Managing in Prose, Leading in Poetry: A Shift in Perspective
Essay 009
Even in our most pragmatic moments, something elusive tugs at the edges of management. We create schedules, set metrics, establish procedures—all necessary elements of organizational life. Yet in the spaces between these structured elements, we sense something more fluid, less containable.
This tension shows up in our language: we speak of management as something mechanical—an engine pushing forward in a predetermined direction, fueled by clear objectives, hard facts, and deadlines. The manager, like the operator of an engine, exerts control over the process, ensuring that things run efficiently and according to plan. In this view, managing is often described in prose—straightforward, functional, and to the point.
But what if we reframed this? What if we began to see leadership as something more poetic—a sail catching the wind, letting the currents of the moment shape our path rather than forcing an outcome through sheer willpower? Leadership, in this sense, becomes more about flow and responsiveness than control and direction. Instead of controlling, we guide. Instead of dictating, we harness.
Imagine, for a moment, seeing the people in your organization as the wind. They bring energy, motion, and power—but they are not entirely predictable. You cannot control the wind, but you can learn to harness it. This raises an essential question: How do we discern when to push forward with steady effort and when to let the current carry us? What happens when the winds of a team’s energy blow in unexpected directions?
The metaphor is simple: An engine pushes forward, controlled by its operator; a sail catches the wind, responding to forces outside of our control. Managing fuels the engine with resources and intentions, pushing it forward with determination and precision. But leadership, like a sail, requires a different kind of wisdom: a willingness to surrender a bit of control, to work with the unpredictable elements of human nature, to read the shifting winds and adjust our course as necessary.
In this model, management doesn’t lose its value—it simply evolves. The prose of management, with its structure, deadlines, and frameworks, remains essential. It ensures stability and creates the conditions for progress. But leadership, like poetry, calls us to think beyond the mechanical. It invites us into the realm of possibility, emotion, and instinct. It asks us to listen deeply to the voices within our teams, to feel into the currents that are already there, and to find ways to move with them rather than against them.
To manage in poetry is not to abandon logic or structure—it is to invite something more fluid into our practice. It is to learn the art of collaboration with the unpredictable forces of human potential, to steer not by brute force but by understanding, respect, and adaptability.
And yet, there are moments when even this dance feels insufficient—when the currents shift in ways we never anticipated, or when the wind dies altogether. What then? Perhaps this is the true invitation of leadership: to accept that there will be times of stillness, turbulence, or storms. The challenge lies not in controlling these forces but in navigating them with curiosity, humility, and a willingness to learn as we go.
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