When Anne Pattillo and I founded Facilitating With Confidence it was based on the premise that confidence is the secret ingredient of great facilitation. Most of us can learn good, sound techniques and processes. We can practice and hone our skills of questioning, and giving instructions. We can be competent. But is that enough? Confidence is what enables us to shine, and to take risks, and to be true to who we are.

Sometimes I feel confident. Sometimes I have to fake it. Johnnie Moore likes to quip about Facilitating Without Confidence, and how this is often more of a challenge. I agree. Facilitating With Confidence is about finding that sweet spot, where our confidence is just right for the circumstances we find ourselves in. Athletes and performers sometimes call it a ‘flow’ state. Unearthing what conditions enable me to operate in that ‘flow’ state is an ongoing search. Just when I think I’ve figured it out, some situation will come along and remind me that I haven’t, not really.

The end of a calendar year seems to demand some reflection. As I look back over the last 12 months I’ve experienced the absolute joys of my work, serious questioning of my capability, discovering and rediscovering some things and people I love, letting go of some things and people that are toxic, and reinventing my approach to work. It’s been scary and challenging and exciting. I’ve felt validated at times, and at other times, vulnerable. I’m not alone. I know many others who are questioning what they do, and why, and looking for something more rewarding or challenging or lucrative or fun or serious or that simply makes them feel good about themselves.

Thanks for being part of the journey.

To celebrate surviving and thriving yet another year, I’ve created a networking group on LinkedIn – I want to stay connected, especially to my facilitation colleagues and those of you who have helped shape Facilitating With Confidence. I hope you’ll join me there. It will be good to talk to you.

Confidence and the Goldilocks dilemma is a post from: vivmcwaters.com.au

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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.

What do you do? is a post from: vivmcwaters.com.au

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When I first started facilitating, and considering venturing out on my own, it was in the midst of the systems thinking era. I read Peter Senge The Fifth Discipline, and bought into the whole notion of shared visions, mental models and learning organisations. Frustratingly, I was working in an organisation at the time that was anything but a learning organisation. I completed a Masters of Applied Science that was based on systems thinking. It made a lot of sense. I read Margaret Wheatley Leadership and the New Science.

Today, 15 years later, I find myself letting go of systems thinking and embracing complexity.

Now, many aspects of systems thinking that troubled me are starting to make sense in the light of complexity: the notion that it’s even possible to map systems; the fantasy that is strategic planning – that we can predict the future and prepare for it years in advance; and the resistance to uncertainty and messiness, the unwillingness to let go of control, even when all the evidence tells us that control is not possible.

Complexity has a lot more in tune with ecology, hence I’m drawn to biomimicry; social networks; narrative, stories and metaphor; playfulness; and what we can learn of organisational life from artists, actors, choreographers, musicians, directors, writers, poets, and dramaturgs. It is a rich and diverse field and requires as much unlearning as learning.

Clearly, this journey is not about discarding that which is old and grasping for the shiny new thing. It’s an evolution. I have relied on my somewhat unreliable brain to get me this far, and I hope my brain will continue to serve me. Yet now I understand that my brain is embodied. Parts of it never get activated unless the body is activated. I recognise the importance of trust and how social media can help build and maintain trust. How values are devalued by the very act of making them explicit. How culture is often used as an excuse to not do something, because people are people, no matter where they live and what they do. We should take more notice of mavericks and outliers. Disrupting entrenched patterns is part of the work, and how fundamental rituals are to disrupting patterns. And we need to experience before we process and analyse.

I still have much to explore and much to learn from Dave’s seminar. I am confident though, that although it’s a different road that I’m travelling, it’s one worth exploring.

Fundamental to my journey and exploration is how to apply the principles of improvisation. So here’s a story about another sort of journey and how these improv principles came into their own.

The picture in this post is of the Annapurna Sanctuary region of the Himalaya in Nepal.  My partner and I were on a nine-day trek, a trek that we had put off for 30 years. The opportunity arose so we decided to take it. When this photo was taken we’d been walking for five days – through isolated villages, across rivers, over mountains, down one side and up the other. It was clear every morning, hazy, raining or snowing by the afternoon. I was slow, taking one step at a time, especially on the stone steps that seemed to go on forever. Going up was bad, coming down was worse. As we approached Machapuchare Base Camp I was in awe of the scenery. I’d also had enough walking. I wanted to stop, to drink in the scenery, to rest my legs. So the rest of my walking party left for Annapurna Base Camp where they would spend the night and I would stay put, rejoining them the next morning. Wrapped in a yak wool blanket, I sat on a bench in the communal dining area of the teahouse where I was staying. It was the only warm place. The snow came down lightly at first and then it completely obscured my view. I read for a while, finished my book. Had a cup of chai. Sat, and watched others come and go. No-one else spoke English. A group of Japanese women were playing cards. They invited me to join them. I had no idea what game they were playing so the only thing to do was to jump in and have a go. If I played an incorrect card they would all laugh and shake their heads, explaining in sign language what I should do. They also had some rituals about who got to play the first card and when you won. It was a lot of fun. I eventually worked out the game, won a couple even. It was a great example of what happens when we show up, let go, and jump in: being present to what is, letting go of expectations and needs, and accepting offers. That’s been my mantra ever since I returned from that extraordinary walk in Nepal, and it’s paying off in spades.

*I’ve actually been waiting for the planets to align to do many, many things, but for the purpose of this post, two will do.

Travelling a different road is a post from: vivmcwaters.com.au

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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?

Performance is a post from: vivmcwaters.com.au

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The brief for the Casuarina Project was to design and facilitate a community leadership program to bring together people from across the Surf Coast Shire – those in the coastal towns, where surfing and tourism reigns, with those from the hinterland where agriculture is king. It was targeted at people already active in community groups, but not yet in leadership roles. We decided not to call it a leadership program to avoid the inevitable problem of only attracting those who already saw themselves as community leaders. It was a bold and exciting approach. We wanted it to focus on developing people, their understanding of themselves and each other, and their potential in the community. We didn’t want it to be a simple skills training, duplicating what was already available.

Year one was devoted to the face-to-face sessions. We moved around to various community halls and venues – a great way for me (as a newcomer to the area) to get to know my new home. We explored such topics as the dynamics of change, understanding group roles, designing and staging events, conflict, controversy and negotiation, and planning for a community project to be implemented in the second year. In the third year, participants would be invited to mentor and support new participants just starting out.

My intention from the very beginning was to reduce dependence on me and my involvement. On reflection, maybe I did that too well! (just kidding) When Geoff Brown (a participant from that very first intake) took over the facilitating of the program after a few years, I felt quite chuffed that I’d hand-balled it on to someone so capable and enthusiastic, not to mention local as well.

There’s so much more I could write about the Casuarina Project. How I delivered it for a few years in Gippsland as well, the celebrations – especially when we invited Melbourne Playback Theatre Company to help us reflect on the experience (with hilarious results) – the friends made, the projects started, the excellent support from the CEO and the Councillors, the freezing cold halls (with dubious heating) in winter, the dreaded smoke in summer when we all raced home to make sure our houses were safe from bush fires, the laughs, the frustrations, the tears and most importantly, everyone’s generosity. And don’t even start me on the time I returned from Vietnam with bronchitis and was quarantined because it might have been SARS, hence unable to facilitate the important opening weekend.

The Casuarina Project is alive and well, with the first ever Youth Casuarina Program scheduled for October. What a great way to celebrate 10 years!

It’s evolved, as it should.

Haven’t we all?

Happy Anniversary Casuarina Project.

The Casuarina Project: Community Leadership 10 years on is a post from: vivmcwaters.com.au

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When do we lose that capacity for commitment, imagination, curiosity, play?

Maybe it’s not lost – just hidden. Is this why we flock to comedy plays, love stand-up and sit-coms? Are we trying to replace or rediscover what’s been squashed?

What happened to play? is a post from: vivmcwaters.com.au

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I’m not a theory person or an in-depth analyst. I have an adequate but far from outstanding brain, and although I can absorb staggering quantities of useless factoids, I’m not mentally quick. I’m the sort of person who suffers from bad cases of esprit d’escalier, revisiting moments in arguments and debates days or weeks later with that final, killer line. So the idea of being faced with an unsympathetic philosopher and supposed intellectual heavyweight was enough to cause me some lost sleep and serious nausea.

Sarah was writing about a book launch. I sometimes think a book launch or tour must be as excruciating for a writer as standing in front of dozens, if not, hundred of people to facilitate a meeting. (I can relate to the lost sleep and nausea.) In both cases it’s pretty unlikely that every person in the room will be your ally. I think this sort of self-awareness is a good thing. Sarah’s post is worth reading because it’s a great description of some serious status games. And she’s a great writer.

It also reminds me of a discussion Johnnie Moore and I were having about a mutual friend who can talk a lot. I’m quite happy with companionable silence, and certainly can’t sustain a lot of talking. Johnnie pointed out that people who talk a lot are most likely thinking out loud – making sense of their thoughts by speaking them, while I have those conversations in my own head. It’s good to be reminded of our similarities, and differences.

Self awareness is a post from: vivmcwaters.com.au

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This from Euan Semple: The pressure on us, both from ourselves and others, to take the easy route, give in to our fears, and not risk disapproval or ridicule is constant and insidious. But I know, and need to keep constantly reminding myself, that I will regret the things I didn’t do more than the things I did ….

Included in that time away was taking a different approach to facilitation training.

And also a nine-day trek in the Nepalese Himalaya with my husband, a guide, Arjun, and his two sons (Santosh and Suman) and a porter, Min. We started at Phedi, trekked to Annapurna Base Camp and finished at Naya Pul. About 70 kms, elevation gains of 3000m (that means a bloody lot of climbing up, and subsequent climbing down!), amazing mountain and forest scenery, hard beds and dodgy pillows (beds nonetheless), occasional hot showers, washing in freezing cold water, lots of masala tea and hot chocolate, pit toilets, rhododendron forests, snow, sun-burn inducing sun, early mornings and falling into bed exhausted straight after a dinner of dahl batt or noodle soup.

And this from Patti Digh in celebration of National Poetry Month:

The Poet

She is working now, in a room
not unlike this one,
the one where I write, or you read.
Her table is covered with paper.
The light of the lamp would be
tempered by a shade, where the bulb’s
single harshness might dissolve,
but it is not; she has taken it off.
Her poems? I will never know them,
though they are the ones I most need.
Even the alphabet she writes in
I cannot decipher. Her chair –
let us imagine whether it is leather
or canvas, vinyl or wicker. Let her
have a chair, her shadeless lamp,
the table. Let one or two she loves
be in the next room. Let the door
be closed, the sleeping ones healthy.
Let her have time, and silence,
enough paper to make mistakes and go on.

-Jane Hirshfield

I guess this post is about many things. It’s about perseverence, it’s about doing the unexpected, taking risks, about the difference between grabbing opportunities and being prepared.

I had a lot of time to think while I was trekking. Some days it was a struggle. Our guide, Arjun, would point out a village in the distance, that day’s destination. And inevitably that meant traversing valleys, going down to the river and back up to the village. Or it simply meant doing a lot of climbing. Some days I felt like the slowest person on the trail as many backpackers, mostly from Europe, would overtake me. But at least I was on the trail, taking one step at a time.

Which got me thinking about timing. When is the *right* time to do something? I first planned a trip to Nepal for trekking exactly 30 years ago (yikes!) but we bought a house instead. Fast-forward to 2011 and a work opportunity took me to Nepal and planets aligned in a way that enabled us to do that long-abandoned trek. I could have waited till I was fitter. I could have waited till my ankle had recovered from recent surgery more fully. My husband could have waited till his broken collar-bone had healed. We probably couldn’t wait another 30 years! The opportunity was here now, and we took it.

The same applies to work and preparation. I’ve been known to rant occasionally about over-preparation, or maybe it’s over-planning. I’ve learnt over the years to trust more – trust myself and others, to be more honest and even say ‘I don’t know’ when well, I really don’t know what to do next. Sometimes that means I make mistakes. Yep, that’s right. I get it wrong. I stuff up. Which means I get to try something else – something which may work in a way I had never imagined. This is what keeps me interested and engaged.  The world hasn’t collapsed around me. Not yet, anyway. So I feel ready to take on a few more risks.

What stops me taking risks – in work and in life – is fear. I see it in myself and I recognise it in others as an unwillingness to commit. So, echoing Euan, I will regret the things I didn’t do more than the things I did…

Fear, readiness and perseverence is a post from: vivmcwaters.com.au

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Over the last two weeks, Johnnie Moore and I have playfully explored facilitation. We’ve tried to emphasize that not all games and activities are designed to be used when facilitating (although they can be). Some are used to help us understand our own reactions and behaviours. It’s easier for me to unearth my supervising behaviour, my tendency to play safe, my irritation with people who don’t do things my way – and to explore other ways of acting – when playing a game. Then I can use my new knowledge about myself when I’m doing something else – facilitating, organising an event, meeting with friends, negotiating with a client.

We’ve heard a common concern about playfulness expressed in many different ways. It goes something like this: “It wouldn’t work with (insert client group, profession, culture, organisation etc).”

Given that everyone on the planet experiences love, loss, friendship, anger, has memories and hopes, can wonder at the stars and shed tears over an injustice, can be sad, and can laugh – is emotional – then what is really stopping us from being more playful? I can’t speak for others, but for me it’s fear. Fear of looking silly, fear of not being taken seriously, fear of being an outsider, fear of being the lone nut with no first followers. Fear of what others will think.

I’m intentionally trying to let go of these fears. Sometimes it’s hard. It’s easier with a friend who pushes, and pokes, and prods and doesn’t let me get away with saying one thing, and doing another (thanks JM).

A lot of things appear not to be working. Just look at what’s happening in northern Africa and the Middle East. Look at your own organisation. The more we try and control each other the less that seems to work out, sooner or later.

While the Ghandi quote “Be the change you want to see in the world” is a little over-used, it came alive for me these last few weeks. I can’t control what others think of me, or of my work, or of my approach. I can only be me, be the change, and hope that others who also want more playfulness in their lives and work, can be inspired to do something a little more playfully. Maybe it will be catching.

One game at a time is a post from: vivmcwaters.com.au

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I’ve been home a week now. Long enough to get over jet-lag, get back to the gym, catch up with a few friends, have a hairdresser cut way too much of my hair off (I wonder what part of ‘please don’t cut it too short’ she didn’t understand?), go through that very large pile of receipts, pay some bills, schedule an ankle reconstruction – and start planning another trip!

Life really is about the mundane. Everyday routines interrupted by small and large adventures. It’s sometimes hard to know where the joyful moments will come from. This is a Facebook update from my niece living in London: “I really do love my life. Went for a walk today in Bushy Park, went through the gates to find about 50 deer all chilling out together on the cricket pitch. Amazing.”

I too love my life – naturally, some days more than others. Since coming home I’ve been thrilled to find a sun orchid in full bloom. I was disappointed to miss out on some challenging work in New Zealand. I was chuffed to be invited to do some work in the Philippines next year. I am frustrated by some unformed ideas that are at the edge of my consciousness. I felt empty and sad walking in the Ironbark Basin near where I live where much of the under-storey vegetation has been removed for fire protection, and where I used to walk my dogs each morning. I’m determined to find ways to work more with my friends, and to do work that excites and challenges and is even fun.

While I was away I rediscovered that I can actually enjoy my own company. I realised how inexorably I am drawn to water – rivers, lakes, the sea, canals. I realised how much I spend time in my head, thinking and analysing, and how liberating it is to just experience without having to make sense. I was reminded how good it is to play games, and to laugh. I rediscovered the art of listening (even had a new acquaintance comment that I ‘listen with my eyes, as well as my ears’ – I think that’s good).

Most of all, I know how important it is to spend real time with real people, sharing a drink or a meal, travelling together, getting lost in the back streets of an unfamiliar city, talking about everyday things one moment and how to change the world the next – that’s where my energy comes from. I learnt to allow ideas and inspiration to emerge in their own time.

If that’s all true for me, I wonder what the implications are for facilitation?

I bang on a lot about disruptive facilitation. This was a way of disrupting my own patterns and habits to see what might emerge. I don’t yet know exactly what that might be, but I’m excited and curious. And oh so grateful to everyone who made it possible and connected one way or another (with a very special call out to Johnnie Moore, Trish Stevenson, David Matthew Prior, Sam Bell, Simo Routarinne and Nadarajah Sriskandarajah).

A mini sabbatical is a post from: vivmcwaters.com.au

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