There’s Greatness In Chasing Mice Because We Can’t All Be Lions
Tack “lion” onto anything, and you’ve got a self-help hit on your hands. Honestly, your animal of choice is half the battle. Launch with “lion,” and you’re spreading that big-cat dust — like sub-Saharan magic — on whatever you suggest. If everything tastes better with salt, then everything sounds better with “lion.”
Not so for hamsters. Here, test it on Charles de Gaulle, who said:
Don’t ask me who’s influenced me. A lion is made up of the lambs he’s digested, and I’ve been reading all my life.
(You getting pumped?!?!)
But what he didn’t say was:
Don’t ask me who’s influenced me. A hamster is made up of the lambs he’s digested, and I’ve been reading all my life.
Because the hamster does little (figuratively and literally) for the words that ignite men’s souls.
The Lion And The Mice Story
There’s a great lion story that’ll ignite any soul, a ferocious eating lesson that speaks deep to our primal appetite. The story, attributed to Newt Gingrich, goes like this:
A lion is fully capable of capturing, killing, and eating a field mouse. But it turns out that the energy required to do so exceeds the caloric content of the mouse itself. So a lion that spent its day hunting and eating field mice would slowly starve to death. A lion can’t live on field mice. A lion needs antelope. Antelope are big animals. They take more speed and strength to capture and kill, and once killed, they provide a feast for the lion and her pride. So ask yourself at the end of the day, ‘Did I spend today chasing mice or hunting antelope?’
(Are you really pumped now?!?!)
When I first read this, in the context of a great article by Jari Roomer, a predatory beast rose up in me. Mine was a sharp-toothed, sharp-clawed, big-cat transformation, one that left me sprawled on the hot, African plains, ripping success from my big-goal kills. As Roomer writes:
In reality, the lion is us. It could be our business, bank account, career or anything else. This ‘lion’ requires calories in order to survive and thrive. You can view calories as revenue, achievements or meaningful progress. Without these ‘calories’, our lion can’t survive. In order to get these calories, our lion needs to chase and kill prey — tasks, projects, goals, and customers. If we play it small, we chase mice — low-value tasks, mediocre projects, and cheap customers. If we play it big, we chase antelope — important tasks, valuable projects, and high-paying customers.
There Are Still Lessons Beneath Kings
It’s sound advice … to be the lion, to fill your success belly with big, caloric kills (vs. scarcity (i.e., rodents) in large, scurrying quantities (i.e., lots of rodents)). But the idea of the “lion” creates blinders. Yes, to imbue the lion’s spirit — the king of the jungle — is to choose your animal wisely, but “wisely” can be a synonym for “easy” … a lack of perspective, growth, and insight. One chooses wisely in being Lebron James — ”King James” — but locked into this hero — this apex predator — one is forever separated from any and all lessons below Lebron’s summit.
So what if you’re not a lion? What if you’re a bird … specifically, a peregrine (a falcon)? Unlike the lion, the peregrine is too small to target large-calorie kills. It’s days are spent hunting ducks, gulls, pigeons, songbirds, fish, and rodents. It was made to hunt small; despite this, it lives and thrives. And as such, it runs counter to the Gingrich question:
Did I spend today chasing mice or hunting antelope?
Lessons From A Small Eater
Separate yourself from the lion — detach yourself from the prized antelope — and you’ll learn a few things from the “lowly” peregrine. In his iconic book The Peregrine, J. A. Baker spends seven months watching this bird, becoming the peregrine, interlacing himself into the soul of the predator. And in Baker’s patient trackings, there are lessons to be learned, ones that differ vastly from the lion’s mindset.
The peregrine is adapted to the pursuit and killing of birds in flight. Its shape is streamlined.
Not all of us can be lions; not all of us are “shaped” to pull down the antelope. And this is okay despite the Gingrich advice. Because much of success is a chiseling tedium, the small tapping of marble to shape the David in our heads. Gingrich says “a lion that spent its day hunting and eating field mice would slowly starve to death.” Very true, but as van Gogh wisely counters: “For the great doesn’t happen through impulse alone and is a succession of little things that are brought together.”
Regular hunting over the same area will produce an increasingly defensive reaction from possible prey. … The peregrine has to avoid frightening the same birds too often, or they may leave the area altogether.
It’s frustrating to watch people/businesses hunt “over the same area,” copying/repeating the same tired and unchanging concepts and ideas. This populous of monotony — this universality of sameness — produces an “increasingly defensive action”; that is, the prey — success, creativity, customers, etc. — all “leave the area together.” Much like the lion-and-the-mice adage, to feast on sameness is to slowly starve yourself, both literally (from boredom) and figuratively (from a lack of risk and innovation). Those who succeed take flight over new areas; those who waste away — skeletal and malnourished — nest forever in uniformity.
Predators overcome their prey by the exploitation of weakness rather than by superior power.
This is the most anti-lion advice I can give, an admission that within the vast savanna, not everyone can be lions chasing antelopes. Sure, everyone wants to “be” the superior power, but the playing field doesn’t allow for a horde of giants. There are always underdogs — in fact, the existence of an apex predator (the lion) renders everyone else an underdog (i.e., a competitor thought to have little chance of winning a fight or contest). More than likely, you’re looking up at a lion, and in that case, your best strategy might be “the exploitation of weakness rather than by superior power.”
The hardest thing of all to see is what is really there. Books about birds show pictures of the peregrine …. But when you have shut the book, you will never see that bird again. Compared with the close and static image, the reality will seem dull and disappointing. The living bird will never be so large, so shiny-bright.
Not necessarily a bird lesson but still a valuable lesson from The Peregrine. Here, J. A. Baker makes the point that in print, birds are vastly different from reality.* The lesson is a sobering one: ideas are glossy but “the doing” is often a struggle. It’s a powerful success lesson, the gospel of realism (implementation) vs. the fiction of dreams (good ideas).* As Jesse Cole has said: “Ideas are currency, but it’s the implementation that’ll make you rich.”
It [the prey] had forgotten the enemy that does not move. The bird out of place is always the first to die.
Lastly, a view from the kill but a lesson all the same. There is always an enemy who does not move, one that — if not made obvious — can put you out of place. Out of place in the wild is death; in the world of men, it’s failure. Think! What is the non-obvious that preys upon you, your business, your dreams, your plans? What is the non-obvious that holds the key to doing better, to differentiating, to creating an advantage? There’s success in seeking this thing out, taming it and owning it. Because as Marcus Aurelius said, “The secret of all victory lies in the organization of the non-obvious.”
*The irony’s not lost on me. To preach lessons on lions and peregrines is nothing more than a glossy idea. It’s not true reality. It’s nothing without the strain of action.
Originally published at https://www.linkedin.com.
