Concrete Progress

Two days ago I helped pour the floor for Ma'ikwe's new house at Dancing Rabbit. And my ribs still hurt.

Although I've done a fair amount of homestead construction over the years—not to be confused with professional experience—I've drifted away from it over the last decade. While there's always something that needs attention on a farm, it's been over 10 years since Sandhill built a new residence and I'm on the road about 60% of the time these days (promoting community and doing process consulting). Most of my remaining on-farm time goes into food processing and a few specialty tasks like filing taxes, cutting wood, and celebration cooking.

I only get involved in the occasional construction project any more. But I miss it.

I like working with my hands, and I like having tasks where it's easy to tell what progress you're making. This is in sharp contrast with process consulting, where it can be fairly subtle figuring out how much things have changed over the course of a weekend. With house construction, it's WYSIWYG (what you see is what you get), and often one day's work will result in dramatic changes. It's highly satisfying.

While most of my efforts in support for Ma'ikwe's house have been financial (we figured out early on that I was more valuable earning money to pay for the building than I was saving money by doing construction), now and then I get out to the work site with gloves on. Two days ago was just such a time, when I helped massage 14 cubic yards of ready-mix into a four-inch floor, in the process of which we encased the gobs of plastic tubing that will serve as the guts of the radiant floor heating system.

While things got a little more exciting than we wanted when the power trowel died on us 15 minutes into the finishing process (and the surface was way stiffer than we wanted by the time we'd raced to town and rented a replacement), we nonetheless ended up with a substantially flat floor that will be perfectly serviceable.

Knowing that I was simply an adjunct to an experience concrete crew, I sussed out early in the morning that my best role was to work the edges against the retaining wall, which was beyond the reach of power tools and needed to be worked by hand. That got me out of horsing around with the spin screeder or pushing the wet concrete around to the low spots.

While I was happy to not have an aerobic assignment, there was an acrobatic challenge to my wielding a magnesium float: all my work had to be accomplished with my body horizontal, leaning over the stem wall and reaching to the floor. After three hours, I had bruised ribs.

By the time the second power trowel arrived, I was happy to retire from the field. I drank five glasses of milk and took a two-hour nap. It was glorious: the sleep of the righteously exhausted.

[Afterwards, Ma'ikwe and I went into town together—Wed is my regular bridge night at the Kirksville duplicate club. We did a bit of shopping for construction supplies (Monday I get to wire the main circuit breaker panel we bought, and give Ma'ikwe's crew 120-volt service on site, courtesy of her solar panels and the July sunshine), and had dinner before I played cards. I drank two beers with my burger and fries and then achieved a whopping 82% game—by far the best result I've ever had in 10 years of playing duplicate. Kinda makes you wonder whether it was the commingling of physical and mental stimulation, the calming influence of the two beers, the joy of having a productive day, or just blind luck.]

And I'm not done yet achieving concrete results. In a month or two, I get to build a cistern for Ma'ikwe and a neighboring couple (Bear & Alyssa), suitable for holding 8000 gallons and with stout enough walls to be the foundation for a laundry and heating facility to be build atop it. While the walls will be surfaced bonded concrete blocks, the floor will be another round of ready-mix.

The trick will be to find a window of weather dry enough to excavate to a depth of nine feet, level it out, form it up, bring in the trucks, let it cure, stack the walls, and parge the inside and outside of the blocks—all before a thunderstorm leads to a cave-in. Essentially, if it never rains, I get to pour.

Dog Breath Berries

This week I'm stripping the black currant bushes. It's the end of the season and I'm spending an hour or so each afternoon before dinner diligently finding all the late-ripening berries on our 30 or so bushes. The patch is located just south of our new greenhouse, on the edge of our main garden, and berry picking is a meditation for me. Very centering. The patch is dense and I carefully, methodically work my way around one bush at a time, looking under each branch for the precious black fruit—about the size of a pea.

Sandhill Farm is now 35 years old, yet our black currant stock is much older than that. The scions came from my Aunt Hennie's house in Elmhurst IL, carefully transplanted cuttings from her homesteading backyard—now smack in the midst of the Chicago suburbs. Hennie is my mother's ony sister and both of them were born in that house—Val in 1917 and Henrietta in 1907, the duaghters of Johnnie and Gertie Golden. The two-story clapboard house with its steep winding stairs was built in 1899, and we have a picture in the family archives of the surrounding area just after it was built. At the advent of the 20th Century there were no other buildings in sight, just wind-swept prairie. Today you'd have to drive for more than two hours west to get a comparable sight.

As the suburbs gradually crept west, the Goldens kept their plot of land and continued a tradition of serious gardening. They still had chickens in my lifetime, and one of the highlights of the holidays was the homemade red currant jelly (stored in glass with a paraffin seal) that Hennie used to contribute to roast beef dinners, and the fruit cake she'd make every October (and soak in bourbon for two months before distributing it the form of carefully wrapped bricks to all her nephews and nieces under the Christmas tree). There was a long run of Concord grapes in the backyard and once we found several bottles of a forgotten vintage in the cellar, left over from when Johnnie & Gertie made communion wine during Prohibition. It was incredibly good.

The Goldens favored raspberries over strawberries, and currants over blueberries. When I moved to Sandhill in 1974, Hennie gifted me a set of ceramic crocks, a sauerkraut slicer, and and an asortment of various hand tools. It didn't occur to any of us (at first) that we might also need plants.

Upon arriving at Sandhill we enthusiastically purchased lots of fruit stock, almost all of which was easily obtained from mail-order nurseries. It turned out though, that black currant bushes were not obtainable. We learned that black currants serve as the alternate host for the fungus that causes White Pine Blister Rust and the forestry lobby (in the '70s) had sufficient strength to get black currants banned from interstate sale in an effort to contain this disease.

We were somewhat put out about the whole thing (given that white pine lives nowhere near us), but instead of calling Congress, we just called Hennie—and placed an order for some cuttings. She obliged and black currants are now firmly established in northeast Missouri—both at Sandhill and anywhere there's a neighbor who's requested starts over the years. While the ban on the sale of black currants plants has since been lifted, and you can now buy rootstock from nurseries, we're self-sufficient these days and no longer needing nursery help.

Black currants are a hardy bush that needs little attention. Too tart to be enjoyed fresh, they're best used in jams and in winemaking. While almost everyone I've met enjoys the wine, I've known many who were able to contain their enthusiasm for the task of picking the berries. The tedium of small fruit collection is typically relieved by the allowing harvesters to graze as they work. In the case of black currants, however, there's not much incentive.

In fact, we had a long-term member at Sandhill named Julez (she was with us 1988-95) who used to call them "dog breath berries," and it wasn't a term of endearment. I took it as a sign of her enduring affection for me (and perhaps the wine) that she'd agree to help pick the berries at all.

Tomorrow, I will dust off one of Hennie's 10-gallon crocks and continue a family tradition: I will begin a batch of black currant wine. When Ma'ikwe and I got married two years ago, I had reserved the entire 2006 crop of black currants to make 20 gallons of wine for the wedding. Although Hennie did not live long enough to see me get married (she'd died in the '90s), she was there in spirits.

And it raises my spirits each year as the new berries ripen and I practice my heritage. This week in the agricultural cycle, my mantra goes something like this:

I am Laird
Son of Valborg
Nephew of Hennie
Picker of Berries
Vintner of Black Currant Wine
Keeper of Tradition
Celebrant of Life
L'Chaim

Dancing to the Tune or to the Coin

I had a phone conversation with Susan Frank today (see my blog of Jan 22, 2009 for more about Susan). She's a student at Prescott College doing an independent study on intentional communities, and I'm her out-of-town mentor. Mostly that means I read her blog about her visits to communities and make comments about her musings and the video clips she's posting.

Today she told a story about an event she attended the previous weekend. It was focused on Green Living (as in ecological, not Martian) and she was put off by how the event had gotten big and out-of-control in an effort to be more financially successful. Examples: it was not just sponsored by Clif Bars, it was sponsored by Budweiser and Toyota, too. For that matter, Susan said that American Spirit Tobacco was a sponsor and they were offering free cigarettes to anyone willing to answer a survey—an offer sufficiently attractive that there was a never-ending queue outside their tent of folks waiting to take the survey. Hmm.

As she told her story, I was reminded of the event I had just attended, the national cohousing conference, June 24-28 in Seattle. This national organization depends mainly on profits from events to raise money and one of the ways they accomplished that this year was by hiring a professional auctioneer to run the benefit auction during the Saturday night banquet.

On the one hand, they met their objective, tripling profits from the Live Auction, and I believe Coho/US to be a solidly worthy cause. In part that was the result of more diligent solicitation and promotion. But they achieved higher profits by also making some other choices that were not so clearly beneficial. The pursuit of money can do that to you.

The Saturday night dinner was unquestionably the social highlight of the five-day conference. Historically, it's the one solid chance folks have to sit down in a leisurely way and have that conversation with an old acquiantance or a new friend that you didn't have time for around the coffee pot between workshop sessions. This time however, entrance to the room (and access to the open bar) was choked by the requirement that everyone attending be assigned a bidding number and paddle. The line was further slowed by everyone being encouraged to give their credit card information in case they bought anything at auction—thus trading inconvenience at the front end for smoother collection at the end.

Then, when the abbreviated milling time was cut short by the call to start dinner, it turned out that before the food was served the auctioneer solitcited contributions to a scholarship fund to attend next year's conference. That was followed immediately by a request that people donate (by raising their paddles) to have additional bottles of wine appear at each table. While in past years the Live Auction didn't begin until after dinner, this year the bidding started right away, and continued at a steady pace right through dinner without pause, effectively drowning out conversation. While the auctioneer was certainly entertaining, and expert at keeping the bidding rolling, most folks were too exhausted at the end to linger—either for dancing, or the chance to have their postponed conversations. It was an interesting choice to slant the whole evening toward making money, and I will be interested to hear how the feedback runs on this.

It was rather like the difference between watching a show on TV and participating in a no-talent show run by the participants. While both can be entertaining, one is far more connecting than then other. Perhaps it's just a question of what you like to dance to. At what point does your pursuit of golden eggs place the life of the goose at risk?

Power Gradients

One of the most fascinating topics for me about cooperative group dynamics is Power and Leadership. We just don't have very good models for how to do this well, and the need is everywhere.

I'm defining "power" as the ability to get others to do something, or to agree to something. Leaders use power to get things things done, and power is neither inherently good or evil—though there is considerable opinion about whether its application is healthy or unhealthy. When leaders are viewed as using power "with"—for the benefit of the whole group—there's no problem; when they're seen as using power "over"—for the benefit of themselves or for a subgroup at the expense of others—there's hell to pay.

In recent email correspondence with author and friend Vicki Robin (of Your Money or Your Life fame) she shared the following reflections about nuances of power:

I'm thinking about the difference between power (ability to influence outcome), charisma (inherent energy that influences), and radiance (energy that fills and inspires others to their own ends). These three seem to come from different places in my psyche. I aspire to radiance and am most at peace when the energy flowing through me simply nourishes others (who are then happy around me, increasing my own happiness).

This was a stimulating conversation, as I had not focused previously on how "charisma" and "radiance" figured into my thinking. Let me take them one at a time.

Charisma
My feeling about charisma is that involves an ability to influence based on personal attraction and conduct that's independent of thinking. That is, the charismatic person can sway opinion based on force of personality, independent from strength of argument. Clearly, this can be a dangerous thing—both because it could lead you to conclusions you might otherwise reject, and because it can lead the charismatic person to misunderstand the source of their power (that is, they might belief they're a better thinker than they are).

And it's more complicated that that. In most situations a person's charisma is not uniformly strong in a group, and there will tend to be a knee-jerk negative response by those in the group who are not drawn to that person's magnetism, serving as a counter weight to the positive response of those who find the person charismatic. This gets messy in a hurry. Now, in addition to sorting out what to do about an issue based on the thinking in the room, you must also navigate the extent to which charisma may be distorting (in either direction) how that information is being viewed.

For all of that, charisma can be a wonderful thing in carrying a group through a morass, galvanizing a group to action when it might otherwise be in peril of losing its will and its way in the Slough of Despond. (I have a friend who styles such moments "Captain Kirk speeches," after the unflappable commander of the starship Enterprise, and his uncanny ability to rise to the occasion when the odds are as long as the tentacles of the evil aliens.)

Radiance
I'm thinking Joan of Arc here. While i'm less sure of my fotting on this, I suppose that this too depends on how the audience perceives it. If it comes across as authentic and on target, I imagine it's irresistible and people love it. If however, you experience the radiant person with their head up their ass, I reckon you'd feel differently about the influence of their "sunshine."

But maybe Vicki was talking more about a person being fully in their own power and totally unthreatened by disagreement. While the impact of being in this state probably still depends on the audience's sense of relevance to the situation, I recognize that this may not be as problematic as my prior paragraph indicated. I think an important question for me would be whether I perceived the radiant person to be capable of receiving well while being in a state of emanation. If I felt that the person was all give and no take it would likely piss me off (who appointed them God?)

With all of this, the important thing is that you have to track not just intent (of the powerful, charismatic, or radiant person); you have to track perceptions to understand impact and the extent to which the exercise of power will be seen as "with" or "over."

For my money, one of the key tests of a group's maturity is its ability to talk openly about power, and whether it can discuss with compassion and depth the perception of some members that others are using power less cooperatively than they believe they are.

Vicki continued:
I know I am charismatic when I speak and write but consider it simply a gift I've been given, a "feature" of my persona. I use that best when I am serving a cause. Then there is power, which is the exercise of my will for protection or projection. It's more the animal level. Canny. Neutral in that it can be used for more or less selfish ends but always in service to my needs. I am willing to exercise power and that's where I sometimes get in trouble with groups. Communitarians, "green meme-ers", don't like to see themselves as carrying or exerting more power. That's where the yellow in spiral dynamics helps me, to see that wise use of power is to empower the whole, which I hope is where I land most of the time."

I think you can always get into trouble when exercising power, because you can always be perceived to be acting "over" instead of "with." While your intent may be less than pure (and that's definitely worth looking at), my main point here is that leaders are never in control of how their intent will be perceived no matter how pure it is, and they must act with the understanding that at least some of the time they will take hits about how they are abusing their power. You can rail all you want about the unfairness of that, but Harry Truman had it right: "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen."

We desperately need leaders, because we're all not of equal ability, equal motivation, and equal availability for the hard work at hand. We need to be choosing our best people to lead, while at the same time working hard to increase the opportunity for everyone to enhance their leadership qualities, to create an ever-widening pool from which to select tomorrow's leaders.

I believe Vicki's right to be striving to use power as much as possible for the benefit of the whole. Though a good heart doesn't guarantee that you'll always see things accurately—or that you'll always be seen accurately—it's certainly a good start. In addition to creating a solid understanding of what power "with" looks like, and an appreciation among cooperative groups of the need for having leaders who use power from that model, we need to find better ways to talk about power and what's hard for us about it.

Lacking that kind of dialog and compassion we'll simply continue the dynamic of the Left being divided among itself (and therefore substantially ineffective as a force for social change). Surely we can do better than the pathetic cultivation of leadership bashing as an art form—where we lop of the heads of all flowers who brazenly rise above the field in their eagerness for the light.

The Fine Line Bteween Wanting to Speak and Needing to Speak

Last week I was in Seattle attending the national cohousing conference on the campus of the University of Washington. Because my partner (Ma'ikwe) and I were running the conference bookstore, we rented a car and drove over 2000 miles each way. (The compact car was so compacted that all we could sight through the rear-view mirror was a wall of boxes and the passenger seat didn't recline more than a couple inches—I mean that car was full.)

In addition to seeing a lot of Wyoming and Montana (which we found to be exceptionally pretty following a wet spring) that meant we were in the car for three days outbound and three days inbound. At the start of the return trip last Tuesday Ma'ikwe and I had an important exchange. It began with Ma'ikwe sharing reflections about a conversation she had with a mutual friend over the weekend. Though I hadn't been present for the conversation, I had long-term observations about how I saw this person in relation to group dynamics and jumped in to share them (in case you ever wondered what professional facilitators talk about when they're alone, it's just as bad as you might have imagined). Ma'ikwe didnt have a good reaction to that and the conversation stalled.

There were a number of factors that contributed to the derailment, and I had all the way from Port Townsend WA to Rutledge MO to sort them out.

1. Ma'ikwe hadn't asked for my opinion
The fact that I felt my comments were both substnative and germane didn't really matter. Ma'ikwe felt that I had hijacked the conversation, and what might have been an interesting exploration became stillborn. As a sat with this across eastern Washington and southern Montana, I saw how it paralleled other situations, and I could see my unhelpful pattern of occasionally being too eager to grab the mic, competing for air space.

2. I'm too critical of others
Perhaps worse than the faux pas of offering unsolicited opinions, my views are often critical. Where Ma'ikwe wanted to celebrate her friend's exploration of what she's doing with her life, I had launched into an unkind analysis. Ma'ikwe was irritated that I had shifted the energy, and questioned my ability to allow people to grow. Ouch! When I asked if she'd rather I changed my opinion or didn't express it, she wasn't sure.

As it happened, the previous night we had been in a dinner table conversation with others and Ma'ikwe didn't like how I had been critical of other process professionals when their names had surfaced in the discussion. So her reaction to my criticality had been building for a while, and Ma'ikwe—to her credit—felt compelled to voice her reaction.

As this feedback incubated in me I went through a sequence of defensiveness, sulking, and then acceptance. Ma'ikwe had the grace to let me sort through this on my own, and I've gradually come to appreciate that there are really very few times when I need to speak—especially when I'm critical of others. The world's mostly doing fine without the steady insertion of my gratuitous "wisdom."

3. Not needing equal air time
As part of my journey to accept this feedback, I went through a phase of righteousness about how poorly I think others tend to use air time in groups (regardless of whether it's formal meetings or informal gatherings). When I caught myslef indulging in my penchant for criticality (it was ony a matter of time before I collided with the obvious), I smiled and reminded myself that life is not about how good you look; it's how well you see the opportunities for enjoyment, connection, and surprise. It really doesn't have anything to do with air time at all.

• • •

The fundamental truth in this exchange with Ma'ikwe was that I was irritating my partner and she was letting me know it—which I had asked her to do. While it probably took me about 1000 miles to sort it all out, I finally arrived at a place where it was OK. While this place is unfortunately not marked on road maps (with suggestive names, such as Enlightenment WY, Deep Listening MT, or New Insight NE), the good news is that it can be found—even though you may have to burn a little ego and retread some ideas to get there.

Status Quorum

A friend of mine recently asked what my thoughts were about groups establishing a quorum for the purpose of doing "official" business. It's a good topic.

For the most part, rules for quorum are created to protect groups from subgroups acting inappropriately. In particular, they guard against a subgroup who rushes an issue to conclusion to take advantage of others' absence from the meeting at which the issue is considered.

While crafting rules such as quorum are one approach, I think there's a better way. Let's unpack the problem. If you have a meeting at which key stakeholders are missing, why would those present proceed with decision-making in their absence? I can think of a couple possibilities. First, there's time pressure and a delay is perceived to be too risky. While I think this can occur, I suggest it's better to establish the conditions under which the process can be streamlined and only short-circuit normal process if those conditions obtain. (Hint: In general, it will be because of a sense that delay is either too dangerous or too costly.)

Second, there may be a substantial sentiment among those present that the conversation will be more difficult if the absent people were in the room—because it's anticipated that one or more of the missing folks are not likely to support the proposed course of action. If this is the case, why would those in the room proceed? Even if it's legal, it isn't smart. The group is essentially trading an easy decision in the short run for a fire storm later. Not much of a bargain. What's more, the eroded trust will make future decisions that much more labored.

If it's a tough issue (by which I mean the stakes are substantial and disagreement is expected), a group is almost always better off tackling it straight on, with all known positions adequately represented in the conversation. I'm not promising that this will be a fun meeting, but at least you won't be hearing cries of parliamentary manipulation.

If your group is big enough (more than a dozen?) that members are regularly missing plenary meetings, I think you'll be better served by the following set of process agreements about how to conduct business than by resorting to a quorum:

1. Cease making binding decisions on issues at the first plenary at which they are discussed. Instead, try to identify all the factors that a good response to that issue will need to take into account, and stop there (Note: this could take multiple meetings, depending on the complexity of the issue).

2. After the minutes from that discussion have been posted, identify a window of opportunity wherein the group is open to receiving reflected additional input about factors that should be taken into account. This could come either from people who were at the plenary, or from members who missed it and are relying on the minutes. (Note: in order for this to work, the minutes have be sufficiently detailed that readers can fully grok what factors were identified in the discussion.)

3. Once the window for reflected input is closed, the group is no longer obliged to work with input that comes afterward. (Note: the phrasing is significant here: the group, at its discretion, may choose to work with late input—there will be times when that’s a very good idea—yet isn’t required to. The point of this is to fairly limit the tendency of some mischievous members to come in at the eleventh hour with zingers that derail forward movement. This agreement defines “late” and establishes the limitations of the rights that members have that their reflected input will be taken into account.)

4. It may be attractive to assign to a committee (either standing or ad hoc) the task of drafting a proposal that balances all the identified factors. (Note: if you go this route, be sure to block out adequate time both to get the work done, and to post it appropriately ahead of the next plenary.) Or, the group, in its wisdom, may decide to craft the proposal in plenary. In any event, when the group next returns to this topic it needs to be disciplined about how it uses its time: at this stage the conversation should be focused solely on what is the best way to balance the factors and should not revert to an examination of additional factors (which ground has already been thoroughly plowed).

5. Once the group is satisfied that it has a solid proposal, it should stop again—short of reaching a final decision. Once again the minutes should be posted, allowing the folks who missed that second meeting to decide for themselves just how solid that proposal is. (Note: the minutes need to do a decent job of making clear the thinking that underlies the proposals, so that the underpinnings are laid bare. If this is not clear, you can be certain that at the third plenary (stage 6 below) you’ll go round the mulberry bush a couple times as people satisfy themselves that the conversation at the second plenary was sufficiently rigorous.)

6. If nothing significant surfaces during this second window for reflected input, you’ve essentially got a done deal and this topic will take no time at all to wrap up at the third plenary. If, however, there are substantive reservations, then the third plenary should focus on whether to adjust the proposal in light of them. You can repeat this last sequence as often as needed.

• • •

If you adopt this set of agreements, you shouldn’t need to be paying attention to the status of quorum. Instead, the status quo should be that there’s a clear pathway by which people who miss meetings will have their rights protected, as well as a solid foundation for the group to proceed in their absence. At the end of the day, you don't want members to be able to control business by not showing up—which, unfortunately, is one of the potential byproducts of needing a quorum to operate.

Mister Cellophane

In the 2002 hit musical Chicago, John C Reilly sings “Mister Cellophane,” a song about what it’s like to be a nobody, overshadowed by his wife Roxie. In the song, he complains about being the kind of person people "see right through." Today I want to write about what it’s like to be committed to being transparent—which is similar, but different. While John C was talking about being the kind of person that people look past, I’m talking about the kind of person you can see into the heart of.

While John C’s character was safe from exposure (no one cared a fig), when you’re committed to transparency it can be tricky territory. How accurately are you describing yourself (as opposed to exposing your self-distortion)? What if you invite everyone to have a peek inside your soul and no one bothers to look (because they’ve got to walk the dog or collect the dry cleaning)? What if people are repulsed by what they see (and suddenly stop returning your calls or "unfriend" you on Facebook)?

I’ve been a process consultant for 22 years and one of my strongest lessons over that time is that I cannot expect groups to be vulnerable with me unless I’m willing to be vulnerable with them. Given that it’s seldom possible to do profound work unless you wade into the tender spots, this has led me to a surprising conclusion: I do my best work with others when I’m working on myself.

While I used to labor under the mistaken impression that groups wanted their consultant to be a Rock of Gibraltor and unphased by whatever popped out of the closet when exploring impacted distress, I’ve learned that that’s only half true. While groups do want me to be able to ride the bucking bronco, they simultaneously love hearing stories about how I’ve been bucked off in the past (en route to learning the skills that allow me to stay atop the chaos they serve up).

When I started this blog 18 months ago, I wasn’t sure what the scope of my writing would be. At first I figured it would be an experiment to see if my observations about cooperative group dynamics and life in intentional communities would spur interest in FIC and my work as a process consultant. It didn’t take long however, before it started evolving into something more personal.

My blog became an online journal. While I wrote about the things I thought I would, sometimes I delved into much more personal realms, trying to establish the foundation for my views and beliefs. Basically, I became committed to sharing whatever was up for me, in the hope that the musings of a veteran communitarian might be consistently interesting to others. Over time, I came to understand that my blog was another way to be transparent. In addition to writing being a discipline that forces me to order my thinking (and thus deepen my understanding and the clarity of my insights), I got to practice my commitment to disclosure—at the convenience of my own keyboard.

It’s an interesting juxtaposition, marrying the solitary art of journaling with public witnessing. I don’t have the instant feedback of a live audience to steer me in the right direction (helping me understand when my story is too cryptic, too obvious, or too labored). Lack of instant feedback is not, however, the same as no feedback. That became apparent recently when I started writing about my wife’s desire to take on another lover.

While I wasn’t looking for this particular publishing “opportunity,” there was no question about whether it was sufficiently engaging and I was eager to share with others what I was wrestling with. Further, I have an understanding with Ma’ikwe that our lives will be public, and each of us is allowed to use their own judgment about what aspects of our relationship we discuss with others.

Since I started writing about my own relationship with intimacy, I’ve had two friends—both of whom do professional facilitating and work with groups—contact me and inquire if I was fully aware of what I was doing. One suggested separating my blog into two parts, reserving the more intimate examinations for a separate, more discreet audience. The other wanted me to know that she was all in favor of transparency—just not that much.

As I value the opinion of both of those friends, I considered what they said. In the end though, I was persuaded to continue with one blog. First, how could I ask others to open up to me if I wasn’t willing to do the same? Second, I considered the possibility that I might lose clients who would otherwise be interested in working with me. I figured it was possible, yet how badly did I need (or even want) work with people who would not consider me because I wrote openly about my personal life?

(There’s an important distinction between my witnessing what’s going on for me and advocating that others make the same choices I do. In the realm of group dynamics I often advocate for certain points of view and practices; in matters of intimacy my aim is much humbler: to disclose, and let readers sort out for themselves what portions of my experience, if any, are applicable in their own lives.)

• • •

As a teacher of facilitation, I tell my students that if they need to be right all the time, they should quit now—because no one, to my knowledge, always makes the otpimal call in the dynamic moment. Everyone has off days, and when you flub up as a facilitator, you do it spectacularly—in front of God and everyone. The key question (if you're going to be a great facilitator) is whether can you go out there, give it your all, fall down, and then get back up and try again. Can you still throw the inside fastball to Albert Pujols after he took you deep the last time he faced you?

It doesn't take anything special to be willing to talk about your successes in public. I want to know if you can talk openly about the time swhen you crashed and burned. In my experience, the deepest learning comes from the times when I botched it, and I've found that I'm never as effective as a trainer or as a consultant if I'm not willing to the time I tripped with the soup bowl on the way to dinner table. Even when a group has hired me to help shape the greenware of their raw dynamics and turn it into fine pottery, they're ultimately intrigued more by my feet of clay than my feat of clay.