It endures for days, lingering and permeating my whole being: that feeling of those people. It was in the conversations we had – in pairs, threes, fours, fives, and the whole group together. It’s in what we created, shared and discovered across two sun-kissed days. And it’s in the community we are building together. I took it with me into workshops the next day, and I smiled at everyone from dawn til dusk.
It’s that time of year again*, when the company comes together to celebrate, connect, listen, support, blossom and flourish; and to be witness to each other’s stories, with all their pain and beauty.
Calmness, Kindness & Coffee
It began with a sunshine bike ride to the venue with two colleagues. I was carrying the sadness and slight heaviness of a transition from the best holiday I’ve ever had, back into a world which appears, by comparison, to be made up of noise and motion, much of which seems unnecessary. We rode side-by-side, just as we have been for the past 18 months, during which time each of us has had our struggles. Their presence during that time has undoubtedly made my life easier because I have felt even more at home with them around.
The noise of the world was there when we arrived. The amplified sound of voices emanating from the main training room was too much for me to attempt any kind of immediate approach. Thankfully, outside, there was a group of people I could use to acclimatise slowly, like a plastic-bagged goldfish being lowered into its new home.
One of my cycling partners – the one who brings me calm whenever I see her – offered to get me a coffee. That’s the thing with these people. They see you; they’re interested in you; and they are there whenever you need them. They listen, ask questions, and offer their unfiltered truths. They hug you, and sit with you while you wipe away your tears. And they are always ready to laugh, dance and sing with you.
Countless Conversations
As ever, there is too much detail to include here, so I will emphasise that I am most grateful for the conversations I had. Countless times I shared my mood and its explanation. Each time, I was heard. And each time, in that connection with another, I honed my thoughts. I spoke yearningly of depth, peace and quietness, and how they are the spaces I wish to inhabit. I spoke of feeling at home and yet of a familiar desire to move on.
On the final morning, in a small group, I talked openly about looking for a reason to leave – as if there is a group somewhere more suited to who I am – but then not leaving. My words were accompanied by bold hand movements demonstrating in the physical space before me that what I seek to do is go there (wherever that place is), and bring it back here.
The Future Self
The many conversations, however, cannot take all the credit. They were intertwined with a novel set of thought-provoking exercises, typical of the way we work. The programme urged us to clarify a vision of our future self, and of the journey to get there. For me it was easy: my future self is a continuation of my present self, going in a direction I have been contemplating and establishing for the some time now, and built on the foundations of decades of personal development work.
I had the material to share, and the combination of conversations and exercises quickly brought the kind of clarity I have felt before, and which I know makes things happen.
As I lay in bed at the end of the first day, reviewing it all, I tentatively concluded that on the evidence before me, I am already who I want to be; as if in the space of one day, during the time it took to have the kinds of conversations I cherish, with so many of my colleagues, that future self had already pulled up a chair and was making himself comfortable. The next 12 months will be worth documenting.
Shhh…
The title of this post comes from an exercise we did at the end of the first afternoon. It was one which I know challenged a few people, perhaps because of the literal blankness of the canvas we were offered. My own reluctance was immediate – as soon as I saw the table, beautifully prepared, and yet screaming uninhibited creativity (my least favourite kind), I knew I was going to have to just get through it.
There were different coloured paints and pens, glue and stickers, coloured pipe cleaners, ribbons, scissors, and glitter. The brief was to take a white t-shirt off the pile in the corner of the room and decorate it with your future self. The plan was that we would wear our t-shirts to dinner and to the party afterwards, together with the white trousers, skirts or shorts we had been asked to bring with us – everyone dressed in the same colour, wearing a depiction of their future self.
I took my time with the task, happy to have a couple more of those precious conversations, sneaking them in wherever I could, especially if it meant I could delay or even avoid having to let go so completely and express myself in uncomfortable ways.
Fascinatingly, thanks to a story I had told my son in the summer, I quickly went from resistance to the simplicity and deep, personal meaning of the sound Shhh… That’s all I wrote on my t-shirt (in pink letters, it must be noted), and it’s a sound which has since taken on a mantra-like quality for me.
Shhh… is the story I shared with my son of having that word put on a hoody so I can just point to the letters when it all gets too loud. I told the story again in that small group outside during the first few fragile minutes, while my caring, calming colleague brought me coffee.
It’s Already Manifesting
So there I was, having struggled with the noise of the world for the previous few days, expressing my need with a simple, unambiguous clarity. As I write, I see the link to the conclusions of a 4-week, summer writing experiment I had undertaken with a colleague. A 28-day commitment to share one insight per day (without explanation or response), leading to the definition of two commitments to myself: (1) The commitment to Right Thought, and (2) The commitment to communicate my needs clearly. Shhh…
That t-shirt, and that silent sound, are less like the missing piece of the jigsaw, and much more like the box in which the pieces live; and although I had originally directed it at the noise of the external world; during dinner, lost in yet another of those conversations, I came to realise that it is also an invitation for my inner critic to become quiet. (In addition, it ties in with my desire to affect a room without saying anything.)
By the end of the evening, just before some of us rounded off the night outside our hut with the traditional giggling (it’s the same people every time!), it was clear to me that if I can quieten the inner critic, then the peace and depth will shine more brightly. Simple. During that summer writing experiment I had written of quietness, and here I was wearing a t-shirt displaying the essence of my future self. Shhh…
At lunch on day two, I sat in silence with a colleague who was clearly processing something deep. We said nothing to each other, and that’s what was needed. After he left, another sat down next to me and something similar happened; this time within the extension of an older conversation. Back in the training room, as we waited for everyone to return, the same happened again. My ego wanted to claim the events for itself, but these people had been opened up by the late morning group work. Nevertheless, I allow myself now to honour their trust in me, and to see their connection and their tears as another aspect of the already manifesting.
Notes In Red Envelopes
There is one more highlight which rises above the many others: the little red envelopes stuck on our personal posters on the glass walls of the training room. We were encouraged throughout to leave notes for each other – compliments and gratitude for each other’s existence and the important roles they play in our lives (This piece, in a way, is my note to everyone). I left a few and took many more with me, waiting until I was back home before reading them. I was deeply touched by people’s contribution to me, how they see me, and the effect I have on who they are and who they are becoming.
One of the messages was only four words long – a reminder to play – and another was quoted back at me by my wife a day later when I enthused about the writing experiment, which we are now offering to the whole company. That colleague’s words to me, left in a little red envelope for me to find, arose after I shared with him my delicate desire to seek something elsewhere. The note simply said, ‘Don’t go. Stay and make it yours.’
She had read all the notes people had written for me, and when she repeated those few words back to me, I felt the crystal-clear clarity of what he had written, and the forceful way she had held his instruction up to me. Furthermore, once again, I felt the certainty that it’s already happening.
Now own it.
* The previous MWP offsites: 50 Metres High & Grounded | Eight Songs | Playing On The Swings