What-ho, friend! Welcome to another issue of The Museletter, an epistolatory endeavour. If someone forwarded this to you, you can sign up too (for free).

Last time I shared thoughts on ‘How to Navigate the Internet Like a Wizard’. For my esteemed fellow subscriber-members of The Mythical Coterie of The Fox, I also shared ‘A Beginners Guide to Oscillation’. Today, I intend to keep this relatively short, as we dally with one of my favourite forms of fear.

Very quick updates:

• Only five tickets remain for The Character Building Masterclass happening next week (and you have less than 24 hours left to secure your place).

• The Cleverness (our much-neglected web shoppe) is set to undergo a ‘Digital Transformation’ of sorts (it’s all the rage), and so: this is the last week to acquire hand-signed copies of my books and publications (we have a special sale happening right now).

• I’m getting bookings to work with teams seeking to reshape and refresh the way they work (values, rhythms, principles, behaviours, rituals, fulfilment factors and more) in the New Year. Or well fine: I had one client ask me to do this as a kick off to 2020 and I thought—‘actually, that’s a good idea’. Maybe this’d be good for your team, too? Jot Kim an email if you’re interested and we’ll send info.

The Fear of Others Missing Out

Have you ever watched a favourite movie with a friend—only to spend most of the time watching your friend from the corner of your eye to make sure they are watching the movie? And bloody heck what is their phone even doing in their hand? And then you see them glancing at the cursed thing during precisely the wrong bit—the part where it’s all subtext and suspense and subtlety and knowingness and meaningful micro-expressions and hidden symbols and artful juxtaposition—and, what? They’re now texting. Texting. What the actual? ‘I can pause it if you like?’ you say, passively, with a frostiness to match the gravity of the situation. ‘Nah it’s fine!’ they say, all merry-like.

Galling, yes?* Well, anyhoo—this ‘foomo’ happens to me too.° And it’s fun to catch myself in the process of experiencing it.

* I have this with books, too. I will literally read over Kim’s shoulder when I know she’s at a good bit. It’s probably infuriating. Audible breathing.
° Like, right now I have a fear for you missing out on The Character Building Masterclass I am running this time next week. The fear is not for myself (we’re fine, tickets have sold well and I cannot wait)—my fear is for you, or someone you may know. Why? Because it is shaping up to be ‘The Most Meaningful Masterclass’ I have ever woven together for folks. Because it is a once-off, ichigo ichie experience happening at one of the most apt times of the year for you; something that presents you with a very real chance of making 2020 one of the most significant chapters in this unfurling ‘story’ of your life. Ever. And we have just five tickets left. Sales close in less than 24 hours. Join us.

Did you like my subtle attempt at marketing, there? Crass, but earnest.

Anyhoo, I still want to explore this particular flavour of fear, for it relates to a key concept from The Courage To Be Disliked—a book by Ichiro Kishimi and Fumitake Koga. This wonderful text presents a dialectic exposition of Adlerian psychology. And while some of the concepts wither under postmodern scrutiny, the book itself offers some mighty useful principles that hold true in many situations. One such is: The Separation of Tasks.

This very stoic notion encourages us to continually ask: ‘whose task is this?’—and to then separate our tasks from the tasks of others.

Most (all?) interpersonal problems are caused by intruding on other people’s tasks—or by having your own tasks intruded upon. In the above movie scenario it is clear: whether my friend pays attention to the movie or not is not my task—it’s theirs.

Likewise: what another person thinks of you is not your task. This is at the heart of the courage to be disliked.

Now, if I were smart I’d leave it at that and wrap this museletter up with a pithy little anecdote looping back to the original story—an affirming piece of superficial wisdom to tie together this piece of recycled thought. I’d then possibly sign off with a humorous note (‘perhaps the real fear is the fear of the fear of others missing out—fofoomo?’ Hohoho!).

But I can’t help myself. And thus I present you some ‘thoughtful provocations for the quietly dissatisfied’. Or is it ‘thoughtful provocations for your quiet dissatisfaction’? Who’s to know? You, perhaps; though not I. Not my task, you see. Or is it? Yes and no.

1. The foomo is a symptom of our caring for others.

It comes, in part, from recognising that the distinctions between ‘self’ and ‘other’ are not that distinct. To watch your friend watch your favourite movie is to relive it with them and through them.

2. The foomo is also a symptom of our caring for ourselves.

In many ways, our intrusion in the tasks of others is more of a selfish act than a selfless act. This relates to our ego.*

3. The foomo calls for us to relate transpersonally.

This means relating to each other not merely as single, rational individuals—but as co-created dividuals; recognising that we ourselves are complex emergent phenomena deeply entangled in the fabric of the universe and the totality of worlds in all their multitudes, dimensions and potentialities. From this transpersonal relational perspective, the ‘separation of tasks’ becomes… trickier.

Because paradox.

* I am uncomfortable with how charged the word ‘ego’ has become these days (and how simplistically many relate to it). The ego is not the enemy.° Rather: it is more the sum of our rationalisations about the subconscious desires we feel. It thus (in part) is the aperture by which we manifest character.
° Okay sure: for some, the ego is a fixed and inflated sense of self-importance and separateness (individualism) that is conflated with ‘identity’. But it is possible for all of us to develop our sense of ‘selfness’ so as to be much more fluid and interconnected. If we loosen our grip on notions of the perfect/ideal self, ‘ego’ can become a generative tension between selfishness and selflessness—a paradox within which we can better navigate the oceans of meaningness, so that we might better orientate ourselves toward the realisation of relevance.

Why am I sharing this? Because it’s another example of the ‘both/and’ philosophical disposition we need to get better at embodying if we are to survive and thrive in these {hypercomplex, ambiguous, entangled, doubt-ridden} times.

The temptation, always, is to collapse paradox into one of their polar forms (to obsess with fixed categorisation; it’s got to be either this or that; innovation or stability; my task or yours)—or to flap our hands at the inter-contingency of it all (‘it’s all relative’ we say, to no discernible effect). But neither of these stances will help us find meaningful progress with regards to climate change, systemic inequality and the meaning crisis we currently face.

When applied to such complexities, the foomo we feel extends above and beyond any one of us as individuals. To say ‘It’s Not My Task’ in regards to climate crisis—to feign innocence, blissful ignorance and benign neglect—is just a cop-out. Alternatively, to make Solving The Multidimensional Crisis your sole responsibility and task is ridiculous. The thought alone is enough to invite immense overwhelm, futility and despair—and courts ontological collapse.

It’s all too much for any of us to deal with alone. And yet—this is the tension (the storm) within which we must grow, develop and lead.

Ergo our foomo is something to notice within us at the micro and macro level. How we identify and enact our Tasks (seperate or not), in the various Roles we play (infinite and otherwise) is the challenge of our times. A challenge that requires us to embrace both a deeply ironic Machiavellian pragmatism and an unyieldingly sincere romantic idealism. The irony gives us distance, solace and perspective—the sincerity gives us agency, intimacy and impact.

Long story short: metamodernism.

Metamodernism—a nebulous cluster of emerging perspectives and developments in philosophy, politics, art and culture—is a beacon in these times. Or a very good reference point, at least. You can start with this accessible article, and then read this book (it’s brilliant). And, then this book. And then—if you’re particularly keen—you can consult this growing list of literature. (And, all the while, maintain enough ironic distance and connection to other domains of thought, so that you don’t become too sincerely swept up in it all).

This might sound a bit… out there? Whacky? Seemingly unnecessarily complex? That’s because…

‘Real’ thought leadership is suspect.

Also: my Word for this year is ‘Fool’. Part of my self-prescribed remit is to embrace the kinds of post-conventional thinking and philosophies that may have me be laughed at or dismissed. This somehow seems more intellectually honest than simply rehashing the predictable (and more immediately profitable) narratives.

“One of the first metamodernists, David Foster Wallace, famously said in 1990 that the next real literary rebels in America would be artists with little interest in trying to shock or upset their peers but who were, rather, willing to become so credulous of everything in the world that their peers would laugh at them.” – Seth Abramson On Metamodernism

Most of the ‘thought leadership’ we experience in the business world is conventional thinking given a new lick of paint. The same narratives recycled and respun, so as to keep us locked into banal incrementalism (and the perpetuation of stagnant power structures, such as white patriarchal imperialism). Like cargo cult science, it is merely the theatre of leadership and innovation, done so that boxes may be ticked and people might be convinced.* Drink bottles and tote bags branded with words like ‘innovation’, ‘agile’ and ‘transformation’. Much talk of change but no real skin in the game.

* Seasoned leaders and conference goers know what I mean. And hey: I happily participate and contribute to such. There’s still much meaning, enchantment and wonder to be found, beneath the film of scepticism we might entertain.

But this… this feels different. I’ve sat with this metamodernism thing for a few years now. I’ve brooded and flexed—and the patterns are still holding mostly ‘true’. Or true enough. This metamodernism thing doesn’t readily fit within the conventional narratives we’ve built for ourselves—it extends above and beyond them.

It excites me because we are on the cusp of new possibilities and ways of working here. This feels like something closer to the ‘real’ (mythical) ‘future of leadership’.

But my fear is that you might miss out on this wisdom, as it is still remains well within the undercurrent—and there are noisier narratives to compete with.

My other fear is that—in this noisy, busy and distracted world—my work will be perceived as too obscure (or the cognitive load too high). It’s a fun dance—like Bonini’s paradox of accuracy and usefulness—but you’re going to see me stumble, from time to time.

And stumble, I shall. Meanwhile—stay tuned for the next museletter, as I have a wondrous, practical, accessible, useful, timely and apt SECRET to share with you.

jf

PS: My dear Coterie, as ever, your comments and contributions are most welcome. And if you are not part of The Mythical Coterie of the Fox—I fear you might be missing out.