Bridging the Gap: From Aspirational to Actionable

Photo by Karl Hörnfeldt on Unsplash

Last week, a reader reached out after reading my five-part series on antifragility and leadership. They said something I’ve been turning over ever since:

“It’s beautiful. But it feels a little… out of reach. We could never do that here.”

I get it.

When we describe cultures that metabolize stress, leaders who show up with presence instead of performance, and systems that adapt and evolve like living ecosystems—it can start to sound like a fairytale. Or a luxury reserved for well-funded startups or visionary CEOs. Not for you. Not for here. Not for now.

But here’s what I’ve learned, both from the farm and the boardroom:
The work isn’t out of reach. The work is right here.

Creating an antifragile culture—one that metabolizes stress, grows through complexity, and honors the nervous system—is aspirational. So is leading with presence in a world built for speed. So is designing for recovery in systems that glorify grind. So is seeing the people in front of us through the eyes of compassion in environments that reward urgency over empathy.

Antifragility isn’t a finish line. It’s a direction of travel.

When we moved to the farm I had two modes, awe and overwhelm. I was awed by the rawness of the nature, by the wildness of the woods, by what to me was an abundance of wildlife. I was overwhelmed by the never-ending to do list … the kudzu that was choking the life out of the southwest corner of the property and headed for the stream, the poison ivy that made large patches of the land no go areas for me, the dirt of the driveway running down our access road with every rainstorm … the barely functional appliances, plumbing, wiring …  and seemingly endless mess, manmade, left by the prior owners. Their realtor was so embarrassed that she ordered a huge dumpster for us, and we began, piece by piece, cleaning out the junk. We began to clear a trail, foot by foot.  We tidied up the sides of the cabin and turned what were junk piles into borders of perennial flowers. We paved the driveway. On days when I could just take that next step, in keeping with the overall direction of restoration and regeneration, it felt great. On days when I could only see my to do list, I wondered if we’d made a huge mistake. 

If reading this series felt like being handed a map to a faraway land, this is your reminder: you don’t have to move the whole organization at once. What the road ahead looks like depends on your perspective, and you just need to take the next natural step.

Look for trimtabs.
Begin with removing something small that’s not helping – an outdated meeting routine for example.
Celebrate the space that arises!
Start where you have influence, using small, integrity-driven actions.
Start with a pause.
Start with a conversation that sounds different.
Start by protecting one moment of recovery.
Start by listening with the ears of the heart, even if only for ten minutes on a Tuesday.

This is how cultural soil is restored: not all at once, but through small acts of remediation, protection, and noticing. 

As one leader said to me recently: “I realized I don’t need to change the whole system. I just need to show up to it differently.”

Antifragile leadership doesn’t require permission. It requires courage to allow the system time to heal with the junk cleared and the bad actors uprooted. It requires patience. It requires presence. And often, presence is the one thing we can still reclaim, even in the most rigid systems.

A Compost Mindset

Antifragile cultures are not built in leaps.
They are composted—over time, through presence, humility, and micro-shifts.

It doesn’t require a new org chart or a big rollout. It starts with one meeting that begins with a pause. One calendar boundary that protects recovery. One manager who learns to stay with discomfort long enough to choose curiosity over control.

That’s the real story behind culture change.
It doesn’t start with the system. It starts with the soil.
And healthy soil is built slowly, layer by layer, from what we’re willing to lay down and let transform. 

The Map and the Next Step

If my series felt like a map to a far-off destination—this is your reminder:
You don’t have to get there today.

Maps are most useful when we pair them with presence. With a willingness to notice where we are and choose the next true step. To acknowledge that there are unknowable unknowns, and it’s still ok—and even necessary—to proceed. That’s all antifragility is asking.

You don’t have to fix the whole organization.
But you can become a place where something different is possible.
You can begin to be the ground where others remember how to root.

A Gentle Reframe

If any part of you has been wondering:

This sounds wise, but am I failing if I can’t make it happen at scale?

You are not behind.
Antifragility isn’t an achievement. It’s a way of being in relationship with pressure, discomfort, complexity, and possibility.

Sometimes it’s heroic.
Sometimes it’s just being kind to your nervous system on a Thursday. 

In the Pause, Something Grows

Three and a half years later, we’ve taken care of 90% of the poison ivy, about a third of the kudzu, and we have a sustainable plan to deal with the rest. As we’ve created space, what’s flowed in has been nothing short of remarkable. We have a beautiful perimeter trail through the woods that we walk each day, and a garden that is producing most of our vegetables for the year as well as the seeds for the next year and to share with neighbors. From the initial 20 or so bird species we’re now up to 80, many from rare or threatened species, as word got around that the farm was a great place to rest when migrating or even to stop and mate. Our wildlife is significantly wilder and more abundant, and in the spaces in the woods where we cleared away the mess left by the prior owners, there are unaccountable numbers of wildflowers and myriad baby oaks of a dozen varieties, ready to replace those ill-advisedly harvested for cash before we got here. What were horse pastures filled with invasive, unhelpful plants and bald patches are now lush pollinator meadows filled with mostly native wildflowers supporting an explosion of butterfly and bee species. 

Next week, I’ll be sharing a brief reflection while I’m off the grid on silent retreat at the farm. While you are working, I’ll be meditating, and, between sessions, weeding and noticing. For now, I offer this reflection: 

What is one small thing you could protect, nourish, or compost this week—something that moves in the direction of antifragility, even if no one else sees it?

That’s enough. That’s more than enough.
Because every forest begins with a mycelial spark beneath the surface.
And you may already be tending one.

Missed the Series?

Here’s a quick recap if you want to revisit or share:

• Part 1: Manager burnout isn’t a side effect—it’s a systemic warning sign.

• Part 2: Antifragile leaders grow stronger through stress by training their nervous systems.

• Part 3: Five embodied practices to cultivate inner resilience and leadership presence.

• Part 4: Antifragile cultures metabolize stress into learning—they feel, adapt, and grow.

• Part 5: The deepest signs of growth are often quiet and unseen, like mushrooms after rain.

Summary: Vision of antifragile leadership and culture feel out of reach? This piece offers a grounded reframe: true change begins not with sweeping transformation, but with small, intentional steps—composted slowly, with presence and care. It’s not about fixing the system overnight. It’s about becoming the ground where something new can take root.