Creating a memorable conference

I opened a newspaper and there was a photo of Yosemite National Park. I’ve been to Yosemite once, for a few days. The place was instantly recognisable. It strikes me time and again how easy it is to recognise a place that I have physically visited. There is some visceral memory. There is something about place, and relationship to something outside of ourselves that creates, and embeds, memory.

I’m asking myself what makes a memorable conference? If you attend many conferences, what memories come to mind? Which events come back with enormous clarity, and why? What conferences do you talk about long after they were done?

I have a few theories based on a research sample of one.*

Sense of place
Not all venues are created equal. Memorable events have light, space, a vibe, connections with nature, provide an opportunity to stare into the middle distance (maybe even fuelling daydreams) and are a part of the place, not apart from.

Involving all the senses
Hearing and seeing are well catered for in most conferences. Our other senses not so much. Smell – the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee; the smell of jasmine flowers wafting on the breeze; the salt smell of the ocean. Touch – the feel of lovingly crafted and carved talking stick; of a notebook that is bound in linen and embossed. Taste – of the flavours of the place, of freshness. And even hearing and seeing can be enhanced – colours, beautiful pictures, the sounds of nature, singing, silence. The best conferences I remember through all of my senses.

Connection is as important as content
After I’ve been to a great conference I’m likely to chatter incessantly about all the great people I met and what new stuff I learned. Without the connection, and the ability to reference what I’m learning to who I’m learning it from, I’m likely to forget.

Pace and movement
Not too rushed, not too slow, and plenty of time for conversations to develop beyond the superficial. Long breaks. Long enough to grab a coffee, and check messages, and visit the bathroom, and talk to people. And movement, not just sitting all day.

STAR – Something They will Always Remember (hat tip Nancy Duarte)
Something quirky, something unexpected. Like 200 people doing James Bond Aerobics, or group singing on the New York subway, or a presentation that moved you to tears, or ginormous bubbles that did nothing more than make you smile a lot.

What makes a conference memorable for you?

*That would be one person, not one conference.

It’s all about movement

“People learn a new language more easily when words are accompanied by movement.”

New Scientist, Issue 2844/2845 Dec 2011.

I’ve written before about the importance of physical movement, and how this is integral to how I facilitate.

I love this card because it reminds me to move my body, and to provide opportunities for people to move when they meet rather than sit in a passive state for long stretches. It’s ambiguous too – because it also reminds me to move and be moved – emotionally. Physical and emotional movement is equally important, and often equally ignored.

So in designing an event build in physical movement, and think about the emotional journey of participants. What will move them? What will touch them emotionally? What will create a shift or a disruption?

We live in an ‘either’ – ‘or’ world. Time to embrace ‘yes, and…’

The conversation went something like this.

Me: I’m thinking of getting an e-reader, probably a kindle. It means I can carry lots of books with me and always have something to read. And it looks kinda cool.

Friend 1: Oh, no, I could never use an e-reader. I like books. Paper books.

Friend 2: Me too. I would never use one of those. I like books.

End of conversation.

I never said I was giving up paper books. I like books too. I like to write in the margins. I like to pile them up in my office, to sit on the floor surrounded by them looking for just the right quote or paragraph (this is how serendipity happens for me). And…, I want an e-reader.

Sure, life is about making choices. Sometimes it’s not possible to do both, to be in two places at once, to buy both frocks.

And it’s also about knowing when the choice is not black or white. It’s about being mindful of what’s possible, of noticing your first response and allowing other responses in before jumping to a conclusion. I know I’ve forgotten to ‘yes, and…’ when I start with a No. No, I couldn’t do that. No, it wouldn’t work. No, that’s wrong. No, I don’t like that idea.

Adopting a ‘yes, and…’ mindset is all about accepting offers. You don’t need to like the offer, or even follow-through. It’s about the initial moment of acceptance rather than rejection. It’s about seeing that there’s more to making a choice than it’s either this or it’s either that. It’s about noticing the offer in what others say and do. Sometimes it’s hard to notice an offer – it’s a small offer, or it’s tentative, or it’s hidden amongst a whole lot of noise. Make big offers yourself. Notice the offer in what others say and do.

To accept is such a gift. To be accepted is such an honour.

Just another New Year’s post

It’s hot. That’s not a metaphor. It’s really, really hot. Too hot for the beach. It’s also the day after New Year’s Day. It’s my friend Vera’s birthday. She says it’s the worst day of the year to have a birthday. Everyone wants a rest from celebrating, and tomorrow, for many, it’s back to work.

As I write this the north wind is blowing hard. It’s a hot wind. It’s a nasty wind. It carries bush flies from the north to the coast. It’s the wind that fuels fires. On days like these we scan the horizon for smoke, sniff the air suspiciously, check on-line to see if there’s any fires to worry about. It’s not a restful time.

On the crowded beaches, the sand blows on days like these. And beach umbrellas are a hazard. Little hot box shelters that people now bring to the beach are set up to provide some shade, but no relief from the heat. The only relief from the heat is in the water. And the water is cold. It’s the Southern Ocean after all. Some people inch their way into the water, bit by bit. I like to dive straight in, to feel the shock of the cold water on my hot skin, to feel the relief, to taste the salt on my lips.

Not today though. It’s too hot for the beach.

I’m excited about the first three months of 2012. After that I’m not sure what will happen. Nothing, or something. I’m hosting a conference in July. I’m helping friends with other events later in the year. I’d like to find a way to live overseas for a year or more. I like to notice what energises me and do more of that (hint – it’s mostly things that are unconventional). I want to be with people who are creative, have ideas, are a little bit (or a whole lot) weird, a bit vulnerable and are doing things I wish I’d thought of.

I see no reason to change my mantra from the last few months that has served me well:

Show Up. Be Present. Jump In.

There. That’s my New Year post done. We will now resume normal operations.

This one image describes what I want to keep doing in 2012

Joy and delight

Wouldn’t you like to have more of whatever it is that’s making the people in this pic react this way?

You bet.

The cause of all this joy and delight is bubbles.

The sort of bubbles that you blew as a child, and that you thought you’d outgrown. Seems none of us outgrow the pleasure  we get from watching someone blow bubbles.

This is the secret that Dr Froth aka Andrew Suttar knows only too well. For about the same time that I’ve been in business, Dr Froth has been blowing bubbles and developing his amazabubble performabubbles and his unique view on life known as Bubbleosophy.

Let’s face it – I’m jealous. Who wouldn’t want to see people reacting this way to your work?

And who wouldn’t want more joy and delight in their lives? This is something for me to work on methinks.

Here’s another pic of Dr Froth at work at the Hub Melbourne Christmas Party and if you want to see him in action, watch this video.

What do you do?

This has never been an easy question for me to answer. There’s been times when I’ve hankered for a recognisable ‘career’, maybe even a calling. The feeling passes soon enough and I’m back fumbling for a way to describe the work I do. I’ve realised how important this is recently as I’ve been working to reinvent myself and my work.

I’ve been intrigued by obituaries in my daily newspaper. Every one includes  a one or two word description that apparently sums up their life. I can’t imagine how many of us would fall into such easy categorisations. The people I find myself working with are often very talented in so many areas they defy categorising. And I think that’s a good thing. Categorising belongs to another era. An era when work was based on a specific career, and often one where the choice had to be made when quite young.

So for now I’m content with this:

Bringing meetings to life Creating conditions where people can feel alive when they are meeting together in whatever context, and paying attention to eventfulness – that nebulous aspect of gatherings that make them memorable.

Doing work that matters To you, to me, to the world. We innately know the difference between work that matters and trivial work. It doesn’t have to big to matter, it doesn’t have to popular or even mainstream. What’s important is that the work has heart and meaning.

Connecting people and ideas It’s an amazing time to be alive. So much is happening and it’s now possible to connect disparate people and ideas across the globe. And it seems to me there has never been a greater need to connect people and ideas, especially from different fields of thinking.

Also, a shout out to Nancy White who introduced me to the term Social Artist. Hmmm, maybe that will do for now.

Just so

“The heart lies and the head plays tricks with us, but the eyes see true. Look with your eyes. Hear with your ears. Taste with your mouth. Smell with your nose. Feel with your skin. Then comes the thinking, afterward, and in that way knowing the truth.”

…so says, Syrio Forel, in  A Game of Thrones by George R R Martin pp 513

Performance

There’s something about performance: about being in the presence of a great performance, about acting ourselves.

There’s a common refrain about creativity: ask a group of pre-school kids if they’re creative and they’ll all stick their hands in the air; ask a group of adults and most of us will say we’re not creative. Kids are also happy to act – they take on roles, create scenes out of nothing and make up their own stories. Somewhere, somehow, it becomes not cool to do this any more. We grow up into rational adults, making sensible decisions, using our huge brains to think our way through issues.

So why do many of us – given an opportunity – love to play, to act, to perform? How come many of us find creative outlets away from our everyday work? Why can’t our everyday work fulfil the yearning for creative pursuits?

Good advice

Two things caught me eye in the newspaper this week.

Sarah Wilson was writing about trusting the process. She was referring to the creative process – the sometimes messy, unconnected, seemingly random process that we go through when being creative.

The secret?

Just start.

Good advice.

And the other was an interview with Eva Cox, author, feminist and activist. (Feminist alert) Here’s the bit that stuck with me (the emphasis is mine):

“The revolution we wanted in the 1970s is not happening: we have not undermined the powerful masculine cultures of workplaces, politics and business, despite having more women in top positions. The feminist label is fine by me, and I work with both men and women. I am now part of the Centre for Policy Development, a Sydney-based think tank, and am exploring using the dinner party (instead of a meeting) as a new way of tapping into good ideas for a more civil future. This domestic food-sharing approach may open up discussions of a society valuing social connections, care and feelings rather than the powerful male mantra of essentially macho economies and firms.”

Yeah.