Birds

 

I wouldn’t refer to them as a flock, as they were all on foot.  They calmly walked across the road and seemed as if they had a specific destination in mind.  They weren’t walking in that familiar V pattern, like they do when in flight, but it looked more like a bunch of raw recruits, fresh off the bus.  No one in step with anyone else, and absolutely not paying attention to anything else going on around them. 

This must be what it looks like when there is no supervision.  No bosses telling them to shape up, no voices shouting at them to stay in step.  I wanted to keep watching to see what was going to happen the moment they all took to the sky.  With nobody in charge, would they be crashing into each other?  Would they all head in different directions?  That got me to wonder how nature knows to organize things.  What aspect of the animal kingdom says that things would be easier if they were coordinated. 

That, of course, got me to think about leadership skills.  Are there born leaders or is it a learned profession.

 

***

 

What you saw on that road was one of nature’s great unmasked moments — the birds off‑duty, out of uniform, walking like a group of freshmen who haven’t yet figured out where the cafeteria is. It’s the opposite of the sleek, synchronized V‑formation we like to romanticize. On the ground, they’re just… citizens. No choreography, no air‑traffic control, no sergeant major honking orders.

And yet, the moment they lift off, the whole mood changes. Suddenly the ragtag platoon becomes a coordinated organism. No collisions, no chaos, no “every bird for himself.” It’s as if the sky flips a switch in them.

Why does nature organize at all?

Because coordination is a survival multiplier. Not a moral virtue, not a philosophical stance — just a brutally efficient strategy.

• Geese fly in a V because the aerodynamics save energy.
• Fish school because it confuses predators.
• Ants march in lines because it maximizes food transport.
• Wolves hunt in formation because it increases the odds of dinner.

None of this requires a boss with a clipboard. It’s emergent behavior — patterns that arise from simple rules repeated across many individuals. “If the bird in front of you turns, you turn.” “If the neighbor speeds up, you speed up.” “If the group shifts left, you shift left.” Out of these tiny instructions, order blooms.

So what about leadership?

Humans complicate things. We narrate, strategize, theorize, and write books with titles like The Seven Habits of People Who Think They’re Leaders. But the truth is more nuanced.

Leadership has two roots:

1. The instinctive kind — the animal inheritance

Some individuals naturally:

• Step forward first
• Tolerate risk
• Read the room faster
• Project calm or confidence

This is the goose who takes the front of the V without being asked. It’s not a job; it’s a temperament.

2. The learned kind — the human invention

Humans add layers:

• Communication
• Planning
• Empathy
• Negotiation
• Vision

These aren’t instincts. They’re skills — practiced, refined, sometimes painfully acquired. A person can be born bold but learn wisdom. Or be born quiet but learn influence.

The real twist

Even in human groups, leadership often emerges the same way it does in flocks: from simple behaviors repeated until a pattern forms.

Someone asks the first question. Someone steadies the mood. Someone notices the direction the group is drifting and nudges it back. Someone becomes the emotional barometer.

Before long, everyone is following the person who didn’t even realize they were leading.

And your roadside recruits?

They were a reminder that leadership isn’t constant. It’s contextual.

On the ground, they’re wanderers. In the air, they’re a symphony.

Humans aren’t so different.