We are Swirling Starlings

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sEL6rqCOCGw

Starlings are everywhere for me this winter, teaching me their lessons.

They appeared in a recent article by David Brooks where he links the brain activity of humans with starlings. He refers to the work of Luis Pessoa and his theory of the entangled brain:

As the brain is trying to navigate through the complex situations of the day, it is creating what Pessoa calls “neuronal ensembles distributed across multiple brain regions,” which, like a murmuration of starlings, “forms a single pattern from the collective behavior."

Brooks suggests that we see people as sets of swirls, gracefully moving through the world as we interact with one another and our environment, as do the starlings.

Pessoa writes more extensively on starlings:

When thousands of starlings swoop and swirl in the evening sky, creating patterns called murmurations, no single bird is choreographing this aerial ballet. Each bird follows simple rules of interaction with its closest neighbors, yet out of these local interactions emerges a complex, coordinated dance that can respond swiftly to predators and environmental changes. This same principle of emergence – where sophisticated behaviors arise not from central control but from the interactions themselves – appears across nature and human society.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEeIC_UnYQA

Humans are swirls and so are our societies and organizations.

We do not coordinate our actions according to strict categories. The results of how we move in the world are beyond the dichotomy of success and failure, and beyond right and wrong. There are no categories of beautiful and ugly or the political left and right. Birds have a left wing and a right wing, and still they fly, soar, and swirl.  We are swirling starlings, flying free while our planet flies through the universe. Starlings teach us freedom and joy, as in the poem, "Winter Starlings," by Mary Oliver (excerpt below):

Chunky and noisy,

but with stars in their black feathers,

....they are this notable thing,

....Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,

...I am thinking now

of grief, and of getting past it;

I feel my boots

trying to leave the ground,

I feel my heart

pumping hard. I want

to think again of dangerous and noble things.

I want to be light and frolicsome.

I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,

as though I had wings

(Photo by Andhoj)

In my nearly four decades of conservation efforts, I have been beset with what I once called failure and lured into complacency with apparent success. Instead, what I have come to rely upon is how my miniflocks of conservation projects resemble a murmuration of starlings. We learn to make space around us for others and coordinate with those in our immediate relationships. We respond to one another with creativity, not knowing where we will end up by the end of the day, or the project, or our lives. 

I offer guidance in many different conservation learning venues, where conservation methodology is meticulously studied and practiced.  It is not that I have answers on what we should do, but I pay attention to those around me so that we learn together.  I concur with a recent article in Mongabay:

There are many ways that impact evaluation can lead to valuable learning beyond the simple measure of “success” versus “failure,” and this is what most conservation organizations want…. If conservation funders really desire impact, they could transform this dynamic by incentivizing learning rather than focusing exclusively on “success."

Starling imparts this bird lesson for my conservation work:

React to those close to you, and move intimately, creatively, and rapidly.  Together, your mini-flock learns and influences the greater flock and the world. We do not know where we will land in the future, but we know we will do it beautifully and not alone.