As part of the Weave Learning Centerβs Story of Self module, we invite you to practice sharing your Story of Self in the discussion thread below. You can type it or upload a video attachment of yourself sharing your story. We invite you to engage with others who have shared their stories.
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As part of the Weave Learning Centerβs Relational 1:1 module, we invite you to practice your new skills with a member of the Weave community. Hereβs how to use this forum to get matched for a Relational 1:1 exchange:
Step 1: Look through the comments below and look for a reply that contains β[OPEN]β next to a memberβs name. This means an individual is looking for a conversation partner.
Step 2: Once you find an [OPEN] reply, private message the member to connect. Click their profile picture to get to their profile. Then send a private message with the subject βRelational 1:1 Requestβ. (Here are instructions for how to send a private message).
Step 3: Coordinate a time to meet for a 30 minute virtual Relational 1:1. Enjoy the conversation!
Step 4: After your exchange, come back to this post and edit the comment to say [CLOSED] so others donβt reach out. (But if you want to keep doing 1:1s, keep it [OPEN]! π)
If all people are listed as [CLOSED]: This means everyone has been matched so you should add yourself to the list. Reply to the discussion thread and use this template to indicate you are open to connect:
- Include: [OPEN], Your name and what excites you about practicing a Relational 1:1, and list your availability (days of the week/morning/afternoon/time zone/etc.)
If you donβt get a match within 1 month: Check back regularly to see if replies open up. You can also private message me and I can get you connected with someone.
As part of the Weave Learning Centerβs module on Asset-Based Community Development, we invite you to share what you learned about yourself (or others) about the gifts of the Head, Heart, Hands, and Human Connection.
As part of the Weave Learning Centerβs Atlas CareMap module, we invite you to work through the module with a buddy. A buddy could be a relative, a friend, a co-worker β¦ or a fellow weaver! As each of you goes through this module, regularly share your experiences, reflections, learnings and actions with each other.
If you are looking for a buddy from the Weave Community, use this discussion forum thread to find a partner:
- Private Message a member from the comment list below. Click their profile picture to get to their profile. Then send a private message (Here are instructions for how to send a private message).
OR - Post Your Interest so people can reach out to you if they need a buddy.
If you donβt get a match within 1 week: Check back regularly to see if replies open up. You can also private message me and I can get you connected with someone.
It's time to apply for Greater Sum's Aug/Sep session! Our free 6-week virtual incubator is designed for leaders of new 501(c)(3) organizations. We weave together financial strategy with storytelling, helping you connect with new supporters for your nonprofit.
Graduates of the incubator are eligible for Greater Sum's annual pitch competition.
Apply at thegreatersum.org or let me know if you have questions!
On March 5, 2024, Daniel "DJ" Joseph from Boston, MA shared his story at Weaving in 400 Seconds. DJ builds outdoor musical installations that serve as public spaces for pick-up music-making. He also started Coffee 'n Crossword, a daily digital cafΓ© for conversation and collaborative crosswording that's been running for more than 1,400 consecutive mornings.
As part of the Weave Learning Centerβs Facilitating Groups module, we invite you to share your reflections on the βWhat to do when things get hardβ activity.
We all have been through a conversation that became difficult. There is a lot we can learn from sharing our stories and hearing what others have done or wish they could have done. We invite you to use this space to share your reflections.
On March 5, 2024, Vanessa Elias from Wilton, CT shared her story at Weaving in 400 Seconds. Vanessa is helping neighbors learn how to start block parties in buildings, streets, sidewalks, and yards to help the nation connect, play, and heal.
At Weave: the Social Fabric Project, we call people who build social trust in their communities βweavers.β On June 17, 2024, Jason Sears, who splits his time between Boise, ID and Seattle, WA, shared his story at Weaving in 400 Seconds. Jason provides support for people to create a village feel inside their neighborhoods, workplaces, and families.
As Weave: The Social Fabric Project has highlighted, there is a crisis of community in this country. More than ever, Americans feel lonely, disconnected, and lack robust relationships with their neighbors and coworkers. As a result, we are more distrusting of each other, stressed, and less likely to have support systems for lifeβs ups and inevitable downs.
At first glance, a modern-day college campus is bursting with community: Thousands β if not tens of thousands β of young people are gathered together. Campus is filled with βthird placesβ like libraries and coffee shops. Studentsβ lives are woven together through overlapping classes, extracurricular clubs and activities, meals at communal dining halls, and (at large state universities like mine) a passion for collegiate sports teams.
Campus βthird placesβ are where conversation, community, and social integration should flourish. But take a slightly closer look and you will find that the outward appearance of community is not quite what it seems, with real impacts on studentsβ well-being and ultimately the ability for society to function at large.
I am a rising senior at the University of Michigan, and after three years of school, I am deeply concerned about a lack of community among my generation. 63% of students reported feeling very lonely and that was before COVID-19 moved classes and extracurriculars online.
Why, despite all of the seemingly built-in advantages of a college campus, are young people struggling to truly connect with each other? Three reasons stand out to me.
(I should take a quick moment to say that I, of course, do not speak for all 40,000 young people at the University of Michigan or on college campuses elsewhere. There are many students who, like the individuals Weave has highlighted, are fighting against the current and developing caring relationships and communities.)
- A hyperfocus on career success and material goods: A graduate from the University of Michigan with a degree in business will certainly be prepared to analyze market trends and evaluate the economic impacts of inflation. But that is because, from the moment students step foot on campus, they are surrounded by a highly pressurized, competitive environment that rewards transactional relationships and temporary commitments. Academics and extracurriculars quickly become insular. Freshman students, at the expense of joining community-oriented clubs (the Michigan Backpacking Club, intramural sports leagues, or the Michigan Cooking Club to name a few), hop from investing/consulting club to investing/consulting club in hopes of padding resumes. By the time graduation arrives, oneβs entire college career has been spent in competition with peers and in pursuit of a singular goal: analyst at fill-in-the-blank consulting firm.
- The omnipresent nature of smartphones and electronic device: Allow me to paint you a picture: a large college auditorium filled with 200 students in the few minutes before their class starts. Except, instead of the audible buzz of chatter as they talk about each other's lives or the course content, the auditorium is silent. Students sit alone as we βarmβ ourselves with electronics. Students open laptops, put headphones in, and take smartphones out of their pockets. The same phenomenon occurs in dining halls and residence halls. After being raised with electronics our entire lives, (devices that are optimized to take advantage of deep-seated human psychology to grab attention) even the shortest moment of inaction in the physical world triggers a knee-jerk reaction to grab the nearest screen. In the electronic world we are being raised in, as Anne Applebaum recently wrote in The Atlantic, βconversation is ruled by algorithms that are designed to capture attention, harvest data, and sell advertising. The voices of the angriest, most emotional, most divisiveβand often the most duplicitousβparticipants are amplified.β
- A lack of counterbalancing classes, speakers, and spaces: University of Michigan students are passionate. They routinely fill auditoriums or Zoom rooms to hear from invited speakers and guest lecturers. Yet the vast majority of those speakers and lecturers, while discussing different topics, are speaking the same language of career advancement. We regularly hear from consultants about how best to prepare for case interviews, but not from local nonprofits about ways to get involved in our community. We hear from partners at law firms about how best to get a head start on preparing for the LSAT (early and with private classes!), but not about mentoring programs with local elementary school students.
Of course, a central goal (maybe even the primary objective) of higher education is to graduate with the skills needed to be an employable adult. But, of equal importance, is learning to be a compassionate and engaged member of society. The balance is off.
What is to be done?
As the Weave project has sparked nationally, we need an ongoing and extensive conversation about the best ways colleges can equip students with the skills to build community and repair our social fabric. Ideas can be directed at any level, from individual students reaching out to each other, to a wholesale, university review of curriculum requirements. I certainly donβt have all the solutions, but here are a few ideas to get that conversation started:
- Display discussion prompts at the beginning of class: As mentioned above, the few minutes before a college lecture are often completely silent, without conversation between students. But what if professors were encouraged to display a βdiscussion promptβ on the whiteboard for students to engage with? These could be related to course content, or not at all. Are you at a life crossroads? What is it? What is a talent that you have that most people donβt know? What historical figure would you most like to have dinner with? Students can, of course, choose to ignore the prompt and have the few minutes to themselves. But the presence of the prompt (and the underlying endorsement and normalization of sparking up a conversation with your neighbor) might encourage many to turn and talk to the student sitting next to them, behind them, in front of them, or maybe even after class β it might change a studentβs habits and develop a skill for life.
- Foster common spaces at dining halls: Coming together for meals has long been a key way to build community. College dining halls could have designated βconversation tablesβ where another student β even a complete stranger β can sit down next to you and have a casual conversation. There might be discussion placards sitting on the table or themed tabletops (e.g., the outdoors, sports teams, book and movie covers) that encourage commonalities. Small changes to a studentβs everyday environment will incrementally build a new kind of campus community.
- Connect students with local organizations and nonprofits: College students are a transient group, jumping back and forth between their hometowns and school. One activity that has provided me with an unconditional sense of community is volunteering with an Ann Arbor nonprofit β my only regret is that I didnβt discover this wonderful organization and make that outreach until the end of my second year. Beginning with freshmen orientation, universities should promote off-campus volunteer opportunities for their students. Starting this practice early on will build upon or further strengthen the habit of volunteering and community service β a skill that will serve us and our communities for life.
- Bring in speakers and organizations that speak to rebuilding our social fabric: Michigan students do not hesitate to attend speaker series or Zoom events. The University should make a concerted effort to bring in speakers and organizations who speak to building worthwhile relationships and resilient communities. We will always have career fairs for financial services and computer science, but we should also have fairs for nonprofits and community service organizations. In addition to job opportunities, these fairs would speak to weaving as a way of life.
This is a unique time to have this conversation and act. As students return from over a year of online school, many will be yearning to reconnect with their peers and to rebuild and improve their communities. Now is the time to try some new ideas and strategies to encourage students to put their phones down and see their peers for who they are. Just as students have gotten used to β6 feet for social distancingβ signs around campus, they might be more open to βSit here to meet someone newβ signs. The ideas I have laid out might not be perfect or even the right answersβ¦ but letβs 'sit at one of those tables' and discuss.
We are honored to have Triston B. Black, a citizen of the Navajo Nation and community member of Tsaile, Arizona, share his thoughts in our newsletter and blog for National Mental Health Awareness Month.
Ashinééβ shiyΓ‘zhΓ, or βIβve missed you my grandchild,β are the first words you hear when your grandparents see you. The love and comfort of our elders give us strength, warmth, and a sense of belonging. Our elderly women hug us and talk about how much we have grown, and our elderly men are glad to catch up with us and see what we have been up to. The COVID-19 pandemic has had a devastating effect in our tribal communities.
It has taken parents, grandparents, and extended relatives. It was heart aching to hear of loved ones taken from us, but now is the time to take care of our mental health. Now is the time to reconnect with our family, friends, neighbors, and continue to be a good relative to all in our community.
In the Navajo language, our relatives tell us, βNitsΓkees baa Γ‘hΓ‘yΓ‘Μ¨β which means take care of your mental health. After a good conversation or a chance meeting at the store, we always hear βΓdΓ‘βahwoΕyΓ‘Μ¨β, or βTake care of yourself.β Self-care is very important to be a good relative and nurtures our mental well-being. There may be things we are going through or times we need to talk to someone, and itβs always good to hear our relatives out and take the time to listen to them.
Every time I leave home, my grandparents and mother remind me to keep in touch with them and always pray for a safe journey. As Indigenous people, we are always being watched over by the Diyin DineβΓ© or the Holy People. Everywhere we go, we are constantly protected and blessed with emotional, social, physical, and spiritual strength.
We breathe the sacred breath of life and acknowledge our surrounding environment. For instance, when we go for a walk, we may cross paths with birds, plants, trees, and the natural elements. All these essential beings greet us, sing to us, and weave throughout the landscape. They are happy to see us, just as our elders are happy to see us.
One of the first steps in improving our mental health is taking care of ourselves. I encourage you to take time and breathe. Call or video call an elder, parents, or an extended relative. Take time to remember that our community members are our relatives. You may not know them, but you may make someoneβs day by giving them a smile.
These past two years have been tough, but now is the time to heal and continue to be a good relative. Our Indigenous youth prioritize their mental health and build our communities up. What is your call to improve mental health for your community? I say to you, - ΓdΓ‘βahwoΕyΓ‘Μ¨ - take care of yourself.
Artwork by Joelle Joyner (Meherrin, Cherokee Nation, and Blackfeet) Creative Native Call for Art Category Winner.
Our culture seems to be caught up in an epidemic of rudeness: Fights on airplanes, belligerent diners raging at stressed-out servers, school-board meeting attendees outraged over mask mandates, bullying bosses, a quiet comment that escalates into a red-faced, clenched-fist exchange of insults. Iβve been lucky so far, just an observer to the incivility, but the questions keep nagging: What to do about this? How to respond?
Research shows that being on the receiving end of incivility, or even witnessing it, amps us up and makes us want to respond in kind. That might give us a momentary sense of satisfaction β repaying rudeness with harsher rudeness so that weβre not bested in this toxic contest β but thatβs like tossing a match in a gas can.
A friend here on the hub, Ashwin Budden, recently tipped me to Hidden Brain, a podcast that explores why we do what we do and probes the hard questions that ride the deeper rhythms of our lives. In a recent episode, How Rude!, behavioral scientist Christine Porath speaks about her research that offers an effective way to keep incivility from hijacking our minds and our behavior. Itβs not reactive, but rather preventive.
Instead of waiting to experience rude behavior and then figuring out what to do about it, she suggests that we focus on ourselves and engage in whatever activities help us develop a sense of thriving, of moving forward; activities that build hope, vitality, and resilience. The point is to strengthen in us a kind of immune system, she says, so that weβre far less likely to be triggered when others are uncivil and either respond in kind or simply leave the encounter feeling shaken.
So Iβm curious: Have you found effective ways to respond to public incivility and perhaps calm the other person? Do you confine your actions to yourself and employ self-calming techniques? Do you just walk away, or does that simply give license for more bad behavior? Whatβs our responsibility if our goal is weaving a more life-giving culture?
Thanks in advance for your responses.
Hi All. I am an American therapist, living in Sai Gon (Ho Chi Minh City) Vietnam on diplomatic mission with my partner. We have to move every few years for his job, so creating community is always a priority as soon as get to our new place. I see there are some consultants & other therapists who seem to be also using their skills and knowledge of humans to build community. I have a private practice and I just started dabbling in consulting, which focused on improving well-being overall (increasing community, inclusion, and conflict skills). I'm super excited that more people are recognizing the power of community and finding ways to create it. Community is a priority in my house and work. I do some structured events and some less structured ones. We host open hours every Tuesday where any of our friends are welcome to stop by.
I'll be going back to Washington DC in a year or so, for a year or two and then we'll head to a new country. I'd love to find ways to deepen my community building skills and to bring community everywhere I go. I've signed up for a circle, and I'm excited to get more involved with WEAVE as I move around. I've never lived in DC before, so I'm super excited to be able to connect with that chapter while I'm there.
Image description: Downtown Sai Gon at sunset. There is a river and some foliage in the foreground and skyscrapers with lights on in the background.
In this post I want to talk about how we can regain our national sanity. It starts by making a conscious choice to stop reacting in fear.
We know from studies in neuroscience that threats to our strongly held opinions and beliefs can trigger our fight/flight/freeze survival drive. The reason for this, says the late physicist David Bohm, in a mind-blowing little booklet called On Dialogue, is because we identify with our opinions and beliefs, and therefore defend them βas if we are defending ourselves.β He goes on:
βThe natural self-defense impulse, which we got in the jungle, has been transferred from the jungle animals to these opinions. In other words, we say that there are some dangerous opinions out there β just as there might be dangerous tigers. And there are some very precious animals inside us that have to be defended. So an impulse that made sense physically in the jungle has been transferred to our opinions in our modern life.β
Now, we can all agree that some opinions, beliefs, perspectives can, over time, become dangerous to us physically. The mistake we make is assuming that the self-defense impulse we learned βin the jungleβ to avoid physical harm from an attacking tiger, can also help us avoid physical harm from an attacking ideology. An abundance of evidence suggests this is not so. Dangerous ideas, unlike dangerous tigers, cannot be trapped, caged or killed. Trying to do so seems only to make them stronger.
Letβs take the anti-vacine movement as a case in point.
According to a recent article, the anti-vax movement really got going in 2014-2015, following the swift and rather vicious public reaction to a small outbreak of the measles (125 people). The outbreak was traced back to βmostly unvaccinated visitors at Disneyland in California.β (Note the use of the word βmostly.β) Of those unvaccinated visitors, 28 of them β 18 children and 10 adults β were intentionally unvaccinated.
28 people. That was enough, apparently, to β[wake] up the nation to the threatβ of those who questioned or were resistant to getting vaccines. Fearful of what might happen should this anti-vaccine mentality spread, a campaign of public humiliation soon followed, βwith everyone from soccer moms to late-night television hosts lambasting parents who refused to vaccinate their kids.β And in California, nonprofits and state legislators worked together βto push for a bill that would remove all non-medical exemptions for school vaccine requirements, which had grown in recent years to allow pockets of low vaccination coverage to spring up.β
In other words, an aggressive, all-out attack on those who questioned vaccines had begun.
So what happened next? Now under threat themselves, those βpockets of low vaccination coverageβ transformed into a mobilized national movement. They organized, fundraised, grew, developed sophisticated and targeted messaging, and formed alliances and political action committees to help elect politicians sympathetic to their cause. Everything the pro-vaccine folks most feared.
Did it have to be this way? Might there have been a different reaction back in 2014-15 other than drafting laws and engaging in public humiliation β which Amanda Ripley in her book, High Conflict, calls the βnuclear bomb of emotionsβ and the driver of βall manner of conflictβ?
What if in 2014, instead of βwaking up to the threatβ of those resistant to getting vaccines, we simply βwoke upβ to the existence and consequences of people who had chosen not to get vaccinated, and then, without fear, got curious and made an effort β before everyoneβs defenses were raised β to understand their mindset so that we could come up with creative, respectful and effective responses?
Would that have made a difference? Well, I donβt know about you, but personal experience tells me the answer is yes. Itβs just common sense that people are more receptive to talking and listening when humiliation bombs are not being dropped on their head.
So what can we do now? For starters, we can refuse to act out of fear, refuse to take part in the vilification of the other. None of that helps. It just feeds the conflict. Another thing you could do is help spread this meme:
βFear ends where conversation begins.β
In a few months, I get to marry my best friend, Johnny. To prepare for our marriage, weβre going through pre-marital counseling, and so far it has been fantastic. But along with the excitement, I have also had to confront a monster that is always on the hunt to taint the relationships in my life: my own self-centeredness.
One part of our counseling experience includes reading βThe Meaning of Marriageβ by Tim Keller, which looks at marriage from a Christian perspective. Keller writes that what once was a public institution for the common good to create character and community, marriage is now seen as a way to reach personal life goals and to fulfill oneβs own emotional, sexual and spiritual desires. In essence, βMarriage used to be about us, but now it is about me.β
Keller argues that the real purpose of marriage is to express and live Godβs love for us through a relationship. It is about giving, not receiving β an idea that our culture-of-self would instinctively find oppressive and limiting. Keller argues and Weaveβs Relationalist Manifesto echoes: βJoy is found on the far side of sacrificial service. It is found in giving yourself away.β
βSome will ask, βIf I put the happiness of my spouse ahead of my own needs β then what do I get out of it?β The answer is β happiness,β Keller writes. βToday we stay connected to people only as long as they are meeting our particular needs at an acceptable cost to us. When we cease to make a profit β that is, when the relationships appear to require more love and affirmation from us than we are getting back β then we βcut our lossesβ and drop the relationshipβ¦ and so the very idea of a βcovenantβ is disappearing in our culture.β
As I ask myself, βAm I really selfish in my relationship with Johnny?β my instinct shouts, βNo, Iβm a great partner and I love to serve him above myself.β But I realize both my question and answer are ironic, as they truly put me into the spotlight instead of Johnny. Deep down, I have had to confront the uncomfortable truth that unfortunately, Iβm not always the best partner and the ugliness of self-centeredness is in me, too. From getting snappy when things donβt go my way or not being considerate of his needs, Iβm growing more aware of patterns in my attitudes and actions that I would justify as βwhat I deserve,β but which are, honestly, just a facade masking my ego.
As I wrestle with the thoughts of βWell, what about my needs?β versus letting go of my preferences for the sake of another, Iβm reminded of a quote by Rick Warren. It captures the kind of humility I admire in Weavers who live lives of self-sacrificial service: βHumility is not thinking less of yourself or more of yourself β but thinking of yourself less.β
I suspect humility is the secret sauce required for a successful marriage, and all other relationships. A humility to recognize my shortcomings and share them with Johnny. A humility to acknowledge how often my ego gets in the way of seeing him and others fully. And a humility to accept that true joy isnβt found in what I do or what I want β but itβs in giving myself away.
Iβd love to hear your stories or advice of what youβve learned about yourself and life through your own journeys of self-examination and humility. I value the wisdom and hard-won lessons of this community. Iβm glad to have companions on the path of weaving.
As a child I was teased for being serious. I still get teased for being so serious. There are many negative connotations that come with being serious, and it still pains me, a lot, to think about them.
First, let me just say, that anyone who knows me well knows that I can be a lot of fun, and some even think that I have a great sense of humor. (I can hear my sisterβs voice now: βIf you were really fun, you wouldnβt have to say it.β And my rebuttal: "Well, if I donβt, who will?") In any case, I love to sing and dance and joke. I love when people come together to celebrate life. I am not a hermit though periodically that seems like the most sensical way to be. I am often the last one to leave a party, too.
But other times, I am quite serious. Iβve always felt that there are a lot of things to be serious about. As humans, we are more than capable of creating a just and loving society, yet we miss the mark at almost every turn. We may be an βintelligentβ species but not quite intelligent enough. Though we border that line of higher consciousness, collectively we are still in the muck of superficiality and absurdity most of the time.
By no means do I believe that it is good to be serious all the time. Just like I donβt think we are meant to be silly all the time. We all have multiple dimensions to our personalities, and some of us need to express our profundity more than others to discover our sense of purpose and meaning. To us, being serious is just as critical to our survival as the air we breathe.
By denying our seriousness, we can be guilty of denying our inherent gifts and talents. And our reasons for being here.
The more that current social media platforms promote silliness, the more I believe we need complementary weights to balance us out.
The Serious Type is a fulcrum for just that.
Work hard, play hard. Add to the conversation. Interview, investigate. Create something new. Tell your story. Tell someone else's. Help, Heal, Honor. Daydream. Learn. Explore. Record. Reflect. Redirect.
But donβt disconnect. Please donβt disconnect.
Being serious is important. Being serious is what makes anything of importance happen. Being serious is what ultimately allows us to have fun, enjoy life and take risks; to stay connected to the greater society.
Being serious is cool. Super cool. At any age.
And if we donβt say it, who will?
--
The Serious Type is a curated online platform for youth (ages 13 to 23) who are serious about their lives and future. Our mission is to empower and equip youth to create a happier and healthier world. The website is a place for them to share and discuss their ideas, stories, experiences, all forms of art and academic musings with the purpose of turning expression and information into action. It is also a space for educators to share their work in order to provide writing prompts, experiments and ongoing studies for self-motivated and curious students.
I have recently interviewed Stephan Helary, founder of Terres D'Afrique, a cosmetic brand based on rare African botanicals and care for these indigenous plants and the communities that live among them.
Stephan tells us how the Himba tribe in Namibia behaves, how they are connected with nature, and how they "think together" when answering questions or proposals.
You can find the podcast interview with Stephan here.
It's worth listening, since Stephan has direct experience with the tribes, and share some of their wisdom and culture.
On January 9, 2024, Nikki Stokes from Baltimore, MD shared her story at Weaving in 400 Seconds. Nikki is an artist turned advocate. As the mother of an autistic son and community advocate, she takes pride in disrupting systems and reinventing new social norms to create inclusive spaces.
As a newly minted, fifth grade social studies teacher, I was determined to use project-based learning, where students work together on a challenge. I gave each team a few βresourcesβ β sticks, straw and twine β and asked them to invent something to carry three rocks from one side of the room to the other without the rocks touching the ground.
Children leapt from their desks to get to work building and testing. They cheered each small success and groaned with each failure. But in one group, students were arguing and getting impatient as the deadline neared.
Jamie, a student who struggled academically and rarely spoke in class, was quietly explaining his idea, but his teammates brushed him off and told him it wouldnβt work. He kept at it, tying three pieces of twine to a stick and then tying a rock to each dangling end. As I walked over, he held it up slowly, anticipating the pushback, which followed. The others all looked at me. βIt doesnβt work,β one student said. βRight, Ms. Kraft?β
βDoes it use only the materials you were given? Does it transport three rocks across the room without touching the floor?β
βYes!β they shouted in unison.
βJamie,β I responded. βItβs brilliant. Itβs a solution I hadnβt even dreamed of when I created the challenge.β
The group cheered their hero and followed him back and forth across the room several times as he proudly walked with his creation in hand and then passed it to others to share the success. His group members bragged about him to the rest of the class and then to the rest of the grade at the bustling lunch tables. This student who didnβt see himself as smart and whom others discounted, was seen in a new light by others and even himself.
Unfortunately, humans, even teachers, can tend to see people in terms of their deficits and define them in terms of their needs. Once the sorting happens, we may lose sight of each childβs unique gifts and fail to see strengths and successes.
Tech and social entrepreneur Trabian Shorters points out that we do this with whole groups of people and entire communities. We label them by their problems, using terms like at risk, impoverished, homeless, or a school-to-prison pipeline. We think we are serving people by seeing their needs. But doing that, says Shorters, makes us, and them, blind to their own power and aspirations.
He suggests an alternative way of seeing, a framework he calls Asset Framing, and explains in a recent On Being with Krista Tippett interview. You look for the assets and aspirations of a community, its value, instead of the places where it may be broken. Then, you can work to unlock, or unblock, the aspiration. The approach, says Tippett, βis in and of itself dignifying and renewing.β Aspiring communities are made up of aspiring people. So if we learn to see the spirit in a community, we see the spirit in its people, too.
Shorters says when people learn to asset-frame, they engage more people, have higher impact, make people more willing to work on systems change, and raise more money. Since 2013, communities trained by Shortersβs BMe Community have raised about $300 million.
Jamieβs aspiration was to be an engineer. I donβt know if that early dream became a reality, but I expect his moment of being seen as an inventor that day in our classroom, and not as a struggling learner, was the start of writing a new story based on his strengths. Who wouldnβt want that for ourselves and our communities?
Twenty-two years ago, I became a foster parent. The experience changed my life. It all started one night when my husband handed me a newspaper article about a five month old baby who had been kidnapped from his crib in a foster home. β¨ Our family discussed how we could help children living in foster care. We decided to become a foster family and called the Department of Children & Families. Two little sisters were placed in our home. That experience was a catalyst.
After reading everything I could get my hands on about our child welfare system, speaking with foster parents, birth parents, kids living in foster care, foster care alumni and an array of professionals who serve them, I decided to sell my business and become a full time advocate for the nearly half million young people in foster care.
l met many people already working to change the child welfare system from the inside: legislators and non-profit leaders who were interested in enhancing the lives of kids in foster care, researchers who were documenting the effects of foster care and folks who wanted to change the foster care narrative.
There were only a few philanthropists and foundations funding foster care innovation ("foster care isnβt sexy" is a phrase I heard often.) One reason is that, in 1999, our nationβs children and youth living in foster care were highly stigmatized. The media only paid attention to them when something went wrong.
In addition, it was challenging for concerned people to become involved. It felt as if the children, social workers and families were on the inside of a fortified castle and the drawbridge was locked tight. The only way inside was to become a foster parent or a foster/adoptive parent, which was a lot to ask of most people. That meant millions of caring Americans turned and walked away from kids in their communities who needed them.
In 2002, I established the Treehouse Foundation to re-envision foster care and open the locked drawbridge so Americans of all ages and backgrounds could easily support kids. In 2006, we opened our first Treehouse Community in Massachusetts - an intergenerational neighborhood designed to bring together and provide support to families adopting children from foster care and older Americans who act as βhonorary grandparentsβ.
In 2010, we launched the Re-Envisioning Foster Care in America Movement to inspire many more people to take part in foster care innovation. We are making it easier for people to get involved through our national conferences and soon-to-be-launched podcast called INNOVATE!
Join us! Be the change we so desperately need. Show our nationβs kids experiencing foster care that they matter to our communities. No one should grow up away from love.
You can learn more at https://www.treehousefoundation.net/
I walked into the world of child welfare as a foster parent with a 5 month old on one hip and a 17 month old on the other.
As we made our way through the doors of our local DCF office for the girls' weekly visit, I was struck by the absence of people from the surrounding community; folks who could be actively engaged in supporting kids experiencing foster care in the region. I saw plenty of hard working social workers and foster, adoptive and birth parents in the office but no one else.
Meanwhile, I was looking for a bright and colorful family space where the kids and their parents could spend time together during their visit. As a teacher, I was used to bright colors, photos of kids and families, child sized tables and chairs and educational materials for each family to use during their time together. Instead, we were ushered into a dismal looking room without toys. I understood the value of designing family gathering spaces that promote interaction. The kind that families have access to at Childrenβs Museums, Science Museums and Aquariums.
As I stood in the doorway to the Family Visitation Room I wondered, βDoes anyone else notice the lack of resources here?" Thatβs when I began Re-Envisioning Foster Care in America. I was an educator, a business woman and a seasoned mom. I wanted to understand everything about our public foster care system so that I could become an outstanding Everyday Mom (aka Foster Parent) and knowledgeable advocate for the kids placed in our home.
I began reading everything I could get my hands on about our child welfare system. Then I reached out to social workers, teachers, parents, foster care alumni, lawyers, researchers and others who had frontline experience with the kids, youth and families the system was designed to serve.
What I learned first is that we have set our child welfare system up to fail. We have given it a mandate to keep all children safe saying, βHere are some of the most vulnerable children and families in America. Watch over them. Weβll pay attention when something goes wrong.β Then, we consistently underfund the work, turn our backs and walk away
When thereβs a crisis, newspaper headlines slam the adults in charge. When outcomes are positive they rarely make the news. I also learned that most Americans think there are only two ways to support a child experiencing foster care: become a foster parent or adopt a child. This is too much to ask of most people.
The result: millions of Americans are not connected to the kids in their communities who need them the most. We all pay the price for this disconnection. Every year in this country nearly 25,000 youth βage outβ of foster care without a family and/or community resources. They are at risk of becoming homeless, unemployed and incarcerated - our next generation of poor and homeless Americans.
There are three things that we can do to change this foster care narrative: 1. Consider the nearly half million children & youth living in foster care worthy. 2. Ensure they are rooted in permanent, loving families and communities. 3. Invest in their hopes and dreams, their lives and futures.
These three actions require us to change the national conversation about our kids placed in foster care. Language is important. Let's begin by erasing the stigma that families needing help from child welfare face.
Instead of calling their kids "foster kids", let's refer to our nation's youngsters in foster care as kids, children, young people and youth: Kids living in foster care. Children placed in foster care. Young people experiencing foster care. Youth who have spent time in foster care. Let's honor their lives. Lift them up. Give them the dignity they deserve.
Next, we must invest in the success of our child welfare system. Our child welfare system belongs to us. Our tax dollars fund it. We know that it can only be successful when it is engaged in a variety of vibrant public/private partnerships. The kind that invest in foster care innovation and help us better serve kids in communities from coast to coast.
This requires an engaged citizenry: Americans standing together under the Banner of Social Responsibility alongside social workers, mental health professionals, educators, pediatricians and child welfare leaders. In addition to foster and adoptive parents, we need non-profits, state legislators, colleges, universities, civic groups, business leaders, philanthropists, educators, mental health professionals, faith based organizations and the federal government to step up to the plate to help create a compelling new menu of engagement options so that itβs easy for Americans of all ages and backgrounds to support kids in their backyards until being a resource to kids experiencing foster care becomes a new national norm.
Once we have an array of options for becoming connected to kids, we will get to know them and care about them. Then it will be much easier to invest in their hopes and dreams for their lives and futures. Iβve seen this over and over again over the past 20 years. People want to help. They want to be of service. They just donβt know how.
Giving them something concrete to do makes all the difference in the world. Over the past two decades, the Treehouse Foundation and our partners have created opportunities for people of all ages to become resources to kids, youth and young adults. Some examples are:
- Become an honorary grandparent in an intergenerational Treehouse Community.
- Spend time in our intergenerational community garden.
- Volunteer in our summer enrichment programs.
- Be a Homework Help tutor.
- Host a holiday gathering. Improve Family Visitation spaces.
- Teach photography, cooking, piano, dance, art, baking, knitting, financial literacy, etc.
- Celebrate life: birthdays, graduations, adoptions, dance recitals, sports events, new jobs.
- Volunteer to be a camp counselor.
- Collect brand new suitcases and duffle bags for The Suitcase Project.
- Host an Infant Clothing/Diaper Drive.
- Be a Gift Card Donor.
- Lead a Winter Coat Drive.
- Become a Visiting Resource.
- Be a Birthday Party Host.
- Send a Kid to Camp (summer, horseback riding, school vacation week, computer, drama.)
- Make Comfort Quilts for kids of all ages.
- Help furnish a young person's first apartment.
- Host a Back To School Backpack Drive.
- Be a Computer Angel.
- Provide iPhones and data plans.
- Donate a first car.
- Offer a job internship/training.
- Create a college scholarship fund
There are many ways to become a resource to our nationβs kids and help ensure that they are rooted in family and community so they can thrive. Making sure there are small, medium and larger size options is key to engagement.
Reach out to a local non-profit organization that serves children and youth living in foster care in your region. If you donβt have time to spend with a young person, you can always make a meaningful donation to support their ongoing programs.
Join Us! The Treehouse Foundation is inspiring a Re-Envisioning of Foster Care in America. Sign up to make a difference in the life of a child who needs an Everyday Hero. Thank you for your time and consideration.
Dear Weave Community,
In our Community Hour dialogue this week, we were talking about how our political divisions play out in our small towns and rural communities. Another weaver was interested that my step-father is reluctant to share his political affiliation, because he values his relationships with other farmers who vote differently. I mentioned how in my parents' town, the one thing that opened dialogue was when I shared my novel, Sweet Burden of Crossing, at the library to spark conversation about interracial friendship. Mary Ellen, an 89-year-old woman, talked about working at the Woolworth's counter as a young woman and learning from her Black customer about enforced segregation. The customer has asked for coke in a to-go cup, but Mary Ellen served it to her in a glass. "I can't have that," the customer said. "I'm not allowed to sit here with you." Mary Ellen responded, "Of course, you can sit here with me."
It's heart-warming when these stories surface from talks and readings with book clubs. In his book, Stolen Focus: Why You Can't Pay Attention--and How to Think Deeply Again, author Johann Hari tells about a professor of psychology at the University of Toronto, Raymond Mar, who studies the impact reading has on our consciousness. With his mentor, he did a three-state process to measure how good readers were at capturing the subtle signals that reveal another person's emotional state and the ability to read social cues. When they got their results, it was clear: the more novels you read, the better you are at reading other people's emotions. Reading non-fiction books, by contrast, had no effect on your empathy.
Now consider this: between 2008 and 2016, the market for novels fell by 40 percent. In one year, 2011 paperback fiction sales collapsed by 26 percent.
There are very few books on interracial friendship, but all kinds of non-fiction books about anti-racism to engage our intellect. What then happens to our hearts?
As a fellow weaver, I humbly invite you to read my work. Perhaps it might spark some interesting dialogue in your own community. In this era of Zoom, I can easily join you anywhere around the country/world to talk about its themes which include:
- What it means to honorβand find reciprocityβin a relationship with someone whose ancestors and family live with historical trauma and marginalization.
- The day-to-day things that allow women to deepen their friendship, born on a Twin Cities college campus.
- How our historical blindness to suffering still impacts and hurts both descendants of people who were enslaved and whites today.
- The challenges current teachers-in-training face as they piece together our authentic cultural history.
- How this blindness leads to the sanctioned incarceration of innocent and caring people.
- What it means to have a friendship before cell phones and racial justice terminology such as white privilege.
It would bring me joy to help surface these dialogues in your own community.
Yours in weaving solidarity,
Kate Towle
As a kid in the β60s, I learned to duck under my desk in the event of a nuclear attack. As a young man in the β80s I got my first taste of social action, working to help educate the public on the folly of nuclear war and the imperative to end the Cold War conflict. When the Berlin Wall fell in 1989, I remember the intense sense of relief, and the joy of anticipating a brighter future. I also became a believer in miracles, of sorts β the kind that come after a lot of hard work.
Now in a different 60s β my own β Iβm helping to tear down another wall, this one entirely of Americaβs own making and on Americaβs own soil: the wall between liberal and conservative. Like the Berlin Wall, this wall too serves as a symbolic dividing line between two seemingly incompatible worldviews. It too is buttressed by a growing mutual certainty that the other side wants nothing less than the total defeat of its adversary. And it too obstructs and distorts our perceptions, provoking serious miscalculations that could end our democracy as we know it.
But perhaps the most important parallel between our wall and the Berlin Wall is the dynamic that built it: A psychological construct called the Image of the Enemy.
The image of the enemy
The Image of the Enemy is a phenomenon where each side in a conflict sees in themselves the exact same virtues, and in their enemy the exact same vices. Once created, this mirror image becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy: Convinced that survival requires responding in-kind to the otherβs hostile actions, each side manifests behaviors that fulfill the otherβs worst expectations. This explains why, in our conflict, both sides claim the mantle of patriotism while labeling their adversary seditionists, and why each can point to credible evidence of the other sideβs anti-democratic activities.
Eventually the psychology of the Image of the Enemy undermines trust, corrupts channels of communication, exacerbates tribalism, distorts truth, justifies dehumanization, and finally leads to violence. Clearly, weβve reached this point. And while itβs legitimate to claim that the violence so far has been mostly one-sided, that obscures a more salient fact: The dynamics of the Image of the Enemy require the participation of both sides, and any outcomes, negative or positive, are owned by all.
So what can we do? Now that weβve built the wall, how do we tear it down? Hereβs one critical lesson from the Cold War that can help.
Humanize the enemy
At the height of the Cold War, citizen diplomacy β efforts outside US government channels to build relationships between the peoples of the US and USSR β helped each side deconstruct their Image of the Enemy by creating opportunities to humanize the βother.β Well-documented though rarely acknowledged, the impact of these efforts changed each sideβs perceptions of their adversary and built critical public support for ending the Cold War.
Thankfully, the humanizing spirit of citizen diplomacy is alive and well today, evident in numerous organizations like Braver Angels, Living Room Conversations, and my own Difficult Conversations Project, which takes a deep dive into the art and science of difficult conversations, and how the tools of self-awareness can help us stay present and creative in any interaction.
Having the tools to engage the βotherβ in a spirit of respect and openness is, in my view, the greatest need of our time. Before I started the Difficult Conversations Project, I set out on a road trip across the country to talk to those who held views different from my own. I discovered the power of listening and genuine curiosity. These simple conversational strategies opened minds. They led to insights on both sides. Most importantly, they created an opening for more conversations in the future.
One obstacle facing many organizations working to bring liberals and conservatives together is the relatively low engagement of conservatives. And no, this is not evidence that liberals are more open-minded. Both groups show equal intolerance of opposing views. The hesitancy of many conservatives to engage, it turns out, may have more to do with perceiving dialogue as a liberal activity β indicating that the very idea of coming together to βtalk things outβ is itself part of the cultural divide.
While this obstacle can be overcome, it's also an important reminder that most opportunities to connect with the βotherβ donβt require structured settings or liberal-friendly formats. Unlike citizen diplomacy during the Cold War, where relationship-building required visas, travel, translators, and other complex logistics, our βideological otherβ is often a relative, friend, neighbor, or co-worker β people we see frequently, if not every day. And that means the opportunity to connect and humanize the βotherβ comes to us regularly and in the most neutral and mundane settings. To increase participation of everyone, itβs important to be ready, willing and able to take advantage of these opportunities when they arise.
Then what?
At this point you might be thinking, βSo weβre successful at humanizing the enemy. Then what? Our differences and divisions will remain.β In many cases thatβs no doubt true. But energy no longer invested in sustaining our Image of the Enemy will become available for more creative and collaborative purposes. Fear and antagonism, like other negative emotions, narrow our perspective, force us to miss critical information, and limit our range of responses to not much more than fight, flee or freeze. In contrast, empathy, compassion and other positive emotions broaden our perspective, open us up to new ideas, and encourage novel thinking β potentially leading to new, breakthrough solutions. Solutions that might just seem like a miracle.
Photo by Donnie Rosie on Unsplash
What can we learn from storytelling?
I told the story behind this fragment of a guitar at a βshow and tellβ hosted by WEAVE. In a Zoom room of strangers, I recounted how Iβd smashed a pink guitar on stage in front of over a thousand people at Cherry Blast, a massive event I produced several years ago with aerial dancers, music, site specific art installations, video projections, and interactive art jammed into a warehouse that eventually turned into a co-working space. Cherry Blast was an annual art party in its fifth year at that point and one of hundreds of art events of all sizes and shapes Iβd been organizing for several years in every part of DC to showcase the arts and culture of our city. I was pretty burnt out at that point.
Smashing the guitar was my friend Budβs idea. He liked destroying guitars in public ways for significant occasions, like a big birthday or maybe a divorce. He assured me this kind of destruction was highly cathartic and he wanted to share that experience with me. I hadnβt told him how overwhelmed Iβd been feeling around that time. Maybe he sensed I needed to break something or that I was on the verge of breaking.
The guitar smash was exhilarating. The night before the event, Bud taught me how to strum a couple simple chords and we rehearsed rock star gestures, like playing the guitar placed behind my head, windmilling my arm, and taking a swig of bourbon from a flask. I felt comfortable in front of an audience but I wasn't comfortable performing. That is, until I walked on stage wearing sunglasses, a bright pink mini dress, and very tall shoes as people hooted and hollered. I felt powerful and transformed. After a few minutes of creating a cacophony of electric sound that reverberated through the rafters, with adrenaline coursing through my veins, I lifted the guitar high over my head and wallopped the stage over and over with all the force in my body. The instrument had a solid body, not hollow like an acoustic guitar, and didnβt obliterate easily in the way Iβd seen rockers smash their guitars in videos Iβd watched to prepare for the moment. The metal strings sliced my skin and by the time I was finally able to break it apart, my palms were a bloody mess and sweat trickled down my back. I exited stage left emotionally exhausted.
Bud filmed the smashing and I turned the video into an April Foolβs Day joke about how my years long foray into the DC art scene had actually been a performance art piece and that Iβd be returning to law practice shortly after. Going back to lawyering was never an option, but I knew I needed to make a change, to evolve. A few months later, helped along by a catalytic cancer diagnosis later that year, my life took a new direction. I let go of the thing I had become known for, the thing that had become my identity, an arch organizer of all things arty in DC. Cancer had given me cover, but I floundered for a while, lost without an identity.
I had picked this object to show and tell because I thought it was a fun visual that screamed, βThereβs gotta be a story behind that!β The guitar remnant was so much more than just a party souvenir, though. I keep it as a reminder to be unafraid of the discomfort that comes with shedding the familiar, to always challenge myself.
While I was telling that story to my new WEAVE friends, I started to realize I was at another inflection point in my life. My guitar smashing story ended somewhere I hadnβt expected -- with me pondering whether another major shift was about to take place in my life, once again in the midst of another health crisis.
Objects can help us formulate stories about ourselves, which forces introspection and highlights the things we value. Storytelling can open the door to deeper conversations, too. My fellow Weavers asked really meaningful followup questions, which helped me think more deeply about what this object had meant to me.
Whatβs an object you could show and tell a story about?
Here are some of the ways my mother taught me to live, love and lead during a crisis.
The other day I was on a daily check-in call with my mother, reminding her to stay in as much as possible and a little parenting my parent. The conversation shifted and I began to complain about being locked in my condo in DC alone, how I had gone through everything in my Netflix queue and how I was in desperate need of a visit to a barber.
My mom, who often reminds me that our roles have not shifted, she is indeed my parent, and that Iβve not always had a privileged life, then went on to say, βWell, son, Iβll tell you, life for me ainβt been no crystal stairβ β which is a line from the Langston Hughes poem βMother to Son.β She went on to remind me of my childhood and some stories of hers and how life for some has and will always be a crisis and how you learn to manage.
Here are some of the ways she taught me to live, love and lead during a crisis.
1. Sharing & Caring: We hear stories of people stockpiling tissue and paper towels. My mother reminded me that she and her sisters would often share food stamps and food from already near bare freezers and pantries. She reminded me that she often worried how she and my siblings would eat, but those acts of kindness and solidarity made her feel as if sheβd accomplished something and it gave her value in very trying times.
2. Perspective: As a kid my mother would remind us that, even though we had some hardships, it was indeed worse for other people. I grew up in Saginaw, MI and experienced food insecurities, evictions and much more, but there were still those amongst us with bigger problems. She reminded me that others are experiencing COVID-19 different from me and I should be thankful for the luxuries that I have, instead of worrying about those I donβt have.
3. Find the Lesson: I was reminded that for every great finish line crossed, there was a race that had to be run. There are societal, individual and personal lessons that we must all grapple with during this time. Spend some time going inward, finding opportunity to grow and come out better because of this time. Rainbows only come after rainfall.
4. Faith: As a kid growing up you could often find me in church throughout the week. It was a way of life and a sense of security in a life that often felt insecure. Although I rarely participate in organized religion as an adult, I firmly believe in a higher power as the guiding force in my life and the lives of others. Whatever your faith or non-faith, spending time quietly connecting with god or the universe can ground you at a time when lifeβs foundation feels rocked by the force of an earthquake.
5. Family: My childhood, although marred with crisis, was filled with much love and family. I donβt remember a time during my childhood that wasnβt filled with Sunday dinners spent with aunts, uncles, cousins and friends who became family. Family was how we made it through. We pooled resources, shared emotional strength and showered love abundantly. Although physical distance is the best way to stop the spread of COVID-19, phones and videocalls allow us to strengthen the relationships that our busy and selfish lives allowed to wane.
Crisis affects each of us differently. There are tons of stories of human kindness and selflessness, but also those of selfishness. We need to decide how we want to come out on the other side of COVID-19. Over the next few weeks, I will find ways to share and care, think about the perspectives and plights of others, search for lessons of growth, strengthen relationships with family and friends, and dig deeper into my faith.
We will all come out of this differently and changed. Letβs figure out how we can come out on the other side of COVID-19 better because of it.
Main Street America and T-Mobile are providing 100 small towns of under 50,000 inhabitants with $50,000 each for projects that are focused on revitalizing community spaces. Among the winning proposals have been fixing up community centers, refreshing local parks, or breaking ground on new places where neighbors can connect.
This is an article I wrote for Spiked online, a British publication I contribute to sometimes. I have been grappling with origins of our hyper individualist culture and how we might rebuild a sense of common purpose for a while now. My book about parenting culture turned out, quite unexpectedly, to be a book about how we lost the ability to raise children with a sense of being part of to something greater than themselves. As I was thinking it all this though, and trying to imagine what a connected society would look like, I kept casting my mind back to the Frank Capra film, Itβs a Wonderful Life. It wasnβt history by any stretch, but there was something about it that rang true. With the book finally out of the way, I decided to spend more time looking at the film and trying to figure out what it is about it that seems to resonate so strongly.
The responses to the article on social media were predictable. There were people who didnβt read it but wanted to express their belief that Die Hard is not a Christmas movie, and there were those who see the small town America of the past as entirely beyond redemption or even consideration. But there were also people who sent me little notes though the magazine because it struck a chord with them. They were the people I wrote it for.
Itβs so easy, with the pandemic and our extremes of polarization to lose hope of every being able to do anything. When Iβm feeling that way, I watch Itβs a Wonderful Life and feel gratitude and hope again. I know itβs not Christmas but if you know the film, maybe this will add another dimension to it.
Nancy
Itβs Still a Wonderful Life
It is a strange Christmas, a corona Christmas without guests or parties or carols. And yet there are some things that will remain the same. Thereβs a Christmas tree decorated with several generations of handmade ornaments. Thereβs the music: Etta James singing βMerry Christmas Babyβ, and βWinter Wonderlandβ. And, in the run-up to the big day, we as a family always make a point of sitting down together to watch our favourite Christmas movies: Home Alone, Elf, Die Hard. But of all the films we watch there is one favourite we reserve especially for Christmas Eve: Frank Capraβs 1946 classic, Itβs a Wonderful Life.
Each year, we watch George Baileyβs rise, fall and redemption. We scowl at Mr Potter, feel a lump rise in our throats when George finds Zuzuβs petals restored to his pocket. We laugh and cry with relief as the well-wishers crowding Georgeβs living room break into song and a jingling bell confirms that Clarence the angel has finally earned his wings. Truly, it should be the most schmaltzy movie ever made, but somehow it manages to deftly skirt the edges of light and dark, veering from the hokey slapstick of Uncle Billy to the utter despair of wishing β not for death β but to have never been born in the first place. It is unlike anything in contemporary culture. George Bailey is definitely not living his Best Life. He is at the mercy of fate: his fatherβs death, the run on the bank, and Mr Potter β who never gets his comeuppance. In the end, there are no promises of easy solutions. The building and loan will squeak by, the finial on the bannister will remain broken. George will never build skyscrapers. But it is still a wonderful life because he has friends.
No matter how many times we see it, or how many years have passed since we watched it with our own parents, it never grows stale. If anything, it seems to resonate more deeply as we grow older β especially now when we cannot be close to our friends and families. It is as American as can be, and yet people the world over watch it and understand. Perhaps this is why it is regularly listed as one of the best films ever made. But Itβs a Wonderful Life is special to our family for another reason: we live in Bedford Falls.
I donβt mean this in the sense that all Americans live in Bedford Falls. I mean we literally live 15 minutes down the road from Seneca Falls, New York, the most likely model for the Bedford Falls of the movie. We know the bridge over the canal where George contemplates suicide and the lock keeperβs house where he and Clarence dry off under blankets. We know the glass factory referred to in the movie, and we know how long it takes to drive to Elmira where the bank official is eager to return for Christmas. The divided Main Street with its trees and shaded benches looks just as our own did before it was widened to make room for more cars. The Brignalls, Wileys and Pietrocarlos who people our town are the close cousins of the Gowers, Wainwrights and Martinis of Bedford Falls. There are even still a few Mr Potters β everyone knows who they are β pushing their weight around, just as there are still Baileys defying them.
The story the film is based on is somewhat different. In The Greatest Gift, by Philip Van Doren Stern, the protagonist George Pratt stands on a bridge wishing he had never been born. A mysterious stranger grants his wish and allows him to see what the world would be like without him. Though the story is set in Bedford Falls, there is no building and loan, no Mr Potter, no Italian immigrants and no angel. Mary does not remain a spinster, but marries a different man who treats her badly and chases George (who is pretending to be a brush salesman) from the house. In the end he runs back to the bridge and begs the stranger to give him back his life.
As compelling as the story was, Capra, who bought the rights to it in 1945, understood that it would need work to become a film. In order for Bedford Falls to be everyplace, it first needed to be a real place with real people. Seneca Falls in the Finger Lakes region of New York seemed to fit the bill. Perhaps the name reminded Capra of the story, or maybe he felt an affinity for an area where thousands of Italian immigrants like himself chose to settle (Capraβs aunt lived in a neighbouring town). Whatever the reason, the imaginary town of Bedford Falls bears more than a passing resemblance to Seneca Falls. Most poignantly, it was the scene of a tragedy in 1917 when a young Italian labourer, Antonio Varacalli, jumped into the canal after a woman threw herself off the bridge in an attempt to commit suicide. He saved her but was himself drowned. The people of town were so moved by his sacrifice that they renamed the bridge in his honour, and, in an effort reminiscent of the final scene of the film, they came together to contribute enough money to realise Varacalliβs dream of bringing his family over from Italy. Though most of this is conjecture, it is still great fun, and Seneca Falls has made Itβs a Wonderful Life its own, with a museum, an annual festival and a βGeorge Baileyβ award given to honour an individual for improving the lives of his or her neighbors.
And yet, driving through Seneca Falls and surrounding towns today, it is sometimes hard to imagine the scenes that inspired Capra. Like so many places in America, the downtown areas seldom bustle with anything approaching the energy of the fictional Bedford Falls. There are a few shops, tobacconists, a craft brewery or pizza place, but lots of empty storefronts. The pharmacy with its apothecary jars and soda fountain is long gone, replaced by a tattoo parlor.
There are a few factories left, but most of the old mills have been converted for other purposes, or left to the pigeons. The rolling farmland near Seneca Falls has given way to a great stinking landfill and mountains of trash have replaced orchards and cornfields. There is a new casino, and a prison. Mobile-home parks have sprung up on the edge of town. Many of the once-prized, bricks-and-mortar homes closer to the centre have been bought up by slum lords who rent their ramshackle properties to anyone who qualifies for the federal section-eight housing assistance programme β a more reliable source of rent than their tenantsβ meagre wages.
Opioid addiction has left its mark on the region, too. Overdoses are frequent and deadly, and everyone knows of someone who bounces from one rehab centre to another, between brief fits of sobriety. Families, especially those with young children, have become so fragile that the local elementary schools are locked up, not for fear of school shooters, but because of the problem of noncustodial parents slipping their kids out the back door. It is, in a word, βPottersvilleβ.
How did this happen? The economy changed but the local economy did not evolve alongside it and towns found they could no longer shape their own destinies. Rural communities became expendable to the people born in them and to the nation as a whole. In a strange way, Itβs a Wonderful Life foreshadows the fate of Americaβs small towns, and perhaps the fate of the nation, because it shows what happens in a world without Georges.
Itβs a Wonderful Life was made when America stood at a crossroads. When βthe cataclysmic aftermaths of warβ, wrote Capra in his autobiography, were breeding βgnawing doubts in manβ. GIs returned to sweethearts or wives they married in haste and to children who scarcely knew them. Couples lived with their in-laws in fraying Victorian homes, or depression-era bungalows where family members rubbed elbows but felt worlds apart. It was as if all the time-worn obligations and duties that bound people together, that sketched out the parameters of individual lives and gave them meaning, were falling away. Americans were beginning to ask themselves if their sacrifices had been worth it.
Frank Capra understood this disillusionment all too well. Capra joined the army after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, and spent most of the war making the βWhy We Fightβ series of propaganda films. Though lauded β Winston Churchill praised the first, Prelude to War, as the βmost powerful statement of our causeβ β he returned to Hollywood to find that his reputation had faded. βIt was disconcertingβ, he wrote, βto be introduced to an upcoming actress or director and have them ask βFrank Who?ββ. To make matters worse, the Cold War was ramping up to what would eventually become the witch hunts of the McCarthy era. Even by 1945, it was becoming difficult to work with old collaborators, like the screenwriters Dalton Trumbo or Clifford Odets, who were under investigation for their involvement with the Communist Party. Capra was especially sensitive because, in addition to having been born in Italy, his film, Mr Smith Goes to Washington, which took a stand against government corruption, had come under attack from none other than Joseph P Kennedy (the patriarch of the famous Kennedy clan). Kennedy claimed Mr Smith had caused βinestimable harmβ to American prestige. Even with his war record, Capra knew he was not immune to investigation.
It was against this backdrop that Capra began work on Itβs a Wonderful Life. He seems to have intuited that how Americans would answer the question βwas it worth it?β would change the destiny of the country. The worst thing, he thought, would be for them to draw the conclusion that their sacrifices didnβt matter. The film was his answer.
Capra offers up two visions of Americaβs possible future. In one, George is thwarted at every turn, but comes to realise that in spite of all his troubles, he is the richest man in town because he lives a life connected to others through sacrifice. The other is a world without George. No one is saved because George is no longer there to change the destiny of other people so that they (like his brother Harry, who saves his fellow airmen) can save others. There is no ripple effect. In Pottersville it is every man for himself.
In reality it happened slightly differently. After the war, Americans decided that their sacrifices had not been worth it. They began to resent the obligations and connections that once made life meaningful. Instead they shook the dust of their crummy little towns off their feet. They let the building and loan go to the wall, went to college and never looked back. The ethos of connectedness, of being part of a βWeβ that animates Itβs a Wonderful Life, gave way to an ethos of βMeβ.
Still, Itβs a Wonderful Life gets us in the gut every year. Maybe living for ourselves isnβt all itβs been cracked up to be. Maybe weβre just tired of Pottersville. Or maybe on some level we understand that life may not be perfect, but when we are deeply, hopelessly, inconveniently entwined in the lives of other people, itβs still wonderful.
Β© Nancy McDermott 2020
Connecting with people sometimes requires a little extra effort. It takes a willingness not only to pay attention to who they are but also to see yourself β to be better aware of yourself and how youβre interacting with others. For me, that process has taken a lifetime β and itβs still going on.
For most of my life Iβve realized that listening is one of those things that makes connection possible. People generally want others to listen to them β to acknowledge them and to value what they have to say. Listening is an essential element of communication. But as a listener, sitting there silently being a good audience isnβt enough. To truly communicate you have to be engaged β you not only pay attention to someone but respond meaningfully to what is said. Thatβs whatβs called active listening.
What does it mean to actively listen? It means being responsive and asking questions to draw out those youβre listening to. It means allowing them to feel they have a safe place to say what they need to say. It means not being so anxious to make your own point that you seize the conversation and direct it according to some fixed agenda of your own.
One of the experiences in my life that really helped me to develop my active listening skills was being a moderator in a series of local issue-oriented discussions called βDemocracy Unpluggedβ. Several friends and I got together and decided that the way issues are presented by the news media didnβt give people the opportunity to be involved in the process of being fully informed. We set up a forum where participants -- political candidates, academics and social change advocates -- with a variety of viewpoints, some diametrically opposed, discussed a variety of current topics. The idea was to give audience members the opportunity to engage these advocates through questions they could submit β a direct, in-person process that circumvented print and electronic media β hence the term βunpluggedβ.
As moderator I was charged with making sure the participants were given the opportunity to present their positions, but I also needed to interact and ask relevant questions. Through this experience, I developed the ability to listen to what was said with the goal of clarifying their positions and facilitating dialog between them. My role as moderator required me to remain neutral and unbiased, yet focused on assisting those involved to make their case.
I found that this skill was useful in other circumstances β in my informal interactions. Active listening has become, for me, a vital way of establishing a rapport and enhancing my connection with those I engage. When I find myself interacting with a group of people, I try to remain very conscious of what others are saying. The experience of communicating within a group is different than most one-on-one exchanges. The dynamics can shift more rapidly, and in some cases some people have a lot more to say than others β or at least more of an urgency to say whatβs on their mind.
To create a satisfying group experience means everyone has a chance to talk -- and to listen. It requires empathy β an awareness of everyoneβs feelings and a commitment, to some extent, to make sure everybody feels included. At the same time, we need to honor the desire on the part of others to be silent if thatβs what they wish. People shouldnβt be dragged into a conversation that they arenβt moved to be a part of more actively.
Active listening in its most effective form is intuitive β it shouldnβt be calculating and overthought. We need to make sure we really are listening and allowing our perceptions of those weβre interacting with to change as we learn more about them. There needs to be a fluidity to the exchange where ideas intermingle and shape each other throughout the process. This is the essence of true communication.
Over the years Iβve found that my active listening skills have helped me in my work and in my other relationships. Itβs remarkable how appreciative people are of having someone listen to them β to really listen -- forming the basis of friendship and the kind of mutual supportiveness that enriches our lives and leads to a better world overall. Itβs something that I can do to both make a meaningful contribution and find more personal joy and satisfaction. And itβs also something that can be shared by living it and doing it so others can see how beneficial it could be in their own lives.
Want to find out more about active listening? Check out this article.
46% of Americans say their most important group is online. Clearly, online meaningful relationships are possible, but we have to support the group leaders who are setting the culture and tone.
When faith in God goes away, a church collapses. When faith in each other goes away, a nation collapses. Over the last decades many nations, and especially the United States, have experienced devastating declines of social trust. Without trust, people feel existentially unsafe. They hive off into warring tribes. They look at each other with suspicion and hostility. Societies spiral into a distrust doom loop.
How do you build trust? Trust is built when people are enmeshed in trustworthy communitiesβcommunities in which people reliably show up for each other. A century ago, most people were enmeshed in religious congregations, small towns, tribal networks, veterans organizations, local chapters of community groups. Those kinds of communities have withered all around the world as we have urbanized and, in many places, become less religious. The $100 trillion questions are: Can we create new forms of trustworthy communities? Can we form these communities where people are spending their time, online?
If you had asked me these questions five years ago, I would have said absolutely not. Online communities, I believed then, foster shallow communication and scattered, atomized, ephemeral and unreliable relationships. Especially in the U.S. the rise in social media has been accompanied by a rise in depression, suicide and political polarization.
Since then my views have shifted. Social scientists have now had the chance to study the effects of social media and, in general, they find surprisingly little or no correlation between social media uses and these social maladies. In the U.S., suicide and polarization are on the increase, but in many other countries with high social media penetration, suicide and polarization are on the way down. My takeaway from all this research is that itβs not social media thatβs the problem, itβs the ideas and behavior of the people who use it. Character is destiny, online or offline.
Three years ago, I helped form Weave: The Social Fabric Project. We lift up and support hyperlocal community builders. These local community leaders organize to solve neighborhood problems, whether itβs hunger, homelessness, isolation or just children who need mentors and support. They heavily rely on social media sites like Facebook to communicate with their communities, to deepen relationships, to do their work. I would say they are suspicious of Facebook the corporation, but Iβm struck by how often they are glowing about what they can do on Facebook with their neighbors.
Facebook Groups has 1.8 billion users, and more than half of them are in five or more groups. Clearly people have come to value the communities they are building online.
A new research report from The Governance Lab makes me more optimistic still. If you want to know what people value, just ask them. Hereβs a startling and important finding from it: In 11 out of the 15 nations surveyed, the largest proportion of people said the most important group in their lives is primarily online. Forty-six percent of Americans say their most important group is online, while 30 percent say itβs in person. In Brazil, among those with access to the internet, itβs 50 percent online and 13 percent in person. Facebook Groups has 1.8 billion users, and more than half of them are in five or more groups. Clearly people have come to value the communities they are building online.
These groups have a tendency to subvert social hierarchies. I was struck by how many of the groups described in this report were started by people who feel they donβt quite fit inβAfrican women living in Germany, Asians living in white-majority societies. Online seems to create opportunities especially for non-dominant groups, people who might feel uncomfortable walking into an in-person meeting place.
Many of these online communities have a tendency to deepen. People may initially gather because they like tropical fish, but, humans being humans, they eventually start sharing vulnerable stories, they eventually want to meet face-to-face. The report suggests the most successful groups are surprisingly small, fewer than 100 people. The report also suggests the most successful groups tend to have ties to a local community. They donβt replace geographic presence, but rely upon it. This suggests that while technology has changed, people still like meeting in small groups, they still like groups that are tied to place.
These groups have created a new social roleβthe online community leader. There are 70 million admins in the world today. Thatβs 70 million community leaders, practicing their leadership in new and novel ways. Surely we should be focusing a lot of attention on these people, on helping them perform their role well.
Right now, the training and nurturing of the admins looks nascent to me. Many of them have, without planning, stumbled into complex, nearly full-time jobs with no pay and no training. Eighty-six percent say that they had to teach themselves the skills they need to do their jobs, and yet here they are dealing with people thinking about suicide, and contentious conversations.
This doesnβt seem sustainable. There has to be a better training system. I should think we have to do a better job connecting these people to the many leadership training curricula that there are in the world. Iβd also say these people need financial support. Asking people to take on a high intensity job without compensation is asking for burnout.
Facebook has begun to address these issues. Itβs creating certification processes to help leaders build skills. Itβs connecting leaders with potentially revenue generating brands. Much more can be done, especially in helping leaders understand how to build deep and trusting relationships online.
Online communities are in their early years, and itβs natural everything is a little haphazard. But Iβm hopeful that we can build systems around these communities, to make them stronger, deeper and the engines of trust we need to build healthy societies.
View a panel, including David, discussing the new research and social trust.
https://virtual-communities.thegovlab.org/
What qualifies as success as a weaver?
Our mission is pretty clear: to weave inclusive communities (currently virtual) and help end our national predicament of isolation and hyper-individualism. Itβs a huge and excellent project, so itβs important to have a metric of progress that we can embrace. That had me stuck for quite a while because it was intimidating to think I had to reach out and change hearts and minds in observable ways. Impractical, I know, and unstated, but the impression was there, and it was keeping me on the sidelines.
But then I remembered the Butterfly Effect. Remember that one? A part of Chaos Theory, itβs the principle that says that tiny variations in one place can have enormous effects in another. Theoretically, a butterfly flapping its wings sets into motions air molecules, which in turn sets into motion other air molecules, and so one, until at some point that initial flapping of the butterflyβs wings results in massive changes to whole weather systems on the other side of the world.
If weβre going to create a culture of connection maybe itβs enough that we simply make the attempt to reach out and let what happens, happen. Flap our wings. If the data from Pew Research are accurate, this is a very opportune time to do exactly that.
First, weβre polarized. No news there. Pewβs studies show that just a month before this last election roughly 80 percent of both registered Democrats and registered Republicans said their differences with the opposing side were about βcore American values,β and 90 percent said they believed this country would sustain βlasting harmβ if the other side won. However, again according to Pew, this is a yawning divide that no one really wants. Large majorities of both Donald Trump (86 per cent) and Joe Biden (89 per cent) supporters surveyed this fall said their candidate, if elected, should prioritize addressing the needs of all Americans, βeven if it means disappointing some of his supporters.β So weβre divided, and donβt want to be.
This fundamental discontent motivates me, and I hope it does you too, to risk making contact and not worry about βsuccess.β No matter how effective it appears to be at the time, the smallest attempt can yield significant results far beyond our horizons. Remember those butterflies.
As part of the Weave Learning Centerβs Atlas CareMap module, we invite you to share what you learned from sharing your CareMap in the discussion thread below: How did it feel and what did you learn from sharing your CareMap? You can type it or upload a video attachment of yourself sharing your story. We invite you to engage with others who have shared their stories.
Hinge, the dating app, is partnering with DoSomething Strategic and the Foundation for Social Connection to invest $1 million into social groups and clubs that are creating opportunities for young adults to connect in-person. This is an opportunity for weavers in Atlanta, Los Angeles, and New York working with Gen Z (18-26 year olds) to get funding to support their weaving.
Apply here by January 30: https://hinge.co/onemorehour
When I moved to Los Angeles last October, I was diving headfirst into a new world. I left my home in Washington, D.C. to be closer to my girlfriend, Baldwin. I admit to having feelings of uncertainty given that I didnβt know much about LA or anyone who lived there beyond Baldwin and a couple others. While hard to describe in words, my decision to move to the West Coast felt like the right thing to do. Baldwin and I were earnest to give our pandemic-born partnership itβs best shot at success, and I was yearning for a new adventure. I could not be more grateful for taking that leap of faith because it has made our relationship stronger. It has also led me to a cherished new community of people who have made this experience even more meaningful.
Getting to know folks in the middle of a pandemic is nearly impossible. I realized early that in LA, like many other cities, Angelinos form connections over meals at restaurants, bars, music venues, shopping centers, and other public spaces where folks come to appreciate art and culture. None of these opportunities were available to me when I arrived. However, as I started to build my own habits and routines, I began to see certain people on a recurring basis. For example, there was my next-door neighbor, Nestor, who I met while exercising on the roof of my apartment building. Several times a week Iβd be on the roof participating in a virtual boxing class and would see him and his wife cooking some delicious Filipino food. After a few weeks of seeing them and smelling their delicious meals, I couldnβt help but introduce myself and ask what they were cooking. Now when we see each other, we stop to chat. Iβve enjoyed getting to know Nestor who has shared fascinating stories about his early life in Philippines.
About a month ago, I met Elian, my neighbor from across the hall who stopped me as I was headed to my door. He immediately asked me if I was the one playing the Michael Jackson tunes that he and his partner heard through the walls of their apartment. I nervously said yes, thinking he was about to scold me for being too loud. To my surprise, he thanked me profusely saying that he and his partner would βrock outβ to my selections. Now Elian and I say hi to each other in the hallways and share new music that we like.
Baldwin has also expanded my LA community. She immediately introduced me to her aunt who lives not too far from us. Her aunt Joany has embraced me with open arms, introducing me to amazing Jamaican food spots in the city, sharing stories about her life, and treating me like a member of the family. Iβve also had the chance to (safely) meet Baldwinβs friends who are lovely and welcomed me into their group.
To my surprise and excitement, I was able to reconnect with a childhood friend that Iβve know since I was in pre-pre-school. My friend, Denis, and I had not spoken since we were in in our early college days. Thanks to our mothers, who still keep in contact, we were informed that we lived in the same city and subsequently made plans to hang out. Now we see each other regularly, and itβs been an amazing experience to get to know my friend as an adult. Itβs also shown me how strong our friendship is, remaining intact despite the years that went by when we werenβt in contact.
My LA community has grown significantly since I arrived despite the pandemic. Iβve grown in deeper relationship with my partner, got to know folks in my neighborhood and found a lifelong friend, again. Iβve learned a great deal about the necessity of fighting fiercely to make connections with others, especially in times like these. My time in LA may one day come to end, but Iβll never lose the community Iβve created. God willingly, Iβll take it with me wherever I go.
βThe problem with all the paranoia and the conspiracy theories is that you canβt talk people of out it. The psychological research is super clear on this: if you try to fact-check people out of their incorrect βfactsβ you only entrench them in their beliefs. You canβt talk people out of an emotional state.β One possible way forward, he said, is for people in what he termed the βexpert class,β who tend to live in metropolitan areas, to have more contact with those who live in rural areas. Thereβs something disturbingly stereotypical about his comment, but it also contains an accuracy that echoes in my experience. Thereβs nothing like contact to dismantle a barrier.
Later last night I attended a virtual concert by a friend, Peter Mayer. He ended by saying: βI close all our concerts with this request: This week, do something good and kind and loving for someone you canβt stand. Itβs the only way weβre going to make progress and find healing.β
I think the intersection of Davidβs and Peterβs comments is profoundly true. And burdensome. And frightening. And life-giving. You donβt need a keen eye for detail to notice that the desire for dialogue isnβt universal. The wounds from this last election are too fresh. So if thereβs a path ahead itβs going to be blazed by those of us who are willing to venture out and risk.
Thatβs why Iβm grateful for this group of like-hearted people who are committed to weaving a better and stronger fabric of life together. Iβm convinced there are brighter days ahead. As we create them, itβs reassuring to know kindred souls are in my corner. Iβm happy to be in yours.
David Brooks has a long and fascinating article in The Atlantic about how we need to embrace extended families, not just those related by blood, to repair our social fabric. Weavers provide the kind of care to others that many of us provide only to kinβthe kind of support that used to be provided by the extended family.
"This is the story of our timesβthe story of the family, once a dense cluster of many siblings and extended kin, fragmenting into ever smaller and more fragile forms. The initial result of that fragmentation, the nuclear family, didnβt seem so bad. But then, because the nuclear family is so brittle, the fragmentation continued. In many sectors of society, nuclear families fragmented into single-parent families, single-parent families into chaotic families or no families.
If you want to summarize the changes in family structure over the past century, the truest thing to say is this: Weβve made life freer for individuals and more unstable for families. Weβve made life better for adults but worse for children. Weβve moved from big, interconnected, and extended families, which helped protect the most vulnerable people in society from the shocks of life, to smaller, detached nuclear families (a married couple and their children), which give the most privileged people in society room to maximize their talents and expand their options. The shift from bigger and interconnected extended families to smaller and detached nuclear families ultimately led to a familial system that liberates the rich and ravages the working-class and the poor.
... When we discuss the problems confronting the country, we donβt talk about family enough. It feels too judgmental. Too uncomfortable. Maybe even too religious. But the blunt fact is that the nuclear family has been crumbling in slow motion for decades, and many of our other problemsβwith education, mental health, addiction, the quality of the labor forceβstem from that crumbling. Weβve left behind the nuclear-family paradigm of 1955. For most people itβs not coming back.
Americans are hungering to live in extended and forged families, in ways that are new and ancient at the same time. This is a significant opportunity, a chance to thicken and broaden family relationships, a chance to allow more adults and children to live and grow under the loving gaze of a dozen pairs of eyes, and be caught, when they fall, by a dozen pairs of arms. For decades we have been eating at smaller and smaller tables, with fewer and fewer kin.
Itβs time to find ways to bring back the big tables."
How do you face the challenge of treating others as family in a culture that tells us our first, and only, obligation is to protect and help those in our nuclear family?
Read the full article in The Atlantic.
What wading directly into the middle of sectarian conflict in America taught me about peace...
The 2020 Republican National Convention was held in Charlotte, North Carolina at the tail end of a feverish, bitterly divided summerβ¦ It felt like the world was tearing apart at its tired seams and every day brought new challengesβ¦ When the pandemic struck in the late winter, I thought that I would be out of a job; I am an activist and protest artistβ¦ I thought that it would be a long while before people could take to the streets in any meaningful way. How could we..? Crowds meant the virus and the virus could be fatal... And then came spring, so beautiful on the surface yet so torn with grief, rage, pain and fear beneathβ¦ An American springβ¦ People poured from the relative safety of their quarantined homes, even people who had stood silent outrage after outrage demanding that someone, anyone make this thing rightβ¦ These crimes had stood for so long that what had once been merely unlivable had become entirely unendurableβ¦ So I wasn't out of a job and despite my fervent wish that someday my job might be rendered unnecessary that seems unlikelyβ¦ And so that spring sweltered and raged into summer and summer led me to a park in Charlotte two blocks from the convention center where the RNC was taking placeβ¦
The city shimmered under a blanket of humidity, exhaustion and stress. To be there felt like being part of a mirageβ¦ How could any of it be real..? I want you to feel it, the air is so thick with humidity and even thicker with fearβ¦ People have been dying on the streets for years and that is what brought us hereβ¦ People have died in these streets this summer at the hands of people who are supposed to protect and serve usβ¦ If you are treating the situation with the gravity it deserves you are hyper aware of danger and of mortalityβ¦ It leaves you feeling outside of your normal realityβ¦ You can't live on the edge of so much chaos for so long and come back unchangedβ¦ You might not have been there, in Charlotte, late August last year but if you lived in America last year you were thereβ¦ You might not want to remember but your life shimmered tooβ¦
Maybe that sense that none of it was quite real fed into what happenedβ¦ I know my hypervigilance is why I noticed it as soon as I did, why my small group of fools and madmen sprang towards the sound of the conflict so soon after it had begunβ¦ The Laughing Warriors had begun organically taking care of people attending protests and at this point we were not strangers to aggression and conflictβ¦ Across the park there was some kind of confrontationβ¦ Voices were raised and the unmistakable sound of humans in conflict rang outβ¦ We found a circle of "our" people, 20 or more, surrounding one lone protestor from the other side who had crossed the lineβ¦ They were screaming, shoving, tearing at his clothes, pouring out their pain and frustration on this one guy, the closest effigy of their justified rageβ¦ I never stopped to think, I just pushed forwardβ¦ I didn't know yet what had happened but I knew that 20-1 is never a fair fight no matter who is fighting whomβ¦
He hadn't come for trouble but we met him with it anyway⦠He stepped bravely across the road, away from the mass of his own supporters, to our side of the conflict to ask questions and have a genuine discussion⦠I know that this is true because after I shouted down my own people who were venting their anger, he and I sat down on the ground a few feet away from the chaos and had a discussion⦠In a circle of cameras and the elsewise curious we sat on the bare earth face to face a few feet apart and tried to meet across a much more vast ideological chasm⦠And this is not a story about how much easier it was to do this than I thought it would be ; it was less than ideal circumstances and meeting from ideologically different places is just plain hard work⦠It's not a story about how I ended up with a new friend at the end of the conversation ; our differences were vast⦠This is a story about how we decided to listen to one another⦠When we did we found a few places where it turned out that we felt surprisingly similar... We were just using different language or approaching the issue from a slightly different direction⦠I felt like I gained some perspective on why he would support the things that he did, and I hope that he felt the same about me⦠Most importantly, I respected the bravery he showed in crossing that line alone, with peace and sincerity in his heart... As I told the people in the crowd that day, if we cannot even come together in the spirit of communication and curiosity, then what good is activism..? Why bother fighting an authoritarian system if only to impose your own hatred and intolerance onto your brave new world..? What kind of a better future is built upon a present where we cannot ever meet in the middle..?
My organization, The Laughing Warrior Brigade reexamined our priorities after this event. We realized that along with caring for those attending protests, providing food and children's activities and medic services, we have to also engage in non-violent conflict de-escalationβ¦ We have been dedicated since our inception to remaining non-partisan despite the fact that the times are so hyper partisanβ¦ I came to realize through this experience how vital it is to have non-partisan peacekeepers in times of great strife, people who won't allow fully justified anger to fall upon undeserving targetsβ¦ It is a brutal, frightening, unequal, unfair, dangerous world at times and the anger people feel is realβ¦ The desire to act upon it is realβ¦ What that day also taught me was the value of the people willing to step into the breech when that anger has mixed with fear and paranoia and vented itself someplace undeservingβ¦
You may not know the name Marshall Ganz, but chances are you are familiar with the social movements he helped shape.
In 1964, he dropped out of Harvard and headed South to work for civil rights as part of the Mississippi Summer Project. By 1965, he was at Cesar Chavezβs side, fighting for farmworker rights in California. He even helped create the grassroots organization for a presidential campaign. From his earliest days organizing, Ganz knew that success meant forging individuals who barely knew each other into a group that would risk their lives together to fight for change. The secret, he discovered, was to start with storytelling.
Before groups engage in action or even try to define their collective identity, Ganz asks each person to write a story of self, so they can answer the question βWho am I?β in just two minutes. Considering our lives and experiences and how they have shaped our values, opens us up. Sharing our stories is how we connect, but the first step is knowing our own story.
I meet new people every day in my role as community manager with Weave. Itβs my favorite part of the job, in large part because I continue to be surprised by the instant connection I feel with other weavers. It reinforces for me that weaving is not about what we do, but how we show up for others in the world.
Recently, our team asked some researchers to interview weavers to understand what inspires them to be weavers in their communities, what values they share, and what support they would find most helpful. The researchers asked weavers to tell their stories. Some of you may have been part of the interviews. Weβll be sharing the results in future posts.
One of the early findings is that, while weavers share many values, they approach weaving their communities in different ways. The researchers found five types of weavers and Iβm wondering if you see yourself in one of these types:
- Healers work to support communities that have been harmed or marginalized. They seek to help their communities heal and thrive by offering services, support, connection, and advocacy.
- Disruptors aim to free their communities from discrimination, oppression or unfair treatment. They challenge systems and norms that have hurt their communities.
- Growers want to strengthen the sense of belonging and common purpose in their communities. They foster healthy relationships, create a sense of pride and pursue projects that make their communities stronger and better.
- Seekers find personal meaning and growth in building loving relationships with others. They work to forge a network of deep connections in their communities that are mutually nurturing.
- Occupational weavers do their weaving as part of their jobs. They invest in organizations, businesses and local institutions that serve the needs of people and the community.
Like many weavers Iβve met, I consider myself an introvert. You wonβt find me with a megaphone in hand, leading a crowd. I see myself as a Grower, especially in my role with Weave. My work is to build connections with individuals and across groups. My quieter personality fits this well because it allows me to listen and focus on connecting with others through our stories.
If you are a member of our Weave Community, you are already on a weaving journey, whether just starting or already well along. I invite you to think about your story of self. Does one of the weaving types feel right to you? What brought you onto the path of wanting to build connection and trust with others around you?
Whether online or in person in the coming months, I hope we have a chance to meet, share stories, and, together, build a new, inclusive culture of weaving.
My journey of finding a way to express our shared interdependence, one song at a time.
Like so many others, my journey through weaving in 2021 has been a long and winding road chock full of false starts, lessons learned, with a fair deal of grief mixed in. At first, the grief was for the opportunities that vanished due to the pandemic and the friendships suddenly cordoned off by Zoom screens, then it turned into grief over a career field I had convinced myself was my dream. With so much uncertainty and a new reality staring me in the face, I turned to a familiar sanctuary from my early college days and picked up my classical guitar to begin learning songs that reminded me of growing up in southern New Mexico, starting with music from Vicente FernΓ‘ndez. Little did I know that by the end of the year Vicente's music would turn into a cultural lifeline to back home, and would be responsible for one of the most beautiful moments I got to experience with my family.
Last month my family was fortunate enough to gather in San Antonio, TX and honor my aunt, the second TΓa we laid to rest in 2021. This was the first time I had seen most of my extended family in years and naturally, each of us was struggling to process what felt like an unexpected start to a new era of family gatherings, from going to family graduations and weddings not long ago to now planning funerals and eulogies. Following my aunt's services, the parish hall reached a modest hum as memories were shared, tears shed, our own mortality on full display.
Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw my older brother walk into the room with his vihuela. With a sly smile on his face, he walked to the front of the room and started to play El Rey. Without missing a beat everyone in the room joined in and suddenly, my family was singing together again for the first time in years. What was supposed to be only a couple of songs turned into a couple dozen, until it was time to clear the parish hall. That didn't stop us, though, afterward the entire family gathered at a nearby hotel bar where we sang for the rest of the night. Luckily a cousin was able to snap a photo when the singing had just started, and you can see in my eyes as well as those of my father, sister, and brother, that something special was happening.
In a moment where our grief was so profound, where my family was struggling to even begin processing our loss, Vicente gave us one of the greatest gifts. He gave my family a way to snap ourselves back to our roots and remind ourselves of our dedication to one another, regardless of geography or time lost. Our impromptu jam session in San Antonio dissolved any lingering hesitation I felt about reconnecting with members of my extended family, and I am so grateful that I have begun to reconnect with those both young and old.
Losing Vicente this weekend truly feels like I lost a companion. His music helped me navigate one of the most challenging periods in my life thus far, while keeping me deeply grounded to my family and the community I am blessed enough to call home. While his loss is a difficult one to process, I'd like to think that my story and connection to Vicente's music is shared across generations and is a testament to the restorative power that an artist can wield. I'm hopeful that in 2022, each of us and our communities can lean into the cultural gems that can remind us of our shared interdependence and the beauty that comes with it.
For the moment my family shared last month and so many others like it, mil gracias y descanse en paz, .
Music is a naturally universal language...
"We can build a beautiful city
Yes we can, yes, we can
We can build a beautiful city
Not a city of angels
But we can build a city of man"
"Beautiful City" - from the musical Godspell by Stephen Schwartz
It is amazing how absolutely boring it can get to live on the edge of terror for a long timeβ¦ It becomes kind of banalβ¦ The Laughing Warriors had been holding our own small-scale demonstrations in Downtown Greenville, SC for a few weeks, getting the lay of the land... Weβd also been attending demonstrations held by other organizationsβ¦ We try to act as one of things that disparate groups have in common and so we had been working with Black Lives Matter, Climate Reality, LGBTQ+ groups and voting rights groups, caring for folx at their actions and demonstrations for the past few monthsβ¦ For better or for worse, we had attracted the attention of the acting county Sheriff and found ourselves dogged by deputies wherever we went... One late summer evening proved to be no differentβ¦ A deputy was parked far enough away to seem as if they might have nothing to do with us but close enough that they could watch our every move carefullyβ¦ Our fellow citizens gave us waves or mocked us; one person tried to pick a fightβ¦ Most people just ignored usβ¦ Business as usual on a quiet and basically uneventful evening in the weird year that was 2020β¦
"Out of the ruins and rubble, out of the smokeβ¦"
I think back on a lot of what I saw last year; the unconventional span from March 14th--when South Carolina canceled visitation at all facilities like the long term psychiatric hospital my son was in on that day, his 14th birthday-- to this past Jan 6th when violent insurrectionists violated the Capitol Buildingβ¦ That was the day I chose to go outside to finally begin cleaning out my studio because THAT I could do something aboutβ¦ It's a time which rejects easy categorization or encapsulationβ¦ When I think back on it I just remember things constantly shattering or feeling as if they were about toβ¦ I have been an activist for 25 yearsβ¦ It has never felt so much like warβ¦
"Out of our night of struggle, can we see a ray of hope..?"
It felt as peaceful as it ever did that night downtownβ¦ Greenville SC experienced preternaturally beautiful weather in the summer of 2020 and the sounds of a street preacher mingled with the hoots of a local celebrity unhoused guy known as "Whoop-Whoop..!" on a light, fried egg roll scented breezeβ¦ You couldn't let your situational awareness drop, not in America 2020, not in a state with so many guns, not with an officer of the peace in view eyeing the situation with an unknown level of interest and itchiness of trigger finger... But on a mild summer evening in our quiet little city the chaos of the world felt harder to believeβ¦ By now, people holding signs and even our small troupe of lunatic performers had started to become just another bit of the backgroundβ¦ If you didn't want to notice us you didn't have to and our familiarity with the situation had earned us the luxury of boredomβ¦
"One pale thin ray, reaching for the dayβ¦"
I am fluent in many artist languages, I can express myself artistically in many mediums, genres and forms but music is the most beloved language of my heartβ¦ It is one of the human expressions which crosses all culturesβ¦ It is also an appreciation we can share with other animals with whom we share the planetβ¦ It is truly a universal languageβ¦ In my work as a non-partisan activist performance artist, I seek to find concepts which speak to people no matter what ideologies they espouseβ¦ What are the things that we all care about, upon which we can build universal understanding..? Seeking the universal is a way to bring people closer and music is a natural medium for thisβ¦
"We may not reach the ending, but we can startβ¦
Slowly but truly mending, brick by brick, heart by heartβ¦"
We had been using our "safe" spot downtown for several weeks to try out different performances and demonstration techniquesβ¦ We had held conventional signs, dressed as furry animals in medical masks, staged a Mock Funeral and just generally made one of the Downtown plazas our own free speech zoneβ¦ We were spending this particular evening riffing into a megaphone, preaching an endless gospel of connection and mourning the losses we had all suffered this yearβ¦ It just didn't feel like we were particularly reaching people... The street kept on about its business all around us... An idea struck me suddenly and I jumped up on the edge of a flower bed, grabbing the mic as I wentβ¦
"When your trust is all but shattered, when your faith is all but killed,
You can give up, bitter and battered, or you can slowly start to buildβ¦"
I just started singing, no preambleβ¦ "Beautiful City" from Godspellβ¦ "Out of the ruins and rubble" And as my voice rang out to the restaurant across the street, I could see heads lift at the tablesβ¦ People slowed on the sidewalksβ¦ "Out of our night of struggle" There were people pulling out their phones now and recording the impromptu showβ¦ The deputy assigned to keep tabs on the situation stood in the doorway of his cruiser looking onβ¦ I riffed some more between the verse and the chorusβ¦ "My Friends, we have all had such troubles this yearβ¦ We miss our families and our friends, the ones we are separated from and the ones that we have lostβ¦ We fight our neighbors for the future of this beautiful placeβ¦ And it IS such a beautiful placeβ¦ We are lucky to share it, lucky to care about it together, lucky to raise our kids here and provide for one another hereβ¦ We have been fighting over why we disagree when it is just as well to look at these things we hold sacred togetherβ¦ β
"Now, maybe now, we start learning how"
When I finished, emerging from the fog of performance, I felt the street hover in silent captivation for the briefest of momentsβ¦ The last notes hung, vibrating in the now still summer air and everything seemed to stand in place, a moment of time frozen in the amber early evening lightβ¦ Then the tableau broke and the plaza and surrounding street burst into cheers and applauseβ¦ Even the police officer smiled before getting into his cruiser and driving offβ¦
I am not certain if the song-- it's clear peaceful intent and the unity it spread-- had anything to do with it but when we arrived at our usual spot the next week there was no deputy hovering and there never was againβ¦
"Music has charms to soothe the savage breast⦠To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak⦠" William Congreve
On February 12, 2024, Brian Kolenich from Youngstown, OH shared his story at Weaving in 400 Seconds. Brian is improving the quality of life of older adults by creating services that focus on their wellbeing and connect them to their larger community.
As part of the Weave Learning Centerβs Circle Facilitation module, we invite you to share your reflections on the Circle format.
Talking with others in the slow, intentional format of a Circle tends to help us become more aware of ourselves and others. Share with others how facilitating a Circle may have opened up your thinking as you listened to the perspectives of others. Please donβt share specific stories about the people in your Circle.
On June 17, 2024, LaToya Thomas from Washington, DC shared her story at Weaving in 400 Seconds. LaToya works with neighbors, developers, and government so communities have a voice in their own growth.
by Andrea Smardon
Twenty of us gathered in a spacious living room at the base of Utahβs Wasatch mountain range to start healing our nation. As we introduced ourselves, it became clear we were all of a kind β well-meaning, educated white people curious about new ideas. We were drawn here to wonder together how Americans might build trust again in our deeply-divided country.
I was skeptical. How could small groups in living rooms be the path to transform society? Then Jacob Hess, who describes himself as a religious conservative, shared his story. While in graduate school, Jacob received a call that his 21-year-old brother was going to die from cancer; the doctors could do nothing more to save him. When he hung up the phone, he realized someone else was in the room.
βShe was a lesbian classmate of mine,β Jacob said as he teared up. βShe didnβt see the world the same as me, but in that moment, she just held me as I sobbed. It didnβt matter that she saw sexuality or God or the universe differently, it didnβt matter. What mattered is that she was there for me.β That was the beginning, Jacob said, of his learning to let go of the rhetoric he had heard about liberals βtrying to destroy America.β
Jacob works with Living Room Conversations, a group that has a network of hosts around the country who invite people into their homes for structured conversations about big questions, from gun violence to climate change. This evening, he explained to us, they were testing a new conversation guide about how to weave our communities together at a time when isolation, division and loneliness seem the norm and our social fabric is tattered and frayed.
Our conversation was inspired by David Brooks, the New York Times columnist, who has written about his own journey out of loneliness and isolation toward a life of βthickβ relationships. Brooks argues that American culture in general has become hyper-individualistic, valuing self-centered achievement and social freedom over relationships and a shared commitment to our communities. He cites rising rates of suicide, mental illness, violence and political gridlock as a sign of our disconnection and isolation.
Brooks joined the Aspen Institute last year to start Weave: The Social Fabric Project to celebrate and support the thousands of people quietly working locally to build strong relationships and connect their communities. He calls them Weavers.
Jacob Hess attended the first national meeting of Weavers in Washington, DC last May, organized by the Weave project, and helped write the discussion guide that brought our group into this living room.
Hess, a psychologist and mindfulness teacher, said he has seen how anger isolates us, especially now. He wondered aloud how best to hear and respect peopleβs anger, while also finding a way to move towards constructive conversation with those who think differently. A woman named Miriam Hyde spoke up. She felt anger was getting in the way of meaningful connection in her life. After a divorce, she has lost friends and support and feels very isolated.
She is trying to understand why the only interactions she has with her family are personal attacks about politics on Facebook. βMy family doesnβt love me because Iβm a Democrat,β Miriam told the group with a laugh. βThe anger is so thick, that wall is so thick, that you canβt talk.β
The group agreed that something has shifted in the country, that things werenβt always this bad. Grethe Peterson β who described herself as βthe relic in the roomβ β remembered being raised by her Democrat parents in a conservative community and living in harmony with those they disagreed with.
βSomething has deeply changed,β Peterson said. βWe were not tearing each other apart; we were not accusing each other of destroying the world.β
A thunderstorm moved over the valley, and we could hear the rain on the roof and occasional roars from the sky. Itβs a rare sound in this dry mountain region, but seemed to mirror the social storms gathered over the US that would unexpectedly erupt in a Charlottesville or El Paso or at a family Thanksgiving dinner that turns to politics.
Working from the Weave discussion guide, Jacob asked the group questions. What are the impulses inside of you that resist connecting with those who are different? Where do you see yourself wanting to weave more? What connection, if any, do you see between what is happening in our nation and what is happening in our neighborhoods or communities?
People shared the ways they each reach out to people who are different from them in their own lives, and where they struggle with this. They talked about ways of diffusing anger, and how to break through an impasse. They talked about the way it changes your perspective if you can be of service to others. At the end of the evening, Hess challenged the group to bring someone they disagreed with to the next meeting.
Afterwards, mingling over snacks, our host asked guests to sum up their takeaway from the evening in a sentence.
βThere are ways to create conversation and dialogue that have the potential of changing hearts,β said Mark de St. Aubin.
βRelationships trump ideology,β said Rick Casady.
βI realized how small my life has become, not having family connections, friends, stability,β said Miriam Hyde. βYou go into survival mode. Your life becomes very small. Iβm living in a fear-based life, but I can change my attitude. I can stop being afraid, and open myself to people.β
A dozen community conversation groups plan to hold these Weaver Conversations in homes and community centers across the US in the spring, as part of the National Week of Conversation, April 17-25. If you follow the Weave projectβs newsletter, you can hear about them β and even start a conversation in your own community.
Stepping outside into the rainy Utah night, I realized I was still holding onto some of the skepticism that I came with β that tonightβs conversation would illuminate a path that could somehow heal the significant ills of our society. Yet I also had a newfound appreciation of the importance for each of us to open up, rather than close off in the face of uncertainty and change.
We all must find whatever it is that helps us be more connected⦠and do it more, even if the first step pushes us out of our comfort zones. The forces today that divide and conquer are strong. Yet no matter our politics and backgrounds, many of us sense deep down that our communities, and our country, need us to work together.
Loving each other starts and ends with respect.
Six years ago or so, it became clear that we would be able to get married. Like β officially. The long-time Chief Judge of the 7thCircuit, where we reside, had just authored a landmark decision that βtraditional valuesβ werenβt justification enough to keep gays from the pleasures and pains of marriage that everyone else enjoys. WOW! We could be a family! The next day, my Hispanic partner knelt before me and I said, βYes.β
My joy quickly turned to fear. I was daunted by the family I was marrying into. There were 7 new parent- and siblings-in-law (+ two spouses and three or four exβs), 8 nieces and nephews, more than a dozen new tias (aunts) and tios (uncles), scores of primos (cousins), and a stern abuela (grandma) whose views on traditional family values were well-known. What would they think of me β a white, corn-fed city lawyer whose family never had to run from La Migra (Immigration) β interloping to prune a branch of the family tree?
Would I be considered one of the girls β hanging out with the women, cooking huge meals, running family affairs and calling guys βpapiβ? Or worse, would I emasculate one of their men β would their Army vet son become a Dandy? I didnβt think they would hate me, of course, but those stereotypes drove my fears.
I needed help and my hopes soon landed on my two soon-to-be brothers-in-law, who had married into the clan and knew what it would take to be accepted. Problem was, they were both first-generation Americans and their English wasnβt up to βchummy brother-in-lawβ yet. Neither was my Spanish.
Thankfully they saw the fear on my face and at the next party, they sidled up to me with a beverage and we muddled through in Spanglish. The only word I would need to know, they told me, was βchancla.β
Que?
βChancla.β
A slipper? Really? Like a flip-flop? A sandal?
βSΓ. Chancla.β
If someone shouts βCHANCLA!β, they explained, that means βDUCK!β Someone has gotten so mad at you that footwear was hurtling towards your head.
So, stay away from anything that will weaponize footwear? Thatβs it? Yup. The family would accept the deviation from βtraditional valuesβ because you love their son. But you have to respect that. If itβs a melting pot, youβre the new ingredient. Be the manβ¦ or the woman. Or both. It doesnβt matter. Be faithful. Donβt gay it up too much around the kids β that is, donβt make it awkward for the parents to melt a different flavor of love into the family. Go to church sometimes and become a padrino (godfather). Stay employed. Be there for the family. Cook if you want to, grill if you can, but donβt suggest store-bought flour tortillas are βfine,β ever. (If theyβre not made with masa, theyβre not tortillas!) Above all else, respect the family the way itβs respecting you.
That, to me, is love. It starts and ends with respect. Mutual, earned, respect. IMHO, the world would be a better place if we all learned to respect each otherβs chanclas more.
The morning after election day a friend of mine, downcast, asked me on social media, βNow what?β Good question, since βnow what?β is exactly where we live.
I recalled that, many years ago, I had officiated at the funeral of an elderly woman who once told me, βYou know, sometimes all you got is faith and hope.β Her life was considerably more banged-up than most, so I took her sage advice to heart and have held it gratefully as a sobering reminder ever since.
So yes, itβs important who wins this election, but regardless, our everyday job is right down here at street level, to keep growing as compassionate people, dealing rightly and generously with whomever we meet next. Sometimes all weβve got is hope and faith, true, and that reality is certainly not confined to people of religious faith.
I have hope and faith in the inherent goodness of people, in their desire for dignity and decency and their capacity to treat one another kindly and well. Those desires move in the deeper rhythms of life and generate a fuel that consistently replenishes itself with experience. Itβs more than enough to keep me going.
Occasionally, it wonβt work out as we planned. The invitation to deeper conversation will be rejected, sometimes because of us, sometimes because the other person isnβt ready or interested. That doesnβt mean we blew it; it means weβve received a valuable opportunity to learn how to be more effective. One of the most difficult lessons I continue to learn is the need to redefine success and failure, to take unexpected outcomes seriously but not personally.
So we keep going, wholeheartedly.
We're thrilled to introduce the Weave Learning Center's newest free online course: Grant Writing! In this course, you will learn the basics of grant writing, how to find funders, how to integrate your story with statistics, how to write your first grant proposal and more.
Course instructor Antavia Mason will also host free live workshops covering course content. Mark your calendars and register for one or all of the following workshops:
- Basics of Grant Writing: July 5 at 8pm Eastern / 5pm Pacific
- Developing Case Statements: July 12 at 8pm Eastern / 5pm Pacific
- Writing a Grant Proposal: July 16 at 8pm Eastern / 5pm Pacific
- Engaging Donors: July 26 at 8pm Eastern / 5pm Pacific
The course is free and open for all, so share with a friend! You can access the course and sign up for the workshops here: https://learning.weavers.org/courses/grant-writing/
At Weave: the Social Fabric Project, we call people who build social trust in their communities βweavers.β On April 4, 2023, Charles Perry from Chicago, IL shared his story. Charles once changed the landscape of the community with drugs and violence. Now he is changing the community landscape with conversations and relationships.
I'm Michael Brown and I live in San Marcos, TX. I'm an educator and am committed to the well-being of my family and community. My immediate goal is to become more familiar with Weavers and to help connect my wife and a couple of neighbors. We'll see how it goes from there.
I write about listening. One day, I asked myself, βWhy do we need to listen to people? Never mind the practical stuff like coordinating efforts to build bridges, or finding out what your spouse needs from the supermarket. I mean ants and bees can tell each other where to find food. Whatβs the deep, human reason why we need to be heard?β
We humans experience life with more understanding and emotion than any other animal. We love and have soaring ideas. We also hate and are acutely aware of mortality (otherβs and our own).
Loneliness then is having to deal with our thoughts and feelings on our own. It is yearning, and not able to share and have it reciprocated. It is fear and hopelessness, without relief. It is anger, isolated. It is humor, with no audience. It is concerns, with no acknowledgment. In a more general sense, it can also be dealing with a tough work situation with no help from your colleagues nearby, or facing discrimination, when others donβt even realize you feel separate and not welcome. In some ways, life is too much for one soul to bear.
How do we βfixβ loneliness? We all know what itβs like to not be heard. Our experiences not being heard harden us to the external world. They make us less trusting, less open. Thatβs one reason I define listening as putting someone elseβs speaking, thinking, and feeling needs first. Good listeners earn the speakerβs trust. They bring their best to a conversation while fully respecting the speakerβs story. They allow the speaker to speak with candor, insight, and dignity. To feel less lonely, find a good listener.
But something interesting also happens to the person who listens. A quick story illustrates this.
Meghan watches her mother finish a telephone call.
βMommy, why are you crying?β she asks gently.
"I'm okay,β mommy sighs, βIβm okay.β
Meghan leaves the room and comes back moments later.
βWhen I'm sad, I hold on to Mr. Brown,β she says, handing over her prized teddy bear to her mother.
We often find it meaningful and rewarding when we sacrifice (eg. share our treasured toy) and make a difference in the world. Our own problems are put in better perspective. We see deeper truths. Perhaps Meghan understands that pain does not have to lead to suffering, that our generous and vulnerable selves donβt always have to be protected and withheld. We see the common struggles of life.
Share our best selves often enough, and we get better at doing it under different situations. We become more aware of our incredible capacity to help, and also learn how to take care of ourselves. We share cautiously, but unreservedly. We gain strength and compassion. We feel more connected with others. We are healthier and happier.
Fixing loneliness is therefore not just more people being heard, but also more listeners. Yes, listening deserves prime attention because conversations (including electronic ones) are such an important part of human interactions. We are only alone if we fail to respect and listen to each otherβs stories, if we force interactions to be superficial because of poor listening. We give up on opportunities to grow and connect when we donβt rise to the challenge of supporting others, through listening or other means.
Did I say life is too much for one soul to bear? Life is also a shame not to be shared and uplifted by all.
Itβs been a little over 2 years since my best friend passed away. On Sundays, when I pick up my ball and cleats to play soccer, listen to a song, think about my days in college and my eyes canβt stop but to turn into waterfalls. Time doesnβt heal all wounds, but rather allows us to feel, remember and live.
Iβd love to share how I keep my friend, Davon, alive in my heart. They say someone dies the moment you forget about them, when they fade from your heart and mind. The word forget is foreign to me.
When I step onto a soccer field, smelling the fresh cut grass and the beaming sun on my face, I always tell my father before I kick to goal, βThis one is for Davon! Top right corner!β. Next thing you know, Iβve scored a goal and exhibit the most radiant smile on my face. My dad smiles too. At the University of Maryland Eastern Shore, Davon and I would go play soccer on a campus field. It became a ritual for us after long stressful exam days. Every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, we would go the University Terrace soccer field and practice as if we were getting ready for the next World Cup. Sometimes are practices were intense, leaving us with bruises and ripped shirts. Still, it was fun, and we would laugh about our rigorous sessions once we returned to our room. When I score goals, I also score for Davon.
βMusic is everything to me. Itβs helped me get through the darkest of momentsβ, Davon would tell me. I would echo his words back to him, as music has been my unconscious ally. Davon and I both spent countless hours devising playlists, sharing music, engaging in deep conversation on which rapper was the best, and letting music be an accompanist to our moments of sunshine. On the week of my graduation, I was wrapping up my graduation photo shoot, but realized I was missing a quote to go along with my photos. That same week, Davon and I, while listening to J. Cole, both had lightbulbs appear on top of our heads. βWe gon' take it to the Moon, take it to the starsβ the lyrics read. That phrase later then became my quote for my graduation pictures. Over the pandemic, I started to collect vinylβs from present and past artists. I figured this was a great way to express my love for music while at the same time remembering my best friend.
The saying states that college represents the best four years of your life. At the time I didnβt think it was true, but as I grow older, they were truly what I will call the βgolden years. Iβm three years out of school and over the last year, Iβve realized that worrying about the next test, project or where the next party was going to be held was far less stressful than bills. Davon would probably say the same. My time at UMES was about discovering myself. Going into school I knew who I wasnβt, not who I was. One of the most valuable lessons and gifts of my four years at the shore was the importance of friendship. I met some of the most amazing friends, most whom I stay in contact with today. Meeting Davon was the biggest blessing of them all. A natural introvert and spending too many moments in the darkness, Davonβs hand of friendship and invitation for me to belong in his heart is an experience that Iβll cherish until death. Once the pandemic brushes away, one of my short-term goals is to go back to UMES and walk the campus and revisit the landmarks that hold the memories of Davon.
I have texts on my phone thatβll never ping again and when I ever I need a refill, my mother says, to remember is to live again.
My sonβs fiancΓ©e is from the Detroit area. We now include her family in our circle of care. We just navigated the complex process of deciding to postpone a wedding. A loss for all but something to look forward to now for 2021!
Thanks to my sister, I now participate in a weekly extended family zoom call where I get to see my nieces and nephews, their partners and even a grand niece. We get silly and talk about food and hair β getting longer and grayer. I now have daily calls at 11:30 with my beloved Aunt who is 92. We talk about everything β the family, quilts, daily schedules, laundry and my Mom who is now gone.
This time of crisis has broadened who we call family and created new paths of connection. At a moment of fear, unknowing, and distancing, the connective tissue is only getting stronger.
At Weave: the Social Fabric Project, we call people who build social trust in their communities βweavers.β On April 4, 2023, Jeudy Mom from Compton, CA shared his story. Jeudy was 8 when his family fled Cambodia as refugees. The care his family received when they landed in California led him to pay it forward through a career of mobilizing neighbors to support each other in reducing homelessness, increasing safety, fighting racism, and more.
A New Year's tradition that lets go of the old
As the sun sets on the last day of December each year, several generations of my family build a fire outside my childhood home on a beach in Florida. We help arrange a mound of kindling in the middle, and balance small logs and branches in a pyramid formation.
Around the fire, we share comical childhood stories that have been told a million times and add new stories and memories from the past year. The sound of the crackling flames combines with the steady cadence of crashing waves. The younger cousins set off a few fireworks in the distance, as the adults pick out the winter constellations of Orion, Perseus, and the Big Dipper.
About an hour before midnight, we pass out two sheets of paper and a pen to each person and begin our yearly ritual. On one sheet, we write down all the things we want to leave behind in the old year -- habits, bad relationships, fears. On the second sheet, we dream of the year to come. What do we want to do, experience, become?
We grow quiet. Then, one at a time, we crumble our old lists, place them in the flames, and watch them turn to black wisps that fly from the fire. The new list gets folded and tucked in a safe place. Many of us reread it again and again during the year.
Traditions are comforting. They give us something to hold onto as we face the uncertainty all around us. Burning the first list is symbolic of our belief that we can grow. The second list represents hope. It is seeing a future full of possibilities, promise, and even responsibilities -- to ourselves and to each other.
This year, I will suggest to my family a slight twist in our tradition. What if we share that second list with each other? We could then provide support to each other throughout the year by talking through ideas and sharing perspectives. This is a way of being that also reminds me of our work as weavers. We connect, discuss, and work to build what we believe is possible in the world and in our local communities. It is in the dialogue and sharing of perspectives that we grow, build trust, and solve problems.
Twenty years ago, writer and researcher Margaret Wheatley urged us in Turning to One Another to βInvite in everybody who cares to work on whatβs possible. Acknowledge that everyone is an expert about something. Know that creative solutions come from new connections.β
As the year comes to a close, I hope you enjoy warm moments with family and friends that allow you to dream together about the coming year and beyond.
As columnist Mark Shields was bidding his retirement farewell to viewers of the PBS News Hour last night he mentioned a life ethic that had been passed to him by his father. It was a perspective that had oriented Mark in his journalism career, and had focused him on the very idea of America and on creating a legacy of contribution. Always remember, his dad had told him, that βwe are warmed by fires that we did not build.β
Thatβs actually a biblical reference, to a passage in the Old Testament book of Deuteronomy that encourages a sobering gratitude that comes from remembering the work and sacrifices of the generations who have gone before. But it struck me now in the context of weaving. Our efforts, large and small, to knit together a more promising and life-giving present and future can have frustratingly few immediate and tangible results. βI start a conversation and nobody gives a rip. I try to point out how weβre better off together than apart and everybody sits there, scowling, with their arms crossed. I say, βLetβs let bygones be bygones and let go of the past so we can build a better tomorrow,β and itβs clear theyβre not buying it; they want to win, not cooperate.β
Itβs easy to become discouraged. Tempting, in the face of that discouragement, to quiet down and settle into a secure seat in a tribe of like-mindedness.
But thatβs not what got us here.
What got us here were our ancestors in courage, those who wouldnβt settle, those who in conflicted and troubling times showed all the way up and kept extending a hand. Those are the people who built the fires that warm us today. Iβve never really thought of myself as a fire-builder, but thanks to Mark Shieldsβ dad and the Book of Deuteronomy, I do now.
If you haven't already seen it, check out this wonderful opinion piece published last week in USA Today from Weave's Executive Director, Fred Riley. It is a truly profound and hopeful call for more weaving across our nation during these difficult times.
If we can acknowledge that we are all vulnerable now, we have a nearly unprecedented opportunity to weave community in ways that leave us stronger.
A few months ago, before the whole world changed, I moved from Cincinnati to accept a new position with the Aspen Institute in Washington, D.C. I was excited about my new role with Weave: The Social Fabric Project.
A few weeks into the job, the world came to a halt because of COVID-19. Suddenly, I found myself leading a new team from behind a Zoom screen, alone, in an unfamiliar city, anxiously tracking the health of my family and friends.
As an African American man, my anxiety was compounded when the streets of our country begin to fill with protesters because of the unjust deaths of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor and Rashard Brooks.
Now our country is dealing with two plagues: COVID-19 and racism. Both plagues disproportionately affect the African American community. As a Black man, it is disheartening to know you can play by the rules, achieve success and still be looked at as threatening by people based on stereotypes. I am suffering with the communities succumbing to COVID-19; I am walking alongside protesters who shout, "Black lives matter"; I feel what they are feeling; I live what they live.
Feeling crushed under the weight of it all, I recently lamented in a phone conversation with my mom, βI feel like the world is going to come to an end.β To which she replied, in the style of one who has seen it all, βShut up, thatβs not happening.β
My mom bore witness to the murders of John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr., to the young lives lost in the Vietnam War and the protests triggered by that conflict, to the civil rights clashes of that same time period. She lived β and lived through β these experiences, alongside her family members, friends and neighbors in the American South.
What did that time feel like? βIt felt like the walls around you were caving in,β she said.
How did you get through it? βPeople loved a little more, hunkered down a little more, supported each other a little more,β she said.
Change started in grassroots
As my mom experienced it and remembers it, societal transformation didnβt come from the top and then trickle down to her neighborhood. Instead, people in her community started working together on the things plaguing them. Slowly, they started climbing up together out of a tumultuous β but transformative β period.
Fast-forward to now. Communities of color are disproportionately ravaged by COVID-19. Communities of color are also bending and breaking under the weight of decades of structural racism β our countryβs βunfinished businessβ β which impacts not only how policing and criminal justice are meted out but also how our educational, economic and health systems function by design.
At the same time, we know that the health and economic toll of this period will cut a wide path across America, leaving vulnerable communities of all colors and stripes in its wake. At times like this, facing multiple perceived threats, our local communities and our country as a whole may struggle mightily to secure and strengthen our βbonds of affection.β Itβs natural, itβs human, to let fear divide us. It takes heart and courage to tap the deep waters that connect us.
We're all vulnerable now
But if we can rise to this moment, if we can acknowledge that we are all vulnerable at this time, we have a nearly unprecedented opportunity to weave community in ways that leave us all stronger. It starts with committing to see our neighbors as our ourselves. To love those with whom we disagree. To respect those whom, frankly, we may not like. To embrace the simple, humanistic principles that all human lives have inherent value, and that more unites us than divides us.
At the Aspen Instituteβs Weave: The Social Fabric Project, our work aims to support the many thousands of people who are quietly living this value in their communities, seeing others fully and showing up fully for them. We want to inspire others to become weavers of a strong, inclusive social fabric.
Weave and the National Conversation Project have launched #WeavingCommunity as a social campaign, inviting Americans into honest conversation, authentic human connection and meaningful civic action in their communities. If we want a stronger, more connected America, we have to work for it. It wonβt come easy in this time of pandemic and protest.
Among other actions, we are inviting people into small group video chats with neighbors to share times in their lives when they have overcome challenges. They talk about how those lessons might help them strengthen their communities in todayβs challenging times. Opening up like this takes courage.
When I attended church as a kid, our pastor would always say before Communion, βYou need to reexamine yourself before you take up this holy time in church!β Those words ring in my ears today.
This is a holy time, a sacred time, for our country. With so many societal issues laid bare, each of us is called to reexamine our roles, our beliefs, our values and, most important, our actions.
I am convinced that we will rise together if we βhunkered downβ β to borrow my momβs words β on discovering what it takes to move communities forward. Hunker down on building the skills needed to be effective weavers and bridge builders in our neighborhoods. It starts with us making brave connections. As we say in our #WeavingCommunity campaign, β#LetsGoThere.β
Frederick J. Riley is executive director of Aspen Institute's Weave: The Social Fabric Project. Before joining Weave, he served as chief advancement officer for the YMCA of Greater Cincinnati. Follow him on Twitter: @frederickjriley
https://www.eventbrite.com/e/c...EzPErH6IkAQDbKCJ4ASg
Platform test-- Learning a new platform without morning coffee? Not such a good idea. -- HANSON
"Pretty soon, as the country begins to figure out how we βopen back upβ and move forward, very powerful forces will try to convince us all to get back to normal. (That never happened. What are you talking about?) Billions of dollars will be spent on advertising, messaging, and television and media content to make you feel comfortable again. It will come in the traditional forms β a billboard here, a hundred commercials there β and in new-media forms: a 2020β2021 generation of memes to remind you that what you want again is normalcy.
"In truth, you want the feeling of normalcy, and we all want it. We want desperately to feel good again, to get back to the routines of life, to not lie in bed at night wondering how weβre going to afford our rent and bills, to not wake to an endless scroll of human tragedy on our phones, to have a cup of perfectly brewed coffee, and simply leave the house for work. The need for comfort will be real, and it will be strong. And every brand in America will come to your rescue, dear consumer, to help take away that darkness and get life back to the way it was before the crisis. I urge you to be well aware of what is coming.
...
"What the trauma has shown us, though, cannot be unseen. A carless Los Angeles has clear blue skies as pollution has simply stopped. In a quiet New York, you can hear the birds chirp in the middle of Madison Avenue. Coyotes have been spotted on the Golden Gate Bridge. These are the postcard images of what the world might be like if we could find a way to have a less deadly daily effect on the planet. Whatβs not fit for a postcard are the other scenes we have witnessed: a health care system that cannot provide basic protective equipment for its frontline; small businesses β and very large ones β that do not have enough cash to pay their rent or workers, sending over 16 million people to seek unemployment benefits; a government that has so severely damaged the credibility of our media that 300 million people donβt know who to listen to for basic facts that can save their lives.
...
"What the crisis has given us is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see ourselves and our country in the plainest of views. At no other time, ever in our lives, have we gotten the opportunity to see what would happen if the world simply stopped. Here it is. Weβre in it. Stores are closed. Restaurants are empty. Streets and six-lane highways are barren. Even the planet itself is rattling less (true story). And because it is rarer than rare, it has brought to light all of the beautiful and painful truths of how we live. And that feels weird. Really weird. Because it hasβ¦ neverβ¦ happenedβ¦ before. If we want to create a better country and a better world for our kids, and if we want to make sure we are even sustainable as a nation and as a democracy, we have to pay attention to how we feel right now. I cannot speak for you, but I imagine you feel like I do: devastated, depressed, and heartbroken.
...
"From one citizen to another, I beg of you: Take a deep breath, ignore the deafening noise, and think deeply about what you want to put back into your life. This is our chance to define a new version of normal, a rare and truly sacred (yes, sacred) opportunity to get rid of the bulls*** and to only bring back what works for us, what makes our lives richer, what makes our kids happier, what makes us truly proud. We get to Marie Kondo the s*** out of it all. We care deeply about one another. That is clear. That can be seen in every supportive Facebook post, in every meal dropped off for a neighbor, in every Zoom birthday party. We are a good people. And as a good people, we want to define β on our own terms β what this country looks like in five, 10, 50 years. This is our chance to do that, the biggest one we have ever gotten. And the best one weβll ever get.
...
"If we want cleaner air, we can make it happen. If we want to protect our doctors and nurses from the next virus β and protect all Americans β we can make it happen. If we want our neighbors and friends to earn a dignified income, we can make that happen. If we want millions of kids to be able to eat if suddenly their school is closed, we can make that happen. And, yes, if we just want to live a simpler life, we can make that happen, too."
Read the full essay here (it's worth the time) and reply to share your thoughts, fears and hopes.
After the holiday break, we can choose how we show up at work.
by Bob McKinnon
Executive Director of Moving Up Media Lab
For many, today will be their first day back to work after a long holiday break. Perhaps you traveled, spent time with family, enjoyed some much needed rest and relaxation.
The tendency might be to rush back into work, making up for lost time by sending out a flurry of emails, reminding people of what they owe you, requesting meetings, and trying to get everything βback on track.β
But this penchant for trying to catch up in one day has one obvious drawback - what goes around comes around. Imagine if in the spirit of being productive or getting on βtop of thingsβ everyone takes this approach.
Pick your metaphor. Hot potato, whack a mole, getting a monkey off my back by putting it yours or cleaning off my plate by dumping it onto yours.
Each of those visuals evokes a negative feedback loop, one mired in stressful back and forth, wasted time and frankly an unkind way to kick off a new work year - for you and everyone in your orbit.
(And no, starting an email with βHope you had a nice holidayβ will not in any way mitigate this stress.)
What if you instead tried this?
1) Spend most of your time just working independently on a project you care about.
2) If you want to send an email, donβt ask for anything. Instead, send an email complimenting someone for a job well done.
3) Finally, If you have meetings already scheduled, try to end them early. The gift of found time will be especially appreciated today..
At the end of the day, instead of feeling good about how much you got done, maybe youβll feel even better about how much easier you made someone elseβs first day back.
(And if that doesnβt alleviate your pent up work stress, just remind yourself of all the people who had to work over the holidays and didnβt have much of a break at all.)
If you want to receive these notes from Bob McKinnon at Moving Up, please click here.
It's easy to lose perspective in a difficult conversation. Here's one way to not just keep it, but expand it.
In this post I'd like to talk about perspective, because itβs one of the hardest, and most important, things to maintain in a difficult conversation.
In a book I read recently, the author observes that βfeelings follow perception.β His example: When you see a shark, you feel fear. If you suddenly realize what youβre seeing is actually a dolphin, fear subsides, and feelings of relief or joy take its place.
Feelings follow perception. And what does perception follow? Perspective β the vantage point from which we see the world. For example, what we see looking through a microscope is going to be very different from what we see standing at the top of a mountain.
The power of this causal chain β perspective, perception, feeling β is beautifully illustrated in an exercise my wife does with her students. Sheβs an English teacher at our local high school, and at the beginning of every year she takes her students through an experience called βThe Milky Way in a box of salt.β Let me briefly describe what she does, and the impact it has on her students.
First, she lays down a large piece of black fabric (representing space), and shakes out a box of salt (representing the stars), in the spiral shape of our Milky Way galaxy:
![](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/599ca12b6f4ca307a800c277/1630089768240-BPR8NMMZYBJJ4E5CLNY2/Amy+class+blur.png?format=1500w)
She then shares a few known facts about our galaxy, such as:
- It contains about 300 billions stars.
- Traveling at the speed of light β 186,000 miles per second β it would take 100,000 years to go from one end of our galaxy to the other.
- Despite its size, itβs still just a small part of the cosmic picture, being one of about 100 billion other galaxies.
Then, answering the question on every studentβs mind -- where on earth is earth in all this -- she tells them it lies about two-thirds of the way out from the center of the galaxy, tucked away in the corner of one of its spiral arms:
![](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/599ca12b6f4ca307a800c277/1630089811517-OCD98F21BEJITI88HHM0/Here.jpeg?format=1500w)
Lastly, she gives a brief cosmic history lesson, summarizing some of the major milestones that got us to where we are today:
14 billion years ago:
The Big Bang, the birth of space, time and matter.
13 billion years ago:
The formation of the first galaxies, and the starry furnaces out of which every element in nature emerges.
5 billion years ago:
The birth of our solar system.
4 billion years ago:
The birth of life on earth.
200,000 years ago:
The birth of Homosapiens Sapiens β the species that βknows that it knows.β Made of the same elements as the universe itself, we are, in the words of astrophysicist Carl Sagan, βstar stuff contemplating the stars.β
17 years ago:
The birth of the students in the classroom.
Once the presentation is over, the class wrestles with big philosophical questions, such as: Whatβs the significance of seeing ourselves in this larger context? What does it say about who we are? About whatβs important?
At the end of class they write down their main insights. I looked at this yearβs reflections, and organized them into two categories: perceptions and feelings. How did such a large perspective change how they see, and how did that change how they feel? Hereβs a selection of what they wrote:
How it changed how they see things
- It makes me understand how my existence automatically relates me to everyone.
- It made me realize that I thought I was living my life the way I wanted to, but I wasnβt actually. It also makes me realize a lot of things arenβt worth the little time I have.
- This experience has helped me understand that what we do or think in life matters in the wider perspective.
- It made me realize how amazing it is that I am here.
- It expands my imagination and creativity. It helps me think about the gray stuff, rather than just the black and white things.
- It really gives me a new look on life. I do not exist for no reason.
- Itβs mind blowing and puts things into perspective and challenges our traditional way of thinking.
- Such a big concept attributes a sense of worth to each being in the universe.
How it changed how they feel
- This experience has made me grateful for being alive today, because so many things had to go right for me to be here.
- Rather than being weighed down by the reminder of how tiny I am, I feel rather comforted by it. It makes me remember that a lot of things I consider a big deal are actually not that big of a deal, and so I start to stress out about them less.
- I feel like Iβm part of something greater. I understand better the fact that I hold a place (no matter how tiny) in the universe that makes me who I am; I have importance in who I am because of this connection.
- It keeps you humble. You know that you are lucky to even be here.
- It is humbling and also bewildering. It is so important to realize you donβt know everything, and also that others donβt know everything either. It also shows that itβs okay to sometimes not understand. Some things are made to not be understood.
- It makes me feel less like everything in my life is about me, but instead like Iβm a piece to a bigger puzzle.
- It gives us meaning. We can take what we are used to (our lives, our small worries) and put it into perspective; from this we can better appreciate who we are and how we came to be.
As I said, itβs a powerful example of how feelings follow perception, and how perception follows perspective. So how can we use this in a difficult conversation?
We know that when things get heated in a difficult conversation, our perspective narrows, and protecting or defending ourselves becomes our primary objective. When that happens we lock into a specific interpretation of events, and literally βlose sightβ of other possibilities.
If we can become aware of when this is happening to us in the moment, we have an opportunity to pause the conversation and take a few steps back. To breathe, to reflect, to reconsider.
The word βconsiderβ literally means βwith the stars.β So if youβre able, take βreconsideringβ literally and go ahead β spend some time with the stars. Contemplate the mystery, magic and immensity of existence, and see if it has the kind of effect on you that it had on my wifeβs students. See if it helps you perceive and feel things differently, and if it helps you then re-engage in the conversation in a way thatβs a little more open, a little more revealing, a little more humble, a little less sure that you have the whole picture.
Perhaps a practice like this is already part of your process. If not, I hope you'll give it a try, and that you'll let me know how it goes.
If you're interested in the details of the Milky Way in a box of salt exercise, let me know by emailing me at kern@difficultconversationsproject.org/. My wife is more than happy to share it with you.
On June 17, 2024, Ray Pun of Redwood City, CA shared his story at Weaving in 400 Seconds. Ray helps libraries become the hub for connected communities.
The Clif Family Foundation β from the family that created Clif Bars β is providing small grants to nonprofits doing work to strengthen the food system, enhance community health, and safeguard the environment. If you have a sustainable and community-focused project, like Ulysses Archie Jr. or Charles DeBarber, it might be a great fit for this grant.
Apply by Mar 1, 2024: https://cliffamilyfoundation.org/grants-program
As part of the Weave Learning Centerβs Atlas CareMap module, we invite you to share what you learned from the Going Further exercises in the discussion thread below: What actions might you take or behaviors might you change based on what you have learned from the Atlas CareMap lesson? You can type it or upload a video attachment of yourself sharing your story. We invite you to engage with others who have shared their stories.
As part of the Weave Learning Centerβs Pitching Your Nonprofit module we invite you to practice sharing your pitch with another weaver. We invite you to share your name in the comments below to indicate you are interested in a pitch exchange.
If you are looking to practice your pitch and get feedback from the Weave Community, use this discussion forum thread to find a partner:
- Private Message a member from the comment list below. Click their profile picture to get to their profile. Then send a private message (Here are instructions for how to send a private message).
OR - Post Your Interest so people can reach out to you if they need a buddy.
If you donβt get a match within 1 week: Check back regularly to see if replies open up. You can also private message me and I can get you connected with someone.
As part of the Weave Learning Centerβs Atlas CareMap module, we invite you to share what you learned from drawing your first CareMap in the discussion thread below: What did you learn from creating your first CareMap β from the process itself and/or the results? You can type it or upload a video attachment of yourself sharing your story. We invite you to engage with others who have shared their stories.
The Food & Society program opened applications for their 18-month Aspen Food Leaders Fellowship which unites promising food system leaders to ignite personal transformation, cross-sector collaboration, and scalable change toward a fair, sustainable, and healthy food system. Itβs a great opportunity for weavers working in the space of sustainable food systems.
Apply by Feb 22, 2024: https://www.aspeninstitute.org...-leaders-fellowship/
As part of the Weave Learning Centerβs Story of Us module, we invite you to practice sharing your Story of Us in the discussion thread below. You can type it or upload a video attachment of yourself sharing your story. We invite you to engage with others who have shared their stories.