Visual

This is one of my favourite sites at the moment. It’s an Australian site that promotes art and photography. You can make cool t-shirts, order prints or cards. And what I love most is that its front page changes every day with a collage of themed images. Go on, go and have a look at REDBUBBLE.

Messy

Forms, flow charts, matrices, systems diagrams, models – all are designed to help us make sense of this complex, messy world we live in. We assume that messy can be ordered, that wild can be tamed, that we can predict cause and effect. Sometimes we can. If machines are involved, usually. When humans are involved, everything changes. Messy is normal. Get used to it.

Easier?

It’s easier NOT to challenge. It’s easier to go along with the way it’s always done. At least you can say it’s ‘tried and true’ – even if it doesn’t work. If you try something new, or different, or radical and it doesn’t work, who’s to blame?

It’s easier to play safe, to NOT take risks and to be the person everyone expects you to be. It unsettles people when they see another side to you.

It’s easier, but is it what you want to do?

The essence of learning facilitation

We are all facilitators. Some of us embrace facilitation and some of us are happy to leave it to others. It’s basically getting a group to work together. Facilitators are everywhere. On construction sites, in homes, on the internet, in offices. You don’t do the work for others, you get them working together. It might be manual work, it might be creative, it might be ordinary, every-day work, and it might be for something special.

Part of my art as a facilitator is to share what I know with others. To be accessible. To be generous. So when I was asked the other day what the learning outcomes would be for a facilitation training, I answered in a way that even surprised me. And in a way that excites me for this work. And in a way that sits well with me. It’s not about learning more techniques – you can find that in the internet; it’s not about knowing what to do in what situation – that comes from experience; and it’s certainly not about following any pre-determined plan or manual or guidelines or recipe.

Sharing the art of facilitation is to create an enthusiasm and excitement for facilitation, and a desire to continually explore and learn.

This is my challenge. This is my art. This is what we can do together.

There is no manual

I once worked with a young woman who wanted to know, at every turn, what she should do, how she should do it. She was smart, passionate and able – yet she was gripped by fear. Gripped by the fear of not doing it ‘right’. The problem was, and is, that there is no manual – there is no ‘right’ way. As Seth Godin would put it – she was in the grip of her lizard brain, that primitive part of our brain that is either hungry, scared, angry or horny. It’s the reason we are afraid. I heard that she’d recently had a baby. I hope she’s worked out how to tame that lizard brain because I’m pretty sure there’s no manual for raising a child either.

This is the premise of Seth Godin’s latest book, Linchpin. We have a choice to stay stuck, or we can embrace the fear and create some momentum. That’s the good news. The bad news is that our conditioning, and that damn lizard brain, might stop us. We’re conditioned to fit in, not stand out. We’re conditioned to deny our own genius, our art – whatever it is – because we might fail and then the lizard brain can say ‘told you so!’. We fear failure to the point where we don’t even try. Prototyping is all about trying and discarding. Accepting failure. Our lizard brain doesn’t like failure. It once meant we were probably dead, a tasty meal for some predator.

The predators today are no less fearful – it’s just that they are harder to recognise. Security, compensation for our labour, following the rules. These are the things that prevent us from embracing our art and sharing it with the world. Not because we want to get paid, but because there’s nothing else we CAN do, but share our art. Share our passion. We have to accept that it might not work and do it anyway.

Generosity is at the heart of Linchpin, gifting our art to others, not for something in return, not for a later transaction, but for the human to human connection. And for movement. If you’re stuck there’s no movement. It’s hard to be generous if you’re stuck.

There’s no ‘how to’ in this book. It’s a description of what the world needs, and Godin suggests each of us needs to find our own way, create our own map, forge our own future, share our own art, find others who will share the passion and momentum rather than hold us back with the threat of ‘not safe, not secure, not wise’. It’s not  a bad description of how to navigate a complex world where even if there was a manual, it would be out of date before you finished reading it.

Peace

Peace.

It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work.

It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.

(Unknown)

Remembering Brian

I sit here writing this post through my tears as I remember my dear friend and mentor Brian Bainbridge, who died yesterday morning, in his sleep, apparently of a heart attack.

Brian was a Catholic priest. We were invited to his 40th priestly celebration a few years ago. It was an odd event for us – we were proud to be there as his friends, and probably the only non-Catholics in the room. I still recall the puzzled faces as people asked my connection to Brian. “We work together,” I would answer, “in Open Space.”

Brian began as my Open Space teacher, advisor and mentor. We became friends and colleagues. We delivered Open Space training together, plotted the odd gathering including a World Open Space on Open Space (WOSonOS) in the now destroyed town of Marysville, travelled to WOSonOS events in Vancouver, Goa and San Francisco, and met often for lunch. He would drive down here for dinner, staying over night and quietly slipping away early in the morning as if he’d never been here.

In fact, that’s how he died. Quietly. In the manner of an Open Space facilitator – invisible, no fuss. But his impact on the world is anything but invisible. He lived an open space life. He opened space for others and was unendingly generous in his support and encouragement.

He was proud of what he achieved in his Parish, using Open Space, to transform it from a traditional hierarchy to a more democratic and inclusive way of being. It was not always easy. He persevered. He quietly opened space and allowed ‘whatever happens to be the only thing that could’. I’m glad he wrote it all down, in his eBook The New Parish Priest.

And it’s also his work in the world that I celebrate. His contribution to every single World Open Space on Open Space – USA, Canada, Germany, Australia, ‘Swenmark’, India, Russia, Ukraine, Taiwan. And his opening of space in places as diverse as rural Australia, Papua New Guinea, Cambodia, USA…

I remember him sitting in a circle – it could be any gathering, anywhere – quietly, listening no doubt to all the babbling around him. He would listen and he would wait, and then POW! He would say something that would have everyone reconsidering, thinking, nodding, puzzling. He would tell a story. And conclude with “I reckon”. Or if he was writing, it would always include, IMHO.

Oh. I will miss him!

Living an improvised life

The third and final day of our Playback Theatre Summer Intensive Workshop presented by Melbourne Playback Theatre Company brought together a number of disparate threads – and brought to mind some of the key lessons I’ve learnt over the years from improv theatre in its various forms. Lessons learnt and still being practiced in that unending journey towards mastery. Here’s what I was reminded of this weekend.

Your body knows before your brain
I catch myself over thinking. I can see others thinking too, coming up with an idea or a plan before doing anything. Hesitating. Rejecting the first idea because it’s not ‘good’ enough. Trust. It comes back to trusting that the movement in your body will spark something in your mind. I can’t tell you how often I have proven this to be true. Not knowing what I’ll say or do, just moving into the performance space, whether that be on the stage or in a workshop, and trusting that whatever I need will surface when I need it. Would I do this all the time, or in every situation? No. But I can train myself to do it on those occasions when that’s what’s needed. When more thinking, or more planning, will not add an iota of value.

Start anywhere, and just start!
When faced with not knowing, complexity and no right answer, where is the best place to start? That question has no answer. It’s nonsensical. Start anywhere and see where it leads. If it leads to a dead-end, try something else. The trick is to just start, and to start anywhere.

Strong offers are worth their weight
A strong offer is clear, it’s robust, it’s obvious, it’s easy to respond to. A weak offer, like a hint, doesn’t support your partner or others, and it’s ambiguous. Support each other by making and responding to strong offers.

We learn, and connect,  from doing and watching
We learn different things from doing – being in the work – and from watching others do the work. This is true of Playback. The perspective of a player (the actor) is quite different from the perspective of the teller (of a moment or story), and is even different to each and every audience member. Yet we remain connected – the players, the teller, and the audience – through our common experiences, our empathy and our differences.

It’s okay to do nothing
Sometimes, our presence is enough. We don’t need to be doing something, when others know we are there supporting them. Our presence is enough. That’s all.

Our stories reveal a lot more about us than anything else
I might tell you about what I do, where I live, my family, my work – and you will know me through that lens. Yet if I tell you my stories, if I reveal my vulnerabilities, and you can share my laughs and my tears, will you not know me a lot better? Playback Theatre embodies that sharing.

Thanks to Mike McEvoy, Ian David, Glynis Angell, Andrew Gray and Ernie Gruner – all from Melbourne Playback Theatre Company – who  conducted the workshop and contributed to my learning. And thanks too to my fellow participants, who so willingly and generously shared their stories, and themselves.

Celebrating emotions

There seems to be way too few opportunities in my life to really, truly explore emotions – mine, and the those of others.

Today in the Playback Theatre workshop I’m taking we moved on to ‘moments’. In Playback, moments are emotional vignettes – the way someone might be feeling right now, or an experience from their day or week that had strong emotional aspect. The director surfaces the key emotion underpinning the experience and the players, play that emotion back using sound and movement creating a moving tableau, or in playback-speak, an emotion ‘machine’.

And this is one of the reasons I enjoy Playback so much – the opportunity to vicariously experience a range of real emotions, either as a player or even an audience member, and to tap into my own emotional responses. Even complete novices can do this – I think because we’re tapping into the essence of what makes us human. We experience life through our emotional responses. To deny these emotions is to deny our experience, to diminish ourselves.

There’s not so many opportunities to do this as an adult. It seems to be OK for kids to express their emotions in a BIG way – rejoicing in a discovery, railing at unfairness, excited anticipation or disappointment. Think of how children you know express these emotions. Then think how you do. What’s the difference? Why is there a difference? Does it matter?

Another reason I enjoy Playback as a form is that the emotions explored encompass the gamut of human experience, not just the positive ones. This gives Playback an authenticity and grittiness that is almost visceral for the audience. And certainly for the players.

Space, but not the sort you think

Tonight I had space in my head – and it was such a joy. Usually, when I’m with a group I’m facilitating, so my head is full of all sorts of things: watching what’s going on, keeping track of the time, thinking about the next bit, ensuring my mouth is somewhat connected to my brain – you get the picture.

Tonight, I took part in a Playback Theatre workshop run by Melbourne Playback. We did some body and vocal warm ups, we explored shapes, we listened and connected and were playful with movement, sound and stories. It was great fun. It was energising. But more than that it was a relief.

I realised just how full my head is when I’m facilitating. Tonight I emptied my head of all that ’stuff’ and I even practiced being completely and totally present to what was happening right now, right in front of me, with my partner. I practiced being ordinary, letting go of control, embracing mistakes and accepting offers. And wow! I mean wow! It was so good I could almost feel the dopermine shots in my brain. I should really make time to do this more often.

And here’s my favourite quote of the night (sorry I don’t know the source):

“We act our way into a new way of thinking, we don’t think our way into a new way of acting.”