Boundaries
Boundaries are neither good nor bad. It’s our relationship with them that makes the difference. Whether we’re aware of them, and when and why we choose to cross them.
I think many of us are overwhelmed at the moment by the amount of information coming our way, wondering who or what originated it and what its intention is.
It is easy to allow the noise, the things that capture our attention but about which we can do little, to overwhelm the signal, the things we can. Stephen Covey drew a neat line between what we care about and what we can actually affect. He called the first our circle of concern: the broad sweep of politics, economics, and other people’s choices. The second, he named the circle of influence: the smaller patch where our actions genuinely change outcomes. His point was simple: frustration lives in the gap. Those who dwell in concern without influence exhaust themselves. Those who work where they can actually change something, no matter how small, quietly expand their reach.
In today’s world, that distinction feels sharper than ever. The mathematics tells the story. Every time we double the radius of a circle, we quadruple its area, the connections inside it, and the resultant complexity. If we live in a world of social media with a thousand “friends,” there are just under half a million two-way connections to service. If we use Robin Dunbar’s upper limit of 150, we have just over 11,000. A more focused group of 50 has 1,225.
Now multiply those connections by the issues arising from geopolitics, climate change, and our relationship with technology. It takes only a second for our brains to turn to mush. We’re just adding to the noise rather than creating a signal.
Whilst our egos would like us to be recognised and respected by as many people as possible, the reality is that a handful is enough to make a difference.
Which brings us to the real question: What do we actually want to change?
The world? Our organisation? Or our careers, our communities and our lives by helping others do the same?
I think leaving our egos behind is the wise approach. Change what we can, with whom we can, where we find ourselves. Connect with others doing the same. Find new ways of working. One step at a time.
Because we can choose.
The Pattern
If momentum is our aim, we don’t need a crowd so much as a point of purchase. A small, stubborn lever slipped into a weakness in the system.
Sun Tzu gave us a shape for this: use the ordinary to engage, the unexpected to win. That means working in small, well-forged groups that craft something real, then learning the system’s seams and pushing there. John Boyd refined the argument with his OODA loop: observe, orient, decide, act. The art is to cycle faster than the system you’re working within, creating space for your own move while the machinery grinds through its obsolescent processes.
The pattern holds across contexts: craft in the small, act in the seams, move faster than systems tied down by risk-averse cultures, and let momentum do the rest.
There is, of course, always signal in the noise. Mark Granovetter demonstrated years ago that weak ties, the casual acquaintances on the edge of our networks, can bring fresh opportunities. We need a balance. A handful of trusted voices gives us clarity; a wider scatter of looser connections keeps us open to the unexpected. The danger lies not in one or the other, but in pretending we can give equal weight to both. We can’t. We must play where we can win.
The question isn’t whether to have boundaries; we all have them, whether we acknowledge them or not. The question is whether we choose them consciously or let them choose us through exhaustion.
Choosing them requires a form of alchemy, a blend of logic and intuition in achieving the change we want. A mix of skills, strategies, and networks.
The Fire
Which brings us to the Athanor.
The alchemists built their furnaces to hold a steady flame, a quiet fire that could burn for weeks without faltering. In it, substances softened, mingled, and slowly became something new. The athanor was as much a mirror of the soul as a piece of equipment: a reminder that true transformation is less about flashes of brilliance than about constancy, patience, and faith in unseen processes.
That’s what I’m building. Not another platform. Not another newsletter about the state of the world. A furnace, tended by artisans who’ve chosen patient transformation over performative change.
The things we cannot change alone, the bigger picture issues that affect us all, I’ll continue exploring at Outside the Walls and
. The patterns. The questions. The provocations.But what about the things we can change? Not to fix the world. To craft alternatives where we actually have influence, where those of us who choose can work together in small groups, with real questions, with purposeful patience on actions that have a chance of making a meaningful difference.
If that resonates, join us in The Athanor.
In the meantime, have a great Sunday.
You can find the Athanor at richardmerrick.com. Outside the Walls and New Artisans will continue as spaces for thinking and provocation. The Athanor is where we’ll do the work together.