What could become possible, I wonder, if we treated life and aliveness with as much seriousness as the bottom line, key performance indicators, and productivity measures? And what kind of world do we create when life is treated as a mere secondary consideration, or not at all?Two wonderful and provocative pieces of writing on this topic to share with you, both by George Monbiot.The first, Amputating Life Close to Its Base, on the way corporate cultures can narrow our creativity - our very aliveness - in the pursuit of predictability.The second, Work-Force, on "a life-denying, love-denying mindset" in our culture, "informed not by joy or contentment, but by an ambition that is both desperate and pointless, for it cannot compensate for what it displaces: childhood, family life, the joys of summer, meaningful and productive work, a sense of arrival"Monbiot's writing is powerful in its ability to point out what's just out of view, shaping our understanding of ourselves and what's possible for us. And important, because many organisations exist in a self-sealing world in which serious engagement with these topics is not possible because it's considered 'touchy feely' or 'anti-business'.
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'What game are we playing?' can be a powerful and fruitful question, especially in organisational life. Because what we think we're doing, and what the game is, are often not the same.Meetings, for example.Is being in meetings, back to back, day in and day out, actually productive? Does it help you to make better decisions? Does it help you do the work, the work that matters, what really needs to be done (to make a difference, to be of service, to create something new)?Or are meetings, mostly, a game we play to give us a sense of participation, of being important, of being inclusive, of being busy, and of feeling safe?Or planning. Do the predictions in your forecasts often come to pass? Or are they a game in which you and others get to soothe your anxiety and feel like you're taking action, rather than facing how unpredictable the world can be?One of my games, I'm starting to see more clearly, is asking for help then secretly doing it myself. It's a game in which I get to feel righteous, inclusive and democratic, and simultaneously hold on to control.And, like many games, it is one which I play at quite some cost to myself and others, and which rarely produces the results I really long for.Naming the game is risky, difficult, and takes some courage. Mostly we do not like to have the mythology of our personal and collective games punctured.But sometimes it's what's called for in order to free us to do what we really came to do.
It increasingly occurs to meThat my relationship to the parts of the world(most significantly, others)Is most often a reflectionOf my relationship to parts of myself. And that until I learn how to give upHating, despising, fearing and judging my interior worldI can expect to have a tricky timeLoving the outer world, in which I live every day,As fully as I could.
How easy it is to be up to something while simultaneously denying it.I have sophisticated strategies for trying to be in control while looking like I'm being inclusive, for trying to get people to love me while looking as if I'm just trying to help, and for being stubbornly attached to my own view while looking as if I'm asking what other people think.All of these allow me to hold on to a particular kind of self-image (kind, accommodating, self-effacing) while simultaneously getting my own way. And they involve some sophisticated kinds of denial - spinning stories that blind me to my real intentions.When I relate to other people in this way, things can get pretty complicated.Sometimes, though - sometimes - I am able to see what I'm doing while I'm doing it. The intentions which I was subject to become object, moving from the background to the foreground, and then I have a chance to intervene and to take responsibility for what I'm doing.I am less had by my strategies. I become someone who has them.This move, making what we are subject to become object to us, is at the heart of all profound developmental transitions. Every time something moves into view (a part of us, or a way we're thinking, or a way we're constructing the world, or a way we're being shaped by our interactions with others) it affords us more freedom to act, a more inclusive view of ourselves and others, and a greater possibility to take care of whatever and whoever it is that we care about.And this move requires that we get onto our own con-tricks - all the ways we'll convince ourselves of our rightness and deny our part in what's happening.Often, it seems, what I'm hiding from myself about my intentions is pretty much the worse-kept secret of all, known to everybody else but me. And that is why, for each of us to develop, it's so important to be surrounded by people who extend love our way, who see us for our goodness, and who extend the kindness and respect required to tell us the truth (with care for timing, and in ways we can hear and understand), rather than keeping what they see to themselves.
Mostly, we’re so committed to knowing where we’re going, what we’re up to – planning, organising, setting goals, planning again – that we forget the enormous value of losing our way for a while.It’s in not knowing which direction to turn – and being prepared to admit that, most of the time, we really can’t know where life is leading us – that we can discover a part of ourselves that’s often hidden. The quiet, steady, still centre from which everything arises. The part of us that can never be lost, even in the depths of our confusion. The part that’s trusting of life as it is, however it turns out. The part that actually looks at the world as it presents itself, instead of clinging tightly to how we’d like it to be.If you’re living a life in which you’re expending enormous effort in an attempt to stay on top of it all, you might be missing all this, especially if you’re denying to yourself and others that you’re ever confused or uncertain. But, sometimes, allowing yourself to lose your way is a blessing, a way of encountering the part of you from which creativity can arise like a fresh, bubbling spring.What would it take, do you think, to soften your grip on certainty so that any of this might become possible? 
I'm tired of organisational 'stretch' goals, increased productivity year on year, more-better-faster, doing-more-with-less, change after change, restructure after restructure. I'm tired of the push for endless growth, non-stop better performance, climbing the pole, getting to the top, being a 'world-class' whatever-it-is. I'm tired of squeezing out extra profit, running a lean-mean six-sigma machine. I'm tired of people being human 'resources' instead of people, of the way we've replaced the simplicity and directness of conversation with procedure and process, and of the increasing bureaucratisation of our workplaces that replaces practical wisdom with monotone rules and repeatability. I'm tired of endless criticism, not-good-enough-yet, and the self-judgement that comes with it. I'm tired of busyness and back-to-back meetings and no-time-to-talk and a million emails in my inbox and staring at my smartphone to see if anyone needs me. I'm tired of impossible targets and five-year-plans that everybody knows won't come to be and corporate visions and values that box people in and try to make them all the same.I see all of this in so many organisations I work with. And I see much of it echoed in myself. And I'm tired of it all.I think there's a chance you may be tired of it too. Even if (especially if) you're one of the people arguing most to bring all of this about.We enslave ourselves to the idea that we'll be saved if we can just keep going faster - an idea that produces so much of the difficulty above, and so much stress in each of us.What would happen I wonder if, instead, we freed ourselves into the possibility that so much of what we do is just fine as it is?And that we, and all we are up to, are good enough already?
Moods happen, sweeping in and out of our lives, but they don't just happen by themselves. We are always, in one way or another, participants in them.Each mood shapes our engagement with what we experience, bringing forward some features of the world and obscuring others; and each mood opens or closes a particular space of possibility for us. And because of this we each have the opportunity - the responsibility - to understand how to shift our moods, so that we can respond appropriately to what the world is bringing us.I'm writing this tonight because I've found myself, since this morning's first light, most prominently in a mood of despair. It had crept up on me overnight, as such moods often do, and although it brings with it a certain attunement to the troubles of the world, it also robs me of joy, and of connection to others, and of hope.And then, tonight, I find myself dancing with increasing abandon at a 
Today, the third anniversary of a close encounter with the fragility of my own life, I'm reposting, below, on the necessity of asking for help, of allowing ourselves to be vulnerable, and of turning towards darkness when it presents itself.It turns out that spontaneous blood-clotting is relatively common and often not well diagnosed. If you are interested in finding out more, check out the website of the 
It's clear that we human beings are deeply affected by the environment in which we find ourselves. We are in a constant exchange with what is around us, both shaping it and being shaped by it.And so it's worth remembering, because it's mostly so invisible to us, that we are each the environment for one another.Which means in turn that difficulties that occur for other people and with other people can often be addressed, first, by taking responsibility for what is ours, and how it's affecting those around us.