I'm rediscovering the joy of working with physical materials instead of computers. The experience of creating or writing with high quality pens and paper is so different from working with a screen and keyboard. I'm more present in the work, my creativity flows from me with less inhibition and more immediacy, and I can lose myself in the feel of making something new with my hands.For years I've forgotten that I'm a pen and paper person. I'm slowly remembering myself again.And so here, instead of the typed word, is a written and drawn exploration of the nature of harmony in organisations - the mistakes we make, and what might become possible as we become more genuine and brave with one another.In particular, it seems, harmony in its fullest form is nothing like 'niceness' or 'calm' or 'synchronisation'. Those are oppressive, stifling forms of uniformity, which itself is constrained and lifeless. Instead how about the possibility of bringing together difference and unpredictability, and being spacious enough to hold the inevitable riot of conflict, togetherness and creativity that emerges?More ideas in the image - with drawings inspired by the work of Dave McKean. Click to see it in its fullness.
Photo Credit: Andreas-photography via Compfight cc



When you feel emptiness, what do you do?
This week I have been re-reading David Foster Wallace's short work,
Sleep.Source of our energy, our creativity, our compassion, our sanity.And in the buzz and rush of our culture, in our
In the
When you're in the midst of a storm in life - some difficulty, confusion, fear, or uncertainty - it's easy to imagine that something must have gone terribly wrong.After all, aren't you meant to be successful? Aren't you meant to be on top of life? Aren't you meant to be in control? To have it all figured out by now?And if you're in trouble isn't it clear that it's your fault?The narrative of personal striving and personal success that so many of us have taken up as the benchmark for our lives doesn't help here. It's too individualistic, too solitary. It assumes you have infinite power to shape your life. And that your success or failure, your happiness or your despair are down to you alone. It's not a big enough story to account for the kind of difficulty you're in, to account for being a participant in a world that is so mysterious and so much bigger than you are.No, there's a bigger, more generous account of finding yourself in life's storm that goes far beyond blame and fault, far beyond success and failure. Haruki Murakami has found the words to express it beautifully and clearly, in his
When the conversation you are having dies, what do you do?Conversations die when you tune out of them, when you stop tracking your truthfulness about your experience, when you fall back on tired routines that mean little but keep you feeling safe, when you say what you think is expected rather than what's real, when you slip into jargon and abstract concepts, when you tell lies - even small ones - about yourself, and about others.When the conversation dies, what do you do?Many of us, I think, keep going as if nothing had happened.Occasionally, this is bound to happen.But repeated again and again, over hours, days, months, years - our diminished, fossilised conversations in turn diminish us and our relationships.Much of the corporate world seems to have made an art out of the dead conversation. Families, people who were once lovers, and whole organisations slip quietly into deadness without even noticing. Bringing the conversation back to life seems too risky, too vulnerable.The consequence?Feeling safe.And becoming ghosts.
Nine common stories about what's not allowed to you:
Could it be that it's time for you to give up looking good so you can be real instead?I'm not saying this lightly.Two summers ago, I found myself rendered momentarily speechless, mid-conversation, as a dear friend and I walked together for lunch. A few minutes later, flat on my back on the pavement, heart pounding, short of breath, mind racing.I knew for certain only after a few days - but had an inkling as it happened - that an undiagnosed blood clot that had been forming in my leg for some time had at that moment broken loose from its moorings.Terror, love, longing, hope, confusion.I called home while we waited for the paramedics to arrive."I'm fine," I said. "There's nothing to be worried about".Not, "I'm scared.". Not, "Please help me". Not, "I don't know if I'm going to be ok"."I'm fine".It was a hot June afternoon, blue skies, but there must have been clouds as I remember watching a seagull wheel high overhead against a background of grey-white."I'm fine".Just when I most needed help and connection I played my most familiar, habitual 'looking good' hand - making sure others around me had nothing to be worried about. A hand I've played repeatedly since I was a child.Even in the most obviously life-threatening situation I had yet experienced: "I'm fine". Too afraid to be seen for real, to be seen as something other than my carefully nurtured image of myself.It was there, on the pavement, that I started to understand in a new way the cost of holding myself back from those I