It's so rare to get some time to really explore an idea in depth with a bunch of cool people. I was lucky to have this opportunity last week when Foundation Botnar convened half a dozen folk for some 'learning about learning' in Basel, Switzerland.
Since receiving the invitation, I'd been doing some pondering about the ideas I wanted to explore:
Power - what happens if funders don't like what's being learned? Can funders convene learning spaces without their power accidentally warping the process?
Relationships - how do relationships relate to learning? What happens if our starting point for reflecting on learning is 'relationships' rather than 'information/ data'?
Stories - how do stories relate to learning? We tend to treat stories as 'qualitative data', often seen as the poor cousin to 'quantitative data' - is this the right role for stories?
I thought that sharing these interesting ideas was going to be the main contribution I made to the group and the process.
I was wrong.
At the start of the first day, I recognised I was struggling to enter the conversation. I'd been grappling with some challenging personal matters, which also had had some knock-on effects on some work stuff. Both things were causing me significant anxiety and pulling me out of the room. Or "you're in the pit" as one of my co-learners would later say.
I took a chance on the group of strangers and spoke up, saying, "I'm finding it hard to enter the conversation. I'd really appreciate it if you'd help me join."
People responded wonderfully both right then and across the entire day. They made a point of asking me questions. They made space and invited me to enter. They were warm and kind and caring and did not pry nor ask me to justify my request. For me, it was a very strange and very lovely experience to feel so held by a bunch of people I'd only just met.
Towards the end of the first day, I made reference to the work stuff pulling me out of the room. Pedro invited me to tell the story, but I declined, suggesting it might be better as a story over dinner. I knew the story was involved and somewhat painful, so didn’t want to get into it while people were starting to make their way towards the door. But later, at the end of dinner, Pedro gasped and said, "You were going to tell us your story." Again, I demurred, as people were about to start heading back to their hotel rooms. "We can pick it up in the morning," I said, not wanting to rush what I felt was going to be a difficult story to tell.
When I arrived back in the discussion room the next morning, “Andy's story” had already been written up on the agenda board for the start of the day. I was so touched by this attention. As someone who struggles to ever ask for help, I couldn’t quite believe the degree to which the group was looking after me. It felt so unfamiliar – and delightful. I breathed deeply and decided to take a much larger risk on the group. Being given the floor and the encouragement, I told them I was going to tell a much bigger story than the one I’d intended, and I started to open up about the felt personal struggles that had pushed me into the pit. I cried while telling the story. Several times, I had to pause to allow the emotion to subside. For parts of the story, I couldn't hold eye contact.
I went on to describe the work issues that had sprung up as a knock-on effect. I joked to the group that I wasn't telling them my story so we could workshop it together, nor did I want anything specific from them; "I just wanted to honour the care and support you've all shown me by sharing with you what I'm going through."
I felt so very vulnerable at this moment - and I did wonder if I'd shared too much - but also, weirdly, I knew that it would all be OK with this group of people, and that they'd all find their own way to respond to and connect with what I'd shared. They had shown me that the day before when I’d asked for help but hadn’t explained why – and had received exactly the care I had needed. Now I was telling them why I needed help, so I only expected the level of care to increase.
This is exactly what happened, and I felt it most clearly over dinner at the end of the second day. Annika told me how my sharing had transformed the space and grounded the rest of the day. Zazie told me how she'd almost started crying herself during my story. Emma shared with me a personal story of her own and said she'd just wanted to give me a hug all day. These were all really beautiful moments and such a lovely lift while I'm ‘struggling in the pit.’
I didn't share my story with these people because I was seeking sympathy, nor am I a naturally extroverted individual who regularly shares personal information with strangers. I shared my story because I could sense some magic happening within this reflective dance about learning.
At the start, I'd asked for help and received it - a massive step forward for me in learning to externalise my reflections in itself! Being held so lovingly by a group of strangers made me feel so connected to them. Their genuine concern for, and interest in, me and my experiences made me want to reciprocate in some way.
I felt that all I had to offer them was my pain, but in the right circumstances, sharing pain can be a gift - as can asking for help. These feel like very recent lessons for me, but if I have nothing else, I have a deep commitment to learning by doing. I went into these two days with a bunch of interesting insights and clever ideas I wanted to explore. I left realising that one of the main things I have to offer in learning is my heart.
I am still trying to make sense of what I've been part of for the last two days. It feels profound in ways I don't yet understand. There were very few explicit 'lessons learned' at the end of the process, but a number of us shared that we felt we would have to sit with the experience for a few days and see what surfaced.
We did, however, all seem come to a realisation about the word 'learning' - it no longer seems to truly make sense to any of us. At least for the moment, our understanding of the word has become blurred and undefined as we begin to recognise how insufficient it is to fully contain the very complex reality that ‘learning’ refers to.
But, despite this, we have all felt something change within and I know that learning is change.
I am hugely looking forward to continuing to journey and to learn, together, with this truly special group of people and to experience the type of learning I feel drawn to create for others, and for myself.
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