The Big Book

by Mary Lamon, Hive Facilitator

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editors note: Mary wrote this entry March 24. Instead of updating it with current season, culture, news, and injustice references, it is here, as it was written. It takes on even a truer meaning now, in an almost prophetic way.

So much “normal” is gone.

…in this strange season we are living in. Social Distancing. Stay-at-Home orders. Connecting through technology. Routines and rhythms shutting down as we step away from work, church, sports, social engagements, etc. Fears circulating about our economy and health care systems. 

And then I go outside. I feed the animals on my farm. Collect the eggs. Watch the ducks splash in pools of water created by the recent rains. Observe Max the pig, digging his snout deep into soft soil, stopping to munch on unburied treasures. I notice the daffodils dotting the hill at the edge of the wood, the honeysuckle bursting with green leaves, the willow tree exchanging brown drapes for chartreuse. And I feel grounded. Spring keeps coming. Creation continues her ancient rhythms, undisturbed by the virus shutting down our human systems. 

I’m reminded, again, of lessons from the Big Book. Ancient Celtic Christians lived in such harmony with nature, they called Creation the Big Book of God, and the Bible the Little Book of God. They believed God revealed eternal truths through both books, and Creation taught Wisdom for Living. As I witness the unstoppable, emerging life of Spring, I’m reminded I’m part of systems larger than our human economy. The Psalmist (24:1) tells us, “The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it. The world and all who live in it”. Yes. I am part of this great greening taking place. I am cradled in Creation and  held by the Love that continues to birth it. This comforts me in the midst of so much disruption. 

As I consider how the virus is scorching our economy, like our local nano-brewery trying to pay their bills, the restaurant downtown shuttering its doors this weekend, the throngs of workers applying for unemployment, I’m reminded of scorched moments in Creation.  The blackened forest after a wildfire, grey hills buried under layers of volcano ash, water sanctuaries coated in spilled oil. And then Creation reveals what happens next. Spikes of green push through black cinders. Pine seeds open and rise toward the sun. A ravaged landscape begins to shimmer with liveliness as the ancient rhythms of healing, restoring and growing take over. 

Creation teaches us, Life wins. 

The Loving Creator of all things knows how the suffering of the world scorches our lives with economic scarcity, illness, heartbreaking loss, hunger, social isolation, and human cruelty… knows the crushing fear and despair that accompanies these experiences. And Love promises our stories don’t end here. The Hebrew Scriptures tell us “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not overwhelm you. When you walk through the fire you will not be burned; the flames will not consume you… Do not be afraid, for I am with you” (Isaiah 43:2,5). 

In the Christian narrative, Holy Week tells us Love fully enters the scorched suffering of the human experience, to be with us…. in betrayal, abandonment, abuse, cruelty and death. Through every horrible, heartbreaking experience, our sacred stories tell us, 

Love steadfastly holds us. 

Love steadfastly holds us, until life emerges again. 

Love steadfastly holds us until the scorched earth of our lives breaks open. 

Love steadfastly holds us until the unstoppable, eternal  rhythm of healing, restoring and growing rushes through us like living water. 

Love steadfastly holds us until  new ways of being are birthed on the other side of death.

This truth is unfurling all around us right now. The Big Book is telling us again the ancient story, Love Wins, Life keeps coming. 

A Bowl of Grace

by Rachel DesRochers, Hive Facilitator

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Before I talk a bit about grace, can we all just stand up for a second and do a big ol’ shame shake. Get up. Put your phone down and for 30 seconds MOVE YOUR BODY. Shake it off. Shake the shame. Shake the guilt. Shake the unknown. Shake it off, shake it off. 

Now, a big deep breath. Exhale. And again. 

A reframe. 

I woke up with the word grace dancing in my head. Looking up definitions of grace, I’ve found this in the dictionary: simple elegance or refinement of movement and courteous goodwill. 

Below it was the tab- spiritual definition of grace, ahh maybe more of what I am looking for. It’s defined as the divine influence which operates in humans to regenerate and sanctify, to inspire virtuous impulses and to impart strength to endure trial and resist temptations; and as an individual virtue or excellence of divine origin. 

So I propose this question - What if we’ve been given a gift of grace? 

I am not trying to sugarcoat or deter from the big feelings we are all experiencing, but rather bring to the table a way to, well, create some grace for ourselves amidst the big feelings. 

 

Can we offer ourselves divine influence right now? 

Can we endure trials?

Can we sit with our divine origin?

 

That is grace. The grace where there is an exhale. An action. A moment. 

Can you offer yourself grace as we’ve all entered a space we’ve never been in before?

Can you offer yourself grace in trying to balance working from home, being your kids “teacher” or experiencing isolation? 

Can you offer yourself grace as you navigate a new normal? 

We are two months in, being together, being asked to be still, being asked to exhale, being asked to go inward, being asked to receive, being asked to find some grace. 

We can be afraid and welcome grace to come in and sit with us. We can be worried and seek moments of grace inbetween moments of worry. I am wondering the more we open to receive grace, do the moments of worry become less and less? 

I am sending us all a bowl of grace today, may it show up gently for you and remind you of your divine origin, your enoughness, your worth. 

In Gratitude, Love and Quarantine, 

Rachel 

#covid19gratitudechallenge

by Sonya Verma, Hive Core Facilitator

photo collage by Sonya Verma

photo collage by Sonya Verma

This time in isolation can pull on the chords of our emotions on all levels. Each of us will have our own unique experience. One big part of Ayurveda and Yoga is a gratitude practice which is believed to shift states of consciousness. Research now supports this in the positive Psychology world.  

The word emotion comes from the Latin word emovre, to be moved. E-motion is energy in motion. In Ayurveda, we look at how emotions are stored in the tissues and organs. Everything that enters our awareness and system, people, experiences, food, media and so on have to be digested. If they are not it can cause indigestion and blockages within the physical and energetic body. 

Emotions are like mangos.

We have to learn to ripen them and then juice them.

When emotions are juiced, they are deeply nourishing. Even sweet.

-Dr. Vasant Lad, an Ayurvedic Doctor and teacher

The practice of gratitude with emotion can shift the way that we look at our lives, experiences, and families. It is a practice I have been doing with my family and spouse that has truly shifted the dynamics of these relationships for me. 

For many years, I unconsciously identified with the archetypal role of a victim. I, also, spiritually bypassed difficult emotions of grief, not being good enough, failure, and the victim mentality that showed in the form of illness. Through this practice, it has been empowering for me to shift the role of victim and to compassionately learn from my experiences and grow. Each of us here carry our stories and are always shifting and expanding. Each story, a unique blueprint, to make us the person we are today.

For this practice of gratitude you can start by dropping into the body and the heart. It helps to place your palms there and feel that for which you are grateful. You can verbally express it, and I recommend writing it down for the next 40 days. The consistency allows this to become a habit. If a person comes into your mind that brings the feeling of gratitude, take the next step and share it with them.

I've been working on a gratitude challenge, loosely, on social media. The following is one of my posts, to model what this looks like for me. I kind of look at the posts as gratitude musings. 

What a beautiful Tuesday it is! I am deeply grateful that I woke up before sunrise with my sweet Willow purring by my side. The welcoming of routine that feels nourishing, and honoring the morning sun with a warm beverage as the cats joyfully play outside.

The sweetness of picking up 3 beautiful mandalas that I look forward to working on in the coming weeks from my dear friend @radartist. Even though I did not see her, I felt so welcomed as I entered her outdoor space surrounded by Buddha statues and a sense of a warm hug and a feeling of home overcame me. It was an adventure to get there as it was the first time. I had left the comforts of my neighborhood to another part of town and there was a friend walking on the street. Even safely and distantly chatting with her was a pleasant surprise.

I’m deeply grateful for a warm nourishing lunch with my husband Daniel. I love that we have been eating mindfully together each day on our lunch breaks. It is truly a blessing and I cherish those moments.

I’m deeply grateful for these beautiful purple flowers that made it to my doorstep with a lovely card and heartfelt message from my dear friend Kim on Sunday. It touched me so much of our friendship and the kindness of her gift.

I cherish these moments and look forward to teaching a lovely yin yoga class this evening with a sweet group and connecting with my niece on her 21 birthday today.

A beautiful day to honor family, friendship, love and connection. I hope you will share your moments of gratitude today as well. #covid19gratitudechallenge

Co-Making the Hive (And the World)

by Christine Wilson, Hive member, and facilitator

Taken by Troy Bronsink, Hive founder, on moving day and including Christine and 3 of her young adult kids

Taken by Troy Bronsink, Hive founder, on moving day and including Christine and 3 of her young adult kids

Audre Lorde, a famous black, lesbian, feminist, poet and thinker, said, famously: “The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.” She was predominantly speaking here of language. Language is inherently patriarchal, meaning hierarchical. Language was created to clarify power structures and commerce. It is not neutral. I encountered this stronger than ever in a desire to write about the meaning of community, specifically at the HIve.

This difficulty extends into our culture as we uncover what it means to be American or human in this time of a pandemic. I can see why. As I looked for a word to talk about what we do at the Hive, I realized there is no word for it. Audre Lorde was right, the language is hierarchical. Is the Hive a community or a cooperative? And what does it mean to be good citizens of a country or organization?

  • Community is defined as a group of people who have something in common whether location, religion, or gaming. 

  • A cooperative, as a noun, is defined as working jointly in a business enterprise. 

  • I’ve always liked the word citizenship, but the definition for citizen is mainly about being entitled to be protected. It’s written as an entitlement, not working together to create something. 

I can see how we as a community at the Hive are struggling to define what we are doing here. And how we all come with different beliefs about what any of these words mean based on our own life experiences.

That’s the question, isn’t it? What the freak is the Hive? Trying to describe what we do at the Hive and struggling to find the right single word is connected to this bigger question happening: What does it mean to be a citizen of this country or planet, and what do good citizens do?

The right word for the Hive and the country doesn’t exist. The Hive is not a product or service. There are no sales people trying to sell and give good customer service. You are not simply a consumer if you are a member of the Hive. No one is making a profit, but also as a non-profit we do much more than soliciting donors or servicing non-invested clients.

We are a movement to re-create a more mindful world in a slow and sustainable way. We are “working jointly toward” as in the cooperative definition. We have a “shared interest” as in the community definition, but that interest is a moving, breathing interest, an expression in the world of mindfulness/wholeness. We are citizens meaning we all have a role to play, but let’s drop that entitlement word. Otherwise, it’s like me saying I’m entitled to sex because I’m married. I mean, I am, right? But saying it feels so wrong. Sex is an expression of the love, not an entitlement, and love is a mystery.

We are co-making at the Hive. No one is making money from this movement. No one. Whether you give as a donor or a member, you are supporting something we are making together. As a lead team member (we’re not called staff for a reason) and facilitator, I get a small stipend, but I mainly function like a volunteer because I believe in the movement. The first time I was a part of a class at the Hive, and was trying to figure the place out, I thought about the cost of membership and wondered, how are they keeping the lights on?

The Hive will continue to be created by how we all show up together. You can not pay a membership fee at the Hive and expect transactionally to be handed community. That’s as dirty as the sex metaphor I used before. We are sharing in the financial responsibility it takes to co-create this, and then we all make the community by how we show up together.

My kids (I have five) inevitably came home from school at some point in kindergarten to complain about not having friends. Of course, they had friends, but a slight had happened in their eyes. I would ask what they wanted the other kids to do that would feel friendly. They would say things like: ask them to play, say nice things, share, or ask them questions to get to know them. Then I would ask if they were doing any of those things. It’s the old mom gotcha! 

It is true to have friends, you must be a friend. To have and be part of a community, we must co-create that community. We must be a good citizen of the community. We must show up in the way that we hope others will show up to us. On a deeper level, we must learn how others like to be treated, and show up to them in a way that feels loving or kind to them, as we communicate what feels like love or kindness to us. 

This Hive question is no different than the American question. Is it our job during Covid to keep the economy alive or to take care of each other’s health by flattening the curve? Making this an either/or question is a false dichotomy. Being a good citizen is to participate in co-making what we want this country to be. To vote: yes. To buy from local restaurants in your neighborhood: yes. To care about each other’s health: yes. To be a friend: yes.

Words and language and writing will fail to fully communicate this concept. Don’t believe me? Co-making, used to communicate here, is not even in the dictionary. All good mysteries hover above the page or computer screen, between us. 

Every class at the Hive has a mystery to it that comes from what is co-made together in the circle. You can’t just get the cliff notes on a class at the Hive, you must experience, participate, and stir your own goodness into the mix. And it is possible that during the time of Covid, we are learning about our co-created country as well. May we, indeed, show up in the way we wish this world to be created.

Mark Time

by Marie Spreen, Hive Member, Executive Recruiter

Photo taken in Contemplative Photography Class

Photo taken in Contemplative Photography Class

Back in the proverbial day, I spent a lot of high school time on the twirling squad, marching to the beat of the school band.  When we were in line to enter a parade or the football field, we often had to wait behind another group. We’d be asked to march in place until we could proceed.  

This is called Mark Time – to march on the spot without moving forward.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, especially as the national discussion around opening up the country heats up.  As I talk with friends, no one seems to have a grasp on what that will look like, and just the thought of it can set people into fight, flight or freeze mode.  Our adrenals are on overload!

Even so, I’ve been experiencing some of the most animated, engaging conversations around the topic: 

What’s changed for you during this crazy period of time?  

What will you leave behind as you move forward into the new world? 

Who are you now?

With all the change we are experiencing, How do we get back to work? is one of the top concerns for a lot of us.  Many people have already been furloughed and others are watching their companies prepare to downsize in order to stay in business. The need for creative leadership in every sector has never been more urgent.

What if we were able to awaken the consciousness of creative leadership for our next incarnation? 

How will all this self-reflection manifest itself as we begin the slow march forward into an unknown job market?

How do we Mark Time during the transition?

This quiet time can be used as a stimulating opportunity to reassess your skills and talents in order to meet what will surely be a very spirited new marketplace.  

What sort of opportunities will employers be offering potential new hires as they sort out what’s most important to their businesses?  

More importantly, what will you bring to the table?

Instead of working from fear and planning for the worst, remember what you’ve just been through and consider your newly developed sense of strength and clarity. Mark Time.

Take a deep breath, focus on the present moment, then step out in faith and march toward your destination.

In the words of Douglas Adams:

 “I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.”

Art as Connection

by Hannah Peacock, hive member and art organizer

Art by Hannah Peacock

Art by Hannah Peacock

The purpose of truly transcendent art is to express something you are not yet, but that you can become.
—Ken Wilber, The Mission of Art by Alex Grey

I’m sure I’m not alone when I say I miss people. During this time, I have come to realize that the joint sparks of understandings and connection is the reason I’m an artist. 

While this new reality is oh so strange, it does give us time to navigate the world in different ways. Lately, I have been taking a poem written by another and creating a visual representation. I dream of a chain of poetry and art continuing as different perspectives filter the meaning. But that is for a future time. Today, I would like to extend an invitation to you to join in the making of art together.

I have always believed most anyone can make art. There is a creative energy that is available to us all. It is for this reason that we have decided to switch the model of art on the walls at The Hive to group shows centered around a theme. It’s through the sharing of perspectives that we can join a bridge of understanding. Of ourselves and each other.

The first show is Coming home: to self, purpose, or place. When preparing for this show many moons ago I had this block of poplar that just wouldn’t leave me alone. It would climb in my thoughts forcing me to pay attention to it. This is the creative energy, I speak of. I have never carved wood, but it craved to be carved.

I have been a caregiver to a 98 year old woman with whom I have formed a friendship through the years, and I shared my art with her. She looked me straight in the eyes and said, “This isn’t your best work, but it’s your first, and because of that it’s pretty great. But really it’s not that great.”

At first I was taken aback for I had given this block of wood so much of my time and energy. And then I leaned into her message and laughed with delight. Of course it’s not my best, how could it be? I’ve never done anything like it before. That doesn’t mean I can’t love and be proud of what I’ve made. 

Originally, I saw in the poplar a woman holding a child and thought- Mary and Jesus? As I worked she developed in ways I couldn’t have imagined. She isn’t Mary (or only Mary), but each of us. Whether you are the mother or the child, whether she is our ancestor or future offspring, we can all find a space in her wooden cells. I also put 9 houses at the bottom of her skirt. It takes a village, and there are 9 points on the enneagram circle as we have them all within and around us.

And so I ask you to join. Below are the themes for the year and some directions you could take it. They are all open to interpretation. We are open to visual art (wall hanging or free standing), poetry, music, and performance art. What in your environment is tugging at your attention to be made new again?

Throw perfection and experience out the window and create.

I ask you to trust yourself, the world around, and the energy of art. Let’s make something magical together, while apart.

Upcoming Shows with show name, Hive domain it is connected to, and some directions you could go.

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If anything above spoke to you, I want to hear from you! While what is provocative is a personal opinion, due to the healing work the Hive does, we are not accepting nudity or vulgar themes.

We thank you for all you have done and given. If you so desire, we would love to weave your art into this story we all share. Please send any questions and interest inquiries to Hannah Peacock at findingpeacock@gmail.com.

Pulled Into Grace

by Troy Bronsink, Hive Founder

photo taken in Contemplative Photography course at the Hive in response to the prompt Grace

There is an unmistakable moment at the beach when tide changes and you sense the waves are towing harder, sand sucking out from underfoot. Like the moment when you’re letting string out to a kite, and a new wind stream picks up and pulls liberally, the spool spinning faster than the eye can track. 

As a singer-songwriter in bands, there have been similar moments when I’m singing, and the alchemy of a well-written song, the fingers on the guitar, familiar vocalizations, and the attention of the room seem, altogether, to pull me into harmony with something else, something bigger. 

Surely, even you, at times, have felt the grand array; the swelling presence” -poet David Whyte

Yet, pulls aren’t always reassuring. Daniel Hughes recently described it as a “rhetorical newness”. I was in a Hive course with Daniel recently when the room conversation tones shifted from our progressive-minded intentions into older, less-restrained patterns of reactions and triggers. We were pulled into crisis. Into saying things out loud that tested the tinsel strength of our brave space. 

The storming moment made no promise to hold the room, instead it tested our promises, our collective intention, which proved up to the task. It required grace, and when grace was extended, we could feel it widening the playfield.

In ways like none I’ve been aware of before, these pandemic times seem to be pulling at us all, all at once. Pulling parents into the overwhelming struggles of arguing over carrying the one, to laughing about day drinking, between zoom calls with bad wifi, while rationing toilet paper. 

Pulling apart our norms with unexpected freedoms and uncomfortable limits. Pulling managers into impossible cashflow decisions. Pulling concerned citizens out of the workforce. Pulling civil servants and healthcare professionals into impossible choices between personal homes and community care. Pulling consumers into the contradictory storms between conflicting “expertise” of news, health, economics or politics… 

Just stop here for a moment. Can you notice the pull in your own body as these examples pile up? The inner and the outer are related… we can all sense these pulls within our tense, gut wrenching, exhausted bodies.

This feel of being pulled is quite different than feeling pushed.  I’m experiencing more invitation than marching orders. A tug to yield

I spot the yield in those rare moments of media interviews with surprising personal vulnerability. Or those cracks in the conversation with a stranger walking on the sidewalk in front of the house—a generosity in the face of threat. This pull to yield even pops up when someone, out of character, is forced to say, “I don’t know.” All of us, as if at once, are feeling a pull to yield…

Howard Thurman describes this as the fluid area of consent where the inward sea is awakened, swelling with the courage to vulnerably shift the undertow of their desire, to become what they really want in the world.  This pulling from within emboldens the community of our world to entrust ourselves to a pulling from without. This is the power of contemplative practice, expanding our inner abilities to notice and yield to certain external pulls.

The surprise: it seems that when I yield to my own limits, I have to give myself a little grace. And this doesn’t just end with me. I find I then yield to giving grace to my family members, and my work colleagues. The void created by my trusting the pull to yield is exponentially creating awareness of grace. It is widening the playing field!

Like the spool unravelling on my kite, I find the unraveling of life in the time of Corona is lifting a sort of grace consciousness.  Perhaps, I am just having a personal shift of perspective, and grace has been there all along. Or, perhaps the shift is pulling more string from our collective kites, and something is happening to the collective. Perhaps, this crisis is enabling us to enter tomorrow more capable to yield, to extend and receive grace.

This is not a cheap bypassing of the weight of grief, confusion, and yet-to-be-resolved community emergencies. But perhaps, in addition to the very, very real losses, we aren’t simply being pulled under, but also pulled out into something we never would have yielded to beforehand. Perhaps we’re falling in love with grace.

Practice Belonging

by Katie Kinnemeyer, Hive Hospitality

photo taken in contemplative photography class

photo taken in contemplative photography class

The role of the host is a crucial one at the Hive. Hosts hold the threshold space when you cross from your Ordinary World to the sacred space that is communion with your Inner World. Hosts offer acceptance as soon as you show up to the door (physical or virtual). No matter how you show up, we prepare to receive you. We partner with facilitators to create an environment where you feel welcome and brave. 

We share belonging and we are the belonging. It’s the paradox of hospitality: being while simultaneously doing hospitality.

I joined the lead team having only been to one Buzz, and knowing only one member. I wasn’t part of the community, but I had been keeping an eye on the Hive since it started. The mission seemed important. 

At first, I was self-conscious about whether or not I belonged. No one knew me, how would they receive me in this position of “authority.” I kept playing the who-the-hell-are-you-to-be-here tape in my head.

Oh, how many amazing shifts have happened since I dropped the illusion of non-belonging. And bonus, I dropped the posturing of hierarchical authority to get things done, too. 

A few weeks in, I decided that indeed, I did belong, in whatever way I came, and with all the gifts I had to contribute that no one knew about yet. The brave culture of the Hive helped me do that. 

Now I understand belonging isn’t chronological. It’s heartfelt. Rather than measuring it in time, I measure it in warmth, depth, presence, and grace. 

This relationship to others has brought me out of the confines of my worries, nervousness, Imposter Syndrome, perfectionism, and into the light and warmth of sharing acceptance and receiving it right back. 

That sense of belonging arrives to me often, and I believe it’s because I don’t stop myself from making the first move. Hospitality means welcoming the stranger (including myself) and then extending that by cultivating belonging, and creating space for discovering what another has to offer. 

My role in both hosting classes at the Hive and supporting the team of hosts has taught me how to be a different kind of listener, creator, and collaborator. I almost never encounter someone without feeling like I received a gift from them. Belonging is a spiritual practice, and to look for the gifts that other people bring.

I’d like to extend an invitation of deeper belonging into the Hive community, as a Host on the Hospitality Team. It’s the perfect opportunity to show up as your glorious self, so that others can do the same. It’s a regular practice in celebrating individuality, while discovering all the different ways community can look and feel. And, bonus, you get to be a part of that Great Unfolding here at the Hive. 

If you’d like to learn more, please send me an email at Katie@CincyHive.org. I look forward to the gifts you bring.

Feeling Out of the Loop?

by Christine Wilson, Hive Facilitator

Paintings by Christine Wilson

Paintings by Christine Wilson

I’m putting my finger down on a thing I’m calling Out of the Loop Syndrome, OLS. 

Calling it a syndrome brings to mind the villain from The Incredibles, aptly named Syndrome. Syndrome is the perfect image for Out of the Loop Syndrome. Syndrome is a blow hard who is mad that he’s not special like the superheroes. and he whines (then gets mad) about being outside the superhero circle. 

Out of the Loop Syndrome has been working overtime to whisper just that kind of soft soap in all our ears in the middle of this stay-at-home order.

OLS is a blowhard. 

OLS nags. 

OLS feels sure that it’s been rejected, left-out, and fears that everyone else is somehow connecting, but them. 

OLS (Out of the Loop Syndrome) is the half-brother of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out). FOMO is hyper-vigilant at trying to figure out what’s going on so that it doesn’t miss anything. OLS feels like the thing already happened, and OLS wasn’t invited. You know, that haunting feeling that everyone else knows what is going on, but you. In fact, another person could have named this But You Syndrome, because indeed, you can spot it by the but.

At my house 7 of us are quarantining together, me, my spouse, 2 high-schoolers, and 3 college-goers-sent-home (+ Gracie, the dog). Some paranoia and insecurities I’ve never seen here has shown up. Then it happened to me with the Lead Team at the Hive. In our weekly meeting, I sensed that everyone else knew what was going on, but me. Like there was a meeting I had missed, and I was out of the loop. I realized later that everyone was having the same confusion, not just me. I had lept to this place without grounds to do so.  

That’s when I started to see that folks were feeling this disconnect all over the place. One person anonymously wrote on their class feedback, “Just seeing everyone's face every week is balm for the nerves and loneliness. I do feel it's harder to share...Maybe the "disconnectedness" just makes it that way...I can't "feel” people's energy and that's disconcerting...It's a good thermometer for where I need to do inner work.”

This “disconnectedness” jumped off the page at me. I wanted to say, “Yes, I get it! You feel out of the loop!” You can call it disconnectedness if you like, it’s a grown-up word, but I feel like a kid. A kid whose parents are talking in the other room about something important they are not telling me. Anonymous-feedback-person, I love that you call this disconcerting, it is. And I extra love that you see this as an opportunity to do inner work. You’re my hero. And you are right. 

Since naming is sometimes half the battle as any of our Mapping Tool classes will tell you, I want to name it. If you are feeling Out of the Loop, you are not alone. In fact, the feeling of disconnectedness is one thing we can all agree connects us. 

If I had it to do over again, I would have brought this feeling up with my team immediately. But I did bring it up the next meeting, and it was helpful.

There is no loop. 

None of us have figured out how to even form a loop, yet. 

Everyone is as confused, disconnected, and insecure as you are. Even the folks who are better at faking it. Take a deep breath, presume goodwill, and remind yourself and everyone you come in contact with (metaphorically as you are at least 6 feet apart) that we’re all in this together. 


Christine Wilson is the Member Connections Director at the Hive. She facilitates classes at the Hive as well as Women Writing for a Change. Christine is a poet/writer/editor, artist, and former pastor who lives in Northside which suits her just fine.

Gardens and Sweatpants in the Time of Covid

I feel not great, when people ask me how I’m doing with all of this….

my first, genuine thought is FLIPPING GREAT!!

But, I’ll hold my enthusiasm. I don’t lie. I don’t fudge, but I downplay what this forced pause has meant for me.

As a consultant, facilitator, entrepreneur, running on all cylinders, go go go, more more more has been the trajectory. Although I had intellectually pondered “slowing down” or having more balance in my work, it was clear that a full schedule until 2021 was not in line with those thoughts.

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