Seeing Systems Clearly: from Hula Hoops to History

Learning to see Systems

The bus ride out to the Morton Arboretum cut through a gray Chicago morning, the kind that feels suspended between seasons. When we stepped off, the air carried a sharp chill that lingered just long enough to remind us winter had not fully let go. Around us, the landscape was beginning to stir. The first flush of flowers pushed up from dormancy, tentative but unmistakable.

Inside, there was a quiet anticipation. Our cohort is still early in its journey, not yet sure what will shift, but certain that something will.

By the end of the day, it was clear. What shifted was how I see systems and my place within them.

When the System Doesn’t Do What It Says

Our first session, led by Travis Sandland of the IDEAL Center, marked a transition from identifying systems to understanding them more deeply. We moved beyond naming systems to examining their anatomy, their traits, and the paradigms that shape them.

One idea anchored the session: systems are not defined by what they claim to do. They are defined by what they actually produce. That distinction became tangible during a deceptively complex exercise with a hula hoop.

A ring of raised fingers held a lightweight hoop. The plastic felt almost weightless at first, hovering just above our hands. The task was straightforward: lower it to the ground together. Instead, the hoop rose. Despite shared intent and real effort, the system produced the opposite outcome.

At first, many of us focused on our own role. Am I doing this correctly? If so, why isn’t it working? It was a subtle assumption that success or failure came down to individual performance. What shifted was our perspective.

We began paying attention to how we were moving together, rather than how each of us was performing on our own. Small adjustments became coordinated ones, as we realized that problem wasn’t with any one person in our system: it was how we were interacting.

Once that shift took hold, the hoop began to descend. Slowly at first, then with increasing coordination, until each one met the ground with a soft, satisfying snap. What had felt unpredictable moments earlier now felt almost inevitable. The lesson was straightforward, but not easy. In complex systems, outcomes are shared. Success depends on recognizing that we are part of something interconnected, and that responsibility is collective.

But this session forced a harder question. How often am I trying to fix symptoms without examining the underlying paradigm? In my own work, it is tempting to focus on discrete challenges- especially when the underlying causes are bigger than my own sphere of control. Focusing on a risky pest pathway, or a breakdown in process, is comparably easy; and the effects of changing elements are real and immediate- if sometimes brittle. But they are also parts of larger systems shaped by incentives, relationships, and assumptions.

Challenging a paradigm takes time- often measured in years, or decades. It requires stepping back when the instinct is to act quickly. That tension is real. But if the paradigm remains unchallenged, the system will continue to produce the same outcomes, no matter how many parts are adjusted.

“Being a STEM based individual, the ‘Aspects of a System’ was fun to see as a metaphor for human interactions when I’ve only thought about it through a biology and ecosystem lens. It became apparent that human interactions are a complex system, I cannot change its function without all elements and interconnects working together. It’s not just about me. I can’t do this all by myself.”

-Emma Sertich, owner of Center Safe Ag, a food safety consulting company specializing in the avocado and citrus industry.

Systems That Outlast Intent

That lesson deepened in our conversation with Kirsten Delegard, whose work uncovers racial covenants embedded in historic property records. A racial covenant is a clause written into a property deed that explicitly restricted who could own or occupy that property based on race. These were not informal practices or isolated acts of discrimination. They were legally codified, widely used, and reinforced by institutions.

From the 1930s through the 1960s, the vast majority of federally backed mortgages were tied to properties with these kinds of restrictions. At the same time, racially mixed neighborhoods were often “redlined,” labeled as high-risk investments, and denied access to capital. Even infrastructure decisions, such as freeway placement, reinforced these patterns.

This was not accidental. It was systemic. Even after racial covenants were outlawed, their effects persisted. Neighborhoods remained segregated. Wealth accumulated unevenly. Opportunity followed patterns that had been deliberately constructed.

For me, this is not abstract. These housing covenants affected communities in San Mateo County, where entire neighborhoods were restricted by race. As someone who grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area and now owns a home there, I have probably benefited from the long-term effects of those systems. I am proud of the work I have done and the life I have built. At the same time, I can’t deny that I’m also a beneficiary of structural advantages that were systematically denied to others.

That realization raises a question that does not have an easy answer: What do I do with that awareness? Guilt doesn’t feel helpful or productive. But maybe responsibility does.

For me, that responsibility means being willing to research and acknowledge restrictive covenants where I live. It means talking openly with friends and family about what I’ve learned. It means being honest about the role institutions have played in shaping inequities. It means listening to and learning from those who continue to live with the consequences of these decisions. And it means looking for opportunities, in my role, to influence policies and systems in a more equitable direction.

As an official in local government, it is particularly striking to see how deeply public institutions were involved in creating and reinforcing these systems. Many of these policies were not fringe ideas. They were widely accepted and broadly supported at the time. It raises a difficult question for me about the role of government. Is it meant to simply reflect the will of the public, or to influence it? What are public employees meant to do, if their ethics conflictwith the popular opinion?

Walking Through the Consequences

That question stayed with me as we visited the National Public Housing Museum. Walking through restored apartments spanning decades of public housing history made the abstract feel immediate. You could feel it in the rough texture of the brickwork and in the concrete stairs worn smooth by generations of people moving through their daily lives.

Inside, the details told their own story. A patchwork of fabric swatches from old couches hinted at years of use, from families gathered around radios to evenings spent watching television. The spaces felt lived in, not staged. One room stood out in particular. A collection of playable records lined the walls, some award-winning, others obscure, all created by musicians who grew up in public housing. As the music played, it carried the rhythm of lived experience. The beat of a generation shaped by the very systems we had spent the day trying to understand.

There were also reminders of something more elemental. Residents spoke of “project heat,” a steady, enveloping warmth that shielded families from the harsh Chicago cold. It was a small detail, but a powerful one. Even within systems marked by constraint and inequity, there were moments of stability, of comfort, of home.

Taken together, these experiences pointed to a simple truth. Systems shape outcomes and the trajectory of human lives.

“As we moved through the museum’s powerful chronicle of challenges and long-standing problems, a section dedicated to the community work of today’s youth suddenly filled the space with light. One student’s quote stood out to me, simply saying “I want to make a difference. I want to have an impact that people see.” Seeing their determination and bright hope, even after a history that had often stood in their way, was incredibly moving. That single moment gave me a perspective I’ll carry with me. It’s tempting to give up on tough issues, but these kids won’t let us.”

-Kevin Voorhees, vice president at AgWest Farm Credit

Leadership is not just about improving parts of a system. It is about understanding the system well enough to change how it functions. That starts with asking harder questions:

• What is this system actually producing?
• How are the elements interacting to create that outcome?
• What underlying paradigm is driving it?

Without that clarity, it is easy to keep adjusting pieces while the function remains unchanged. The work is to step back far enough to see those connections, then step forward with the intention to change them. That kind of leadership is not fast. It requires patience and a willingness to question the way things have always been done. It also requires ownership.

Earlier in the day, I found myself asking what role an individual government employee can play when inequitable systems are not only entrenched, but were once widely accepted. That question does not have a simple answer, but it does have a starting point. I may not have control over every part of a system, but I have more influence than I give myself credit for. The responsibility is to recognize that, and to use it.

I saw that in a very tangible way during our visit to the National Public Housing Museum. Our guide, Kira, is not rewriting policy or restructuring institutions. But group by group, she is shaping how people understand the history of public housing. She is telling a story that not enough people have heard, and in doing so, she is influencing how others see the system itself. It is a reminder that influence does not always look like sweeping change. Sometimes it looks like showing up, telling the truth clearly, and trusting that it matters.

Because the system is not something separate from us. We participate in it. We reinforce it. And, when necessary, we have a role in changing it.