Opportunities on the cusp: what to do with an intriguing opportunity that isn’t world-bettering? June 17, 2009

I haven’t posted for a few days, so it feels about time to do another check-in with myself: how is my intention to serve the humanizing impulse going?

My first thought is that I said a few not terribly nice things about a few people today behind their backs. They aren’t people who would ever know, and they weren’t horrible or even gossipy things, just not all that nice. The phrase “not very bright” stands out, in particular. Still, that doesn’t really meet my standard for staying genuine and human and connected to others, whether they would ever know or not.

At the same time, I’ve been feeling pretty happy over the past few days at how the group I’ve been facilitating has shifted. Not that I’m fully responsible for that, just as I wasn’t fully responsible for it going sideways in the first place, but I do feel that I took some steps to shape the environment and culture of the group that had a positive impact. It’s ironic, because part of what we were intending to do with the group is dig into an exploration of what happens when we engage deeply on group process issues — but because of those group tensions, the participants really shied away from doing that, and in fact, every time we headed in that direction people got a little cagey. In a sense, then, we failed at meeting that goal, of being able to engage on that level, but we did find a path back to sowing more seeds of trust. They haven’t grown to full-fledged shade trees at this point, but I think we’re a healthy little new-growth glade.

I was also invited by some folks I know, though I don’t know them well at this point in my life, to be a part of an entrepreneurial project involving writing and the internet. I’m trying to decide what I think of that opportunity. On the one hand, I feel flattered to have been invited. I feel intrigued because I have never been involved in an entrepreneurial, business-y project, and I think I could learn some interesting things. And I have a tendency to get thrilled by new ideas and want to jump in feet first. I’m definitely a big idea person and less a follow-the-details person (though of course I do have to follow lots of details at my job and beyond, so I manage). On the other hand, I am already overloaded with commitments. And when I think about the purpose of this new project, I hesitate. It is creative. It is interesting. It might be fun. But it does not serve a humanizing impulse. No, no, it really doesn’t. It isn’t world-destroying or anything, but it isn’t world-bettering either. To me that’s the most important thing.

In that case, what I should do is pretty clear, no?

I’m still thinking about it.

An overlooked gift and a healing bomb June 12, 2009

I am riding a wave these last few days, being tossed between anxiety and contentment. At this very moment I’m sitting in a dirty little vegetarian restaurant waiting for a friend, and up until about two minutes ago I was fretting, still about the group I’m facilitating. Then, all of a sudden, right next to where my heart is in my chest, I felt a quick swelling up of joy. Nothing’s different than it was a few minutes ago — the issues I’m trying to untangle are still there — I still have a nagging little burden of worry hovering over me — but there’s also pleasure. The sun is warm. Commercial Drive, my favorite part of town, is teeming with people. I biked all the way here from work, and FAST — with a pit stop at the public library to pick up a book on cycling the Pacific Coast, to help us plan our weeklong trip through Washington State in July. Even though I have lots of work to do this weekend to prepare for Monday, and I feel overburdened and a little shackled by how much work I’ve taken on at my job, and I have three plans for this weekend that I don’t really want, despite despite despite all that, I’m free.

The stuff that is troubling me took a new little turn today. Every twist of this story is walloping me in a new way, and I suddenly realized why: it is too similar to a situation that I’ve been in before. In that situation I was one of the two participants embroiled in the conflict, and it was traumatizing to both of us, and to a few innocent bystanders who got caught up in it along the way. I have given it a lot of thought over the year, have come to understand my culpability on multiple levels in that situation, and I assumed I had finished coming to terms with it. But now I see almost the exact same dynamic — totally different situation — playing out in front of me, and this time I can make facilitation choices that could potentially diffuse, remedy — or exacerbate the situation, and I feel powerless, like I’m standing just an inch off the path of a great rolling inevitability.

I was told, the other day, by one of the participants, that at a particular moment she would have liked to see stronger facilitation, that she thought I should have intervened. She would have liked a ‘healing bomb.’ And at the time she made that comment, I wasn’t sure how I could have really intervened in a way that could have helped. I mean, I tried to intervene by entering the conversation and supporting her by agreeing with her comments. That didn’t work; it just sucked me into the discussion, and at that point I lost my potential to change the dynamic because I tacitly agreed to enter it. Now I see, I could have said, “X’s statement wasn’t a blaming; it was a gift.”

It wasn’t blaming; it was a gift. She was angered by the situation but held herself aside, held no one responsible, and chose to give us a gift by going meta, making an astute comment about the nature of the discussion that no one else in the room had noticed (or at least, I doubt they had noticed it), and connected it to her past experience. It was wisdom.

It provoked a defensive reaction. I stayed within the constraints of the discussion, kept engaging with the person who got defensive. To no end, and I knew, even as I batted the ideas around with that person, that it was pointless, that no learning would come out of it, but I didn’t have the wherewithall to extricate myself.

“It was a gift. Let’s just think about the gift we’ve just been given, end this particular conversation, and move on to something else.”

Fault lines and facilitation June 10, 2009

This morning I’m still ruminating on the fault lines running underneath the surface of the group that I’ve been facilitating.  Funny that this weekend I was thinking, “I love my job!” and now I’m thinking, “My job causes me a lot of stress!”

Yesterday morning on my bike ride to work I decided that to honour the humanizing impulse I had to address the tensions I was feeling directly, and not to smooth them over and ignore them. I started the day with a check-in, and I started the check-in by addressing my goal to serve a humanizing impulse in all my actions, and to do that I think it requires addressing group tensions – but that by bringing them up, there’s also a danger of doing damage. And indeed: my approach helped some and alienated others. So, I continue to manage fallout, and continue to ruminate.

How do you learn from a ‘learning moment’? This is the same challenge I skirted around when I was asked that by another group I facilitated, because as much as I can say, ‘reflect!’ and ‘connect!’, ultimately that’s unsatisfying. There are no strategies or tools to whip out. It takes having sensitive feelers and then being skillful, and there are so few role models out there of soft and skillful handling of conflict – I have so seldom seen that in action – that we all have to make it up as we go along, and just… get better at it, I hope.

“Fail. Fail again. Fail better.”

The only other thought I have is that I don’t have a good distraction today to get me off ruminating about the group situation. Happily, I have a break from facilitating until Monday. And as I was riding my bike to work today, I realized that to best serve the humanizing impulse right now I need to take care of myself. So I stopped for a bagel and lemonade, even though I’m going to be a little late to a meeting. I’m almost done sipping my lemonade.

Being true to the work & group conflict June 8, 2009

I’m still chewing on the events of the day. I facilitated the first day of a new program. Interesting, thoughtful small group of participants, not without some internal stresses and tensions. A good challenge for me, but not 100% pleasant.

I’ve been thinking this evening about how to negotiate the tensions so that we don’t just glide over them, acknowledging them in private asides but ignoring them in the group. I am rather conflict-averse, so I get stressed out when I’m responsible for leading a group through tension that has the potential to erupt into full-blown conflict. But that’s my job, in this case, so I’ve been thinking about how to do that.

I don’t have the answer yet — maybe it will float to me through sleep, or maybe it will seem clearer after I’ve slept, since I certainly could use a solid night of rest — but just as I was brushing my teeth and readying for bed I started wondering, “What would I do if I followed a humanizing impulse in the moment of tension in the group?” And I don’t quite know what I would do, but I know that I would not ignore it. The move to humanize that moment would involve welcoming in the discomfort and the conflict because that’s a part of the human experience, and it is definitely a part of this group’s experience, and to deny that shuts down the full humanity of the group. Which is sad, but especially so when the purpose of the group is tied to humanizing education (though that isn’t the language we’re using).

I want to do that, be true to the humanizing impulse, but also do it softly, skillfully, so that no one is damaged in the process. That’s the scary challenge: that I might not be skillful enough to navigate the group through discomfort without creating damage. But it’s my job.

Following the humanizing impulse June 7, 2009

I’m reading a book (and, apparently, reconstituting this blog from the dead) called Positivity, by Barbara Fredrickson. She was a professor in my department at the University of Michigan when I was a graduate student there, but I didn’t know her very well; I just knew that she studied positive emotions. Traditionally psychologists studied just negative emotions (anger, sadness, depression, anxiety, etc) — and most of them still do — but there’s a movement towards looking at and understanding positive emotions like joy, interest, love, gratitude, and others.

When I saw that Barbara has a new book out on Positivity I thought, “Oh, this looks interesting; she’s summed up her research and other work on positive psychology and has written a book for lay readers,” so I requested it from the library. I’ve been reading it for a few days now. I’m surprised at how firmly situated the writing style is in the self-help genre — which doesn’t turn me on — but nonetheless I’ve been gleaming useful insights from it. And one of them inspired me to start journaling, or at least to strive to journal, and if I’m going to journal, why not do it here, since that’s the purpose of this space for me?

The inspiration came in chapter 11, pages 212-213, under the heading “Tool 12. Visualize Your Future.” The idea is to write every day for a week or so about what you want your future to look like in 10 years, if all has gone as well as it possibly could. From that writing, draw out a life mission. “What purpose do you want to drive you–each and every day? Why do you get up in the morning, feed yourself, and bother to stay healthy? In other words, what’s the meaning of your existence?” And from this, craft a mission statement.

When I read this I thought, ahhh, I’ve already found this a few months ago: everything in service of a humanizing impulse. I reflected to myself, but is everything I’m doing in service of a humanizing impulse? No, of course not. Maybe I should start thinking about that a little more often, I mused, and then kept reading:

When you think you’ve got it right [the mission statement], put it to the eulogy test. If you were to carry out this mission, would your time on earth be well spent? Would others resonate with appreciation and admiration? Now create a ten-year plan to help you meet your mission. Distill it to bullet points, so that your dreams can guide you through your decisions now.

That’s it: that’s the problem! I came up with this grand statement about what I would like for my life to mean, and I haven’t done anything to make that vision real, in a day-to-day way. What would it look like, for everything to be in service of a humanizing impulse? That’s work that perhaps I should do, at least if I’m serious about my mission.

I think it would be great to work out that 10-year plan, like Barbara suggests. But I feel overwhelmed by that idea right now. So what I’d like to try instead is to journal at the end of each day, or as often as I can manage, about where in my day I have acted in accordance with my vision, and perhaps where in my day I really haven’t, and by doing that start to pay more attention. Because I think my first challenge has been to keep that vision of the humanizing impulse at the forefront of my mind. I’ve thought of having it tattooed around my wrist.

I think I’ll try this first.

When did I serve the humanizing impulse today (in ways both large and small)?

• I expressed genuine appreciation for my running buddy at the end of our 18 kilometer run (a record for me!
• I phoned a few friends to see if anyone wanted to spend time together, even though I don’t like making the phone calls. I didn’t reach anyone, but I did leave a few messages, including one to V., who I haven’t spoken with in ages, saying that I wanted to reconnect.
• I have been sitting to meditate a few times since I started reading Positivity, and today I went to the Do-It-Yourself Dharma meditation session. It included a metta (lovingkindness) meditation, which made me happy. In particular I thought about a young girl I hung out with yesterday, my friends’ daughter’s friend. She’s going through some challenging situations, and I was able to offer something concrete to help make her happy yesterday (bought her two shirts! If that’s all it takes…), and I’ve been left thinking about her, so I’m glad I could bring her to mind when I was practicing wishing health, happiness, safety and ease in meditation.
• I contemplated buying a chocolate bar at the supermarket, but I didn’t because it wasn’t fair trade and I didn’t want my money to be tangled up in child slavery.

When did I NOT serve the humanizing impulse today?

• Killing time surfing the web and playing sudoku online. It’s funny, because in her book, Barbara suggests playing sudoku as a healthy distraction, but it is definitely an unhealthy distraction for me.

I’m sure I could think of more things in both lists. I definitely grumbled a bit today; every time I do a long run, I injure myself, and I have a semi-useless left leg at the moment. Grumble, grumble. I’m still really pleased that I did that run. And it also is in service of a humanizing impulse in that I was connecting with someone, connecting physically with the wider world, even with nature (lots of trees and one very friendly dog).

Everything in service of a humanizing impulse February 18, 2009

This morning I read an article in the UTNE Reader (the link is to UTNE, but the article isn’t available online at this time) about an American soldier who committed suicide after returning home from Iraq. I started crying on the bus and when that little swell of emotion died down it left behind, as if forged in a weird and sudden fire, a new articulated, hardened and crisp resolution: I want everything I do to be in the service of making us more human. There are so many forces that push us to be less human, more hard, bitter, consumptive, competitive, invulnerable, cleaned-up and presentable, proper, distant, polite, angry, violent, separate. I want everything that I do, every single action, whether it be a long-range goal or a sweep of a second, to be in service of softening, connecting, dissolving, touching and making it more difficult for us to ignore, damage, murder, reject and dehumanize each other.

It felt like a door suddenly opened and I have a new choice – to walk through it, re-dedicate all my efforts in that clear and resounding bell of a direction – or to keep fumbling. Walking through the door doesn’t mean a renouncing of exploration – I will always be exploring – but it does mean that the exploration has a compass unclouded. I felt this sudden clarity and in it the thought: “This could be one of those moments where everything changes.”

Everything in service of a humanizing impulse.

Impulses that I have that work against that:
•    Acquisitiveness
•    Desire for fame
•    Fear
•    Self-deprecation
•    Arrogance
•    Hunger to be liked by everyone

Everything in service of a humanizing impulse.

Need for affiliation February 3, 2009

Over the past days I’ve been pondering my ennui, plumbing for patterns that keep me entrenched in a day-to-day lethargy that is, frankly, boring me to death. I’m tired of the internet (no offense!), I’m tired of hedging my bets and keeping all the doors open, I’m tired of gathering information. I’m in a rut of making myself very informed and poised to take action when the right opportunity comes along.

Something I’m realizing is that I spend too much time in isolation. There are often people around, but not interacting in any meaningful way. At my job I have almost total autonomy over how I spend my time. Outside of my paid work, I’m writing a book — another isolated venture.

I don’t think it will solve all the issues I have with my day-to-day existence, but I think if I had more meaningful, sustained collaborative engagement I would be a lot happier.

So the question arises: how to create more collaboration? It is relatively easy at my workplace to set up one-off collaborative mini-projects, like a co-facilitated workshop or event, but that isn’t going to satisfy. I need to find a way to establish a long-term joint project. I would like to do some joint visioning and planning. I think if I can get my workplace to be a more collaborative experience for me, I will be more fueled to work alone on my book.

Other ideas I’m having for collaboration:

• volunteering one day a week in a collaborative environment relating to socially-engaged arts
• starting up some sort of monthly collaborative community gathering (salons; art-making/zine-making sessions; whatever)
• joining a theatre company (if anyone will have me) or a choir (but it has to be really special, because I’m not really a typical choir-music-type)

I was also thinking of starting some sort of theatre-based project at work — faculty development through forum theatre (it’s been done before!). I don’t know that I feel confident enough that I have the skills I need for that — but one thing I’m contemplating is exploring whether any profs in theatre at the university where I work have any interest in that area.

Odd jobs January 19, 2009

I had such a wonderful weekend. Sunday B. and I had a lovely, slow morning that stretched out until 1pm, at which time we ventured out on our bicycles. It was beautiful out! Sunny, and almost warm. This January is so dramatically different than our first January in Vancouver, when it rained 29 out of 31 days. This year so far January has been often grey and at times bitterly cold — and snowy early on, though we missed that while we were in Europe — but the past few days have been bright and sunny and rainless. We biked down to a bicycle shop, where I ordered a trendy new helmet, and then over to a sushi restaurant where we had a light late lunch. After we spent just a little time walking around the Drive — my favorite neighborhood in Vancouver — I went to the best yoga class ever. Kyira is just an incredible instructor. We ended with wheel pose, and I felt so solid and strong. After yoga, I stayed on at the yoga studio for a nonviolent communication (NVC) practice group meeting. A few years ago I had an NVC practice group, but I haven’t been in the NVC mindset for a while, so I am excited that the local self-organized punk-Buddhist group is starting a practice group. And I really enjoyed the vibe and the people — I’m looking forward to the next meeting. Then I rushed home — leaving the practice group early, because I had mixed up the timing of things — for dinner; B. had made a yummy Thai curry for me.

The weekend was so nice that I have been able to hold my depression about work at bay, and even now, Monday morning, though I can feel the weightiness of my obligations knocking, I am resisting, keeping the door pushed shut on them. If I can just slide myself sideways into getting something done, something not unpleasant, something that will help me feel competent and productive, then maybe I can cheat the anxiety into drifting off aimlessly into the sunshine.

Meanwhile, in the past few days, I’ve been thinking about other kinds of jobs that I could do. I want to think about jobs that are a craft, that involve the repetition of a process but also a bit of a unique and interesting challenge each time. Jobs that I can do part-time, to keep a focus on my writing. And jobs that are relatively easy to take up anywhere, anytime, so that I can move to Norway (or elsewhere) if I want and easily find work, and so that I can quit to travel and then return and find work. They can’t be so menial that I will be completely bored. I want to work in friendly and sociable work environments. Below is the list of jobs I’ve daydreamed, or that other people have suggested.

-Luthier (guitar making)

-Cutting hair

-Bicycle repair

-Ultrasound lab technician (my friend G. suggested that one)

Dear Reader, please add to my list in the comments below!

I was also wishing, yesterday, that I could convene a Clearness Committee to help me figure out my worklife woes. When I lived at Quaker House in Ann Arbor, MI, I learned about some Quaker traditions. One is a Clearness Committee:

A clearness committee meets with a person who is unclear on how to proceed in a keenly felt concern or dilemma, hoping that it can help this person reach clarity. It assumes that each of us has an Inner Teacher who can guide us and therefore that the answers sought are within the person seeking clearness. It also assumes that a group of caring friends can serve as channels of divine guidance in drawing out that Inner Teacher. The purpose of committee members is not to give advice or to “fix” the situation; they are there to listen without prejudice or judgment, to help clarify alternatives, to help communication if necessary, and to provide emotional support as an individual seeks to find “truth and the right course of action.”

(from Clearness Committees and Their Use in Personal Discernment by Jan Hoffman)

Perhaps I will organize one for myself. Who knows, Dear Reader, I may ask you to be a part of it!

Thoughts on craft January 15, 2009

Two days ago B. sent me an email from work. “I was just recollecting two dreams I had last night,” she said, and I paraphrase. “One was that I was climbing up a ladder to climb into a window in  a house. The piece of the house I grabbed tore loose, and I fell really far, but I was fine. Another is that you quit your job, and I was upset.”

Yesterday morning I realized, suddenly and to my surprise, that the reason I keep binging on box-cookies at work (and by box-cookies I mean the kind you buy in a supermarket, in a box, like Peek Freans and Oreos, etc.), is because I’m stressed at work.

I don’t have a particularly stressful job, and my work environment is relatively pleasant (especially compared to the overall university environment, which can be quite toxic). The people I work with are friendly, if a little stand-off-ish. But still, there it is. I’m not sure exactly what stresses me out about it, but regardless, I am stressed when I am at work.

The same day that B. wrote me that email, I took my guitar to a luthier.* Being in Nicole Alosinac’s workshop was pretty amazing. There were beautiful bits of guitar hanging up all over the place. Nicole inspected my guitar from all angles, she peered down the length of the neck, she thumped my instrument on the back, she ran her fingers along every fret, plucking at each string along the way to hear how the beast played. She slipped a long narrow thing into the body of the guitar after she removed the strings, and then flapped it open. It was a mirror hinged into a triptych, narrow enough to slide into a guitar and then flap open so that with the help of a small flashlight one could view the underside of the top of the instrument. Nicole invited me to look at the inside of my guitar. It was amazing: a delicate lattice of beams bracing the rainbow arch that is the top of the guitar, a flat expanse, a single slice of tree.

Later, I was thinking about Nicole’s work, and wondering whether I would enjoy being a luthier. The thing about building and repairing guitars is that the work is the same, over and over again, and yet different every time. It is a craft. Nothing about my work is like that. My work is different all the time; I have an overarching goal that I am aiming towards, and I chip away, trying one approach and another, seeing if I can make a dent in the culture of teaching at the university, and support some folks in their own teaching endeavors in the meantime. That’s my job, and writing about it in that way excites me, actually. It sounds pretty damn good to me. But the reality is slow and progress is uncertain and circuitous. It is intellectually challenging much of the time, which is wonderful except that it sucks my creative energy away from writing my book. And my job requires a highly refined ability to delay gratifiction. I’m just not excelling at that at the moment.

Work that is the same, over and over, but different every time. That is craft, and it sounds so refreshing it makes me want to cry with relief to think of it. I thought about craft again when B. went to get her hair cut yesterday: it is the same thing! Cutting hair, it is just the same process over and over again, each time another head, and each time a new work of art, but using the same basic skills and tools. I went to the dentist this morning and I thought hmm, again, same thing. Every filling is the same, but then again, each filling is different.

When I was an undergraduate student, I worked at an infant research lab. Yes, we did research on infants. Specifically on infant speech processing. The main part of my job was to sit across a small table from the infant (who was in the parent’s lap) in the experiment room, and keep the infant just barely engaged enough to keep its head facing me. The experiment involved training the infant to turn its head in reaction to particular speech sounds, so I had to maintain the infant’s interest so that a head-turn would be obviously in reaction to a sound, as opposed to the general bobbly-headedness of an infant looking at every nook and cranny of the room. At the same time, I couldn’t get the infant too interested in me; the infant still needed to be able to attend to the speech sounds emitted by a loudspeaker to the left. It was the same thing, every time, and yet every baby was so different. Some babies needed three wind-up toys hopping around on the table, plus two spinning plastic rings, or they would be looking around the room, looking at the mom, looking at the ceiling… Other babies were so focused that even my hand on the table was too riveting. I loved the challenge of figuring out the babies; I got so that I could get most babies at the right level of attention within the first 30 seconds.

I don’t want that particular job again, but there are qualities of that work that I covet. The craft of it. The possibility of attaining competence, even expertise, without being bored. (OK, I was bored at that job sometimes, but being in the room with the babies was the most rewarding part. And it was a pretty good undergrad sort of job).

When I got B.’s email two days ago, I laughed at her dream and emailed her back. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning to quit my job!”

I’m still not planning to quit my job. But maybe I should pay close attention to B.’s dreams. And to other sorts of craft-work that I see around me.

*A luthier is a maker of stringed instruments. A guitar craftsperson.

Size and place January 9, 2009

I’m in London.

I’ve always considered myself a city person. To be happy, I need people around, and access to quirky events and cultural activities. I don’t need mountains, forests or oceans, or even lakes, unlike my partner B., who needs a quick route to Nature, and more than just a nice park. I’m content with some trees here and there, myself. What I really need is a bit of a buzz, some bookshops, organic grocers, activist demonstrations from time to time…

When I first moved to Ann Arbor, MI (population: 114, 024, of which about 37,000 are University of Michigan students), I swore (repeatedly), “This is the smallest place I am ever going to live!” And that may be true. Before Ann Arbor I had lived in cities such as Boston, Kyoto, Madrid, and yes, briefly London as well…

But in Ann Arbor I learned to love small. Small doesn’t necessarily mean dull. Ann Arbor has great music, lots of bookstores and literary events, decent food (and some excellent food), the best used CD store I’ve ever patronized. It also has good vibes, is close to a major city with interesting history (Detroit), and also has recreational opportunities with lakes and forested parks not too far away. Ann Arbor has a thriving queer scene, a deep history of activism, and all sorts of quirky groups and events. And when I lived in Ann Arbor, I could roll out of bed and be at work/school in 10 minutes. I could walk anywhere I wanted to be within 25 minutes. It was easy to go home for dinner and then go out to a movie or the theater or to meet friends or attend a lecture. Small in size, large (enough) in scale.

After Ann Arbor, I moved to Vancouver, Canada. Vancouver has a lot to offer, but it takes forever to get from one place to another. My commute to work averages 45 minutes, which bites a huge chunk out of my day. I could live closer to where I work, but I prefer to live in a more vibrant, energetic part of town. Once I get home for dinner, though, it takes a lot to get out again. I hardly ever listen to live music, largely because the shows I want to go to start late and end late, and also because I don’t want to trek halfway across town again. Even though Vancouver has lots more going on than Ann Arbor, I don’t take advantage of it because it is all so spread out.

London is a different thing altogether. This place is HUGE. The buildings are enormous. I’ve been to New York and I’ve been to Tokyo, and it’s a similar energy: everything moving fast and living large. I don’t know that I’d want to live so large. I’ve come to appreciate some things about small.

That said, the tube here is so efficient. Maybe I’d be motivated to go halfway across the city for an event because it really doesn’t take too long to get around. Or maybe I’m just an enthusiastic tourist.

And I am! We’re about to go to the Tate Modern, to the Borough Market, and St. Paul’s Cathedral.