In my work in organisations, a frequent objection to talking together about anything that really matters, has substance, could bring about change, or about which people feel something strongly is:
"We can't talk about that. It'll open a can of worms."
How extraordinarily revealing of our basic assumption about people: we're all broken, a seething mass of darkness and poison just ready to explode in uncontrollable ways.
Is it any wonder then that we run our organisations in such fearful ways, even as we dress them up as politeness or civility or professionalism? That we spend so much of the time trying to keep a lid on ourselves?
And what would become possible if instead we cultivated trust in our own, and others', basic goodness?
My son asked me this evening how I would spend my time if I knew I had just one week to live.On a mountainside, I said, or by the sea. With my closest family, and with my dearest friends. No question.The conversation reminded me that very few of us ever discover in advance which is to be our last week. And we don't get to find out which parts of life are actually the important parts, perhaps until they're done.And how important it can be to live, in each of our day-to-day choices, in the full knowledge that all this is the case, for all of us.
How much room is there in your life for silence? For sitting quietly, silently, and just being with whatever it is that is there?Most of us live lives constructed to prevent any possibility of this happening. We've lost the capacity to be genuinely still, and we don't have practices for quiet reflection.We're fearful of what we might experience if we truly allowed ourselves to know ourselves and our inner worlds.But in silence, we can meet ourselves and life in a new, and perhaps more truthful way. Instead of spinning off in busy activity and in distraction, a few daily minutes of quiet watching can show us the condition of our lives, and invite us into a different, deeper kind of presence in the world.In connecting with ourselves more deeply, we can connect with others more deeply too.A vital capacity for leading, and for living.
Behind any life, and any society, are numerous background narratives that give us a sense of who we are, who other people are, and what's possible for us. They tell us how we can live, what's of value, and how to relate to one another. And they tell us what's important to pay attention to, and what's marginal.Sometimes the background narratives are visible and explicit in a family or community, such as the way in which biblical narratives give a sense of belonging and orientation to people who are part of some religious communities. But most often - even when there are visible and explicit narratives available - the narratives we actually live by are invisible, and we see them clearly only as an outsider entering a society for the first time, or when the narrative runs into trouble and starts producing unintended consequences.For the last century or so in the West, we've lived in a background narrative that's directed our attention most strongly towards what's measurable, particularly what's financially measurable, and has discounted almost everything else. The bottom line, financial return on investment, this quarter's results - all have been taken for what's 'real'.And at the same time, we've considered what's not measurable largely 'unreal' - the quality of our inner lives, our relationships with others, supportive and close-knit communities, the care we give and receive, our capacity to nurture and appreciate beauty. We can't pay much attention to these, we say, because in the 'real world' there are tough business decisions to make. There are profits to be made.I'm not arguing that profit is somehow unreal, while beauty and care are real. That would be an equally narrow way of looking at the world. But it's becoming clearer and clearer how our narrowness - our failure to appreciate and include all dimensions of human life in our businesses, institutions, and in our public discourse - is wreaking havoc in our present and seriously limiting our capacity to respond to the complexity of the future we're creating. The shocking rise of inequality in even the richest of the worlds societies, the shaking of our financial systems, our seeming inability to respond creatively to climate change - all ought to have ourselves asking whether what we take to be unquestionably true about how to live is, really, deeply questionable.We urgently need to expand our horizons - to start to take seriously that which we've marginalised in the relentless colonisation of all aspects of human life by the narrative of economics.Today, the Guardian newspaper in the UK published 
We so often believe the stories we tell as if they're unquestionably true.But however convinced you are about the story you're telling - about anything - it can only ever be partial.For a start, there are so many other ways of seeing, so many other places to stand. Just ask a few people who saw the same traffic accident, for example, to get a sense of how differently each person observes a single event.And secondly, your telling will inevitably be just one interpretation. You'll privilege certain voices and characters, and omit others. Some people will have a voice in your version, and others will be forgotten completely. Your account captures a particular viewpoint and particular choices about what's important, among an infinity of alternatives.The story itself is bigger than any retelling you can muster.All of this is the case however certain you are that your way is the only way to tell it.Even if the story is the one you're telling about yourself.
How much of the way you're leading - that you explain with careful, rational and logical reasoning - is actually a strategy to make sure you never have to feel what you don't want to feel?And could it be that your colleagues are doing some or all of what they do for the same reasons?Much of organisational life is an elaborately constructed strategy to prevent us from feeling anxiety, fear, loneliness and uncertainty.But because we're not aware that's what we're doing, and because emotion is excluded from many work conversations, we dress it up as something else.And can that really serve the contribution you, and your organisation, are longing to make?
I wrote a few days ago about how much of the time our actions - and our whole style of relating - are drawn out of us by what we're around. The word I introduced to describe the things which draw us into action, "
Somehow, many of us have allowed ourselves to believe that the mark of professional, business-like conversation - the kind we're apparently meant to have in our organisations - is that it should bore us to tears.Too much aliveness, too much spontaneity, too much that's genuine, too much feeling has us shut ourselves and others down.As long as we can speak in business-speak, preferably with bullet-points, we feel safe. Because then we're dead to ourselves and one another, which saves us from all risk, of course.In 
What happens, happens because the conditions were such that it could happen.How common it is to try, push or strive to have what's important to you take place, without paying any attention to this.Right now, for example, are you giving any consideration to the condition of your own body? It's from this that every action you're able to take arises.Are you cultivating the energy, ability to concentrate, capacity to tolerate difficulty, and ability to stay in relationship that will support your intentions? The presence, openness, centeredness to be able to respond?And if not, do you see how all your efforts might be wasted because you're working against the very conditions that could support you most?