for all.

certificateBut that was not going to help me to secure my certification. And I really wanted it. For big clients like Philips had already made clear it would become a requirement.

So I gave him a ring, and told him I was convinced of his capacities to whip up an entertaining and brilliant piece of writing. And that he would do me an even bigger favour with a simple confirmation of his hours.
He assented. With this beautiful oneliner as a bonus:

‘Magic shall not be caught in procedures. But hey, certification can’t prevent miracles.’

Let me know when you write a new blog.
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Trust whisperer

strand‘Why do people pay you for a walk in the woods, dad?’
No way a stroll qualified as work to my son. Ever.

Untill he was allowed to take a friend along on vacation. They were as psyched as teenagers can be about a sunbaked adventure.

But after three days in a foreign country where only our family spoke a language he understood, the friend could no longer see the fun in the sunshine.

His self-confidence started to disappear, and all he could think of was an early flight home.

For sure I was willing to arrange that flight. But wasn’t he going to regret it?
A bit of beachstrolling seemed like a good idea.

The coach conversation took place almost by itself. He discovered how his homesickness got the better of him, when he was more prone to it, and what made things better.
He realized that he had more control over his feelings than he had imagined.
The conversation ended with an ice-cream. Eaten in silence, feet in the water.

He crumbled the empty cone into the water. The first crumb-gobbling fish painted more smile on his face than I had seen in days. He wiped his mouth clean: ‘I think a dip will do me good.’
So much for the flight home.

heimwee, strand

Later that week the boys sit one row behind me in the bus. Adolescently they discuss their vocational options. I pick up one fragment of the conversation.

‘I do understand what your dad does for a living. He’s a trust whisperer.’
‘What do you mean. Did he give you trust?’
‘No man, I always had that. But he helped me find it back.’

I savour the honorific title for my LinkedIn profile:
Trust whisperer.

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Efficiency, halt

auto-slagboomUncle Halil beams an impish grin.
For years that grin has marked our arrival at the summer resort.

If we arrive in the same car as the year before, the gate slides open without the car even stopping.

A new car bumps into the stern gaze above his moustache of Ottoman dimensions. But as soon as I open my window, that gaze melts into recognition, and the gate slides open with a welcoming wave.

He must have been eligible for pension years ago. But for some reason, or maybe out of a sheer sense of duty, he keeps his post at the gate like a Cerberus on a mission: trespassers out.

Some 10 years ago the gigantic sliding gate was replaced by a barrier. It was the only modernisation that Uncle Halil had to live with in all those years. And in fact he liked it: a slap on the big red button instead of the arduous to-and-fro shoving of the cast iron gate.

slagboomBut this year he was not there. The familiar welcoming face had been replaced by a camera.

A super modern transponder-activated security system, worth tens of thousands of euros, had pushed him aside, made him redundant.

No doubt a lot of meeting time had gone into that decision. And surely the cost savings had been established on a spreadsheet. For that is how one professionally underpins this type of decision these days.

Excel sheets don’t have a single value for Uncle Halil.
The Uncle Halil, whom you could ask what doctor was present in the resort at any time of day. Which is pretty important in a place that is just as remote as it is charming.
The Uncle Halil, who would clearly and loudly trumpet his orders over the noise of the raging flames when the village orchards of the were ablaze once again. And everybody would listen to him: he knew the place like his back pocket, since he had helped to build it.

He seemed important in many other instances as well. With discretion, mind you. An important ingredient in the success of people like him.

And now he seemed redundant.
Seemed.

For yesterday he was back at his post near the gate. The red led light on the camera was off, and as I approached I saw him lean over to the familiar button. Just like before.

I asked him what had happened to the efficient transponder-activated security system.
He beamed me his familiar smile for an answer, and the arm of the barrier swung up.

Things were back to normal. I was home again.

Let me know when you write a new blog.
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An arrow, a life

Look fast enough, and you see someone clearly revealing himself by shooting a single arrow.

That’s why the Japanese say: an arrow, a life.
pijl

It works well as an aphorism, which is why it often whizzes past on the internet.

Just like ‘Live as if today is your last day.’

But what if you have already lived your last day last week, or last month?
Because that is what learned helplessness feels like.

Learned helplessness: you think you can influence your situation. But every time you act, you get slapped down.
If that happens often enough, you learn that nothing you do matters.
That it is better to stew in your misery.

boogschieten in opvangThis piece of academic knowledge stuck with me during my study Mass Psychology. But now that I shoot with refugees in a refugee shelter, I have some moving images to go with it.

Each week I see a bit of the shine disappear from some eyes.
Each week the movement changes. Slower. More cautious.

Rather smart, if you’re not sure where the next surprise in your life is coming from. If you seem to have lost all control.

I now understand why archery is so popular in the shelter. It brings something new that people do have control over.
If only a bow and arrow.

A single arrow.

Let me know when you write a new blog.
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A beautiful crisis

onderbroken wegSome time ago I had a heart attack. It’s one of those things you wouldn’t voluntarily sign up for.
And yet, looking back, I would not have missed the experience for anything.

Nowadays I run at least twice a week. I shoot bow and arrow with clients in the outdoors for hours on end, have coaching walks with others, no matter what the weather is like. And I dedicate 4 hours a week to jodo.

Do I have the same capacity as before my heart attack?
Nope. But these days I do move mountains of work.
I do so because I have chosen to do so.

The human body has a pretty neat design: when something hurts enough, you want to part with it. And trust me: when every beat of your heart has been hurting for a while, any alternative becomes a tempting option.

One silent night in hospital, when the buzz around me had quieted down, my whole body was ready to join in with the absolute quietness. Letting go of it all seemed like a much better option than to keep biting through the pain.

But then I heard the voices of our kids. Doubt struck:
accept responsibility for the future, or embrace the quiet. I didn’t know what to do.

Other voices made themselves heard as well, and more and more faces showed up, both familiar and new. Casual, not pushy.
Their appearance diminished the seductive appeal of tranquility, and increased my doubt.

Eventually I made a very conscious choice, and turned my back on peace and quiet – for now.

Since then, I rarely feel that life is something that happened to me.
I was allowed to choose for it.

Lame excuses like background and upbringing have lost their validity. For I knew exactly which cards I held in my hands when I returned to the game.

A beautiful crisis. I could sometimes wish others one of those, if I didn’t know better.

I want to know when you write a new blog.
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For real

PostcardHoliday in Turkey: reading, writing, sun, sea, swim, work on my website.

How extraordinary is all that?

Not.
Until the Turkish airforce flies into Syria.

Facebook gets the hiccups and Twitter starts to stutter.
My educated guess: overall bandwidth is cut. Two years ago, the Gezipark riots were an excuse for the government to take down Facebook and Twitter altogether. But any Turk who can type qwerty, found a way around that.
Me too. So now I routinely adjust my DNS settings to make sure I stay online.

And I start checking my Twitter account more often.

Levent Üzümcü is one of the people I’m following. He is an old friend who became famous as an actor. Nowadays he puts that fame to good use on the internet by making sensible remarks about all kinds of things. Like Turkish politics.

The result: more than 2 million followers.

That attracts attention. Also from people who disagree with Levent.

And yep. Somewhere after the escalation of the fights in the East, he miraculously disappeares from Twitter. Funny, for the day before we had had a lively conversation on politics over tea.

I know Levent is not the kind of person to back off and shut up when the heat gets on and things need to be said. And the political soap in this country cries for comment. Continuously.
So where did he go?

‘Hacked account’ he says with a shoulder shrug when we meet again. ‘But don’t worry, it will be alright soon.’

Levent ÜzümcüI don’t ask any further. And today I see he was right. Resurrected he shines on Twitter again. And so do his 2.240.000 followers. (still growing)

So far so good. But what happened to Levent, shows that someone’s presence on the web is as fragile as a mirror.

That’s why I am sometimes old-fashioned. This summer I will write 200 holiday cards to friends, family and acquaintances.
Anyone who holds that piece of cardboard with handwritten text and carefully placed stamp, will know I am still here.

For real.
I want to know when you write a new blog.

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Values at work

Boogschieten in de boomgaard bij Samaya
The first time I went to Samaya to deliver an archery session, a staff member showed me a gorgeous spot to work.
She also made it clear that the venue highly appreciated respect and dignity in general, and especially towards this spot, because of its history. No one ever came back to that conversation, but all kinds of details in the Samaya’s hosting underline this respect for the environment.

Laadpunt auto op SamayaThe other week I was at Samaya again, with one of my archery workshops. This time with my new, electrical car.
I searched for a charging point, but I couldn’t find one. And in general they do hit the eye, with their futuristic led-lights. With little hope I asked after it at the reception. They pointed me to an old wall. There they had installed two modern sockets on the old wall of the monastery: functional, unobtrusive, fitting in the environment.
I like that: no fuss, highly effective.

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Houdini’s Easter Eggs

PaaseierenHave you ever hidden Easter eggs for the kids? I did it again last weekend, and it’s still a thrill. For everyone. Last year I took a picture of the youngest during the egg hunt. It was a nice shot: one stark red egg and a kid’s eyes gazing straight past it.

‘This year you will not be able to do that to me,’ she had solemny vowed the night before.

Easter morning she rumbled down the stairs, ready for a rich and colourful chocolate harvest.

Totally focussed she reaped one egg after the other, hastily tucking them away in a bag. Nothing was going to get in the way of this combine harvester.

Until I saw her overlook a blue egg. I decided to document this properly, even if it meant spoiling the egg’s hiding.

‘Please go back  and sit in front of the shelves for a sec.’
‘Why is that, daddy?’
‘To take a picture.’
‘O.K. then. But make it quick, cause I need to move on.’Easeregg hidden in full sight
As I am clicking away, the egg stays brilliantly hidden in full sight.

I am seized by a growing amazement. What is happening there?
The simple question to sit still for a picture ‘for a sec’ changes her time perspective immediately. And that pulls the egg from her view. Imagine for yourself: when you are standing somwhere to search for something, you are looking differently than when you are posing.

As long as she is hunting for eggs, she is in the here and now,  But as soon as she is posing, she is anxious to move on, and her focus wanders of to the future. Precisely that look into the future prevents her to see the Easter egg that is shining into her face.

‘Ready.’
‘Finally!’ And she jumps up to continue the egg hunt.

A teachable moment on focus. I had nearly missed it.

One week later
‘Dad, another egg.’
‘Congratulations!’
‘No, no. My brother found it.’
Then, in a huff: ‘And you know what? He wasn’t even looking for it.’
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Doing nothing

voidWho doesn’t want to ‘do nothing’? At least every now and then?

Under rare circumstances, I manage to do nothing quite easily. But most of the time I need to work hard to do nothing. Such as during the recent Philosophy and the Art of Archery that Jan Flameling and I facilitate once a year.

We always attract special people. This time was no exception. Take Rob for an example. For a sloppy observer he could have passed as a non-descript. But boy was he switched on. Effortlessly he followed the archery instructions. No excess movement touched his beautiful stance. Nor did he ask anything; he only made contact with his shooting buddy. In reaction I held back even more than usual.

Even though holding back felt good at first, the Calvinistic little usher in my head urged me more and more strongly to ‘get down to work.’ And believe me, I am eager to work indeed. But in this case, facilitating meant ‘doing as little as possible’. Maybe even nothing.

I offered Rob’s shooting buddy a new breathing rhythm. Barely within earshot of Rob. Immediately Rob synced with this new rhythm. His last arrow had barely hit the target when he beamed a big smile at me:
‘Do you have any idea how strong that works? It makes time disappear, and it took me into a different world all of a sudden.’ In a flash I realized I had done little enough. A world of difference.

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Free learning

The best thing you can do at school as a parent?
Be a reading dad!

Vrij lezenWhen I enter the classroom, a couple of kids are waiting with big bright eyes: who can join me today?
For I will throw a little party.
A reading party.

The first kid that the teacher chooses, rummages through shelves of instructional material, reading booklets, and remedial teaching stuff.
From the body language it is clear. This is a kid with a mission.

I let this process run free. For when the kid choses too simple an instruction set, he bores himself to death.
Sometimes the same kid then later overestimates himself. And gets totally frustrated trying to read a booklet way over his head.
These things happen once, and then the child knows exactly what is needed to get ahead.

At some rare ocasions I get a request from the teacher when the kid needs to focus on something. Diphtongs, or the likes of it. So that the kid doesn’t fall behind with the rest of the class.

I do that of course.
And every child obliges as well.
But: we laugh less. Learning turns into work. And some magic disappears.

At those moments I realise again the luxury of learning in my coaching sessions.
Where there is laughter.
With coachees that figure out for themselves what they need to learn. Fast.

And where magic is still the norm.
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Coaching with archery on Dutch TV

‘Can we take some shots during one of your sessions?’

I have Enterprising Netherlands on the phone, a Dutch television programme on businesses. Coaching with archery would fit in nicely, they think.

After the first euforia (Wow, nice publicity!) the immediate downer: as a coach I am used to working behind the scenes. Not in the limelight, and surely not with an audience.

That is for a good reason: during a coaching session like this, people are often at their most vulnerable, and at the same time they can reveal more of themselves than they are aware of.

‘Oh, but that’s no issue,’ hollers the voice of the tv-person through the phone. ‘Let’s just have the presenter do a session with you. I bet she will like it.’

I immediately point out that one can disclose quite a lot when shooting with a bow. Not to mention that a camera is meticulously registering each micro-movement for the whole nation to see.

The Yes, but‘s are presented with increasing vigour and in a persuasive tone of voice.
It’s enough to make a light-shunning agoraphobic walk onto a stage with pleasure.

And indeed. The production day itself is a piece of cake, from the start. Not only am I free from nerves, it’s just plain fun. Also for the presenter.

Opnames coachen met boogschieten voor tvThen the cameraman suddenly exclaims to her, ‘Oh wow, I’m getting to know you much better now, Chan. I see things I never knew about you.’
An innocent, well-timed joke, to be fair. But it does touch something. And I see a trace of wariness that I hardly ever see during a coaching session.

The editing takes longer than planned. ‘Yes, we wanted to treat these images with care. Didn’t you ask for that?’

And, in all fairness: it did turn out well, I think. It offers a small peek behind our scenes.

Indeed, our scenes, for I had forgotten about that during the shooting: I am in it as well.
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How to catch a dolphin by train

ticket with dolphinHeadache riddle for a manager: ‘How can you organise large groups of people so they keep in close contact without stepping on each other’s toes?’
Knee-jerk answer: write manuals. Many many manuals. With procedures.

Sure: if your bank goes bankrupt, you want to know who burnt your money. And everyone wants solid procedures to prevent these things.

But, procedures muffle personal communication. The good news is: a smart employees will develop the wildest work arounds. Bend a rule or two. Just to do his work as he thinks it should be done. Or to keep things fun.

The other day I took the train with our youngest. As soon as the conductor laid his eyes on her, he seemed to remember something, and started smiling. Out of a hidden pocket, he magically produced a kid’s paper puncher. The tension rose slightly. I could hear a drum roll. Then a dolphin jumped from the ticket punch. It kept my 5-year old grinning for the rest of the train ride.

Still, the little ticket keeps popping up in our house. My daughter is a driven train lobbyist for life.
Thanks a red little plastic puncher.
And a professional out of his box.
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Oplossingsgericht

Het is verleidelijk om je in een probleem vast te bijten om zo snel mogelijk een oplossing te vinden. Dan wordt het probleem sturend. 't Kan ook anders.
Kijkt eerst naar wat goed gaat, en gebruik dat als bron. Dan kun je veel meer kanten op. Het werkt makkelijker, sneller, en meestal goedkoper.

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