1장
Reframing Your World: The Transformative Power of Possibility
What if the barriers you perceive in life are merely constructs of your own making? This profound question sits at the heart of "The Art of Possibility," a revolutionary book that has transformed countless lives since its publication. The work represents a unique collaboration between Benjamin Zander, the charismatic conductor of the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra, and Rosamund Stone Zander, a respected family therapist and executive coach. Their combined wisdom creates a powerful roadmap for transcending limitations and stepping into a universe of boundless potential.
The book has earned praise from luminaries like Deepak Chopra and has become required reading in leadership programs at institutions like Harvard Business School. Its enduring popularity stems from its rare combination of practical wisdom and artistic sensibility. Whether you're struggling with professional challenges, relationship difficulties, or simply feeling stuck in life's patterns, this book offers a refreshing alternative to conventional problem-solving approaches. As Maya Angelou once noted after encountering the Zanders' work: "We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand."
2장
Stepping Beyond the Measurement World
Our minds construct the reality we perceive. This fundamental truth forms the foundation of possibility thinking. We live in what the Zanders call the "measurement world" - a reality defined by assessments, comparisons, and the constant struggle to overcome obstacles. Here, we face perpetual scarcities of time, money, power, love, and inner strength. This world operates on the hidden assumption that life is fundamentally about survival in a realm of scarcity and peril.
But there exists another realm - the universe of possibility - which is infinite, generative, and abundant. Free from survival concerns and assumptions of scarcity, we can stand in openness with unfettered imagination. In this universe, we gain knowledge through invention rather than measurement. We speak with awareness that language creates categories of meaning that open new worlds. The pie is enormous - take a slice and it remains whole. Life appears as pattern and movement inviting engagement. Emotions like joy, grace, awe, wholeness, passion, and compassion abound.
To step into this universe, practice asking: "How are my thoughts and actions, in this moment, reflections of the measurement world?" Look for thoughts reflecting survival, scarcity, comparison, competition, attachment, and anxiety. Keep asking until you appreciate how thoroughly these assumptions shape your life. Then you may begin to laugh at the absurdity of constant self-assessment, and when someone asks "How are you?" the word "perfect" might just pop out, with a smile.
This shift in perspective isn't about denying reality but about recognizing that what we call "reality" is largely invented. Every story we tell ourselves rests on hidden assumptions. By noticing and distinguishing these stories, we can break through barriers of any "box" containing unwanted conditions and create new narratives supporting the life we envision.
3장
Giving an A: Unlocking Human Potential
At the New England Conservatory, Benjamin Zander transformed his teaching by giving every student an A at the beginning of his Interpretation class. The only requirement: write a letter dated at the end of the semester explaining why they earned this A, describing the person they will have become. This approach transforms anxious students who fear taking risks into confident performers.
Students write remarkable letters envisioning their future growth. A trombonist describes finding his true voice through improvisation. A Korean flute player transforms from negative self-critic to someone who "enjoys making mistakes." Another student writes about overcoming fear and realizing "trying and achieving are the same thing when you are your own master."
The A creates a classroom where students feel eager rather than anxious. This practice counters the competitive atmosphere of music academies where students become obsessed with measurement rather than expression. When students make mistakes, Zander encourages them to say "How fascinating!" rather than despair.
The practice isn't about denying differences in accomplishment but about creating possibility. It allows teachers to partner with students rather than judge them against standards. A Taiwanese student brilliantly summarized the insight: "I was Number 68 out of 70 students... but Mr. Zander says I am an A... One day I discover much happier A than Number 68. So I decide I am an A."
This approach extends beyond education. In orchestras, giving an A transforms the relationship between conductor and players from judgment to partnership. When Ben noticed a violinist named Tanya sitting slouched during Mahler rehearsals, he approached her with curiosity rather than criticism. She explained the bowings were too fast for her to "get into the string." Rather than dismissing her concern, Ben spent the afternoon studying the score from a violinist's perspective and adjusted tempos slightly for certain passages. During the performance, Tanya transformed into an impassioned player.
Later, Ben called to thank her, discovering Mahler was her favorite composer. He learned that "the player who looks least engaged may be the most committed" and that "the secret is not to speak to a person's cynicism, but to her passion." By approaching Tanya with the assumption she was committed but struggling, Ben had given her an A, creating a warm relationship that benefited the entire orchestra.
Giving an A represents a fundamental paradigm shift - recognizing that all judgments are invented. It's not about positive thinking or whitewashing behavior, but about addressing people as humans capable of participation, however blocked they may be. When we give an A, we become open to different perspectives and truly listen to others, rather than limiting possibilities with fluctuating assessments based on moods and opinions.
4장
Being a Contribution: Beyond Success and Failure
Unlike success and failure, contribution has no opposite - it isn't arrived at by comparison. The contribution game transforms our perspective from survival to opportunity, allowing us to see ourselves as gifts to others rather than constantly measuring our worth against external standards.
This practice emerged from Rosamund Zander's personal experience. Growing up in a traditional Jewish household, she faced nightly anxiety at dinner when her father would ask each child what they had accomplished that day. This drive for success and fear of failure followed her into adulthood, causing considerable suffering despite increasing professional accomplishments. Only after her second marriage ended did she realize she could invent a different game: "I am a contribution."
The practice involves two simple steps: 1) Declare yourself to be a contribution, and 2) Throw yourself into life as someone who makes a difference, accepting that you may not understand how or why. This approach has remarkable power to transform conflicts into rewarding experiences.
Consider Marianne, an academic who struggled financially despite careful planning. Every April, she would reluctantly ask her wealthy but frugal mother for money to cover tax shortfalls, enduring lectures about her financial failures. When advised to consider what amount would truly make a difference - twenty times what she planned to request - and to approach her mother as a contribution rather than a failure, Marianne transformed their relationship. By presenting herself as offering her mother an opportunity to contribute meaningfully to her family's well-being, Marianne shifted the dynamic entirely. Not only did her mother eagerly provide the larger sum, but she spontaneously gave equal amounts to Marianne's sisters as well.
When Benjamin Zander introduced this perspective to his Conservatory students, he asked them to write down how they had contributed over the past week - anything they were willing to call a contribution. This exercise transformed how they saw themselves by eliminating space for self-criticism. The second week, they noticed their contributions without changing behavior. The third week, they cast themselves as contributions "like a pebble into a pond," imagining their actions sending ripples beyond the horizon.
This discipline of spirit helps musicians overcome stage nerves and become more effective vehicles for conveying music. As one student wrote: "Music is not about fingers or bows or strings, but rather a connective vibration flowing through all human beings, like a heartbeat."
5장
Leading from Any Chair: Empowering Others
A conductor can easily be seduced by public attention into believing in personal superiority. Though orchestral players will forgive a great conductor many transgressions, a leader who feels superior will suppress the voices of those on whom he relies. Despite the conductor's magical figure and leadership mystique, the profession remains one of the last bastions of totalitarianism in the civilized world!
After nearly twenty years of conducting, Benjamin Zander had a revelation: a conductor doesn't make a sound. His true power comes from making other people powerful. This shifted his focus from "How good am I?" to "What makes a group lively and engaged?" Rather than imposing his will on musicians, he began concentrating on enabling them to play as beautifully as they were capable.
To create a conduit for orchestra members to be heard, he began placing blank "white sheets" on every music stand during rehearsals, inviting players to write observations or coaching that might help him empower them. Initially, musicians limited their remarks to practical issues, but as trust developed, they began supporting him by recognizing his role as an essential conduit for realizing the music's possibility. Now they freely offer insights about conducting technique and musical interpretation that he almost always incorporates. When he adopts a musician's suggestion, he makes eye contact with them during that passage, making it "their moment."
The monumental question for any leader is: How much greatness are we willing to grant people? Leadership isn't limited to conductors and CEOs - it's exercised by anyone who sees and nurtures possibility in others. The silent conductor listens for passion and commitment, looking into players' eyes and asking, "Who am I being that they are not shining?" True leadership means inviting expression, speaking to others' passion, and finding opportunities to hand them the baton.
This principle was demonstrated when the Youth Philharmonic Orchestra struggled with complex Cuban rhythms under composer Guido Lopez Gavillan's direction. Zander spontaneously suggested that the Cuban musicians teach their American stand partners directly. The energy transformed as Cubans became animated conductors, leading their partners enthusiastically. When they discovered the Cubans hadn't received the difficult Bernstein's Candide Overture, they reversed the process - American students led their Cuban counterparts through the piece. This demonstrated that leadership doesn't require a podium; it can come from anyone sitting on the edge of any chair, listening passionately and fully prepared to take up the baton.
6장
Rule Number 6: Lightening Up
Rule Number 6 is simple: "Don't take yourself so g-damn seriously." And there are no other rules. When we practice Rule Number 6, we coax our calculating self to lighten up, breaking its hold on us.
This calculating self - concerned for survival in a world of scarcity - develops in childhood as a strategy for "getting out of childhood alive." It positions itself on a ladder with a downward spiral, constantly striving for control while relationships deteriorate. To recognize this calculating self, ask: "What would have to change for me to be completely fulfilled?" The answer reveals what conditions we find threatening or intolerable.
Consider June, who had left her "narcissistic" husband Mark. When challenged to "Have the Best Sex Ever" as part of a personal growth program, she initially resisted. Yet when she remembered Rule Number 6 and asked "What would have to change to make this possible?", she realized she'd been taking herself too seriously. "Why can't you have the Best Sex Ever with a self-centered guy?" she wondered. This insight disentangled Mark's self-absorption from lovemaking, allowing her to reconnect with her attraction to passionate men. Her courageous phone call led to a transformative evening that felt "like a week's vacation, but also like coming home."
When one person strips away layers of pride and pretense, others instantly feel the connection. As Rule Number 6 is practiced, the calculating self gives way to the central self - our generative, creative nature. Unlike the calculating self (designed to look out for Number One), the central self needs no identity - it's pure expression. It knows that notions like "not belonging" or "being insufficient" are as illusory as Santa Claus.
The central self moves through life with fluidity, seeing itself as permeable rather than vulnerable, joining rather than resisting life's bountiful flow. When we lighten up over our childish demands, we enter a cooperative universe that pulls for the realization of all our cooperative desires - a universe where, like angels, we can fly because we take ourselves lightly.
Since the calculating self naturally looks out for Number One, it typically drives negotiations at an impasse. The practice of Rule Number 6 gives facilitators a unique perspective: conflict resolution becomes the art of allowing the parties' central selves to take charge. Rather than finding solutions that satisfy calculating selves, the facilitator promotes human transformation. When you address people's central selves and conduct honest conversations, a culture forms that's difficult to resist - like trying to hum in B minor while everyone around you sings in C major.
7장
Being with the Way Things Are: Beyond Resistance
This practice offers an antidote to both hopeless resignation and spluttering resistance. It means being present to the way things are, including our feelings about them, without resistance. Unlike the cow who accepts things with resignation or the duck who rails against reality, this practice helps clarify our next steps forward.
The calculating self resists this approach, asking "Why hang around and feel like a sucker?" while the central self expands by asking "What is here now?" and "What else is here now?" Being present without resistance doesn't mean drowning out negative feelings or pretending to like what you can't stand - it simply means being with what is happening and your reactions to it, creating possibility to move forward rather than remaining stuck in resistance.
During a solo ski trip focused on improving her technique, Roz kept falling on patches of ice and tensed up in resistance whenever she spotted more. Ready to abandon the trip, she suddenly realized she'd been operating under the assumption that "real" skiing meant skiing on snow. With cosmic laughter at seeing the obvious, she redrew her mental boundaries to include ice in her definition of skiing. Her physical self coordinated easily with this new thinking, and she welcomed the ice instead of resisting it. As every skier knows, resistance to ice leads to painful slides, while treating it as a friendly surface delivers you gracefully across.
Being with the way things are requires distinguishing between assumptions, feelings, and facts. This practice applies in several contexts: clearing "shoulds" (focusing on how things should be rather than how they are diminishes our power to act effectively); closing the exits of escape, denial and blame (staying with uncomfortable feelings until they run their course); clearing judgments (recognizing that "good" and "bad" are human categories imposed on events, not inherent in them); and distinguishing physical from conceptual reality (abstractions like "justice" or "destiny" can narrow our lives when confused with physical reality).
When we operate as calculating selves, we focus on "barriers" and "roadblocks" that stand in our way. This downward spiral talk excludes possibility, creating an unassailable story about limits and how things are deteriorating. The more attention we shine on obstacles, the more they multiply - like noticing red Dodge pickups everywhere after buying one.
Radiating possibility begins with things as they are and highlights pathways leading forward. Describing present conditions ("I have not inquired about my son's life") rather than abstractions ("There's a wall") allows us to see obvious next steps. Being with the way things are calls for expansion - starting from what is, not what should be. We encompass contradictions, painful feelings, and fears without fleeing, blaming or attempting correction.
8장
Giving Way to Passion: Connecting to Life's Energy
The universe vibrates with generative power, but how do we tap into this source? Suppose vital energy flows everywhere, and any block to participating in that vitality lies within ourselves. Our minds tell a different story - that the world consists of separate parts with distinct boundaries. The practice of giving way to passion has two steps: First, notice where you're holding back and let go, releasing barriers that keep you separate. Second, participate wholly, allowing yourself to channel passion into new expression.
A performer loses connection to music's long line when focusing solely on perfecting individual notes or expressing personal emotion. Like someone forgetting they're related to ocean waves, this narrow emphasis produces dull performances. Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata changes character entirely when pianists emphasize triplets over the melodic bass line, transforming Beethoven's light fantasy into nostalgia and regret.
Leon Fleischer described playing music as an exercise in antigravity - drawing listeners over artificial bar lines toward experiencing the piece as a whole. This explains why Beethoven's and Schumann's metronome markings seem so fast - they were passionate about launching a long line. Life flows when we attend to larger patterns, just as music soars when performers distinguish structural notes from decorative ones.
A young pianist playing Chopin remained earthbound despite understanding the piece intellectually. Ben noticed the pianist was sitting firmly centered - "a two-buttock player!" When encouraged to let his body flow sideways and catch the music's wave, the performance suddenly took flight, moving the audience deeply. This birthed a new distinction: the one-buttock player. A corporate president who witnessed this later transformed his company into a "one-buttock company," likely reconnecting his organization with its founding passion.
This physical embodiment of music's flow creates transformative performances, as exemplified by Jacqueline Du Pre who, even at six, approached performance not as "getting your act together" but as opening up to let music sing through your unique voice.
A Spanish cellist preparing for an orchestral audition played with professional precision but lacked leadership qualities - color, intensity, drive and passion. After coaching him to break through his formal restraint and play with heart, Ben urged him to "play the second way" at his audition. When the student called later to report he didn't get the position, Ben prepared to console him - only to learn the student had been so frustrated he'd auditioned for a better principal cellist position in Madrid instead, playing with newfound passion and winning at twice the salary. This breakthrough created a new class distinction called "Beyond the F--- It" (BTFI), which became an unofficial motto representing the spirit to transcend self-imposed limitations.
9장
Lighting a Spark: The Art of Enrollment
Enrollment is the art of generating a spark of possibility for others to share. Unlike manipulation or pressure, it's about giving yourself as a possibility to others while being ready to catch their spark in return - "playing together as partners in a field of light." The practice involves four steps: imagining people as invitations for enrollment, standing ready to be moved and inspired, offering what lights you up, and trusting others are eager to catch the spark.
Benjamin Zander's father once traveled overnight to Glasgow just to have breakfast with an acquaintance, explaining that "certain things in life are better done in person." This lesson inspired Ben when asked to engage Mstislav Rostropovich for a festival performance. Despite being told by Rostropovich's assistant that the maestro was booked years in advance, Ben flew to Washington for a face-to-face meeting. In just twenty minutes of passionate conversation about composer Henri Dutilleux, Rostropovich agreed to perform with Ben's student orchestra despite the impractical schedule and minimal rehearsal time.
In the downward spiral, a "no" can seem like a permanent barrier, but in possibility, it's merely an invitation for enrollment - someone saying they don't yet see a new possibility. This approach transforms interactions from transactions to connections, as illustrated when Roz needed quarters for an air pump at a service station. When she simply asked "Will you give me two quarters?" with cheerful intimacy, the dynamic changed completely. One man immediately reached into his pockets to help, the air pump worked, and the other man eagerly provided directions to the museum.
While seeking sponsorship from Arthur Andersen for a Philharmonia Orchestra concert, Ben found himself enrolled in their project to help "failing" schools. He visited Eastlea School in London's tough Docklands district to introduce classical music to 1,100 students. Despite the headmistress's concerns about controlling such a large assembly, he conducted a two-hour presentation that culminated in the children singing Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" in German.
For the follow-up event with the full Philharmonia Orchestra, Arthur Andersen arranged a warehouse venue with forty buses to transport the children. During their two-hour demonstration, they explored Beethoven's Coriolan Overture, Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet, and Mozart's Divertimento in D, creating a genuine partnership in musical discovery.
The highlight was their exploration of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony's slow movement. Ben progressively introduced each instrumental voice - first cellos, then violas, then bassoon and clarinet, followed by double basses and second violins. The children actively participated, even critiquing when the second violins played too loudly. When all seven voices finally emerged in perfect balance, the warehouse fell into profound silence as 900 children strained to hear every nuance.
Ten-year-old Anthony transformed from a hyperactive child into a dynamic artistic force, conducting the Philharmonia Orchestra with powerful gestures and an ecstatic countenance. His unselfconscious conducting so inspired the musicians that their astonished faces revealed they were being genuinely led by this child who had never before seen a symphony orchestra.
10장
Being the Board: Taking Radical Responsibility
When possibilities seem exhausted, when others refuse to cooperate or compromise, when even enrollment fails and you're at wit's end - this graduate course in possibility becomes available. By renaming yourself as the board on which the whole game is being played, you move problematic circumstances from the external world to within your boundaries. This radical practice transforms your relationship to events by declaring: "I am the framework for everything that happens in my life."
Unlike traditional blame-based responsibility that diminishes your power, this invented responsibility strengthens you at no one's expense, allowing you to stay on your chosen path even after setbacks. The first part of this elusive yet powerful practice is declaring: "I am the framework for everything that happens in my life." When feeling wronged or victimized, tell yourself that some assumption you've made is the source of your difficulty.
During a performance of Mendelssohn's Italian Symphony, Ben stopped the orchestra when a violinist came in early. Afterward, when someone whispered asking if he wanted to know who made the mistake, Ben replied, "I did it." Though he hadn't literally played the violin, he chose to take responsibility rather than assign blame. This response represented his willingness to be responsible for everything happening in his orchestra, a stance he found enormously empowering and liberating.
Using chess as metaphor, traditional responsibility positions you as a piece on the board or the strategist moving pieces. In this practice, however, you define yourself as the board itself - the framework for the game of life. This isn't claiming to be the cause of everything, but giving yourself power to transform your experience of unwanted conditions. While a chess piece can only react to moves that interrupt its plans, the board accommodates all moves.
When you name yourself as the board itself, you shift from reacting to circumstances to integrating everything into the fold. You bring in all you've been resisting - both the good and bad moves, your miserable childhood and your parents' circumstances. This practice asks you to reflect on how unwanted circumstances got on "the board that you are," revealing your contributions to your current situation without blame.
In the measurement world, our need for control leads us to assign blame when things go wrong, giving us the illusion we can control what has already happened. But being the board is about making a difference. When your boss doesn't take your advice, rather than labeling him as "not listening," you can recognize he simply wasn't enrolled in your ideas. This shifts responsibility to you to design conversations that matter to him.
When we're caught in blame and guilt, we're pulled into an eddy away from "the living stream." Being the board means asking "How did this get on the board that I am?" instead of assigning fault. The chapter illustrates this with a couple facing infidelity - when both practice being the board, they each take 100% responsibility for the breakdown rather than blaming each other. The husband realizes he dismissed his wife's independence and desires; the wife recognizes she oscillated between total accommodation and escape without creating partnership.
11장
Creating Frameworks for Possibility: Vision as Leadership
Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I have a dream" speech exemplifies how dreaming can make a difference. King's vision spoke to what's fundamental in all humans, transcending divisions. Today's foremost leadership challenge is maintaining clarity to stand confidently in possibility despite competition, short-term pressures, fear, and scarcity.
The practice involves creating and sustaining frameworks that generate possibility through three steps: 1) Make a new distinction in the realm of possibility that powerfully replaces the current meaning framework causing the downward spiral; 2) Enter the territory by embodying this new distinction so it becomes the framework for life around you; 3) Keep distinguishing what's "on track" versus "off track" with your possibility framework.
When the Youth Philharmonic students broke curfew after an exhilarating concert in Brazil, rather than punishing them, Ben reframed the situation. Instead of focusing on broken rules, he asked what they came to offer the Brazilian people. Their enthusiastic answers - showing the best of America, communicating friendship through music, showing respect - reconnected them to their purpose. He acknowledged their exuberance came from their magnificent performance, while helping them see how waking hotel guests wasn't aligned with their gift. This approach, focused on vision rather than blame, led to voluntary apologies and two more inspired performances.
Most organizations confuse mission statements with vision. Mission statements typically express competition and scarcity, focusing on becoming "Number One" or "preeminent" - excluding objectives that fail to provide meaning or direction. They leave people asking "What about me?" and "Why?" These statements lack the impelling force of a true vision.
A true vision has the transcendent power of music - like the Italian aria in Shawshank Redemption that made prisoners feel momentarily free. A vision becomes a framework for possibility when it: articulates a possibility; fulfills a fundamental human desire anyone can resonate with; makes no moral judgments; uses no numbers or comparatives; exists in the present rather than pointing to a better future; invites infinite expression within its framework; and transforms the speaker by making barriers to realization disappear.
Under the vision of "Passionate Music-Making Without Boundaries," the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra has flourished beyond expectations. Their budget tripled while maintaining affordable tickets and giving returns to homeless shelters. This framework of possibility has led to acclaimed recordings, outreach programs, popular preconcert talks, jazz collaborations, and ambitious projects like bringing 400 musicians to Carnegie Hall.
Personal crises often birth powerful personal visions. Alice Kahana, an Auschwitz survivor, lives by a distinction formed after shouting at her eight-year-old brother about a lost shoe before they were separated forever. She vowed never to say anything that couldn't stand as her last words to someone. Such distinctions aren't standards to live up to, but frameworks of possibility to live into.
12장
Telling the WE Story: Beyond Us and Them
History typically records conflicts between Us and Them, but the WE emerges when we set aside stories of fear and competition. This practice defines humans as central selves seeking to contribute, naturally engaged in a dance with each other. The WE appears in unlikely places - even in a treatment facility where therapist Roz connected with a strange nine-year-old named Victoria. During a game where Victoria sent Roz to the store, Roz realized "This is about US" - they were at a critical point where Victoria would declare whether they were together or apart. Victoria chose the story of sufficiency and connection rather than disappointment.
The WE approach transforms conflicts by assuming no fixed wants or static desires. Instead of ultimatums like "Give me a raise or I quit" or "Get that woman out of your life," the WE approach asks "What do WE want to happen here?" and "What's best for US?" This integrative process yields the next step rather than decisions based on known quantities.
During therapy with a couple on the verge of separation, Roz intervened when the wife howled "YOU DON'T LOVE ME!" Roz shouted back "Who could love you when you act like this?" then realized it wasn't the woman speaking but Revenge - "a creature sitting on your shoulder." This metaphor transformed the dynamic, allowing the husband to move closer and the wife to acknowledge "I hate being this way." Roz advised not fighting the Creature but naming it: "What's the Creature doing now?" This approach removes barriers between people by describing revenge, greed, pride, fear and self-righteousness as villains - not people. We need never name a human being as the enemy.
Mandela's post-apartheid government established the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) to heal the nation after years of violence. The TRC offered amnesty to those who publicly told the whole truth about politically motivated violence. Written into South Africa's constitution was "a need for understanding, not vengeance; reparation not retaliation; ubuntu not victimization." Founded on the belief that we are central selves longing to connect, the TRC revealed more truth than anyone imagined, shifting definitions of victims and perpetrators. As one young woman realized after hearing her mother's killer confess: "The TRC was never supposed to be about justice; it's about the truth."
During a tour with the New England Conservatory Youth Philharmonic Orchestra in South America, Ben asked the orchestra to reseat themselves next to unfamiliar instruments and play Dvorak's New World Symphony with eyes closed. When they lost their flexibility, he asked what door opens when eyesight closes. "Listening," they replied. Walking to the back of the hall as they played blind, he witnessed extraordinary music-making emerging - 88 musicians playing by heart with remarkable elasticity. Local visitors wept at the connections present on stage. When they opened their eyes and played once more, they experienced a wholeness of spirit with no leader and no followers, just harmony - a high point of their tour happening in an unexpected small town where "nothing important" was supposed to occur.
