Asking for help

I quite enjoy helping others. I’m not so good at asking for help. From an improv perspective it’s like making offers – asking for help is making an offer to the world. And boy, does it pay back big time.

Those of you reading this blog recently will know I’m in foreign parts designing a biggish two-day event. Those of you who know me well will know that I’m never satisfied, always looking for new (and rediscovering forgotten) ideas. And those of you who know me even better will know I’d give my right arm to have a facilitation buddy or two to hang out with, toss about ideas, egg each other on. Sigh.

So I’ve turned to the next best thing, all you good folk in internet land. Some of you I know, some I’ve never met. I’ve no idea how many of you read my blog (I know, I know – there’s something I could do with google analytics to find out and, well, I really don’t care that much and I’ve never been that big into numbers. Are you out there Stephen?). If I’m only talking to myself, that’s quite okay – it gets my thoughts out of my head and on to the screen where at least I don’t forget them.

I try stuff. I like blogging. I like twitter. Facebook’s okay. Don’t mention google+ (makes me feel guilty), I’ve tried amplify, and instgram, I’ve lost count of my email addresses (they all go via gmail anyway), I quite like rapportive, I’ve just joined pin-somethingorother, I have a neglected flickr account, I think I have a YouTube channel, I subscribe to my favourite bloggers and thinkers, I just LOVE Skype – I could go on, obviously. What’s that? What about LinkedIn? Well, of course I’m on LinkedIn – I just don’t know how to use it that well. Then, in a little burst of activity towards the end of last year I created a LinkedIn Group. Wow! Just wow! I had no idea. It’s not a big group, less than 200 people – but what a generous and creative bunch.

And what I’ve learned from having a LinkedIn group is that it’s not about leading with answers – it’s about leading with questions. Real questions. Making big, bold offers by asking for help. Who knew?

“Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

I’m in a foreign country, working with my client, to prepare for a two-day facilitated event with 150 or so people from multiple countries and organisations. While many things are familiar, I’m very conscious that I’m not at home. I received an email from the Australian Government alerting me to some imminent dangers, someone tried to snatch my shopping, and I’m hearing lots of people speaking languages I don’t know. It’s not uncomfortable per se, just a little bit unnerving.

Which is probably how many people feel coming into an event, a workshop or a conference. It’s why people often demand a detailed agenda – a sort of safety net – to be assured that they have some sense of what’s going to happen. So if it’s assurance and safety and a sense of well-being that people want, maybe we can provide that without the traditional agenda?

I’m not a fan of detailed agendas. I think they provide a false sense of security, the illusion that someone is in control and knows what is going to happen from moment to moment. The best workshops and events are emergent, building on what comes from the previous sessions rather than a sausage machine that churns out some pre-determined outcome – or in the worst cases, seats people in rows for hour upon hour while they are force fed information, with little or no interactive and engagement.

Yet it is still important to give people coming to this unusual, out-of-the ordinary event some sense of what’s going to happen and how they are expected to show up. I’m often called in too late to have impact on how this is done, yet there are still some ways of creating a welcoming and sense of comfort with a dash of curiosity and surprise.

Pre-event logistics: Anyone who travels a lot knows how useful it is to have information about the country you are travelling to, it’s entry requirements, how to get from the airport to the venue, what the climate is like, the local customs, where to change money, what to watch out for etc.

Welcome Pack: When checking in to the venue it’s nice to receive (or if the hotel is really good, find in your room) an individualised welcome pack that includes some up-to-date information about timings, where to go for breakfast and dinner, a map of the venue, a local map, and a treat – a sweet or chocolate. This signals that the organisers know you are coming, and that, well, you’re welcome!

Active Hosting: I learnt this from my friend Anne Pattillo who is a master at active hosting. I’m not so good, but I’m learning to do it in short bursts and to recruit others to help. It’s making sure people are greeted when they enter the workshop or conference space. It’s obvious, but it confirms they are in the right place and helps them navigate the space.

When I travel in foreign airports, I often lose the ability to read signs. I know, it’s weird. I put it down to a combination of tiredness, tinged with anxiety. Sometimes it’s not even that. The signs might be ambiguous or misleading. So I’m always looking for someone to ask. There’s something so much more personal about someone explaining where to go, compared with standing bewildered wondering what to do next. We should try and avoid people feeling this way at conferences.

Identity, Connection, Action: I learnt this from my other friend Antony Williams (seems I’m always learning from my friends). This is a nice little reminder about what people need when they enter a group for the first time: they want to be recognised first as an individual (name tags and individualised materials help); then they want to find out who else they know in the room and to connect, and who they might like to know, and connect in some way; and finally they like to move into some action that is relevant to the reason why they have come together.

Creating a memorable conference

I opened a newspaper and there was a photo of Yosemite National Park. I’ve been to Yosemite once, for a few days. The place was instantly recognisable. It strikes me time and again how easy it is to recognise a place that I have physically visited. There is some visceral memory. There is something about place, and relationship to something outside of ourselves that creates, and embeds, memory.

I’m asking myself what makes a memorable conference? If you attend many conferences, what memories come to mind? Which events come back with enormous clarity, and why? What conferences do you talk about long after they were done?

I have a few theories based on a research sample of one.*

Sense of place
Not all venues are created equal. Memorable events have light, space, a vibe, connections with nature, provide an opportunity to stare into the middle distance (maybe even fuelling daydreams) and are a part of the place, not apart from.

Involving all the senses
Hearing and seeing are well catered for in most conferences. Our other senses not so much. Smell – the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee; the smell of jasmine flowers wafting on the breeze; the salt smell of the ocean. Touch – the feel of lovingly crafted and carved talking stick; of a notebook that is bound in linen and embossed. Taste – of the flavours of the place, of freshness. And even hearing and seeing can be enhanced – colours, beautiful pictures, the sounds of nature, singing, silence. The best conferences I remember through all of my senses.

Connection is as important as content
After I’ve been to a great conference I’m likely to chatter incessantly about all the great people I met and what new stuff I learned. Without the connection, and the ability to reference what I’m learning to who I’m learning it from, I’m likely to forget.

Pace and movement
Not too rushed, not too slow, and plenty of time for conversations to develop beyond the superficial. Long breaks. Long enough to grab a coffee, and check messages, and visit the bathroom, and talk to people. And movement, not just sitting all day.

STAR – Something They will Always Remember (hat tip Nancy Duarte)
Something quirky, something unexpected. Like 200 people doing James Bond Aerobics, or group singing on the New York subway, or a presentation that moved you to tears, or ginormous bubbles that did nothing more than make you smile a lot.

What makes a conference memorable for you?

*That would be one person, not one conference.

It’s all about movement

“People learn a new language more easily when words are accompanied by movement.”

New Scientist, Issue 2844/2845 Dec 2011.

I’ve written before about the importance of physical movement, and how this is integral to how I facilitate.

I love this card because it reminds me to move my body, and to provide opportunities for people to move when they meet rather than sit in a passive state for long stretches. It’s ambiguous too – because it also reminds me to move and be moved – emotionally. Physical and emotional movement is equally important, and often equally ignored.

So in designing an event build in physical movement, and think about the emotional journey of participants. What will move them? What will touch them emotionally? What will create a shift or a disruption?

We live in an ‘either’ – ‘or’ world. Time to embrace ‘yes, and…’

The conversation went something like this.

Me: I’m thinking of getting an e-reader, probably a kindle. It means I can carry lots of books with me and always have something to read. And it looks kinda cool.

Friend 1: Oh, no, I could never use an e-reader. I like books. Paper books.

Friend 2: Me too. I would never use one of those. I like books.

End of conversation.

I never said I was giving up paper books. I like books too. I like to write in the margins. I like to pile them up in my office, to sit on the floor surrounded by them looking for just the right quote or paragraph (this is how serendipity happens for me). And…, I want an e-reader.

Sure, life is about making choices. Sometimes it’s not possible to do both, to be in two places at once, to buy both frocks.

And it’s also about knowing when the choice is not black or white. It’s about being mindful of what’s possible, of noticing your first response and allowing other responses in before jumping to a conclusion. I know I’ve forgotten to ‘yes, and…’ when I start with a No. No, I couldn’t do that. No, it wouldn’t work. No, that’s wrong. No, I don’t like that idea.

Adopting a ‘yes, and…’ mindset is all about accepting offers. You don’t need to like the offer, or even follow-through. It’s about the initial moment of acceptance rather than rejection. It’s about seeing that there’s more to making a choice than it’s either this or it’s either that. It’s about noticing the offer in what others say and do. Sometimes it’s hard to notice an offer – it’s a small offer, or it’s tentative, or it’s hidden amongst a whole lot of noise. Make big offers yourself. Notice the offer in what others say and do.

To accept is such a gift. To be accepted is such an honour.

Just another New Year’s post

It’s hot. That’s not a metaphor. It’s really, really hot. Too hot for the beach. It’s also the day after New Year’s Day. It’s my friend Vera’s birthday. She says it’s the worst day of the year to have a birthday. Everyone wants a rest from celebrating, and tomorrow, for many, it’s back to work.

As I write this the north wind is blowing hard. It’s a hot wind. It’s a nasty wind. It carries bush flies from the north to the coast. It’s the wind that fuels fires. On days like these we scan the horizon for smoke, sniff the air suspiciously, check on-line to see if there’s any fires to worry about. It’s not a restful time.

On the crowded beaches, the sand blows on days like these. And beach umbrellas are a hazard. Little hot box shelters that people now bring to the beach are set up to provide some shade, but no relief from the heat. The only relief from the heat is in the water. And the water is cold. It’s the Southern Ocean after all. Some people inch their way into the water, bit by bit. I like to dive straight in, to feel the shock of the cold water on my hot skin, to feel the relief, to taste the salt on my lips.

Not today though. It’s too hot for the beach.

I’m excited about the first three months of 2012. After that I’m not sure what will happen. Nothing, or something. I’m hosting a conference in July. I’m helping friends with other events later in the year. I’d like to find a way to live overseas for a year or more. I like to notice what energises me and do more of that (hint – it’s mostly things that are unconventional). I want to be with people who are creative, have ideas, are a little bit (or a whole lot) weird, a bit vulnerable and are doing things I wish I’d thought of.

I see no reason to change my mantra from the last few months that has served me well:

Show Up. Be Present. Jump In.

There. That’s my New Year post done. We will now resume normal operations.

This one image describes what I want to keep doing in 2012

Influencing and being influenced

Here’s another gym-inspired post. This time I was noticing how I run faster on the treadmill and generally try harder when there’s someone else on the next treadmill. If they’re faster than me (and most of them are) I’ll try and go faster too. If they’re slower than me, I notice a slight sense of superiority. Oh, I know all that stuff about doing your own thing and what’s right for you etc etc. I think we are always being influenced by those around us, and probably forget that we are influencing other people too.

At it’s best this is a good thing. I work occasionally at The Hub in Melbourne, a co-working space. It’s a long time since I’ve worked in this sort of environment, with people coming and going, hearing snippets of sometimes interesting conversations, sitting in on discussions, throwing ideas about, sharing a story or a glass of wine with people doing completely different work to me. I am happy to be influenced by this environment and the people in it.

Anyone competing in any physical endeavour will be able to tell anecdotes of how they were able to find something extra during competition. Performers experience it too – that feeling of ramping up for the actual performance. Improvisers (who are, after all, performers too) call it ‘being affected’, being open to the influence of people and the environment we’re in.

It seems to be a small step from being influenced though to being competitive. I have mixed feelings about competitiveness. Sure, I love the feeling of winning, of getting ‘there’ first, whatever ‘there’ might mean, of being recognised (which I think is what winning is all about, after all, no-one remembers who came second). And I’m also aware that a focus on winning denies all sorts of other possibilities,not the least of which is success. I learnt from some improv buddies the difference between winning and success, and how winning can be celebrated mostly by the winners and success can be celebrated by everyone.

This whole influencing, competitiveness, success dynamic is writ large on the internet. There’s the shallow, yet hard to ignore, numbers – of followers, of retweets, of likes, of friends. And there’s connecting with people in the same or different industries who are doing incredible work. There’s great writers, and great thinkers, incredible ideas, amazing analysis, brilliant artists, and people willing to share their successes and their failures.

It’s easy, for me, to feel intimidated. To feel inadequate, to feel that I have nothing new, or original, or interesting to say. Everyone else seems to be saying it – and much better than I could.

Woah! I’ve fallen into the Tyranny of Excellence – a feeling where nothing is ever good enough. We are doing amazing things, yet see ourselves as inadequate. This tyranny  is the dark side of ‘being affected’ – of influence, of collaboration, of easy access to what’s happening across the globe and of living in amazing times where being amongst creative entrepreneurs and thinkers is the norm. But it’s not the norm for everyone. It’s also easy to fall into a space of scarcity, where it feels as if there’s only so much to go round and not enough for everyone. Much better to remember a sense of abundance where the world needs ALL of our ideas and approaches and there really is no ‘right’ way.

The Be Affected art is by the amazing Mary Campbell (in the US) and the Tyranny of Excellence art is by the incredible Milan Colovic (in Serbia) and I’m writing this from Australia. See what I mean – we live in amazing times.

Break down to break through

This song, Minnie the Moocher, by The Blues Brothers, came up on shuffle while I was at the gym. I was focusing on the song as I tried to take my mind off running and how heavy my legs felt. The song uses call and response, one of my favourite musical devices. At about 2 mins 24 the audience breaks down into laughter when the scat lyrics (or the vocal improvisations) become so long and non-sensical as to be nearly impossible to repeat.

I’ve seen the same sort of breakdown in improv games. The group will be playing a game when someone figuratively ‘drops the ball’. They make a mistake and everyone laughs. This is intriguing. This ‘breakdown’ seems to be a type of release. Afterwards, everyone seems more relaxed and the game or activity continues at a different level, with more commitment and vigour. It’s as if the breakdown, and the release in the form of laughter is a metaphorical doorway to another way of being, or a different relationship with the activity – and with each other.

Yet many of our conventional group activities, especially in meetings, are designed to avoid breakdown, presumably as this is seen as some sort of failure of the process or of the facilitator/leader. Certainly laughter is rarely present in these situations. In his book, Dialogue and the Art of Thinking Together, Bill Isaacs, talks about the importance of instability or breakdown in group discussions as a condition for moving from polite discussion to dialogue where new thinking might emerge. Too often, when the breakdown happens – an argument, discomfort – the tendency is to return to the comfort and security of politeness. This might maintain something akin to civility yet rarely leads to a breakthrough in thinking or ideas. Our challenge as facilitators and leaders of these group discussions is to hold the group in their discomfort and move towards dialogue. Easy to write or talk about – much harder to do.

I’m wondering if it’s possible to turn such conversations into a game, where breakdown can be laughed at, shaken off and the conversation resumed at a different level?

One of the other barriers to this sort of generative thinking in groups is the expectation that an expert will provide the answers or tell people what to do. Relying on experts enables us to absolve ourselves of the responsibility for decision making. Experts have their place. Yet experts tend to spread existing knowledge – that’s what enables them to be called an expert. And if it’s existing knowledge you’re after, an expert is the best and quickest way to get it. If it’s new knowledge you’re after, this must be done by everybody as a community/group activity. And it takes time, energy, commitment, and good will.

Confidence and the Goldilocks dilemma

Confidence is a strange thing – it comes and goes, almost with a mind of its own, and then there’s the issue of how much? Too little, and we feel intimidated, too much and we appear arrogant. Getting confidence ‘just right’ is tricky.

When Anne Pattillo and I founded Facilitating With Confidence it was based on the premise that confidence is the secret ingredient of great facilitation. Most of us can learn good, sound techniques and processes. We can practice and hone our skills of questioning, and giving instructions. We can be competent. But is that enough? Confidence is what enables us to shine, and to take risks, and to be true to who we are.

Sometimes I feel confident. Sometimes I have to fake it. Johnnie Moore likes to quip about Facilitating Without Confidence, and how this is often more of a challenge. I agree. Facilitating With Confidence is about finding that sweet spot, where our confidence is just right for the circumstances we find ourselves in. Athletes and performers sometimes call it a ‘flow’ state. Unearthing what conditions enable me to operate in that ‘flow’ state is an ongoing search. Just when I think I’ve figured it out, some situation will come along and remind me that I haven’t, not really.

The end of a calendar year seems to demand some reflection. As I look back over the last 12 months I’ve experienced the absolute joys of my work, serious questioning of my capability, discovering and rediscovering some things and people I love, letting go of some things and people that are toxic, and reinventing my approach to work. It’s been scary and challenging and exciting. I’ve felt validated at times, and at other times, vulnerable. I’m not alone. I know many others who are questioning what they do, and why, and looking for something more rewarding or challenging or lucrative or fun or serious or that simply makes them feel good about themselves.

Thanks for being part of the journey.

To celebrate surviving and thriving yet another year, I’ve created a networking group on LinkedIn – I want to stay connected, especially to my facilitation colleagues and those of you who have helped shape Facilitating With Confidence. I hope you’ll join me there. It will be good to talk to you.