Metamodern grandpa energy

The dangerlam and I sometimes refer to the meals offered by some restaurants as ‘grandpa food’. It’s not necessarily a compliment.

But it’s also not entirely a derogatory, either. Grandpa food is pragmatic, stoic, resourceful, honest, and—whilst lacking in ornamentation or finesse—often has a stodginess and/or saltiness that can be just what you feel like.

Grandpas make the best ploughman’s board. The sourdough? Torn. The pickled onions? Uncomfortably large. The cheese? Hard af. Yet somehow, it works.

Grandma food—nona food—is, of course, absolutely wholesome and heartwarming. Slow, sweet, soft, sumptuous. Perhaps a tad heavy on the butter, sugar and cream, sometimes. Yet decadent and delicious.

I’m generalising here, but you get the thrust. And whilst I would love to talk hagitude and crone energy—whilst weaving in plenty Joanna Macy and Granny Weatherwax quotes[^ For example: “Wisdom is one of the few things that looks bigger the further away it is.”]—this is a post about grandpa energy.

Or, more precisely—the ‘divine masculine’ elder vibes that can manifest in a mature adult.

In this fourth turning (and our descent into the long dark and the end of the world as we know it[^ “But not the end of the world full stop”.]), as so many things slide into collapse, decomposition and decay, and as so many of us lose our way amidst the chaos, calamity, and muck—we will increasingly look to those who can bring a mature, pragmatic, stoic, resourceful, honest and wise perspective. Those who can hold to their own centre, even amidst it all.

This is not exclusively grandpa energy, but it is a vibe that healthy older adults can exemplify. I’ve seen it with regards to folks who have the moral courage and clarity to know that killing children, journalists and aid workers is wrong. They speak out to politicians complicit in genocide and mass starvation. And they stand in defence of those who cannot defend themselves.[^ Like the endangered Masked Owl in Tasmania, whose habitat is being illegally destroyed.]

And yet so many older men seem to have turned bitter and selfish. Their compassion? Withered. This is probably what unhealthy grandpa energy looks like—obstinate parochialism, blatant racism, and a sullen sense of self-entitlement.

Naturally, this is not completely the fault of each individual—such behaviours emerge in relation. Do they have communities where there is ample Gemeinschaft[^ A spontaneously arising organic social relationship characterised by strong reciprocal bonds of sentiment and kinship—aka good neighbourly spirit.] between diverse peoples? Do we have our older folk feeling respected, loved, seen, known, and appreciated? Are they integrated into our conversations?

Or are they just, kinda... left to their own, being fed fear and othering by moloch media?

But here’s the thing: even our wisest elders—those with genuine wisdom about navigating complexity—can embody an interesting tension. They offer the intellectual equivalent of that perfect grandpa ploughman's board: substantial, nourishing, essential. Sometimes, though, the presentation comes with a gruffness that's part of the package—not malicious, just... well, grandpa-ish.

Take Dave Snowden,[^ Chief Scientific Officer, Founder and Director of the Cynefin Centre] for instance—one of our most brilliant complexity theorists and a voice we desperately need amidst this metacrisis we share. Most of the time, he brings that good grandpa energy: pragmatic wisdom, moral clarity, and hard-won insight served up without pretension. But sometimes there's an extra dash of salt that makes the meal less palatable than it could be.

The latest conversation my friend Tim Adalin had with Dave exemplifies this perfectly. Tim is one of the most intelligent, wise and astute people I know. He brings an almost uncanny sophistication and depth to his questions.

The conversation itself is brilliant—rich with the kind of insight we desperately need in these times. Dave shares a great reminder that I deeply resonate with, and wish more of my clients knew: never tackle a complex problem directly (37 minutes in). The tyranny of measurement and its perverse incentives was also discussed (22 minutes in). I also appreciated the call-out for what psychological safety has become (1 hour 24 minutes in). The whole episode is nourishing with insight.

But I wasn't always sure that Tim’s thoughtful questions were met with equal curiosity, warmth and good faith. Which is so vexing because I love Dave’s mind, and am vastly in concordance with his values and ideas. As is Tim, I’m quite sure. And—as far as I understand—most of those who have a sense of metamodernism and the metacrisis.

There is very little doubt that Dave is one of the brightest living minds we have—a quality that is only possible thanks to a complex web of relational knowledge (of which he is an emergent property). And the sensibilities he shares regarding sensemaking and wayfinding amidst complex and chaotic domains are, well—I struggle to name any better. But sometimes he manifests with that gruff grandpa energy that adds unnecessary roughness to wisdom that could otherwise be received more readily.

I remember, a couple of years ago, watching Dave’s fifth appearance on The Stoa. This time to talk about ‘Meta-Mugglism’. I was really looking forward to his perspective—but it felt like he was arguing with a strawman. Brendan Graham Dempsey—a writer, poet, farmer, and host of The Metamodern Spirituality Podcast—wrote A Response to Dave Snowden’s ‘Meta-Mugglism’. Over 900 days later, I’m not sure much has changed.

Dave brings apt concern. The Metamodern Community Has a Fascist Problem, writes Emil Ejner Friis.[^ One of the more significant voices in this space, and co-author of The Listening Society and metamoderna.] I’ve also found that the enchantment and fascination I once had for metamodernism has shapeshifted into something else. This is partly due to memetic drift, and partly to do with my own unfurling. And that’s okay—there’s room for all perspectives here.

“I develop if you develop,” writes Hanzi Freinacht in The Listening Society.[^ A favourite quote from a book I once loved and still very much love (as one might an ex). Also: I’m not so drunk on the model of hierarchical complexity, these days. 😅] “Even if we don’t agree, we come closer to the truth if we create better dialogues and raise the standards for how we treat one another.”

I hosted a dinner with Dave once, a few years ago, when he was in Melbourne. He’s wonderful in person; witted, with a glint in his eye. A quality that isn’t so readily conveyed via online mediums. And perhaps it’s just that—the internet seems to amplify the gruffness whilst diminishing the warmth. Dave seems to relish battling the many LinkedIn ‘thought leaders’ displaying too much hubris,[^ These skirmishes are fascinating—and often very satisfying—to witness.] and perhaps that combative stance becomes habitual. Hard to say!

Dave concludes that podcast conversation with the epitome of good grandpa energy; some sweetness amidst the salted porridge—

“I want the world to be survivable for my granddaughter.”

Aye, me too.

My one errant thought that hasn’t found a home in this piece yet is this: bring back the neighbourhood pub where locals gather. Bring back the equivalent of a church, where locals gather to talk of what’s good, and to ensure everyone is well. Let us lean into the relational webs of our own locale, to see what might flourish amidst.

With much warmth,
from a one-day gruff wizard.

xoxo