On gathering differently: lessons from a practice space

Our normal ways of gathering are not working. How can we use polarities to design differently?

Our normal ways of gathering are not working.

We gather as changemakers, believing together we can build the wave of an emergent system, and make the world better.

But too often we gather in ways shaped by the patterns of the dominant system. We long for emergence and momentum, relationships and depth, creativity and innovation. Yet our gatherings and convenings are often transactional, their agendas are full, ‘experts’ are given the microphone, and we hope that words and information alone will move people to action.

It’s time to gather differently.

As Dr Renee Lertzman says, “We are in a collective global moment of figuring out, testing and experimenting with ways of bringing people together for impact.”

In this moment that matters, I believe we need spaces to practice being in ways that align with our ambitions for the world. Spaces that give us an opportunity to step outside normal life, jump over the rope of a metaphorical dojo, and practice with intention, focus and others.

Experiments in gathering differently

In a recent experiment in gathering differently, Anneke and I brought people together for a Rewild Retreat. With Rewild, we join a growing movement of people curating experiences to meet differently. Experiences designed on the premise that these times invite (demand?) us to connect to parts of ourselves we may have forgotten, to others, and to the more-than-human world.

For those interested in other ways of gathering: A beautiful example is Foregather who offer gatherings and practices that connect women more deeply to creative energy through remembering our relationship with self, community and the earth. Read Rene Lertzman’s exploration of the appetite to meet differently - and ways that we can.

As we collectively experiment, test and build , it’s useful to share intentions and insights along the way. This piece is a collection of insights about what shaped and emerged from our Rewild weekend.

What we practiced

The intention of Rewild was to build meaningful relationships with ourselves, each other and the more-than-human world around us through deep solo time, creative outdoor play, ritual and community. It was designed as a chance to re-member. To remember that we are members of nature, not separate.

This meant practicing slowing down, tending to our inner world and observing the outer world (and our intraconnection with it). We wanted to practice using hearts, bodies, voices and creativity (as well as heads) in the quest for change.

Our hope was to re-member by fully experiencing our connection with the rest-of-nature. We hoped it would be a dojo for reconnection.

How we practiced: playing with polarity

As I reflect on what made the gathering different, I notice that the features form couplets or pairs of polarities:

• Silence and song

• Play and boredom

• Surprise and familiarity

• Design and emergence

The magic of the weekend came (perhaps, and among other things!) from moving between and occupying both poles.

The complex world is diverse and entangled. As fractals of the rest-of-nature, we too, contain multitudes. Designing gatherings to include diverse experiences, textures and feelings reflects this, and helps us access different parts of ourselves. It will take all of us to create the change we need to see in the world, and how we design our gatherings can help this.

Here, then, are a few insights of what helped make this gathering different:

Silence

We walked silently through the woods on a mindful journey to a sacred, ancient tree. We sat in silence in the dark, ‘hearing the movement and watching the silence’ (as beautifully put by one participant). Sitting in silence helped us realise how noisy human life must be for wildlife. The sound of cars on the road became prominent and distracting.

We moved and played in silence. In exercises drawn from Social Presencing Theatre we noticed that silence creates space for emergence. No voice was louder than another. There was no one leader, but a fluidity of leading and following. Of starting and having others join. Or of quiet retreat, and acceptance that not everyone needs to join in.

Silence helped us turn both inwards and outwards. It connected us to ourselves and helped attune to the place and the moment.

Song

Our voices resonated together in song. We sang as we walked, and to greet the day. We found we could learn songs with surprising ease, and - at the same time - were hungry to return to the familiarity and joy of songs we’d ‘mastered’. When we had caught the words and tune, songs moved from heads to hearts. We could occupy the song, and it could occupy and move us.

An elemental feeling of connectedness and power rose through us. Smiles crept across faces and bodies swayed.

Play

Under tall, naked beech trees no undergrowth grows. Instead, the floor is thick with generations of beech leaves: a carpet of the orangey brown leaves on a thick bed of mulch. This became our playground.

We met near Samhain and on the night of a new moon, with not a sliver of light in the sky. In our nightime playground, we moved in the shadows cast by candles, exploring our relationship with darkness and light.

In the Social Presencing Theatre’s ‘the village’ exercise, the beech-wood floor became a creative canvas. A place for collective, silent land art, for leaf angels adorned with mandalas, for the construction of towers, the rustling of leaves, for galloping and jumping, for piles of people drifted against the trunk of a tree.

People said they thought they’d forgotten how to play. Few of us could remember the last time we’d played outside with adults (or even in fully immersed play with small people).

Play felt joyous and rebellious. Decadent and important. The spontaneity and emergence of play was a microcosm of our possibility and power in the world.

Boredom

Six silent hours in the woods in winter feels like a long time, especially after the sun has made its early retreat. Solo time is time without consuming or producing. Our usual props against boredom are taken away from us. No journaling, no photos, no snacks. Just us and the rest-of-nature.

What’s amazing is what emerges from boredom. When we know there’s nothing to rush on to we give ourselves permission to linger a little longer. We lean into the unease of being bored, look more keenly, or open our senses wide, following whatever flits across our attention. Occasionally we catch a twinkle of something magical (within or outside us), that we might otherwise have missed: long spider webs connecting trees, the stirring of a deer, a rising feeling of arrival.

On our follow-up integration calls we leaned further into the discomfort of not doing. Inspired by Nancy Kline’s Thinking Environment, we invited people to talk for ten minutes about their experience. Silence between thoughts is often filled by a conversation partner, but a thinking partner holds the space and silence. From the bottom of silence, the bubble of another thought rises, soon joined vigorously by more.

From boredom or unfilled space, something new or different has the room to emerge, and we often find ourselves moved in unexpected directions.

Surprise

At the end of a silent walk through the woods we sat to watch the sunrise. Behind us, one of the Netherland’s oldest trees, the kroezeboom. In front of us, a big sky streaked pink, alive with a murmuration of jackdaws. We greeted the sun with a story, chant and movement. Then, from a bag we pulled a surprise picnic breakfast. Flasks of tea, scones still warm from the oven, jam made from hedgerows we’d passed - in times when they were kissed by sun rather than the frost that carpeted the scene.

The broad shape of the weekend was all the participants had, in terms of agenda. After checking everyone was comfortable with this (and promising to give notice of what would be needed, and when food or breaks would come), phones and watches could stay away - allowing for a journey of micro-surprises and flow.

The dopamine hits of phone pings were replaced with surging dopamine levels from new experiences, which invite us to explore, gather information and hold onto memories. An element of surprise creates emotional peaks, which are known to increase our attention and memory.

Familiarity

Every song we learned was a new song to our ears and mouths. Anneke deftly guided us through call and response. Her clear, tuneful voice rang out to be echoed by our - at first stumbling - response. As we grew to know a song, our voices moved from our mouths to our hearts and we sang and moved with our whole bodies.

A few new songs were enough. The novelty of learning a new song was beautiful, and at some points we wanted to inhabit the familiar. To sing with immediacy and experience the joy of knowing.

Over a short period of time, the familiar can - with intentionality - become ritual, which creates an anchor and a sense of safety. Sitting in circle, greeting the four directions, singing a familiar morning song all became rituals, of sorts.

The scaffolding of the familiar and stable can bring ease and comfort which allow a greater openness to the new.

Design

The Rewild weekend was designed by weaving together things Anneke and I love and lean on. Anneke is immersed in the worlds of outdoor leadership and Active Hope. I love the Social Arts and creativity as a way to explore systems and forge connections to self, others and the rest-of-nature.

The flow of the weekend built in time for circle and community, activity and reflection, action and rest. We walked the delicate line between maximising time together and allowing the weekend to feel spacious. Like magpies we’d gathered many shiny ideas and things we wanted to try, and - with help from each other - managed to leave some in the nest, ready for another time. Less, in the case of design, is more.

While each activity was good, the real magic happened across and between them. What was started in one session grew in another, and was woven into the next - largely due to the space for reflection and processing. Next time, we’ll make sure there’s even more space for this. As Renee Lertzman shared, “People want and need less “content” and more (and deeper) quality interactions”.

The process deepened, without, as one participant put it, being intrusive to what was happening inside participants.

Emergence

A facilitation phrase I love and live by is ‘design tightly, facilitate lightly’.

When we started to design the retreat, we centred relationship over content. In the time we’d put aside to finalise the agenda, Anneke and I decided that instead of sitting studiously, we would walk in the woods, build a connection, set intentions, dream and align expectations. Then, with ease we generated a spreadsheet with carefully curated activities and gaps slotted into cells. This structure created ease, and the confidence that there was a solid base to spring off from. During the weekend we could (metaphorically) merge cells, delete rows and move with and into what was alive in the moment.

Our trust in emergence led us to more songs, longer lingering in circle, exploring new places in the woods and weaving movement and poetry together. The combination of stability and agility deepened experience and insights, while honouring an intention.

“A designed experience flows like a river, pausing and at times rushing forwards, but always with rhythm and a guiding purpose” - Andy Sontag, the 5E Experience Design Model

Next small thing

• When designing an event (or a meeting, a dinner or a game), how can you design some opposites/ polarities into the experience, and travel from one to the other? Maybe it’s noise and silence, action and reflection or something else entirely

• When bringing people together, how can you design small ways to get people to practice the mindsets, skills or behaviours you hope they will leave with? For example, If you want people to connect more deeply, build in unstructured time or long meals

• If you are bringing people together differently, please get in touch! I’d love to set up a circle for us to learn together and encourage each other

• If you’re interested in coming to the next retreat in the woods in Twente, the Netherlands, sign up to a waitlist here