Attention, adaptability and the practice of leadership
Dragonflies have captivated my imagination since I was a child.
Perhaps it is the delicacy of their transparent wings, or the way light reflects from their iridescent bodies. Or maybe it is their breathtaking ability to hover in mid-flight with an almost impossible stillness, then change direction with purpose.
Here in South Australia, we are fortunate to have many species of dragonflies and damselflies, their smaller cousins, including the Australian Emperor, the Blue-spotted Hawker and the Blue Skimmer.
Among the reds, blacks, yellows and greens of Australian dragonflies, the Blue Skimmer, Orthetrum caledonicum, is particularly fascinating and distinctive. The mature male has a powder-blue body ending in a dark tip, with faint bronze markings near the outer edges of his otherwise transparent wings. The female is quite different, carrying more subdued yellow, black and brown colouring that allows her to blend more easily into the landscape.
To me, dragonflies are the epitome of grace. Yet their beauty is only one part of their story.
Much of a dragonfly’s life is spent out of sight beneath the surface of the water, growing and developing. It moves through a series of aquatic nymph stages before eventually climbing from the water onto a reed for its final transformation. Its old skin splits. The adult slowly emerges, and its tightly folded wings expand and harden before it grapples with its first flight, often managing only a short distance before finding its balance. It needs to develop strength. It needs to learn all over again.
To our human imagination, this life cycle can speak of effort, resilience and the courage required to move forward even when it is difficult. The grace we eventually see is the visible expression of a much longer process of growth and struggle.
Once airborne, however, the dragonfly becomes nature’s study in precision.
Its large compound eyes provide an almost complete field of vision, yet being able to see widely is only part of its capability. Research into the dragonfly’s visual system has found that it can select a single target from several competing possibilities and sustain its attention within a crowded and constantly moving field, like tracking a single tennis ball amongst thousands.
Watching a dragonfly in flight is remarkable. It can rise high, dive low, move sideways or backwards. It can change direction easily. Most impressively, it can appear to hover unmoving in mid-air. Yet even this apparent stillness is active. Minute adjustments allow it to remain suspended - a pause designed to orient before its next deliberate movement.
Part of the secret lies in its four wings. Each can be controlled independently, varying its angle and speed in response to changing conditions. Yet the wings do not act in isolation. It is their coordination that gives the dragonfly its stability and agility.
And, of course, there is the hypnotising grace of the dragonfly.
This is not a fragile or even effortless grace, but one derived from strength: the visible expression of broad vision, focused attention, adaptability and extraordinary coordination.
Perhaps this is why the dragonfly offers such a compelling image for leadership. It invites us to look at the strength, intention, attention and constant adjustment beneath precision and grace.
Research informing this reflection: Natural History Museum and University of Adelaide.
