Community is a word that has lived through time relatively unscathed. As near as I can tell, community was generally considered a good thing way back when, and it’s generally considered a good thing now. Many words these days are not so lucky, have you noticed this? So many words—too many words—are devolving into harsher, narrower shadows of their former selves as they’re experienced and redefined by individuals who feel disconnected.

But not the word community. No. Community persists: a warm, welcoming, kind, and fully human word. And a truly bad-ass word, in my opinion, because it does persist, like the other bad-ass words: love, friendship, play, laughter, gratitude, and joy.

It feels a bit uppity to attempt to delve deeper and possibly generate a new understanding of the word now. But the way I experience it, community is where all my apparently individual uppity (and so many other fun adjectives I can own and adore these days) comes from. So what the hell? Let’s go.

Today, for me, community is an unexpectedly diverse and unified body of individuals who help ensure that life is surprising and delightful. This body includes personally trusted others and also kind and trusting/trusted strangers.

Unlike small self-organizing groups (collectives whose members are surprised and delighted by what they become and do together), which have no individual at the center—communities are actually individual-specific. They DO have an individual at the center. You, me, and everyone: we each have our own community. So although there may be significant overlap (“We are both part of the _______ community.”), your community varies from mine, because your community includes 1) the people that you personally know and trust, 2) all the strangers you trust because they are kind to you or because you recognize that they are trusted by others within your community, and 3) all the strangers that trust you. And mine contains mine.

Because personally trusted others and kind and trusted/trusting strangers are different for each individual, the community is different for each individual. Each person’s community is a unique world unto itself: remarkably connected to and interwoven with the others and also unique to beautiful, scrappy, appears-to-be little you.

I wish I could draw. Here’s a shot at what I mean.

Individual Lori (Me)…

Self-organizing group Lori (Me becomes the outer edge)…

Community Lori (Me is the fluid and always changing and moving outer edge.)

At first blush, this may sound like a modern, individualistic, self-centered definition of community. I’ve given this one year of conscious lived experience and thought, though, and I’m starting to become more certain that it’s not. For one thing, with this understanding comes the new understanding (for me anyway) that every individual I meet today is the living, breathing center of their own community. This makes everyone significantly more connected, influential, and powerful than they appear (and often know) in their individual forms. Every individual—no matter what status or title or role or gender or age or place of birth or any of the other ways we’ve divided ourselves up—is the center of their own community. I repeat myself here because this warrants repeating.

I experience this as a necessary evolution in understanding of ourselves as community, because we are living in a time when most of us are so flooded with information as individuals that we have no idea which end is up many days. This can cause us as individuals to over-rely on the published ideas of distant experts and to undervalue those people we’re directly connected to every day and to undervalue our individual selves.

Our planet is not experiencing large-scale crisis because too many people overvalue themselves. Our planet is experiencing crises because too many of us undervalue ourselves and those we’re with every day. It’s when we undervalue and underestimate ourselves and those we’re with that we can end up compromising what we believe and making decisions out of fear. It’s from this undervaluing place that we hurt others and ourselves.

Wow, that felt like a huge statement, and I’m not really a fan of making huge statements. So I’m going to chalk that one up to the influence of my off-the-charts, crazy-amazing community. To you.

The other reason I’m getting comfortable with this new understanding of community is that I’m now experiencing community—much like the states of individual, self-organizing group, and the space between these states—as a fluid state. For many of us, a community is no longer a solid, well-defined, local, physical, I-was-born-into-it-on-the-ground state. And even if we recognize that we were born into one, and even if we happen to still be physically living within that first one, we are still part of many, many others now. Or, as I now experience it, many, many others are now part of us, thanks to our communities.

If community is already being experienced and lived as a fluid state, what exactly does that say about us as humans? For me, this year it has meant learning to become comfortable as the space between: happily moving within and across my individual self, my many self-organizing group selves, and many communities—almost all of which I experience as part of myself. Most days. As part of one whole, diverse, crazy, fun, beautiful, scary-at-moments, but overall kind, welcoming, warm, and loving self.

We are so much more than we can know we are or be as individuals. Community wraps us in the surprise and delight we need to laugh, play, relax, and know this for ourselves and to come to know more of our whole, true, beautiful selves. This hasn’t changed since the word community was first spoken, because this doesn’t need to change.

I think that’s why community as a word and as an experience persists and why it will persist despite our precarious piles of individual fears.
Because we each carry community with us like a found, treasured, smooth stone in our pocket: a burden so light and easy to hold that most days it’s actually carrying and helping us as individuals, not the other way around.

There is no down side to community.

It’s who we are. It’s why we last. Even when we as individuals, as organizations, and as societies sometimes forget that. Like the found, smooth, and treasured stones in my jacket pockets that show up to surprise and delight me again and again.

My stones have names: Daniel, Cassie, Erik, Chris, Kristine, Emil, Jen, Jim, Linda, Grady, Joe, Ansel, Bella, Bas, Ali, Tim, Kathy, Sherrard, Kristen, Diane, Alice, Ronald, Doug, Gail, Jacqueline, Don, Peter, Patrick, Jana, Chelsea, Fisher, Lisa, Kyle, Emily, David, Eddie, Meg, and Rumi. Some have begun to rename themselves as they better recognize themselves: Batman, Story Wrangler, PinkNinya Yammer-blastLil, Bernie Frabjous, d’Artagnan Evergreen Barbosa, Elans Melees Joy. Crazy bunch of pirates. God love’em.

Surprise and delight. That’s how we roll. That’s community.

1. In response to another community member getting emotional in a highly thinking- and debate-centered group: “I am impressed by your ability to own your emotions, voice your “aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah”s publicly, and to name fuckball actions fuckball when you see them. I have no advice for you. I am just now learning to do what you appear to do easily. So keep doing what you do to give others the courage to do the same. Whoops, that was advice. Meant it as request. Will you keep doing what you do so that those of us learning this can keep seeing it?”
2. In response to another community member talking about his own purpose and wondering about the purpose of a large, chaotic community he’s part of: “We are a planet of small humans and happenings with hearts sized appropriately for our planetary selves. I don’t think I’m here to understand our purpose. I’m here to be reminded of who we really are and to get comfortable with the size of my heart and my self. It’s in the smallest random act of kindness and forgiveness that I learn the most.”
3. In response to a group member making major life changes without keeping another friend in the loop: “You need to Skype or email me and tell me about this immediately! This is the kind of important thing you share with your wife from another life. Don’t make me go Karen Walker on you!”
4. A white woman community member’s response to a male community member saying people should just “lighten up” about the recent bloody cake cutting images out of Sweden. “I first learned of the image through an African American friend who said that the photo of the cake being cut into made her cry and then tighten her fists in rage. I actually read her words, got a lump in my throat, felt my fists tighten, and had tears in my eyes before I saw the image itself. Was a black person making a cake or a statement about mutilation racism? No. Was the decision by powerful white people to laughingly, smilingly cut into it? YES. That action was like a knife into my friend’s heart (and her heart happens to be connected to my own). This hurt was not imagined. This hurt was real. Lighten up? Are you fucking kidding me?! Remind me to tell you that the next time somebody kicks you in the groin.”
5. To her community, many of whom are neighbors, in a politically conservative rural part of the United States where many neighbors despise government, democrats, and President Obama in particular: “I am a supporter of Pres Obama, but if his wife were to run, I would vote for her!”
6. In response to a person describing his own personal beliefs to a very large online community: “I love what you say about no privileged center AND everywhere is a center. This is my reality too. I believe that every living being is at the center of something and at the edge of something. This is an especially good daily reminder for those of us who’ve been told that our ideas are cutting edge. When I talk about my work, I like to remind those calling the groups I study “cutting edge” that some people, from birth, are taught, for example, about Ubuntu, I exist because we exist. So while it may be cutting edge for me, it’s just “who we are” for others. ”
7. In response to a high-tech person in a high-tech work world asking her community how to get the very best reliable internet access while traveling in Germany and Switzerland: “In each new town, ask locals for the coffee shop with the best coffee and wifi and walk there 3 to 6 times a day, put your feet up, and revel in being so far from home with good coffee and wifi and kind locals and walking.”
8. In response to a community member sharing a numbered list documenting what she most loves about her life right now: “This is so fucking beautiful! #s 6 and 10 are BIG in my life now too. Refusing to pause for anything less than “fuck yeah” are the same exact words I used recently to help a college professor friend come to grips with the fact that he’s not fully happy in his work. It’s not a question of choosing between I hate, I tolerate, or I like my work. Not when there is “fuck yeah!!!!!!” and “i fucking ADORE my work!!!” as choices out there. In the end, the only things you have to give up to get there are the things that didn’t deeply matter to you any way and the parts of yourself you happily shed like a snake leaving its old skin behind.”
9. A woman’s response to being cut off by another community member: “it’s weird that you’re interrupting me and not letting me make my point, because we get along so well. So let me make my point. But it is important, I think, the interruption is important, I think, because now we know, at least from both of your perspectives that women are not faring worse than men in the economy. That women aren’t getting paid less for equal work. I think that’s a serious difference in factual understanding of the world.”
10. In response to several community members getting angry with each other, moving away from the issue they’d come together to discuss, and attempting to “win” by convincing the other of the value of their point/perspective/ideas: “In my research, one thing I’ve learned is that when I move into fear and anger it means I’m approaching or crossing a self boundary as an individual. Today feeling fear and anger is one of the tools I use to know “Am I moving in the world right now as an individual? As a small self-org group of trusted others? As community (where I can fully, openly embrace strangers known by the community)? Or as the space between (where I can embrace everybody because I actually experience myself as everybody)?” All are valid, useful states that serve an important purpose. To my ears, fear and anger (beyond the immediate “I’m about to be physically attacked by a bear” kind) say “I have fallen out of the group (or am worried that I’m about to) and I need help getting back in.” Love and listening and compassion pull individuals back into the self-org group, community, and space between states. I saw this within the groups I study before I fully recognized it in myself. As a community, we may not be able to do this for AIG’s Steve Miller–yet–but we most certainly can do it for each other–those we know and don’t know here. We do it all the time. That’s actually how I know this is a community.”

Spoilers! Eight of the 10 above examples were me. All eight were spontaneous and courageous for individual me in the moment. All surprised me and several actually stunned me. It certainly appeared to be me saying these words out loud, but those closest to me know that I’m as likely to break into to tears as I am to say something courageous out loud within a very large group, especially an angry, arguing group experience, which several of these were. At least the old me was. But not this week.  Hmm. None of my eight examples hold a candle to the stunning courage demonstrated by the two other people in the above examples. Their courage teaches me something new every month. One is an amazing mom and farm wife and friend. One is an amazing national news commentator. My personal poster-kids of courage.

I think maybe 99% of all the courage in existence is the internal courage to change: every quiet little internal choice about who we are, what we believe, and who we will allow others to be and what we will allow others to believe in our presence. The other 1% of all courage in existence gets all the attention and press, but it’s not where the deepest beauty of courage is. Not really.

Something else happened to me this week. I was given a gift by someone who said such a hurtful thing in one of my communities that it made me sob. Number 4 above is part of that experience. This week I watched myself become something new: a caring, close, listening, discerning, quiet, kind, and gentle kicker of metaphorical ass when it became clear that the community itself was asking for a teaching moment of close and gentle metaphorical ass kicking. And it actually worked. The person left the conversation, went and did his own research, and came back armed with videos and stories showing other perspectives beyond his own and saying that he’d spoken from a blind spot he could now see. Wow. I was speechless. I eventually said “I just fell in love with you a little bit. Thank you for bringing so many additional perspectives into the discussion.” What else could I say? A guy who’d made a deeply hurtful statement had just demonstrated that he was really at his core a thoughtful, remarkable human being who could change himself in an instant.

The gift he gave me (besides revealing more of his beautiful self and the fact that I can now trust my collective self to recognize these moments) is I now have a deeper understanding of the expression “Turn the other cheek”. As a kid I was taught that it meant one thing: that I should respond to a verbal aggressor without anger, without verbal violence of any sort, and ideally (for a woman) silence. But what if anger is actually a gift? I learned that if you graphically, verbally demonstrate how painfully you (and a friend) are receiving what is being said in a discussion, that it can support the other person in imagining that same pain within themselves. And if they can feel your pain within themselves, then they’ve already changed. I learned that a clear and vivid description of what somebody’s words are physically doing to me is not an attack on them. I will forever think of a different set of cheeks when I hear the expression “Turn the other cheek!” Next time, I’d like to hope that I’ll at least have the presence of mind to leave the curse word out. Then again, it’s tough to argue with a spontaneous approach that worked so beautifully.

Community and self-organizing groups don’t need courage. They have courage. It’s as individuals that we need courage: usually in what appear to be the very smallest of acts. Acts like showing ourselves and others who we really are, saying what we believe, recognizing and admitting that our own short-sightedness caused another pain, describing the impact of hateful words and actions on our physical selves so that others can hear them, offering kindness to those who believe the opposite of what we believe (and kindness to ourselves when we inevitably mess this one up), and letting go of who we once were in favor of who we strongly suspect (but aren’t completely certain) we now can be.

These aren’t really tiny acts at all. These are the most important acts: the acts that proceed the discovery that we are better than we’d previously imagined possible. Courageous acts that cannot be taken from us by others. Acts of individual courage (“Did I really just say that out loud?! Oh shit!”) that morph into habit within self-organizing groups and community (“That’s just how we roll.”). When you are utterly surrounded by courageous people, you’ll be surprised to discover that the honest, powerful, and courageous voice that you are hearing now is actually your own.

This resulted in Tom from CD News helping us find Grady. Yea! This also resulted in our dog Grady becoming a bit of a local celebrity (people now stop us in the street to say hello to Grady when we’re out for walks).

This also resulted in me asking Tom about how the CD News website works and him telling me that I should write a story about our coworking space on the CD News Stories page, which I did the next day. This resulted in Tom mentioning us on Twitter. This resulted in about a 900% increase in the reach of our wee little Collective Self free community coworking space Facebook page, and our highest attendance to date (9 coworkers in our new 15-person home-based space) the very next day. Wow.

This also resulted in us recognizing Grady—behind the fur, perpetually smiling face, and constantly wagging butt—as some sort of evil mastermind/marketing strategy genius. Clearly a title change was in order. Grady received his title change, from Director of Exercise & Outdoor Activities to Director of Marketing, with a smile and a wag. I’m so thrilled that he agreed to take over marketing for us, because the word “marketing” itself carries so much baggage for me that it makes me want to run screaming from the room. And he’s clearly a natural.

10 ideas from our space this month:

1. Cook meals, make desserts, and concoct drinks together in the kitchen, whenever possible, if you have one. For example, this post would have been up Wednesday afternoon, but I prioritized picking early rhubarb in the backyard and then making a cake with/for my coworking partners in crime instead. That’s just how we roll.
2. Embrace spontaneous play when it happens. This post would have been up last night, but I prioritized laughing and watching old Parks & Recreation episodes with Chris and Tim. Love this coworking after hours stuff. Grady and the cats build spontaneous play into the space simply by their presence and ability to be their whole, true selves at all times. They are guru-level masters of work as play. I’ve been bringing more playful things into the space naturally, without thought. Laughing and playing together is so obviously not procrastination, and it’s teaching me more than I imagined possible. Experiencing deep fun at work—almost all day, almost every day, and falling in love with who you are, who you’re with, and what you do—is a humanity-level game changer. From my perspective today, it is impossible to overdo community play or to overemphasize the importance of play and joy within a community.
3. Get closer to the people you’re already with. With the people who are regulars here now, I’ve noticed that I openly share what I don’t know—and what I really need help—as naturally and easily and spontaneously as what I do know and can help with. I’ve noticed that I’d forgive these people anything and believe the feeling is mutual. We even told a dirty joke last week. At work. That is CLOSE my friends. Authenticity and vulnerability tango cheek to cheek here. When I feel both within me, and within the people I’m with, we grow as a community because individuals (including us) want what we have as a group.
4. Visibly reveal your heart. I adore these photos from the ZEN Coworking space in Tokyo. They speak to the heart of the people and the place. They make me long to meet the people that gave him (her?) his/her own cushions and laptop. Look at that smile! That’s how coworking makes me feel. These people have the same heart I have, which is all I need to know to decide I’d like to work with them. The next time a friend goes to Tokyo, I will remember them and recommend them. And if I ever have the opportunity to visit Japan, I will visit them.
5. Choose fresh, local, seasonal people to learn with. I’m learning to prioritize the voices of emotionally close humans over distant others (distant means people not emotionally local to me, I’m not talking physical distance here, see story of me and ZEN Coworking space in item 4 above). I recognize distant others by the “I shoulds” that I hear in my head, such as “We should join that professional organization” or “I should take that seminar” or “We should try to get an ad into that prestigious magazine.” Bleh. That was the old world of work. Who do I love listening to? Who do we love being with? Adore working with? Want in our kitchen for dinner? Can’t imagine our lives working without? The answers are different for every individual—which brings a constant stream of gorgeous difference into the community. I think of these choices as the emotional equivalent of deciding to eat locally grown, in-season food whenever possible. I know a good piece of fruit when I taste it. “Wow!” I trust my wows wherever they show up. Trust the groups and people who inspire them completely.
6. As you dump the “I shoulds,” show more love to:
• Yourselves. Whenever I feel too busy, this indicates something is out of whack. I quit working. Start playing. Fastest way to get back into whack. Grady taught me this. So does everyone I work with now.
• Your own neighborhood. I’m learning to do this now. What do people in my neighborhood really want and need most? Requires walking on my feet. Requires opening my door wide. Listening to my neighbors. Asking my neighbors for help and offering them help. Requires becoming more visible, known. Courage. Also requires swapping and sharing, which, fortunately for me, I LOVE.
• Your global community. I’ve been doing this for a while now too. Listening to the words and between the lines. What do the people in my online communities really need most? Can I help them in the moment? Same listening, asking for help, offering of help as with our neighbors. Same courage to become more visible. Same swaping and sharing. But you can do all this in your pajamas most days. LOVE!
7. Just for fun, think completely differently about who you are, who you want in the space with you, and how growth could happen. This is a long story but SO worth it. In January I visited and interviewed (for a book I’m writing) TCB Couriers, a bicycle messenger service in San Francisco. They are thriving during a time when most messenger services have failed. Instead of serving the financial district, like everybody else, they decided to serve their own Mission District neighborhood. They started by doing personal deliveries for people: Nyquil and Orange Juice for someone home sick, sugar for someone out of sugar in the middle of a cake-baking disaster, etc. Their neighbors learned to trust them and eventually the sick guy who needed Nyquil decided his design firm needed them to deliver their important, can’t-be-lost paperwork downtown. Neighborhood restaurant owners started using only them. In two years, they evolved from two broke guys who wanted to make rent and ride their bikes every day, to almost 30 messengers and more than 60 business clients, plus individual deliveries. They grow now when other messengers want to join them and run their own neighborhoods. The organic way they are growing gave me goose bumps when I heard it. I had to hold myself back from bear-hugging Chas Christenson, founder and CEO, during the interview. Their community markets itself. People are so much more than what they do for a living and what they do for a living often changes. TCB Couriers reminded me of this. I owe the ideas for starting and growing our coworking space to them.
8. Stop doing things that feel draining, immediately if possible.
9. Can’t just stop doing everything that feels draining? Approaches we take:

• Give the task to Grady or one of the cats
• Tackle the work as groups of two or three close friends
• Bitch about it with friends
• Find someone who loves to do the tasks that we hate
• Tap the larger community to learn how to stop doing the tasks that we hate all together

10. Revel in growing slowly, organically, and interconnectedly. That last word may not technically be a word. Yes, there were only 4 people here yesterday, but they were amazing people. People I consider friends. One of whom stayed late to hang out and laugh (I love Tim) and two of whom are coming to dinner next week (I love Kathy and Phil). And this past week two neighbors showed up and are interested in their homes becoming complementary free coworking spaces as well! Holy crap! One is considering a complimentary space for people with kids and/or wanting to swap kid-watching for working away from kids for a while. Another is opening her home as a space near ours for people with cat allergies (like her), since our space is run by 3 cats. Suddenly I can picture a whole network of connected free spaces, and paid spaces, all relying on each other, all helping each other, all naturally and fluidly marketing for each other, and all making this neighborhood/city/planet an even more amazing place to live and work. This is actually happening here already. Wow. Just wow.

6 more “Lori style” tips (aka, tips for the seriously nerdy):

1. Have more fun together so you can drop your individual fear-blinders and worries for a while and recognize just how amazing your community actually is right now.
2. Shine a light on how amazing your community is in every interaction you have (note: this happens naturally, easily, automatically when you’re doing step 1 regularly). Forced, inauthentic, “we really should do X” type Marketing died years ago. I’d like to say goodbye to it together and let it rest in peace.
3. As small “we love being together” groups, support individuals within and near the community by being as visible as possible. Let them see you loving what you do together, let them see you disagree and argue, let them see you evolving and working better together than on your own.
4. Ask emerging, small, “we love being together” groups for help with things that drain your energy (aka, the things you suck at anyway). Allowing trusted cats and dogs to handle these things also works if you let it.
5. Recognize that all small “we love being together” groups support individuals in the community in having more fun, and becoming more connected, and support these groups in becoming even more visible within the community.
6. Have even more fun together, deeper fun than before.

Note: You feel deep fun physically thoughout your whole in your body, and may experience, for example, goose bumps, tears in your eyes, laughing so hard that you almost pee your pants, actually peeing your pants (which will cause an additional level of laughing in those around you like you can’t even believe), crying, saying things that you can’t believe you just said out loud, and/or becoming speechless (wide-eyed and open mouthed) at how lucky you are to be doing the work you’re doing and living your life. Living, breathing, unstoppable stories emerge from deep fun. Stories that persist over time and travel far and wide because they never leave you. For example: “I saw their detailed zombie attack defense plan on the chalk board and, Wow! It was like magic. I just fell in love with them in that moment. This community is prepared for anything.” This is the beginning of a story I tell about Office Nomads, which was Seattle’s first coworking space, I believe. I worked there just one day—something like four years ago—and I still tell that story, doing their marketing for them and extolling the virtues of their space, not the least of which is its amazing defensability during a zombie apocalypse. When the zombies come, only a Shaun-of-the-Dead-level idiot would stay in our space.

Have you noticed that today? Noticed how amazing your world is despite the looming global environmental crisis and the 24×7 corporate-and-political-muck-and-mud-slinging circus and the foul-tempered stranger you met on the street? Silly question. Of course you noticed or you wouldn’t be here. Better question. Have you noticed today that you get to define the center, middle, and the edges of your own community now? Have you noticed that your soulmates are scattered across your beautiful country and this blue-green planet like a handful of jewels scattered across a beach? Who is it that made this possible and who helps you notice? Who are your jewels?

These are our right groups and community to be with. Important now, I think, that we allow ourselves to give as much of our precious individual time to these people/creatures/beings as humanly possible. And that we stop giving that precious time to others and things who don’t. I know that my own own “right” everything else–right view, right intention, right speech, right action, right livlihood, right focus, right mindfulness–depends on getting this one thing right. Hanging with my peeps.

This week, for me, it was four groups of people.

My parents are visiting my sister Jen in Las Vegas over Easter weekend. Last night they Skyped me. They’d gone straight from the airport out to drinking a traditional favorite beer at a favorite restaurant (not that my mom drinks, but she always holds one in the photo–love that). Then, they spontaneously found and bought matching starfish necklaces for mother and daughters. A symbol that means more to us than any other symbol invented by God or man. They had to Skype me to show me the necklaces (we kind of suck at surprises) the moment they got home. There is nothing in the world that makes me happier than watching the three of them sitting on the couch together laughing. Well, except maybe when it’s the four of us or the whole extended family laughing together.

The second group was the three friends who showed up at our house for coworking Wednesday yesterday: Diane, Tim, and Kathy. Having physically present coworkers again makes me smile the day before coworking, the day of coworking, and at least one day after coworking. Often several days. You’ll hear more about them below.

The warm espresso walnut chocolate chunk oatmeal cookies that kept me awake until 4 a.m. So worth it.

The third group is the group that’s creating the Different Work eBook, which is on track to go live in May. Bas, his wife Simone, Kathy (same Kathy as above), my Daniel, and I–and all those who told their stories for the book and who are making edits and sending peripherals now to help out. We work so freakishly well together most days that I almost can’t believe it. I find myself actually looking forward to the moments when things go wrong, because I’ve learned so very much at those moments and I know those will be the funniest parts when we get around to telling our own story.  There is no way that what this group creates won’t be beautiful. Did I mention this book will be free? My favorite price point. Woo hoo!

Warning! If you are opposed to swearing lovingly, openly and freely among close friends, please stop reading this now. No judgment if you leave us here.

Finally, there’s the newest group in my life: a 25-member Facebook group I was invited to join on March 30th. This group already contains some of the people who matter most in the world to me. Natalie Kinsey, who became my soulmate in near-record time in March, and Bernie DeKoven, whose name I’ve recommended to others on a weekly basis for several months now. Plus 23 strangers/friends who I already love because I love Natalie and Bernie. The name of this group of dearly beloved friends and strangers is “10 things I fucking love about right now.” Based on the title alone, I found myself unable to say no to the group. I just checked, and their stated purpose is:

“A good game of Co-savoring,
with the gloves off.
A place to share and more deeply
discover what you actively love
about your beautiful now.”

Love this. What’s a bigger word for wow? WOW

This wonderful bunch of folks have been weaving good humor and loving profanity around me like a fleece blanket this week. With words, they paint their charming souls bare on my computer screen. If I believed in big individual plans, I’d devise a plan for them to all move to Seattle this very moment. We would go to Central Cinema’s “Hecklevision” night, eat chocolate, drink wine, type lovely profane poetry into our cell phones, and giggle as it magically appeared as subtext on the big screen before us. I would start with my new favorite expression, drawn from this group: “It’s really difficult to be a bitch when you have rainbows in your hair.” Never let it be said that people in Portland, Maine aren’t cool. So cool.

For the first time in far too long, I have no idea what the people in my professional group do for a living, nor do I care. These are my people. They can do whatever the fuck they want to do for a living.

So… Shoot, I forgot the question. Oh, yes. How do you know if you’re with the right group or community of people? One last story.

I came back from a week in Washington DC last Thursday night exhausted from miles of walking and with blisters on most of my toes.

Early Friday morning I awoke with a high fever, aching body, stuffy head, and sore throat.

Late Saturday morning, after a fitfull night of half-sleep, I awoke to learn that an invasive, idiotic, unforgiving cancer took the life of my friend that morning. He was just a few days short of his 45th birthday. Just over a year ago at this time, he was the picture of health and fitness.

By Sunday morning, my fever had worsened, and I had to give myself a 57-minute-mental pep talk and three cat-hugs just to make my body move from the bed to the bathroom.

Monday through Wednesday, although I was still sick and recovering, it was these four groups that seeped into my soul, working their magic. Their energy filled me up. Made me strong enough that I actually cast demons from myself Tuesday around 3 p.m. saying ”Fever, you will leave this body immediately, because coworking is happening here tomorrow and I WILL NOT CANCEL IT FOR YOU!” Surprisingly, this actually worked. I’m still tired and sniffling, but I’ve been fever free since Tuesday at 3.

I thought I’d share the thank you I sent my “10 things I fucking love about right now” compadres this morning.‎ I decided to share it here because these people are actually so whole and real and beautiful in person that I’m becoming more so even through their virtual presence, and those of you who’ve been with me here a long time will recognize the shift in me.

There are communities and groups within which people are so close that you’re all able to recognize—without being told—that “thank you” has become both entirely unnecessary and all that you can hear or say most days. Find yours. Mine have washed away the parts of me willing to settle for less.

10 things I fucking love about now…

10. I love that Natalie M Kinsey describes Bernie De Koven as gentle. Love that Bernie is gentle. That Natalie knows it. that I know them both.
9. I love that at 28, I believed in taking years to get to know people before applying the word friend and that at 41 I recognize and call people friends, out loud, the very moment I meet them. Like I did when I was 5, only even better.
8. I love that I’ve known, since age 12ish, that I’d fucking love my 40s and yet that my culture still allowed this to be a surprise.
8. I love that all my friends can love and trust my other friends, instantly, because they love and trust me completely. And vice versa.
7. I love that I ate two espresso walnut chocolate chunk oatmeal cookies that my friend Diane made–at 10 p.m. last night–even though my grown up self kinda knew they’d keep me awake. loved learning that I could be wide awake, alert, and yet still overflowing with gratitude for life at 4 a.m. And the wonderful, complex dreams that followed when I did eventually sleep.
6. Love that my boss is me and that I can sleep in as late as I want 6 days/week. think the researcher who wrote the book of Genesis got the numbers backwards. That God rested for 6 days and created the universe with a snap of her fingers on day 7.
5. Love the minds and hearts that devised a fucking collective now gratitude journal. And those that contribute. Amazing!
5. Love that I am reminded daily that the universe is more amazing than I can individually imagine.
4. Love using the number 5 at least twice. And the number 8.
3. Love that your fucking amazingness has already begun to wash over my friends. Yesterday (coworking Wednesdays at my house) when I told 3 friends about you, they demanded that I read aloud to them some fucking examples. After I did, that lovely “fucking” word kept showing up the rest of the day. Diane made fucking cookies. Kathy finished copyediting two fucking stories in our eBook. Tim later emailed me a “10 fucking things I learned coworking today” list.
2. That coworking Wednesdays is yet another thing that makes me glow from the inside. How I imagine being pregnant must make women feel. Like the entire universe is growing inside you because you are wicked-fierce and more than up for the challenge.
1. That our eBook is coming together better than expected, happily, and on schedule and our only plan was “have fun. no planning. do what you think needs to be done. Decide to worry about it 6 months from now.”
5. Love this vegetarian joke that Diane told me not five minutes after learning about you. “what do you call a mushroom with a 9-inch stem? A fungi to be around.” first dirty joke told in our coworking space since it opened 5 weeks ago. Love knowing that I’ll get to include it in my coworking tips blog post next week.
8. Love that I made Tim an admin on the Collective Self Facebook page yesterday and that last night I received a Facebook post that was both from myself and also not from me. That was so surreal and beautiful that I cried. Would have told you about it then but I had cookies to eat.

When I was in fourth grade, I won a ribbon for a story I wrote. I still remember the premise. I wove what appeared to be a sad tale of a lonely old woman, slowly moving around her lonely house, preparing for her lonely day, walking down the lonely street, going to the lonely store, and coming back to that lonely house. As the story concluded, it was revealed that she’d simply been preparing to go to her afternoon job as a clown at children’s parties. She wasn’t lonely at all. Wasn’t sad at all. The reader’s own loneliness told that part of the story. Our own connectedness and joy wrote the end. The story made me cry, so I knew it was good. The story felt like a gift I’d been given. That blue (or was it red?) ribbon I won at school was cool, but the story itself was the true prize. And I knew it.

I knew that much about storytelling at the age of 9. Adults hadn’t taught me this, not really. I just knew it.

So fast-forward a few years in my life. The middle part may sound familiar. As I got older, I often let go of the things I innately knew and loved in favor of the things I thought I was supposed to do and learn and be.

College. Check.

Well-paying job. Check.

Car, house. Check. Check.

More school. Check.

Better job. Check.

More stuff. Check.

Even better job. Check.

Better car, better house. Check.

But that part of the tale’s not really sad and lonely either. All the right characters showed up along the way. Through it all, some region, some thread, of myself, hung on to what I really was. Storyteller/gatherer me never left—she watched, guiding, cherry-picking skills I’d need later, and surrounding me with people I needed. Even when I was too busy to notice: perhaps especially when I was too busy to notice. You may name this region, this thread, this “I AM,” as collective intuition, or God, or the nature of the universe, or our self-organizing nature, or personal growth, or pure mid-western stubbornness, or luck. Call it whatever you like. That’s your story.

For the past few years, my 9-year-old self has been making my decisions, in conjunction with a growing community of people cheering her on, including grown-up me, telling her to discover and become who she is. This time, we’re pulling the best out of her instead of telling her she must change who she is to better suit the world. We’re telling her she’s a co-creator of the world. We have no boxes to check at all now. It’s all new, surprising, rewarding, fun, scary, and wonder-filled. Together, she and I can weave stories filled with wonder, because WE are filled with wonder.

If you don’t like bulleted lists, that’s the end of this story. We like them.

When I began listening to my 9-year-old self, I noticed that:

• Depending on the company I was in, I would either call myself a Self-Organizing Groups Researcher or a determined learner. Because there is significant baggage that comes with the title Researcher. Whole communities—hurt in the name of research in the past—would fear me if I used the title. While other communities wouldn’t listen to me unless I did. “Whose side would I come out on?” appeared to be my choice. 9-year-old me clung to the words determined learner like a new puppy on Christmas morning. And taught me that it wasn’t an either/or choice. Now other academics who are really just determined learners show up. Last week I heard this: “I LOVE THIS, Lori Kane you are renewing my faith in academic play by leaving the fearbased bits behind, without leaving the careful listening, and Nancy Drew clue followin’, and accurate-fun languaging, and also by allowing yourself to sally forth, swashbuckle in hand, chicken in the other, to the next space between, which, may never have words enough to suit others, but enough for you. Cuz you ain’t scared no more.” Holy crap. Wow. Thank you Natalie.
• Last year updating all my research spreadsheets and tracking every last little detail stopped working. The groups and communities I study are always moving and remarkably interwoven. The compartmentalization and edge defining that a “good researcher” must do didn’t work for me anymore. I live in a world without walls and edges most days now and am now usually disinclined to create them. 9-year-old me said “You are more than spreadsheets and itty bitty details. The people you want to be with won’t need you to be armed with 100-page spreadsheets.” So goodbye spreadsheets.
• I didn’t have the energy for professional consulting work that all my consulting friends have. 9-year-old me shouted “Do what you love! Let’s have fun!” So we did the work that consistently fills me with energy: listening to group and individual stories, building relationships so stories go deeper, weaving stories together, encouraging people to create and recreate their own stories, writing about what we’re doing and learning together, and through this work—recognizing and supporting the emergence of new and healthier communities and a newer, healthier me. Basically, much of what I did as a qualitative researcher, without the anchor weight of the big R “Researcher” title around my neck (not that it’s an anchor for all, just for me). Within a few months, my community and I had an eBook in the works—a collection of stories. I was asked to teach a storytelling workshop. A friend and I began to imagine a collective digital magazine type thingy. We opened our home as a free neighborhood coworking space, so more stories would show up. All orchestrated by 9-year-old me, working in fluid conjunction with her community, typically only stumbling when grown-up me gets in the way.
• 9-year-old me holds the key to creating a healthy, diverse, lasting community around her wherever she goes. Even when we make mistakes: especially when we make mistakes. You are a “Community Story Wrangler!” she shouts. The moment I said that out loud to other adults, the whole world changed. Fun people show up all the time now. People who stretch me. People doing work very different from my own and who often look and sound nothing like me. People listening to their own 9-year-old selves. Or trying to, like me, and needing the group to help consistently hear that voice. Poets! Project Managers! Photographers! Artists! Scientists! Filmmakers! Neighbors! Moms! Social entrepreneurs! Performing artists! Researchers! Family members! Teachers!

I’m not an optimist. What I am is a big fluffy ball of gratitude. Grateful for the people I’m with. Grateful for the opportunity to tell our own tales. Grateful to witness myself and my community change and grow together. I believe the rest of my own story is already told. It just has to be lived. I don’t feel the need to write that tale myself anymore. I feel the need to swing from monkeybar to monkeybar, and branch to branch, having over-the-top fun gathering and sharing others’ stories: stories of humans quietly living ordinary human lives while also becoming and doing amazing things. Stories we all have. Stories patiently waiting to be discovered.

I have no idea how my own story will end. Although I’m beginning to suspect that Clown At Children’s Parties will be my final professional title and round, squishy red noses my last business cards. The story I’m most interested in hearing, and sharing, now is yours. And ours, as we recognize ourselves as partners in crime, community, friends.

That post wrote itself while I watched nervously. Clicked “Publish” while I trembled and wondered “What the hell am I doing?!”

Gentle and fierce wild chicken

Turns out, what I was doing was peeling a blinder off my own eyes. Revealing another doorway to walk through. Creating a tiny peephole for myself to move through and into a vast, new, amazing community.

That’s one possibility that can happen when you say your most confusing, puzzling, and scariest thing out loud. Community. Friendship. Fun. Joy. Peace. States that are already there, I’ve learned, just waiting to be discovered. Instead of being dismissed or rejected, I was embraced. Embraced by my peeps. The people who matter most on my journey.

Daniel stopped complaining that my posts were too long at that point and said “I don’t understand how you generate such high quality content week after week.” Wow. Thank you honey. We suspect that falling in love with your life/neighborhood/work/community/self is key. And for me, community and self-organizing groups, are key. Your keys may be different. We hold our own keys.

Ali Anani, Diane Moore, Doug Nathan, Bob Petruska, Neil Baker, Cathy Fromme–friends–continued the discussion, we told new stories, and we encouraged ourselves to continue evolving our work. Wow.

At the same time, new friends began to emerge…

Anthony Burgess showed up. He asked me “What does the space between these states looks like?” Wow. I’d been wondering that myself and have been moving in the world and thinking about this ever since. Have been keeping my ears on him, and what he says, ever since. He’s a fellow space traveller.

Bernie DeKoven showed up around that same time. I remember him saying “I think what you’re saying is that community purpose becomes the same as individual and small-group purpose.” He was right, and he’d said it better than I had. So I changed the language in the post to reflect what he’d said and I thanked him. Bernie offered more than advice, though. He offered fun. Play. Got my attention. Somehow, I managed to get his. Last month, he offered himself as work (aka, play) partner. Wow. Can’t wait to see what we do next! Me and this person I mentally hug quite often.

Bas de Baar showed up around that time too. He offered fun co-learning. I offered to work with him and, as is his way, he said YES! Co-creation. With someone on the other side of the world. This is fun. Since then our shared work has brought community, learning, fun, joy. And we’ve also shared our individual doubts, struggles, and frustrations. And our not-obviously-related-to-work joys, like music, travel, and our spouses’ shared love of photography. Across an ocean we’ve co-felt the weirdness of learning that as you hit 40 you (well, we) actually get younger, not older, simply by allowing work and play to merge into one glorious fun-hard-rewarding-fun-again thingy.

Seb Paquet came into my peripheral vision about that time as well. I don’t remember how. Google+? I remember liking Seb as a person from the beginning. It wasn’t his ideas (although those are great too). It was who he was. Kind, funny, and brave. A fellow embracer of chaos. Admits he doesn’t have all the answers. Or even the questions. Shows up to learn. Love that. I know it’d be fun to work with him. I know with 100% certainty. We’ve recently started playing together as well. Pulling a group together. A playground, he calls it. Nice.

Also at that time, some kind soul, I think it was Bert-Ola Bergstrand (another stranger at the time), added me to a handful of Facebook groups: Coworking Worldwide, The Next Edge, Presente! (an alternative education group), the SOCAP Network. Love this new generation that connects and shares with almost no fear. If I do nothing else in life I will reward this faith in humanity. I was welcomed into these communities with open arms: communities I didn’t know existed, let alone that I was part of, until I got there. Like an unexpected party down the block that you somehow snagged an invite to. New friends have emerged from these communities. People I now trust. Care about. Respect. Love. Emotionally local in my Seattle nerd-researcher speak. People like David Hodgson and James Burns and Bernard Boulanger. People who don’t mind a little Seattle nerd-researcher speak. People who like me for me. In all my long-winded, convoluted, prefer-clues-to-answers, often-does-things-backwards, get-to-the-frickin-point-already glory. And who I like for them: people willing to share an amazing amount of themselves with a stranger. With me. Which brings us to the beginning of the point.

In 1997, a personal hero of mine, Ilya Prigogine, wrote the book The End of Certainty. I cherish this book to my core, eventhough I understand, oh, maybe .05% of it. He was a chemist fascinated with self-organizing systems. A student of irreversibility. Sensitive to how important beginnings are. He demonstrated that determinism—that certainty itself—no longer holds given all we’ve learned as a whole. That we live in a world where unstability is the norm. Where predicting probability is the best we can expect to do as individuals. I couldn’t agree more with these ideas. But the ideas aren’t what matter most. What I love most is who he allowed himself to be become: a person with kind eyes and listening ears who so valued and understood the work of his personal heroes that he expanded it, adding to it, and co-creating something with living and long-dead friends.

In my experience, admitting that you live in a world where unstability is the norm can be scary and painful. And yet it also means living in a world where the wings of a butterfly deeply matter. A world in which wonder and mystery and gratitude and joy are woven into our knowledge gathering and periodic logical, rational assessments. Let me say those words again. Wonder. Mystery. Gratitude. Joy. Across the whole span of our lives and far beyond the walls of Disney World where some of our predessors thought these silly things should be stored and taken out only for children’s parties.

In Ilya’s honor, that’s what we’re doing right now. We’re adding something to what he said. Co-creating with him. This time, thanks to you, my individual fear is a flicker of its former self. As this post writes itself I cheer it on. Encouraging it to emerge. Go us!

Anthony, my friend, maybe the space between is itself the structure. The fluid, the moving, the laughing, the empty, the chance-taking leaps, the questioning, the clue following, the clue leaving, the light reflecting, the opening. That is the structure. Our structure moves and breathes and lives. This structure lives on while walls collapse.

Bernie, we are free range chickens: born from deep fun, moving with deep fun, becoming deep fun. For the dual purpose of A) deep fun, and B) exploring our full chickenness. Why else would a chicken cross a road? Thanks to Kim Field for first using the expression “free range chickens” to describe his self-organizing work group, and thanks to Natalie Kinsey for calling human beings “wild chickens” this week and reminding me of it.

Doug, your presence taught me that crying is not only an acceptable response to life, but that it is a sign of self-boundary-breaking, which–in my story–also means boldness, courage, leadership, and bad-assness. I cried the moment I said out loud that I experience myself as an individual, a self-organizing group, and community and that I experience fear as an individual indicator that I’m at or crossing a border as an individual. I cry a lot. I didn’t used to know what that meant. It means I am an explorer, crossing many boundaries. Today my tears are also gratitude. A thank you beyond words for teaching me that it’s ok to be my whole self. I rarely cry from fear anymore, because I almost never approach self boundaries as an individual anymore.

So, let’s see. The point. Here it comes. Yes, I’m learning that, for me, the apparently unstable moments are the structure. They are me. They are us. As my yoga teacher used to say, it’s not about doing the individual poses perfectly. It’s about gracefully moving in the space between. Do that and the poses will take care of themselves.

We are fluid, moving, evolving, living, beings. We regularly, daily, suspend our individual beliefs and evolve, change, grow. We move fluidly, together, most of the time. Think we’re connecting with these words? I think we’re connecting in the space between, because we are the space between. We are:

Play.

Story.

Laughter.

Space.

Silence.

Stillness.

Movement.

Music.

Peace.

Connection.

Community.

Friendship, which, I recently learned, is a sea-going craft containing friends.

This is who we are.

So, what I think is being experienced here is that it’s possible to live almost entirely as the space between. To live recognizing yourself–our selves–as the uncertainty, as the mystery, as the space between. It’s also possible to do this while enjoying your self, going ever deeper into the mystery, utterly surrounded by people who surprise and delight you.

And when I need certainty, which is part of me too, I can have that too. In the same moment.

Certainty looks and feels like this.

Imagine a rag-tag gang of wild, free-range chickens, afloat at sea, riding a friendship and singing a song. My friendship looks remarkably like a surfboard: lean, light, unsinkable. May decide to hit you on the head when you fall off. On this friendship, one chicken imagines he’s a pirate. One paddles determinedly because she loves to paddle determinedly. One imagines elaborate new friendship designs to share with other chickens. One sings a catchy chicken folk tune. One breaks up cock fights. One longs for a life of chicken adventures and points his beak out to sea. All love what they’re doing and who they are. Most days. All are certain of nothing at all. Well, except that they are certain of each other, which is no small thing, is it?

That is the beginning, middle, and end of certainty, because that’s all we need.

This certainty opens our eyes to new possibilities in ourselves and others. Reminds us that we have wings and that we could fly into space. Or jump off the ship and snorkle. Chickens are born snorkelers.

Only gratitude for each other can be certain. Really certain. Lived-and-felt-to-the-core certain. Your peeps = gratitude. This is my only certain. Yours may be different. I’m not certain.

2. Receive support from those in your home. I asked Daniel, housemates Chris and Emil, and backyard cottage-renter Kristine if they’d support the idea and asked if they had any concerns. I received only support. Good sign. I felt I didn’t need to ask Grady (dog), Ansel, Bella, and Joe (cats) because they’re the ones that gave me the idea in the first place.

3. Receive support from neighbors. I then sent email to all the neighbors that I know up and down our block to see what they thought about the idea. Fortunately, thanks to progressive dinners, tool sharing, our front yard “neighborhood fruit” garden, annual block parties, front-porch gatherings, and the community pit-stop Central Cinema (half a block from us, plus owners Kate and Keven are our friends and neighbors), I know almost 30 of my neighbors. I told neighbors about the idea and asked them if they had any concerns. I expected someone to worry about impact to street parking and created a detailed approach to ensuring this wouldn’t be an issue before I sent the message. I woefully underestimated my neighbors. Here’s what I heard back:

“Lori, I LOVE this idea. We’re actually renting out desks at my employer’s office downtown… It’s been great to get to know new people, have people to bounce ideas off of, and made for some really interesting lunch conversations….I’d love to be my own ‘boss’ and just write….I may take you up on the offer. This is very, very cool. I hope you get quite a collective together! Thanks for doing this.”

and

“Great idea! I’ll pass this on to friends who may be interested.”

and

“That sounds so great! I wish I was in a better position to jump in with freelancing. What a great adventure. I hope it works out! Keep me posted!”

and

“Hi Lori. This is such a cool idea! Unfortunately, I have to be at my desk at work five days a week. Boo.”

4. Become grateful, thankful, more humble. Wow. We’ve lived in our neighborhood almost 10 years now. It dawned on me as I heard back from my supportive neighbors that this wasn’t actually my idea. This is a need that my neighborhood has that directly maps to my own need. I finally slowed down long enough to recognize that. I’m so lucky to live where I live, surround by these neighbors. I can’t wait to meet more of them!

5. Connect with others learning in the same direction online and make friends via learning and sharing. A few months back, a person I didn’t know (a fan of the Collective Self blog at the time) added me to the Facebook group called Coworking Worldwide. I didn’t realize I was part of this community until he added me to it. He saw something in me I didn’t see in myself. I now consider him a friend. Thanks Bert-Ola Bergstrand! I’ve been lurking in this group for months, watching what others in the coworking community are doing, not realizing that the idea to morph my home into a coworking space would come to me. I respect and trust many people in this online community today. Favorite found resources in the past month:

• Coworking Seattle group
• Coworking News and their Global Coworking calendar
• Desk Wanted
• Global Coworking Unconference Conference

This was technically the first step for me. Could have put it first and called it “Receive an invitation to join an emerging community.” But think perhaps this was a Lori-specific first step, because I study emerging community and self-organizing groups for a living and it’s the nature of my work. If everyone waited around for invitations into emerging communities like I do, we’d probably never get anything done, so don’t let lack of invitations stop you. Just follow your energy!

6. Connect with others learning in the same direction locally and make friends via learning and sharing. I contacted people within two more formal coworking spaces I know about in Seattle this week: Office Nomads and The Hub. I told them I love what they’re doing for our community. I also told them that if they learned of anyone in our neighborhoods who couldn’t afford their spaces, I’d appreciate it if they’d tell them about me. Again, I received a ton of support. I haven’t met these folks face to face yet, but I already think they rock and am planning to become friends with Susan at Office Nomads and Lindsey at the Hub whether they like it or not!

From Office Nomads: “Hi Lori! Wow – what an amazing email that was to get! I am so excited that you’ll be hosting regular Jellies at your place – that’s fantastic! We’ll be sure to share the info. And I’ll have to swing by sometime – that’s just a block away from the last house I lived in, and just a few blocks away from my new place (I’m also in the CD). Let me know if there is anything that you need, or if you need help getting the word out. Take good care and thanks again for all the kind words.”

From The Hub: “Hi Lori, This is wonderful news! I’d be happy to spread the word to our fellow Hub members, including in our next member email. I used to live in the CD and would have loved this option had I the chance – so am excited to pass the word on to others, too! Thanks so much for sharing”

7. Small pilot the idea. I strongly suspect that we will love having our home be a free coworking space. In fact, one day we imagine converting our back rental cottage into a larger community space. But we don’t know this for sure. What if we hate it? This is why we decided to start small, one day a week, for eight hours. Seems like a good way to test the idea. If the community here grows, then we will too.

8. Grow slowly and with collective intention/intuition. Studying community and self-organizing groups for the past few years has taught me a thing or two. So has gardening. Weeds grow quickly and crowd out other plants. Weeds often piss me off. Trees grow slowly and branches leave space for other branches to receive sunlight (Thanks Ali for that image/idea.) I love trees. I want to live the tree and forest experience. Want people around me to have space and be comfortable telling me when I’m being a weed. For us this means that the invitation to join our coworking space went out to friends, neighbors, and friends-of-friends-and-neighbors only first. Only one person showed up this week. And this is a good thing. I asked Office Nomads and the Hub folks to give us only personal referals for community members who really need our space and NOT to advertise in their newsletters and things yet. I want connection and friendship to be at the heart of this space–and making one new friend this week seems like the perfect way to start. We may advertise in the Central District News eventually, and through the coworking community networks, but I want that to be group decisions. So for now, very small is very good.

9. Play. For me, this started by reflecting on what I like to do and don’t like to do and then making that visible. For example, I don’t want to be in charge of our coworking space. I like to spend my time gathering, hearing, documenting, and telling community stories. I want to be a member of this space, not one of the “people in charge.” In my groups, everyone is a leader or nobody is (depending on how you feel about the word leader). However, some people like visible leaders, so we have those too. Grady, Ansel, Bella, and Joe are a group already really good at making the space playful and fun. So, they run our space:

• Grady, Exercise and Outdoor Activities Director
• Joe, Director of Napping
• Ansel, Chief Play and Innovation Officer (Ansel answers to Batman, Ansel, and Honey Badger)
• Bella, Dispute Creation and Resolution Smackdown Specialist (she starts and breaks up fights for fun)

They created one rule for the space: people with severe dog or cat allergies have to sit outside.

10. Self-organizing groups build community, so get out of their way. In my experience, individuals find and receive community, while self-organizing groups build community. The first person to show up in our new space this week (besides the executive staff and me) was another community story gather, like me! He said “I just love to learn and love to be surrounded by learners.” This is the only thing I look for in new friends and work colleages. And this stranger just walked in my front door and said that out loud. How cool is that? I shared with him a new idea: starting a Central District/Capital Hill Story Tellers and Gatherers meetup group to find others like us. He said he’d add members and find a public space place for us to meet. He also told me about another new formal coworking space in my neighborhood: Agnes Underground. I felt like hugging him as he left but didn’t. I’d just met him. Didn’t want to weird out the first person who showed up. Thanks Michael!

Bob and I are also a self-organizing group. Bob found me several years ago, when I first started blogging, and reached out to say hello. We may live on opposite sides of the country, and do different work, but we were drawn together by a shared love of working as (and talking about) self-organizing work groups. We also both love Meg Wheatley. We’re also both stepping away from full-time work within large organizations to try something different for ourselves and our families. This conscious step away from what was normal work for us is scary, and I feel better knowing that Bob is out there taking similar tentative steps and leaps on his own path–someone I can commiserate with and ask a question of, as needed. We’re also very different. He’s an expert on a myriad of things I know relatively little about, including Lean and Six Sigma. Although we’ve yet to work together, we talk occasionally via email, via Skype, and via comments on this blog. Bob is kind, shows up to learn, and is open and generous–all things I aspire to myself. He even surprised me on my birthday last year with an iTunes gift card. That was cool.

How Bob and I are a self-organizing group…

• Our group is more internally created than externally created. We allow ourselves to be drawn together by both our similarities (a comfort) and our differences (learning opportunities).
• Our group is more emergent (appearing to arise spontaneously) than planned.
• We are surprised and delighted to find ourselves friends today–a relationship that doesn’t end even when our work together does.

The community that Bob and I are part of…

The people highlighted in Bob’s video are a self-organizing group for him. For me, they have just become community members. They are people who took a leap of faith and decided to trust me, because they trust Bob. They allowed themselves to be videotaped public speaking–something they are learning to do together. Extraordinarily brave you are, people of Charlotte, North Carolina–public speaking scares me to death! Thanks to Bob, I now know that it’s ok to trust these brave people. Although they are technically strangers to me, I would open my front door to them, and welcome them in, without giving it a second thought today. Trusting strangers and allowing them to come close (emotionally local is my Seattle-researcher-nerd term for it). That’s community. And that’s the power of community.

Within self-organizing groups, I drop my individual fears long enough to see community that I couldn’t before see or imagine was even there. As community, we make new self-organizing groups possible. And we change ourselves and our world for the better.

Thank you brave people of Steele Creek Toastmasters. Your generosity is a gift to everyone reading this and a particular gift for me, who you helped during a time of mourning the loss of my dear grandma. I wish you long, happy lives free of the ”ahs” and “ums” in your public speeches that you desire and full of laughter and forgiveness when they do sneak in.

Reaching 100 years seems more like reason for celebration than sadness, I keep telling my heart, but I’m sad anyway. I’ll miss her face. She is the reason I love to garden, love herbs, am fascinated by all plants really, and like to dig in the dirt. She’s the reason I believed in composting long before it was cool to do so and why I’ve been home canning food most of my adult life, a popular “trend” in Seattle now. Turns out, she made me a trendsetter by sticking with what she loved—and sharing that love with us—even when some people around her (in my 1970s childhood) thought she was crazy for doing many of the things she did. You know, crazy things, like exercising daily, recycling, making your own yogurt, minimizing the use of sugar, eating dried fruit instead of candy, and using aloe vera to sooth a burn.

I’m writing a book right now called Different Work, about people who deeply love their work. Part of the reason I’m doing this is because I deeply love my own work—and I almost always have—so these days people often take me out to coffee to pick my brain about taking a leap away from jobs they hate, work that drains their energy, or organizations that they’re no longer proud to be part of. I tell them my story, but I know that my story doesn’t work for everyone, so I thought it’d be cool to gather stories of people doing work they love, working beyond their own “I shoulds” about work, and changing what work looks and feels like for themselves and their families, communities, and organizations. And it is cool. As I’m meeting these people and co-writing these stories, I’m feeling emboldened, empowered, part of a community I didn’t know existed, hopeful for humanity as a whole, hopeful that I’ll be able to continue doing work I love, more certain that I’ll be able to support others in doing the same.

It occurred to me last night that my grandma Kane’s story could be in this book. Doing work you love brings a stillness to your soul—a peace that radiates out in all directions around you. She showed me this without ever speaking on the subject. She also showed me that staying on a path of doing work you love isn’t easy, either. It’s more like leaping, from stone to stone, across a river than it is like walking on a groomed trail. You’ll encounter people who have other plans for you, like her own mother had for her. You’ll find people who cannot imagine that what you’re doing will work and who may even think you’re crazy, like many of the other adults around her in the 1970s and 80s. She surrounded herself with co-workers who could co-imagine these “crazy ideas” working. For my grandma Kane, that included classroom students, friends, children, grandchildren, chickens, cats, herbs, peas, potatoes, carrots, beets, and strawberries.

So, for me, trendsetters aren’t people who have unusual skill at divining the future, uncommon access to data and money and power and resources, or an innate need to jump out ahead of everybody else. Trendsetters are people who stubbornly stick to being who they are and doing what they love and who surround themselves with others being and doing the same. People like LaVina Kane, who, I suspect, is co-organizing senior-citizen’s gardening and exercises classes in heaven as we speak.