9 Tips for Men in Circle

My friend and colleague Rina Patel reminded me recently of the phrase, “The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago. The second best time to plant a tree is now.”

There are many things that we may wish we had done 20 hears ago, or that would have started to grow 200 years ago. But Rina reminds me of the hopefulness of today, and of the rigor that is sometimes needed to simply start. Or preserver. Or add practice.

This article, “9 Tips For Men in Circle,” was also published in The Circle Way Newsletter this month. It goes with yesterday’s, post, “Is The Circle Way for Men?” These tips are my version of a cheat sheet for welcoming men and the masculine into the process and way of being that is The Circle Way. It would have been good 20 years ago, and 200 years ago, and 2,000 years ago — but I offer it as practice now to help grow further a healthy masculine connected to the thoughtful listening and awakening that is circle.

Think of this as a cheat sheet. It’s over-simplified. I offer it to steer through a few common bumps on the road that is men adjusting to circle-based forms of leadership and engagement. These tips won’t resolve everything. They won’t remove all misgivings. But they will, perhaps, help some of us to get past the first stretch of potholes, so to journey into important vistas ahead, made visible only by circle.

Get the full cheat sheet description here.

Here’s to planting a few trees, today.

Grace — Anne Lamott

 

This morning I walked in my neighborhood.

Down Lakeview Drive, which if you stretch your gaze past industrial development in the distance,  you can actually see Utah Lake. This is an area of Utah County that I often describe as “rural meets urban.”

Along Lakeview there are a few farms, holding up the rural part of the meeting. One of those has goats, that seem quite ready to have little goats with this arrival of Spring. I took this goat’s picture this morning, who came near me at the fence.

I hadn’t planned on walking this morning. I needed it. I just didn’t know that. Something in me wanted grounding, the physicality of the place in which I live. There is grace in the encounter. I was changed, ever so slightly to the delight of the simple and the physical — just a guy taking an early morning walk. And then there were goats.

Anne Lamott, an American writer and activist says of grace,

I do not understand at all the mystery that is Grace —
only that it meets us where we are
but does not leave us where it found us.

I used these words yesterday as an “end point” for a circle of 10 of us that were present for The Circle Way Board Call. This was not the grace of some miraculous transition. This was the simple grace, for me, of turning to one another, not just willing to be moved, but expecting to be moved.

Whether just taking a walk, or expecting to be moved because of how we attend to what we attend to — like we did in yesterday’s board call, I’m glad that grace is available.

To leave us changed, and I would say opened, from where we began.

 

 

 

Conversation – Connection – Resonance

I continue to appreciate the work that many practitioners offer to help create a narrative for what many of us are up to in the work of circle-based change. The story shapes our attending, individually and collectively. The attending, collectively and individually,  shapes the story.

My story of what many of us are up to has been very influenced over the last 20 years by Margaret Wheatley (organizations are living systems), and Christina Baldwin and Ann Linnea (circle as first and future culture). My story of what we are up to continues to be shaped by day to day interactions with colleagues. Some of these are brief moments, a long overdue phone call over tea. Some of these day to day interactions are with colleagues with whom I speak regularly.

No matter the narrative, and no matter the story, it will always be code for something more. The shadows in Plato’s Cave are only representations that give us something to work with.

This morning I read David Gurteen‘s definition of conversational leadership. I don’t know David personally. But I know more of myself through his words.

Conversational Leadership is about taking responsibility for the changes we wish to see in the world, recognizing the extraordinary and underutilized power of face-to-face conversation and adopting a conversational approach to the way in which we live and work with each other.

Beautiful, right. Why talk? To take responsibility. To connect with live-giving intelligence. To integrate work and life. Yup, that’s good.

“Why talk?” is foundational question — check out this post on “Four Pillars” that I use often.

I often position my work through The Art of Hosting as “conversational.” Yet, it is my experience over the last ten years in particular, that I cringe just a bit when I hear my own words. Why? Because when I look beyond the shadows in the cave, I keep seeing more layers, all good, and yet all incomplete. I would suggest that incompleteness, by the way, is not a failure, but rather, a disciplined way of living into the future.

For me, “Conversational” is code for “connectional.” There are, after all, many ways to connect. Words are a very important part of that. But so is silence. So is play. So is song. So is doing the dishes together. The leadership part of this for me is most often oriented to developing better ability to tend at the layer of the system. When my teen son wants to skip out of school and feigns a bit of sickness so that I’ll pick him up, there is more at play than just this moment. Trust, in the system that is he and me, is the long game.

“Connectional” is code for “resonance-based.” In the dimensional world that is time, space, and gravity, we are bound to many more mechanical images that masquerade over equally needed relationships with things less visible. It has become one of my most trusted operating principles, that there is always more unseen than seen, there is always more unknown that known. This orientation of layered representational symbols, is known through resonance with each other — that feeling of “this shit really works.”

I’m grateful for colleagues and practitioners who continue to clarify the story. Some stories loop around, coming to prominence for a time, then drifting to distant awareness for another time, then back to acute poignancy.

The circle-based work I continue to evolve with good colleagues continues.

This is the work of us as practitioners to influence the story and practice of our times.

High Heat

 

Heat. High heat.

Heat can be painful. Nobody likes to be burned by the kitchen stove, or the spattering from the fry pan. Heat can also grow things. Like the sun heat that brings seeds forth from spring ground, and delights us with a patch of radishes later in the summer.

In the online class of The Circle Way, it’s my co-convener and friend Amanda Fenton that shared, “The higher the heat of the meeting (or topic, or issue), the more circle components that are needed.”

I always love this orientation. Amanda is one who lives circle as much as anyone that I know. And she’s naming a difference, both in types of environment (everything from a casual exploration in which everyone knows they get a chance to speak, to conflict laden historical issues in which you’re not sure anyone will speak, nor if there will be anything more than tensions lobbed at individuals), and in skills of the people (from those who resist methodology to those that know circle in their bones, and are ready to sit for hours).

Circle is a container. Or as one recent participant in the same online class shared, a nest. I often find myself saying that circle is, on the one hand, a methodology (a convening tool, an important skill), and on the other hand, a way of being (an irrepressible commitment to a form that knits and makes connection visible).

“Heat,” I would add, is not a failure, as if you / we have done something wrong. Heat, rather, is inevitable. Because we live in times in which we are perhaps defined not by the difficulty that we avoid, but rather, by the ability we have to learn with integrity, together, in any of the heat that comes with living in these transforming times.

Heat comes from conflict. Or tension. Or disagreement. Or hurt feelings. Or intensity. Or deadlines. Or complexity. Ability to be skillful in the heat grows with application of circle. It’s the components that Amanda and I speak to in the class. For example, having principles in place that remind us to rely on wholeness (funny, my auto correct function in this editor just changed “rely” to “relay” — relay wholeness ain’t bad either). Or it’s having practices in place that remind us to listen with attention, because, such a practice is lifelong and for all of us. Or, it’s other components from the comments wheel, that are long-tested and lived as ways that help with the heat.

I’m glad for these components that give me courage, or sometimes, less fear. I’m also glad for 20 years worth of learning circle that have helped me to be in many heated places, with some inclination of what might help us not just reduce fear, but welcome the unique gift of heat.