NFM Summit ’12 Post One: Embracing Turbulence
January 27th, 2012 § Leave a Comment
(I promise to make a clunky transition in this post. I also promise it’ll kind of work. If you let it. Oh, come on, just go with it.)
Two hours ago, I landed in Washington, DC for the NFM Summit. I’m no stranger to flying, but this was definitely the most turbulent descent I’ve experienced. As we approached Reagan International (Yeah, that’s what it’s called as of 1998.), the wings literally rocked back and forth in the face of a strong headwind. It was enough to make me—a generally unshakable flyer—grab the courtesy bag and file it in front of the Delta Sky Magazine. For easy access. Just in case.
I’m telling you, it was dicey for a couple minutes. I heard a few nervous exclamations. Which of course makes it worse. In a situation like that, everyone is supposed to stare straight ahead and pretend like nothing’s wrong. The herd reassures. As soon as people start to break from the factory preset behavior, you can feel the fear wash over the cabin. I felt it. The air got tense and people started firing up the overhead air vents. That’s always a red flag in the herd. It signals fear. It escalates the urgency of the situation because you all of sudden realize you aren’t the only one who’s on edge. The mood shifts from one of contained uneasiness to a slight panic. Think of the National Geographic programs when the first antelope breaks. In a flash, the frenzy explodes.
Thankfully, my fellow passengers had a little more self-control than a herd of antelope. Nobody fully panicked, but for a second there, it was close. I could feel it. When the wheels finally hit the tarmac, I kid you not, the cabin sighed. The mass exhale.
(Clunky transition in t-minus one paragraph and counting.)
Planes are now required to enter the airport via the Potomac River. I’m not sure if that’s a post-9/11 thing, or what. Maybe one of you knows. Anyway, we were over water until the last possible minute (which didn’t help the fear factor). Finally, the runway appeared and our landing gear touched down. But before that moment, the water below was swirling, reflecting the choppy air that was causing our rough entry. It was blowing like crazy with white caps slapping against each other in every direction. It, too, was at the mercy of the powerful wind.
(And, liftoff.)
As I watched this churning water, and my plane rocked from side to side, the word turbulence kept flashing in my head.
Turbulence.
(1) chaotic or restless character or tendency
(2) wild or insubordinate; unruly
What a beautiful concept when applied to the right context. I realized—as my life was flashing before my eyes—the power of turbulence. That we need to create turbulence in the world of academia. I think that’s our goal here this weekend. To create enough turbulence so the system feels it. I don’t want to crash the plane or anything (obviously), but I want people to talk. I want the passengers in the cabin of academia to turn to each other and say, “Whoa, this is a little scary.” And I think in order to do that, we need to rock the wings a little. Let’s force the decision-makers to turn on their overhead air vents. Make people sweat a little. That’s where it begins.
And on that note, I’m heading over to the pre-summit planning session to seek out some turbulence. In a good way.
(End forced metaphor. And, geez, did I use a dictionary definition in this post? I must be airsick.)
