Every known nook of our nation
and every corner called our country,
our people diverse and beautiful,
will emerge battered and beautiful.

—Amanda Gorman

What I Think About When I Think About Resilience

Why we would all do well to teach resilience

As with most of the difficult experiences I’ve come through in my life, I have learned a lot over the last few years of the pandemic. One of the most important of these lessons is that healthier organizations, like healthy ecosystems in nature, have the metaphorical equivalent of “better immune systems.” They struggle in hard times, but they are nearly always better able to fend off problems and ill health in order to emerge in reasonably good shape on the other side of the crisis. In a nutshell, they are more resilient. 

My highly resilient friend Anese Cavanaugh told me early on in the pandemic: “The relationships and organizations that weren’t healthy before the pandemic will probably come apart. The ones that were already working well will emerge stronger than they went in.” Sure enough, things seem to have played out as Anese predicted. Resilience is not the only factor in this equation, but it certainly is a big part of the explanation. By definition, people and businesses with higher levels of resilience are simply more likely to survive. As organizational psychologist, longtime Zingerman’s customer, Wharton professor, and prolific author Adam Grant says, “I don’t think there’s any skill more critical for success than resilience.” As is so often the case, Adam and I are in complete agreement on the subject. Resilience, I’ve come to understand, is pretty much a prerequisite for attaining greatness.

The question is, why do we have it when others, often with far greater financial resources, do not? At first, I wasn’t really sure. After thinking about it a bit, I realized I was what Maggie Bayless at ZingTrain would call “unconsciously competent” about resilience. I’m good at it, but I would not have been able to effectively explain why. Reflection and intentional exploration—each of which are routines that resilient people tap into regularly—of the subject helped. I understood relatively quickly that a leader who, on their own, is resilient, but who does not develop resilience in their ecosystem, is likely to burn out. Conversely, the more we surround ourselves with people who are also resilient, the more our own resilience is likely to increase. Which is why this work is so important. Brené Brown says, “We need resilience and hope and a spirit that can carry us through the doubt and fear.” 

Since we are unlikely to achieve much greatness in our lives without it, I had the thought that there ought to be something on the list of Natural Laws about resilience. I’ve realized though that it actually works the other way around—rather than being one of the Natural Laws, resilience is, in a sense, a byproduct of living in harmony with them. Most everyone who is living the Natural Laws—the twelve on the original list, and also the other twelve (email me if you’d like the list)—develop resilience. In this way, when we’re true to nature, and true to our own nature, resilience—like love—is present. As Australian writer Hannah Gadsby says, “Your resilience is your humanity. … To yield and not break, that is incredible strength.” 

Where does resilience come from? Are we born with it, or is it learned? My layperson’s take on it, after a fair bit of reading and years of experiential learning, is that it’s a smidge of the former and a lot of the latter. We have the power to effectively build resilience in our organizations. We can model it, talk about it, recognize it, and reward it when we see it. Perhaps most of all, we can create organizational ecosystems where resilience is present and persistent in the best possible ways. What I know for sure is that we can’t get very far in life without it.

Peter Koestenbaum, now in his 90s and still actively working to spread the word about the importance of philosophy in business, has had a hugely positive impact on me. One of the many things I have learned from Peter is that one of the primary responsibilities of leaders is to develop leaders. If one of the main characteristics of effective leaders and healthy organizational ecosystems is that they are resilient, then through a sort of transitive property of training, I will extrapolate that we would do well to also take responsibility for helping others to build resilience. Like leadership, resilience can’t fully be learned in the classroom. It requires real life struggle and hardship—the actual experience of struggling, making decisions, dealing with the difficult situations, and despair. We need to experience what it’s like to start to lose hope but then find a way to get back to a more positive place in order to keep moving forward. To hold to the belief that, as Kurdish author Behrouz Boochani, who survived years in an Australian prison camp on Manus Island, wrote, “It’s a long road, but I’ll do it.” 

What exactly is resilience? The Yale Medicine Magazine says: “Resilience is an easy concept to understand but a hard one to nail down with scientific precision.” Biologist Andreas Weber says it more poetically: “The innermost core of aliveness cannot be classified and negotiated rationally. It is only possible through being involved in experiences and creative expression.” Resilience is a prerequisite, but we can’t hand it, pre-packaged, to people we care about. It’s like a muscle—we need to be pushed close to our limits but not so far that we fall off. With time, we build up our resilience. Like good leadership, we know it when we see it. And feel it. 

What we can do is offer coaching in which we can help the people who become part of our organization to develop resilience as well. It seems clear in thinking about it that every one of the partners in the ZCoB—from Paul Saginaw, all the way through to Jaison Restrick, and most recently Lisa Schultz—absolutely has it. So, too, do all the people who’ve worked with us for so many years now. So does most everyone I reference in what I write about. It’s true for my mother (single divorced mom back when my sister and I were little kids, who beat breast cancer and worked as a substitute teacher in the same school for 40 years) and Nelson Mandela (imprisoned for nearly 30 years before going on to be South Africa’s first post-apartheid president). It was, I’m sure, also the case with Tom Cook and Charlie Baker, whose inspiring partnership at Ann Arbor Foundry I wrote about last week. It’s true in the Armed Forces, and it’s certainly the experience of social change leaders like John Lewis and Dr. Martin Luther King. You can see it right now in Ukraine. 

Resilience is a common theme for every one of the cooks, chefs, and food writers who are featured in Patrick-Earl Barnes’ new art piece at the Roadhouse—from Abby Fisher through to Michael Twitty. Malinda Russell, who is featured in the center of one of the panels on the piece, is an inspiring example of resilience. Born in Tennessee, she tried to emigrate to Liberia, but was robbed en route to the coast in Virginia. To make ends meet, she took a job as a cook, married, and had a son who was born with a series of disabilities. Four years later, her husband died, and Russell moved back to Tennessee where she ran a boarding house and pastry shop. Again, she was robbed in a race-based attack, after which she decided to move to Paw Paw, Michigan, known at the time as “The Garden of the Midwest.” Two years later, in 1864, Russell became the first free Black American woman to publish a cookbook, entitled, A Domestic Cookbook. Her resilience is a model for the rest of us to be inspired by. 

In our own era, resilience is summed up well by Chicago Bulls basketball star DeMar DeRozan:

There’s going to be ups and downs. There’s going to be obstacles that you got to hit. But that’s the beauty of life, period. It’s about how you bounce back when things get tough and you got to figure out something.

Being around a resilient veteran player like DeRozan increases the odds of younger players developing resilience as well. It’s much the same in organizations. Part of what has made people like Jaison Restrick and Lisa Schultz so resilient is likely their DNA and their upbringing. It’s also, though, I have to believe, in great part due to the fact that they have worked so long around other resilient people, and in a relatively healthy organization where positive business practices are happening—a place where things like mental health and mindfulness are all actively encouraged. 

Stanford neuroscientist Andrew Huberman has reams of research on the subject of resilience. Interestingly, the physical prerequisites of resilience are not things that are written into job descriptions. They are not on the list of Natural Laws, but they are, I see now, essential elements of our mental and physical health. Huberman gives us a good checklist to work from for these physical practices:

• Am I getting quality sleep 80-85% of the time?
• Am I getting sunlight every day (preferably first thing in the morning) 80-85% of the time?
• Am I getting some form of movement in, even if it’s just a walk, 80-85% of the time?
• Am I putting quality nutrition into my body 80-85% of the time?
• Am I getting adequate hydration 80-85% of the time?
• Am I getting quality social connections 80-85% of the time?

We get peak resilience, well-being, and good work when we do these personal practices in combination with living the Natural Laws, probably most prominently (#1) “An inspiring, strategically sound vision leads the way to greatness (especially if you write it down!),” (#4) “People do their best work when they’re part of a really great organization,” (#12) “Great organizations are appreciative, and the people in them have more fun,” (#22) “Working with purpose adds positive energy in every direction,” (#16) “To get positive outcomes, we need to begin with positive beliefs,” (#20) “You need high hope to get to greatness,” etc.

To his list of physical practices, Huberman suggests two other things to work on, both of which I write about and work on every day—gratitude and time for decompression:

“Having a practice of gratitude, both giving and receiving gratitude.”

This routine, Huberman says, should be about both giving and receiving gratitude. Resilience, done well, is a virtuous cycle. Which is why all of you who write to me in appreciation for this enews are helping to enhance the resilience it takes for me to keep pushing myself through my self-doubts to make it happen every week! Knowing that we helped others seems to make the most difference. Adam Grant says, “What really boosted resilience was focusing not on contributions received from other people but rather contributions given to other people.” 

Gratitude in the metaphorical model of the organizational ecosystem (email me for a drawing) is the equivalent of “beauty.” The more beauty in our ecosystem, the more resilient it is likely to be. When the ecosystem’s energy has eroded some, one way to help restore it is by bringing back beauty. It could be as simple as sending flowers, notes of sincere appreciation, or by engaging in creative work. Over the last few months Ukrainian writer and musician Serhiy Zhadan decided to do poetry readings in a bomb shelter. As Zhadan says, “A person cannot live only with war. It is very important for them to hear a word, to be able to sing along, to be able to express a certain emotion.” 

“Having some practice that allows you to do deliberate decompression, to let the valve off of stress. To release the stress in ways that are nondestructive to you or to anyone else.”

The entire pamphlet “Working Through Hard Times” is all about practices of this sort—journaling, solitude, sticking with things through the zone of doubt and blame, learning to steer clear of overwhelm. They’re all skills and mindsets that help build resilience. Meditation, therapy, yoga, all can help. Mindful breathing is a big deal. And for me, running and writing (both journaling and writing for publication) are huge contributors to this work. Without them, I think, I might literally and/or figuratively, lose my mind.  

When I think about resilience—in particular, in regards to running and writing—I think about Haruki Murakami. I learned first from reading his amazing book, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running (thanks to Tammie for gifting it to me), and then later from doing additional research and reading, that he and I have a lot in common. We both, as he describes it, “run every single day.” We’re both awkward introverts with an affinity for collecting far too many t-shirts. We both write regularly. Our career paths even have a few parallels—Murakami began his work by owning a bar and later shifted full time to writing. He was 33 when he started to run, right about the same age I was when I began. What Murakami is writing about throughout the book, I see now, is resilience in the making—a self-driven determination to keep going, to push past pain points, and stay the course to get to where we want to go. Murakami writes:

For a runner like me, what’s really important is reaching the goal I have set myself, under my own power. I give it everything I have, endure what needs enduring, and am able, in my own way, to be satisfied. From out of the failures and joys I always try to come away having grasped a concrete lesson.

…

To keep on going, you have to keep up the rhythm. This is the important thing for long-term projects. Once you set the pace, the rest will follow. … Running without a break for more than two decades has also made me stronger, both physically and emotionally. 

The key, I can see, is to get out front of things. Building resilience is important, but it isn’t really something we can do in isolation or at the last minute. Andrew Huberman says, 

… the best time to learn a tool is when you don’t need it. Make time daily or at least three times per week to cultivate these tools, so they’ll be effective when you need to call on them. The more consistent you are … the better the odds of restoring and preserving your mental health.

Our ability to increase our physical strength will, of course, go down as we age, but our capacity to increase our resilience can continue to grow well into our later years. Best I know, Murakami, who will turn 74 in January, is still running every day. I will be out there later today as well. 

Sheryl Sandberg co-wrote the book Plan B, about resilience, with Adam Grant. It happened not out of any big passion she’d had for the subject, but rather out of the tragic and unexpected loss she experienced when her husband, Dave Goldberg, died suddenly while working out at the age of 47. The book details how, with Grant’s help, Sandberg eventually emerged from her grief and learned about the importance of resilience. Grant says:

Resilience isn’t about immunity to pain. It’s about finding the strength to withstand strain. You don't need to overcome all your hardships now. You just have to carry them until your future self can handle them. The burdens that seem heavy today usually feel lighter tomorrow. … Resilience is the strength and speed of our response to adversity, and we can build it. It isn’t about having a backbone. It’s about strengthening the muscles around our backbone.

I’m fortunate to live Natural Law #4 (“People do their best work when they’re part of a really great organization”) every day. Nearly everyone I spend time with—both in person, in long-distance communication, and through reading their work—is resilient. These are people who inspire me with their determination, their dedication to pursuing their dreams, to making a difference, to staying true to the principles and their purpose. Patrick-Earl Barnes’ visit last week to unveil his new art piece at the Roadhouse left me inspired and energized. Patrick-Earl’s post on Instagram later in the week, overlaid on a photo of us out at Tamchop Farm, gave me renewed determination to do better still: “Just like iron sharpening iron, so two friends can sharpen each other. But when sharpening takes place, sparks of creativity inevitably fly. It’s a part of our genuine friendship!” The quality of our connection, the amazingness of his art, and knowing that all of the work behind it is making an impact, I realize now, has enhanced my own resilience even further still. 

If people with resilience do better in life, if resilience is a prerequisite for making a positive difference over the long haul, then maybe one of the biggest differences we can make is to make more resilience. A quiet and little-recognized element of our organizational legacy will be that we helped so many—in our organization and in our community—to become more resilient. I feel grateful for the chance to be around, and benefit from, their growth. It’s something I will reflect on further when I go out to run later today. I smiled when I revisited the way Murakami ends What I Think About When I Think About Running:

Some day, if I have a gravestone and I'm able to pick out what is carved on it, I'd like it to say this:
 

Haruki Murakami

1949-20** 

Writer (and Runner)

“At least he never walked.”

If you want to help gently increase resilience in your organization, we’d be glad to arrange a special price for bulk purchases of “Working Through Hard Times.” I will guarantee that good outcomes will emerge when you read it together with your team and share learnings with each other. Email us at zingpress@zingermans.com. 

To read more on the “Twelve Natural Laws of Building a Great Business,” check out Secret #1 in the Guides to Good Leading.

Want to learn how to create an organizational ecosystem in which resilience is resonant? I’ll be co-teaching the Zingerman’s Experience seminar October 17 and 18. In the spirit of building resilience, respond to this piece by September 18 and you can bring a frontline coworker for half off.

Eve’s Apple Babka Debuts at the Bakehouse

Getting ahead of Rosh Hashanah’s arrival

Ready to kick the New Year off in good form? Here’s a new babka from the Bakehouse, made specifically for this year’s celebration of the Jewish High Holidays.

Babka, as you may likely know, is one more food that comes out of the culinary traditions of Eastern European Jews. I did not grow up with it at all but almost every Jewish person I know from the East Coast did. “Baba” is a reference to a Polish Easter cake, and it’s also a reference to “babushka,” or grandmother. Like the New Yorker onion rolls I wrote about last week, it would likely have arrived in the Americas in the large waves of late 19th/early 20th century arrivals of Jewish immigrants.

Babka's origin—where it is most consumed and associated with the culture—is in Belarus, the Baltics, Ukraine, and Russia. The old forms of babka were likely much larger, somewhere from the size of a modern-day panettone on up to a few feet high. The original name was likely “baba,” meaning grandmother. One theory says that with the modern era's smaller sizes, the name shifted to the diminutive, “babka,” meaning “little grandmother.” Others say the tall shape they were made in resembles a grandmother's pleated skirts. One origin theory says babka is indigenous to Ukraine, where it was part of an ancient fertility symbol used in the matriarchal system once in place in the region.

We’ve been happily making Chocolate Raisin Babka at the Bakehouse for many years. This new Babka celebrates the coming Rosh Hashanah season. Apples and honey are classic Eastern European eating for the holiday. Now we can eat them in the form of this beautiful baked good! It’s particularly tasty cut into slices, then browned lightly in butter. Great with gelato, more butter, or just as it is. The hygroscopic nature of the honey (it absorbs moisture over time) and the juiciness of the roasted apples make the dough a bit richer and moister. I can’t guarantee Eve’s Apple Babka will make the coming year culinarily better than the last few—I will ensure that at least you’ll be getting it off to an awesomely flavorful start! 

The new Eve’s Apple Babka will be available throughout the month of September at the Bakeshop, Deli, and Roadshow.

First Flush Darjeeling
from the Goomtee Estate

The first picking of the 2022 harvest
hits the Deli’s shelves

First Flush Darjeeling is one of my favorite teas of all time. It’s a tea that tastes like no other, evokes emotion, and calls up my creative spirit in much the same way that spending time with Patrick-Earl Barnes last week did. Smelling its aroma (both the dry leaves and then again as it’s brewing) and sipping it, as I’ve been doing regularly for the last week or so, is a beautiful thing. 

Back when we began this work in the late 80s, First Flush Darjeeling was barely known in the U.S. outside a small group of tea aficionados. At the time, tea bags with fancy labels imported from England were considered high-end. By comparison, First Flush seemed incredibly exotic. It was hardly a big seller back then, but my personal passion (and I suppose emotional resilience) kept me working on it for long enough that it has, over time, gained a much bigger following. What was considered kind of crazy by mainstream specialty food folks at the time has, happily, become a celebrated annual event. Each year, for something like 30 years now, we have been bringing this first-picking-of-the-new-season Darjeeling to the Deli. 

We start the process each year by tasting a range of samples from different gardens, or estates. For the last few years, Jackson Konwinski has led the work to do the selection. This year we settled on the tea from the Goomtee Estate. The estate goes all the way back to 1899, the year that Henry Lennox planted the first tea bushes. It was right about at the halfway point of British colonial rule, which ran from 1858 to independence in 1947. 

By the long standards of Indian history, tea growing in Darjeeling is a relatively recent phenomenon, dating only to the middle of the 19th century. In the northeast of India, the region is much closer to the borders with Bhutan, Nepal, or Bangladesh than to Mumbai or New Delhi. At the time, the town itself was tiny, used pretty much just as a resort and cool weather escape for the country’s well-to-do classes. The mean temperature of the area overall is only a couple of degrees higher than London, but there’s a broad fluctuation as you move through the seasons and up into the higher altitudes. The mountainous terrain makes planting and picking exceptionally difficult, adding a lot to the cost of Darjeeling in comparison to tea grown on more level terrain. Using the (all important for quality) Orthodox plucking method the best Darjeelings like this one take only the newest two leaves and the bud at the end of each branch. You need to pluck something like 11,000 shoots to make a pound of good tea.

Darjeeling is a relatively small area with a disproportionate but well-deserved reputation for exceptional and excellent tea, which makes me think of the wealth of wineries in Napa Valley. While Darjeeling’s name recognition is high, supply is low. All told—the top quality and low grade combined—Darjeeling teas account for less than three percent of what’s grown in India. Of that Darjeeling, only ten percent or so is First Flush. Of that, only about a quarter can be counted on to be of top quality. Beware that more “Darjeeling” tea is sold each year than is grown in the district. 

In the spirit of what I wrote last week about partnership, Ashok Das is the managing partner of the Goomtee Garden. He’s been working at the estate for over four decades now, and is, not surprisingly, all about resilience:

My father built the tea factory as well as this bungalow. My family has been associated with the estate for the past 60 years and I have been here for the past 40. My father and I were always very clear that our objective was to maintain a quality garden and profitable business.

…

 There has been much talk about how expensive the “real Darjeeling tea” is but if you think that mixing poor quality tea with it to bring down the price will help your cup, you are mistaken. Once you have tasted true Darjeeling tea, there is no going back. The tea of Darjeeling is not just something you add hot water to. When you come to Darjeeling, experience the tranquility of a tea estate, breathe in the pure fresh air and witness the tea being made in several steps, you see the story behind the tea. That is the side journey to every cup of Darjeeling tea that you savour.

The flavor of the 2022 First Flush is, as I would always hope, exceptional. Clear, compelling, and sharp enough to wake me up when I’m feeling foggy. Jackson says it has “Silvery buds and small leaves … Bright citrus and warming spice dance on the tongue.” Kevin Gascoyne, one of our longtime tea brokers who lives in Montreal and who sourced this year’s selection says, “This exclusive lot has a liquor with a full, vibrant, and herbal opening. A slightly saline background with woodsy and spicy notes, followed by a muscatel burst, the signature of the terroir. A tea with a remarkably persistent aftertaste.” I’ve long thought of First Flush Darjeeling a bit like free jazz—intentionally a little out of balance, attention-getting, thought-provoking, and inspiring in the best possible way. Like free jazz it’s not for everyone, but for the right people—of which I’m clearly one—it’s an inspiration. As Thelonius Monk once said, “You got to pick the notes you really mean!” For me, First Flush Darjeeling is definitely one of those notes. I mean it!

Bourbon Gelato
from the Creamery

A terrific new tasty treat 

Looking for a super tasty dessert this week? Are you a big fan of bourbon? We have just the ticket at the Creamery—handmade gelato crafted with a healthy dose of barrel-aged Kentucky Bourbon.

Gelato, if you're not familiar with it, is the frozen dessert of Italy. It originated, it seems, in the 17th century, most likely in Florence. Cosimo Ruggeri, astrologer and advisor to Catherine de Medici, is generally credited with inventing it. Ruggeri was renowned at the time as a master of the occult and magic, and I suppose we could say that gelato was the creative culinary application of his skills in those areas. Gelato actually came to North America around the time of the American Revolution but was overshadowed at the time by the development of ice cream. It was only in the latter decades of the 20th century that it became popular in the U.S. We started making it here at the Creamery in 1999. Gelato has less fat and less air in it, making it creamier in texture than ice cream. It’s a wonderful way to sweeten anyone’s day.

The Bourbon gelato at the Creamery is made with Basil Hayden bourbon, Madagascar vanilla extract, and a good bit of the dark demerara sugar we get from the island of Mauritius. Swing by the Creamery or the Roadhouse, order a scoop or two, and enjoy. I think it’s terrific topped with pecans and real maple syrup—so good, in fact, that we might add that sundae to the Roadhouse dessert menu. It’s really wonderful with bananas sautéed in butter and brown sugar. It pairs pretty darned deliciously with Eve’s Apple Babka from the Bakehouse, and it’s great with the Bakehouse’s Graham Crackers too, and/or with the Noccioliva Cocoa and Hazelnut Spread from Italy at the Deli. 

If you want to make a special brunch dish, put a scoop of Bourbon gelato atop slices of French Toast. That makes me think of putting some on the spelt pancakes (yum!) at the Roadhouse. Jenny Tubbs of Zingerman’s Press has long advocated for gelato on oatmeal or as a creamer in your coffee—this seems a good way to get a bit of Bourbon into your breakfast!

You can get the Bourbon gelato at Cream Top Shop in a cup or cone, or order it up for dessert at the Roadhouse!

A Late Summer Salad
of Arugula, Hazelnuts,
and Dates

An easy entrée to make at home!

Forty years ago when we opened the Deli, arugula was beyond exotic. Barely anyone in the U.S. even knew what it was back then. Few folks would have thought to look for it, and if they had, for all but a lucky few the search would likely have been futile. These days, mass market agriculture has made arugula available in supermarkets all over the country. There are, however, HUGE differences in flavor (and probably nutrition, too) when you get really good, just recently harvested, local arugula. Right now—when the weather isn’t quite as hot, but it’s still not cold—is prime arugula season. I’m lucky to live with a farmer who grows it and brings it home with her each evening. Tammie’s arugula is amazing, and you can find other great offerings at the market from folks like Tantré Farm, Green Things Farm Collective, or Seeley Farm.

This easy salad brings together the peppery crisp freshness of the arugula with both sweet and savory. It’s the kind of salad I eat often. To make it, lay out leaves of fresh arugula on a platter. Sprinkle on a small bit of sea salt and some freshly ground black pepper—I used the marvelously aromatic Mlamala pepper from the far south of India. The Deli has half a dozen great peppercorns from our friends at Épices de Cru up in Montreal, including the lovely Five-Star Pepper Blend! Toast some hazelnuts lightly and then coarsely chop them. I’m a huge fan of the super-flavorful Piemontese hazelnuts we have from northern Italy. Dress the salad with some good vinegar. I prefer a slightly sweet one—the Muscatel and Orange Blossom Honey vinegar I wrote about last week works wonderfully. So does Sherry vinegar or Banyuls. Add in a good full-flavored olive oil like Castello della Paneretta. Grate a good bit of Parmigiano Reggiano atop the greens. Pit and coarsely chop some dates—the Rancho Meladuco dates from California are my favorite (eat one or two on their own while you’re making the salad). Sprinkle just a touch more salt and pepper on top and eat up!

Other Things on My Mind

Cornman Farms had this wonderful write-up about our Tiny Weddings in the New York Times last week!

The interview I did with Dave Stachowiak from Coaching for Leaders is live!

Lily Talmers—a U of M graduate who studied the ethnomusicology of the sad music of Portuguese and Greek cultures—lives in Ann Arbor and has just made a beautiful new album entitled, Hope is the Whore I Go To. If she dines at the Roadhouse, I feel certain that I will have waited on her at some point.
 

Reading

Salmon in the Spring: The Ecology of Celtic Spirituality, by Jason Kirkey.