Here are a few things I’ve learned: Everything flows.  All things are relative.  People are good.  The old ways are dying.  Nothing is certain.  Nature knows best.  Control is an illusion.  Don’t sweat the small stuff.  Not everything goes right; alive with it.  Enjoy the ride.
(Jay Cross)

The only difference between people that matters is the difference between those who allow this space to fill with flow – and those who don’t, or won’t allow it.**
(Richard Rohr)

I was watching a video from Roald Dahl Day 2012 in which the presenter took a camera inside the author’s writing hut, showing all the wonderful things he hoarded, including some pages filled with made up words he was trying out for The BFG, many of them scribbled out because they weren’t going to work.

Scribbling out used to be the thing we did when something was a work in progress, it wasn’t working, or was a mistake, opening up the possibility of moving on and another attempt.  It showed us how we got to where we are.

This no longer physically exists in the eAge.

I enjoyed Jay Cross’ closing words to Informal Learning.  It feels as though there’s a lot of scribbling out in life to arrive at what we want to do.

A little earlier, Cross had written:

“If society lacked deviants and rabble rousers, progress would come to a standstill.’*

These are the people who know they haven’t got it right, but are willing to scribble it out and keep going.  Erich Fromm adds nuance to how we are all heroes with scribblings out:

‘And, actually, every human being is the hero of a drama. […] Hero is a person born with certain gifts, and usually he fails, and his life is a tremendous struggle to make something out of which is born with, fighting against tremendous handicaps.’^

(*From Jay Cross’ Informal Learning.)
(**From Richard Rohr’s The Divine Dance.)
(^From Erich Fromm’s The Art of Listening.)

When you’re specific, you only find two kinds of people: people who are delighted and the rest.*
(Seth Godin)

Indecision is your greatest threat.**
(Ben Hardy)

Carlos Castaneda wrote about how it doesn’t matter what path you take as long as it has a heart.

If our doesn’t have a heart we must find another path.

This is being specific.  It’s important to know art we must do and do it.  Life is unpredictable, though.  Being able to stick at what we have become able to do is not enough.  What we can do must always be able to move us into what we cannot do yet:

‘When we repeat the same activities day in and day to, we limit our ability to have new experiences.’^

So we wander, we get lost, we explore.  We ways in which we are specific need to be honed in this way.  This is what Richard Sennett insiders as craftsmanship.  It goes deeper, but:

‘As I’ve elsewhere argue, superficiality is put to particular use in modern society.’^^

Sennett is asking, where are the crafts-men and -women today?  I have carried Pamela Slim’s words with me since reading them several years ago: “look for a niche an inch wide and a mile deep.”*^

Why stop at a mile deep, though?

When we are being specific, we find what we are searching for and we keep moving.  In the words of Thomas Merton:

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.”^*  

This is being specifically unspecific, when we continue to explore, to get lost on purpose, to step into incompetency, to find possibilities rather than wait for problems:

“When I examine myself and my methods of thought I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than my talent for absorbing positive knowledge.”⁺

This is how we explore the future, the unknown, the unfamiliar, the chaos and randomness of the beyond.

It is where being specific can flourish.

(*From Seth Godin’s blog: In search of specific.)
(**From Benjamin Hardy’s article: What Happens When You Take Full Responsibility of Your Life.)
(^From Keri Smith’s The Wander Society.)
(^^From Richard Sennett’s The Craftsman.)
(*^See Pamela Slim’s Escape from Cubicle Nation.)
(^*Thomas Merton, quoted in the Northumbria Community‘s Morning Prayer.)
(⁺Albert Einstein, quoted in Jay Cross’ Informal Learning.)

If Procrastes offers you a meal and a bed for the night, politely but firmly decline.

The bed he offers is one of those metal-framed types, and Procrustes wants his guests to fit the bed perfectly, whether they are too tall for it or too short.  So he’ll chop something off his tall guests and stretch his shorter ones – Procrustes means “the Stretcher.”*

Procrustes also goes but the name of Damastes and Polyphemon, so be careful.  Procrustes also hides inside religions and institutions and societies that want you to fit in rather than be who you are; he can even influence parents and teachers and peers and friends to think his way.  Worst of all, his voice speaks inside our heads.

In the wonderful story of a boy and his tree friend Bertolt the little boy is learning how:

‘The only problem is that when you are different, people can laugh at you, or even worse.  Sometime people don’t like what’s different.’**

Anne Lamott offers some hope for letting people be who they are:

‘Kindness towards others and radical kindness towards ourselves buy us a shot at a warm and generous heart, which is the greatest prize of all.  Do you want this, or do you want to be right?  Well, can I get back to you on that?’^

I think the kind of kindness Lamott is describing is about noticing the truth about ourselves and others, the good things and bad, helping each other to navigate the messiness of our lives into something beautiful.

We all struggle with this condition of wanting ourselves and others to fit in, to conform, to get in line, and have to catch our breath, and step back from what we were going to say or do, and help people to be themselves.

Erwin McManus confesses:

‘What I learned from twenty years of indecisiveness is that you will either define yourself or be defined by others.  You will either choose your life or life a life that was never meant to be yours.’^^

Around thirteen years ago, Erwin offered a bed for a few nights of a stay in Los Angeles.  Instead of stretching me or chopping me down, this stay in his home helped me to choose my life in a new way, something I seek to be about every day for myself and others.

(*See Nassim Taleb’s The Bed of Procrustes.)
(**From Jacques Goldstyn’s Bertolt.)
(^From Anne Lamott’s Hallelujah Anyway.)
(^^From Erwin McManus’ The Last Arrow.)

May you be blessed with good friends,
And learn to be a good friend to yourself,
Journeying to that place in your soul where
There is warmth, and feeling.
May this change you.*
(John O’Donohue)

I found myself thinking of the advantages of a peaceful way.

If we’re always living aggressively with others and ourselves, as in irksomely or at-odds-with, we reduce what we’re able to receive and hold on to and work with and, consequently, what we’re able to give.

Sometimes an “I’ll show them” attitude is just what is needed but not all the time, perhaps not even for very long at all.  It gets us going but then what are we going to do?

Peace is about finding the growing place, releasing our imaginations to roam and capture and open up more possibilities than we can make possible in turmoil.  It doesn’t mean you can’t have edge, you can’t be wild; something John O’Donohue reminds us off in another place:

‘The Irish word “Uaisleacht” means nobility; it also carries echoes of honour, dignity and poise.  A person can be wild, creative and completely passionate and yet maintain Uaisleacht.’ 

(*From John O’Donohue’s To Bless the Space Between Us: For Friendship.)
(**From John O’Donohue’s Eternal Echoes.)

It is honest, spontaneoous curiosity that best conveys my interest  and concern for the client.*
(Edgar Schein)

That is was a traffic of love is sufficiently clear; but love pursued with fervour is one of the roads to knowledge.**
(Nan Shepherd)

We are increasingly adept at sharing information and knowledge but lag behind at caring.

Edgar Schein catches my eye with his connecting of curiosity, interest and care because he exposes a different kind of knowledge.  In his work with one company, Schein reflects:

‘They did not need a common marketing programme; they first need get to know one another at a more fundamental, personal level.’*

Connecting knowing and caring may be one of the greatest breakthroughs we are able to accomplish as a species.

To know something may be a portal to caring.  Nan Shepherd spins this around, saying that our love for something opens up knowledge that is worth having.

Allowing relationships to guide matters of efficiency may appear to be a recipe for trouble but Schein’s experience suggests the opposite:

‘Having outsiders engage in a diagnostic process and analysing data often turns out to be much slower than building a personal relationship with a client and other members of a system and together figuring out what is going on and what needs to be done.’*

When people are engaged and empowered through the building of relationships we engage the most powerful means of change we possibly can: people.

Erwin McManus suggests:

‘Your best future is waiting in your deepest relationships.’^

He has just asked the question:

‘Who are the people you have bound your life to whom you have declared “I am with you”?’^

What if it were possible to affect change wherever we are at eighty feet per second?

In 1852, Hermann von Helmholtz managed to measure the speed of nerve conduction.  Eighty feet per second, then, is the speed of our emotions and feelings – one might argue, it is the speed of a relationship working well.^^

In this way of working, everyone benefits, as Seth Godin points out, though he wasn’t imagining nerve conduction when he wrote these words:

‘The toll of making change is that you will be changed.’*^

(*From Edgar Schein’s Humble Consulting.)
(**From Nan Shepherd’s The Living Mountain.)
(^From Erwin McManus’ The Last Arrow.)
(^^From Maria Popova’s Brain Pickings: Emily Dickinson’s Electric Love Letters to Susan Gilbert.)
(*^From Seth Godin’s Graceful.)

Conversation is the heart of the new inquiry.  It is perhaps the core human skill for facing the tremendous challenges we face.*
(Institute for the Future)

I realised these brains were participating in the beauty of the cosmos.**
(“Nephew”)

Some of us are all down to earth.  Others of us can be all in their dreams.  The wonder is to be found in both, the thing that happens when these are brought together:

‘May your soul beautify
The desire of your
That you might glimpse
The infinity that hides
In the simple sights
That seem worn
To your usual eyes.’^

These words from John O’Donohue come from his book To Bless the Space Between Us.  This space between two people, often unnoticed, is the conversation, a wonderful place.  We never speak directly.  In our conversations with one another, we are creating anything from a wasteland to a verdant garden.

When we begin to see how we never meet each other directly but are creating this space then the possibilities increase

I often refer to the process of my work with others as being a journey of converations.  I learn many things about myself and my work as well as about others in these conversations; we help each other to be more fully ourselves:

‘Awaken to the mystery of being here
and enter the quiet immensity of your own presence.
[…]
Respond to the call of your gift and the courage to
follow its path.’^^

Conversations can be both functional and elegant, both down to earth and dreamlike.

(*Institute for the Future, quoted in Jay Cross’ Informal Learning.)
(**The character “Nephew” from Alan Lightman’s Mr g.)
(^From John O’Donohue’s To Bless the Space Between Us: For the Senses.)
(^^From John O’Donohue’s To Bless the Space Between Us: For Presence.)

Humble inquiry maximises my curiosity and interest in the other person and minimises bias and preconceptions about the other person.*
(Edgar Schein)

If you want to go fast, go alone.  If you want to go far, go together.**
(African saying)

We want to bring everything we are to what we do.  It’s hard, though, when we work within systems that treat us more like “It” rather than “You” or “Thou,” as Martin Buber has it – even if this is not the intention; Buber holds out for something more:

‘Inscrutably involved, we live in the currents of universal reciprocity.’^

Our employees want us to bring heart to work, to be fully engaged, yet don’t dream of giving heart back to us.  They may pay well, but when they fail to listen, when they are suspicious about imagination and play and exploration, when they drop crushing expectations on their people, they are replacing “You” with “It.”    When heartfulness is seen as a commodity then they also fail to see what could be:

‘The It is the chrysalis, the You the butterfly.’^

A human is never a commodity, a human is always a gift.

A commodity is what it is.

A gift is the gift, the spirit of the gift (which is where our heart is especially found) and the community of the gift – the connection we bring.

(*From Edgar Schein’s Humble Inquiry.)
(**African saying, quoted in Erwin McManus’ The Last Arrow.)
(^From Martin Buber’s I and Thou.)

An inner alignment starts to develop that can release extraordinary energy and creativity, qualities previously dissipated by denial, inner contradictions, and unawareness of the situation and oneself.*
(Peter Senge)

(*From Peter Senge’s The Necessary Revolution.)

Intelligence, awareness, mindfulness are going to connect the pieces of the universe in a way inanimate matter never could.*
(“Uncle Deva”)

If you were given the choice of going backwards in time, in order to sort out the messes and regrets of your life, or to go forward in time and see how you used the learnings from the same messes and regrets to make something beautiful happen, which would you choose?

There is the infinite to each of these.

How far back would you have to go to keep un-messing and un-regretting?  How far forward could you move in time when you see what can become of the learnings and what they open in possibility?

Perhaps these very generous words from Anne Lamott will help you make your decision:

“The lesson here is that there is no fix.  There is, however, forgiveness.  To forgive yourselves and others constantly is necessary.  Not only is everyone screwed up, but everyone screws up.

How can we know all this, yet somehow experience joy?  Because that’s how we’re designed – for awareness and curiosity.  We are hardwired with curiosity inside us, because life knew that this would keep us going even in bad sailing … Life feeds anyone who is open to taste its food, wonder, and glee – its immediacy.”**

(*The character Uncle Deva, in Alan Lightman’s Mr g.)
(**Anne Lamott, quoted in Maria Popova’s Brain Pickings: Against Self-Righteousness.)

Wouldn’t the beauty have more meaning with other minds to admire it?  Wouldn’t it be transformed by other minds?  I’m not talking about a passive admiration of beauty but a participation in that beauty, in which everyone is enlarged.*
(“Uncle Deva”)

Narrative is not just a useful device we found along the way to keep ourselves amused, it is core to the human experience.**
(Hugh Macleod)

Handwriting has the power to shape who we are and how we live.

Handwriting is personal, connecting us to ourselves.  It’s also a means for exploring how we connect to others and bring our contribution.

There are many digital journals but then we’re using someone else’s fonts, and every letter we form feels the same.  When we use a pen, however, we create our own fonts, every letter requires our hands to move differently.  In the feeling of this there’s also a different kind of flow of thoughts onto a page.  We feel the resistance of nib on paper, we are able to lose some of the thoughts in our heads that mingle with what I need to ponder – the food shop, not having enough Christmas cards, the place we have to be this afternoon.  We’ll come back to these but for a few moments, there’s something special or beautiful or difficult or painful to explore.

The earliest forms of writing were for making lists and inventories but were s useful beyond the functional.  Stories and and thoughts on life and grand philosophies were captured alongside lists of the number of wine casks and sacks of grain in a ship’s hold.

Barbara Bash writes about this in a lovely short piece on the art of handwriting.  Here she comments on the early Phoenician alphabet:

‘It […] remained a magical portal linking the inner voice with the outer world, bringing thoughts into form through the movement of the head and stylus on the page.’^

It opens up what Joseph Campbell described as the beauty of being alive expressed in an incalculable number of ways, allowing us to explore the big question:

‘How much is the beauty of our own lives is about the beauty of being alive?  How much of it is conscious and intentional.  That is the big question.’

Bash suggests that with the different forms of writing we have today, it leaves handwriting in a new and ancient place:

‘Precisely because it is no longer essential for communication, handwriting can now be free to express its true nature as an embodied practice of creative expression, a synchronisation of mind and body.’^

(*The character Uncle Deva in Alan Lightman’s Mr g.)
(**From gapingvoid’s blog: It’s about the stories we tell.)
(^From Barbara Bash’s article The Simple Joy of Writing by Hand; Mindful magazine.)