We Inherit the Dots

In September 2010, Steve Jobs sent an email.

Not to an employee. Not to Apple’s board. Not to a friend.

He sent it to himself.

The subject line was simply:

“I do not…”

What followed was a quiet inventory of everything in his life he could not claim as his own creation.

He didn’t grow most of his food. He didn’t make his clothes. He didn’t invent the language he spoke or discover the mathematics he used. He lived under laws and freedoms created and protected by others. He listened to music written by other people.

And despite becoming one of the most recognizable innovators of his generation, he acknowledged he hadn’t invented the transistor, the microprocessor, object-oriented programming, or most of the technology underpinning his life’s work.

Then came perhaps the most important realization.

He was dependent upon other people.

All of us are.

There is something incredibly relevant in those words for a pipe band.

None of Us Plays Alone

We spend an enormous amount of time working on individual performance.

Our blowing.

Our fingers.

Our timing.

Our technique.

Our sound.

Drummers work endlessly on their hands, expression, dynamics, and consistency.

We practice at home, sometimes for hundreds or thousands of hours over a lifetime,

trying to become better musicians.

But eventually we walk into a circle.

And suddenly “my playing” becomes “our music.”

A great pipe band performance isn’t created by one great piper.

It isn’t created by a Pipe Major.

It isn’t created by a Lead Drummer.

It isn’t created by the person with the most experience, the fanciest instrument, the biggest title, or the most medals.

It happens because everyone contributes something.

Someone strikes in.

Someone establishes the tempo.

Someone locks onto another player’s sound.

Someone listens.

Someone adjusts.

Someone steadies a nervous player standing beside them.

Someone notices a drone beginning to move.

Someone holds the rhythm together when another player has a momentary stumble.

And sometimes the most important contribution isn’t even happening inside the circle.

Someone taught the beginner how to hold a practice chanter.

Someone wrote the tune.

Someone composed the drum score.

Someone made the pipes.

Someone tied the reeds.

Someone drove the trailer.

Someone organized the event.

Someone booked the rehearsal space.

Someone washed uniforms, loaded equipment, raised money, took photographs, carried water, encouraged a struggling player, or simply showed up when another person needed them.

Our music exists because generations of people handed something to us.

We didn’t invent the Great Highland Bagpipe.

We didn’t create the rudiments.

We didn’t write most of the tunes we play.

We didn’t establish the traditions surrounding our music.

Someone taught us.

And someone taught them.

And someone taught the person before them.

Eventually the trail disappears into history.

We Inherit the Dots

Steve Jobs famously spoke about connecting the dots in life.

Pipe bands remind us of something else:

Most of the dots aren’t ours. We inherited them.

Every time we play a tune written generations ago, someone who is no longer here gets another few minutes of life.

Every time an experienced player takes five minutes to help a beginner, something gets passed forward.

Every time someone teaches a child their first scale, our tradition becomes a little more likely to survive another generation.

And every time we stand together in a circle, we’re temporarily holding something much larger than ourselves.

Eventually someone else will hold it.

The Name on the Trophy

Competition sometimes makes us forget all of this.

Results have names attached to them.

First place.

Second place.

World Champion.

But behind every name is an enormous collection of people.

Teachers.

Former members.

Families.

Supporters.

Instrument makers.

Composers.

Volunteers.

Friends.

People who helped build an organization years before today’s players ever walked through the door.

Nobody gets there alone.

Which also means leadership isn’t about convincing ourselves how indispensable we are.

Good leadership should eventually prove the opposite.

The greatest thing we can build is something capable of continuing without us.

Teach someone.

Encourage someone.

Give someone an opportunity.

Share what you’ve learned.

Leave the music, the organization, and the people around you a little better than you found them.

Because eventually someone else will stand in our spot in the circle.

Someone else will play our pipes.

Someone else will wear the uniform.

Someone else will teach the beginner.

Someone else will call the tunes.

And hopefully they’ll inherit something worth carrying forward.

Steve Jobs ended his note by acknowledging his dependence upon humanity, both

living and dead, for his life and well-being.

Pipe bands provide a beautiful reminder of the same idea.

None of us is self-made.

None of us makes this music alone.

And perhaps our greatest responsibility isn’t simply to play well while we’re here.

It’s to make sure someone else gets the opportunity to play after we’re gone.