Today the movement still grabs me. Can you imagine a gathering of like-minded people rallying around a mission like that? If you can, then you might understand why such a gathering creates for me an experience of belonging. It rejuvenates me and boosts a commitment to my own sustainable life.

At Wisdom Works, we define belonging as “the degree to which you participate in social systems (such as family, friends, professional networks, support groups, etc.) which provide you a sense of connectedness and well-being.” Let me personalize it. The feeling of being with the LOHAS ‘tribe’ goes beyond mere association or relatedness. For me it is a palpable unleashing of my purpose; it allows me a chance for authentic self-expression. It supports my self-knowledge, self-awareness, and self-regulation. This sense of belonging within a larger, meaningful mission has the added benefit of creating a greater sense of belonging to myself.

Here is what I mean: At the event, I found myself open and curious, greeting people with much more enthusiasm than my typical MO. My thinking was sparked by interactions with those who were taking giant leaps into new opportunities. The myriad of ideas exposed relationships and linkages that left me breathless and desperately reaching for something to write with. There was so much, coming so fast, that I was afraid I couldn’t capture enough of the inspiration. It was like I was in The Matrix – seeing behind physical reality to a web of energy and possibility. The clarity of my vision was sharpened. I felt bigger than normal, more articulate and understood at multiple levels.

Most of us have had experiences like this. What do we do when it’s over? It can be easy to drop back into our normal pattern of living and forget the thriving part of ourselves. How do we keep the benefits of this refreshed sense of belonging working for us? There are many ways. One of my new favorites is through social media.

I’ve discovered that blogs, e-newsletter subscriptions, and other forms of modern connectedness can sustain our communication and continue to foster our pursuit of our own potential until next year’s gathering. But without care you could spend all day reading the latest news feeds, blog entries, or Twitter dispatches. I have carefully chosen to stay connected with certain people who embody qualities I want to nurture in myself:

• Futurist John Petersen stays alert for unexpected emerging trends. I subscribe to his FUTUREdition e-newsletter (read a sample or subscribe here).
• UnitedHealth executive Deneen Vojta is working to create positive change within an established and influential structure. I have emailed Deneen to learn more about her work and I’m watching this website to track her progress.
• Coach Mark Lefko is creating forums for progressive leaders to support each other through Conscious Leader Roundtables. I’m following Mark on Twitter.
• Slam Poet Theo Wilson, who performs as Lucifury, models radically honest expression. Since he is local to my area of Denver, I regularly look for events where he is performing on local entertainment websites.

“Following” these individuals is not just about consuming the latest wisdom. It also reminds me to connect with my own capabilities. The next time you find yourself experiencing a sense of belonging, really notice what that experience feels like and what it can do for you. Isn’t it funny that membership in a group can provide a more powerful connection to yourself?

Photos by Shandi-lee and Todd Huffman

A productive garden requires planning. For me, many factors come into play: the base quality of my soil, the weather (now and in the months ahead), and the amount of time and effort I’m willing to put into preparation and maintenance. Before plunging my hands in the dirt, I try to focus. I balance my picture of a bountiful harvest with realistic assessments of my gardening knowledge and experience. And I try to be honest about the time I can commit. It’s not unlike a productive client engagement or a challenging new project: There is much deliberate preparation involved.

I just had an initial meeting to get acquainted with one of my two new clients. Our several hours together allowed me to learn about her preferences for the mechanics of our collaboration. We established clear and measurable outcomes and a realistic schedule. A recent marketing blog used an apt metaphor for this inaugural phase: the new client pre-nuptial agreement. This is the time to define your hopes and dreams, negotiate them into mutual agreements, and officially commit to them in writing. This written commitment – or contract – serves to build trust, put intention into action, and provide a roadmap that both parties are accountable to follow.

There is an art and a science to putting such commitments into words. The idea of commitment language is well articulated in a book called Language and the Pursuit of Happiness. Author Chalmers Brothers outlines five speech acts that enable clear and accurate communication:

• Requests: for more clarity than mere suggestions or hints
• Promises: deliverables that drive your priorities and establish accountability
• Offers: creating the opportunity to identify and engage available resources
• Assessments/Declarations: determining capability; focusing on the future
• Assertions: claims of truth

Consciously engaging these speech acts can establish commitment. And that commitment is your assurance that all your exciting new potential will actually turn into the results you seek. Though they may at first seem simple or obvious, there is a huge difference between these conscious acts and the far less helpful acts of suggesting, implying, or assuming.

Here’s an example of how it works. During an initial meeting, I sensed a client was being overly optimistic about what he could do to produce a deliverable we had discussed. This is not unusual: I suspect the promise of a new working relationship often obscures the reality of executives’ busy schedules. So I requested that this executive create a practical assessment of his ability to fulfill the commitment. He made a promise to deliver. When he was ultimately able to fulfill that promise, his enthusiasm and confidence grew. That kind of groundwork sets the stage for thriving over the length of the relationship and supports the long term sustainability of the work.

Just like my garden in the spring, new projects and working relationships are full of promise. What new programs are you launching? How clear are you and your team about their roles? As you begin, have a conversation for action and use speech acts that clarify goals and outline expectations. Assert the timeline and ask your team members to declare their commitments. Once you’ve finished the initial planning, you can get your hands dirty and push for results.

Speaking of dirty hands, I’ve made my plan and I’m ready to dig into the soil so I can have pea seeds in the ground by St. Patrick’s Day. Here’s to using clear commitments for a bountiful harvest.

Photo by amandabhslater

On Labor Day my wife and I became two of 3,500 evacuees from the worst fire in Colorado history. Our home in Boulder Heights was so close to the wildly spreading inferno that ash rained down upon us as we rushed to gather up our belongings that afternoon. We packed the bare essentials—and much more, our car starting to look like something from the Beverly Hillbillies. I moved rather slowly, masking my growing stress. My wife moved quickly, coping in her own way. As we finally drove away, smoke filling the valley, my heart felt torn between fleeing and staying.

We chose to stay in a Holiday Inn Express at the foot of the mountain: far enough to be out of the fire’s reach; close enough to feel like we were poised for action. Numerous friends had offered open-hearted invitations to stay with them, but we were stressed and not wanting to impose. We also felt like we needed a quiet space to ourselves. The gracious motel staff greeted us with small knowing smiles and a special room rate for evacuees.

We headed out that night to a friend’s house for dinner where we were joined by a fellow evacuee and neighbor—though we had never met before. Unlike us, she hadn’t heard of the evacuation in time to race home and gather up any belongings. We sat and ate, connecting through nourishment and common worries—both spoken and unspoken—becoming instantaneous friends.

The motel shortly housed our neighborhood. Some had time to pack; some had only the clothes on their backs. Many were frazzled, some frenzied, some stoic, and some accepting (not many, plus you really didn’t believe them). People were showing all levels of vulnerability; no one was normal.

Soon, our neighborhood became a supportive community. We all listened anxiously to daily briefings. Folks cried on shoulders, loaned clothes, broke bread together, shared stories. People delivered home-baked cookies to strangers. Restaurants served free meals and opened up their bars. We became more responsible for each other. Somehow the unbearable became more bearable.

During some quieter moments, I thought of what mattered and what we truly needed. Nearly everything, I realized, can be replaced, save for our loved ones and friends. Then the announcement came: we were cleared to return home. Almost as quickly, winds shifted and officials ordered a second evacuation that same day. We were more orderly in our packing this time, looking a little less like Boulder Hillbillies as we navigated back down the valley away from our home. It was clear we didn’t need everything we had gathered up the first time. We loved our stuff but it weighed us down.

Finding more quiet time, I thought of my work and clients: how much I love it and appreciate them. New questions flooded through me: What sort of workplace community do they live in? Do they feel the kind of support my community has demonstrated throughout this fire? Can my clients show vulnerability like my neighbors have shown? Do they share meaningful stories? Are they generous in spirit? Do they think a workplace with all these things is even possible? Can leaders actually play a role in creating all this?

Throughout our experience as evacuees, leaders emerged spontaneously in unexpected ways. The officials provided helpful information, clear communication, and genuine compassion. Their very presence and the integrity with which they did their jobs earned our trust quickly. What was unusual was how many different types of leaders stepped up in all the various situations we faced. Some were the quiet, humble type, capable of deferring to others—what Jim Collins characterizes as Level 5 leadership in his wonderful book, Good to Great. Others were take-action types: boisterous, but good listeners with big hearts. In our crisis, there was space for a variety of leadership. Nearly everyone stepped up in their own way, doing their share and more.

At the end of the fire, 169 homes and over 6,000 acres burned. Well over 400 firefighters participated in the containment effort, helping to miraculously save our home and those of our immediate neighbors with no damage. But life is a bit different nowadays: we don’t look at our home, our stuff, or most importantly our friends and neighbors quite the same way.

Lessons learned? Don’t wait for a forest fire to find the spirit of community in your own organization. Connecting with coworkers and recognizing that we all handle stress differently is a simple but critical revelation. Yes, making money is important but having a humane culture will give organizations a vital leg up when the inevitable crisis arises. After shuttling carloads of our stuff up and down that valley twice, we were personally reminded of what I so often tell my clients: the most important resource in any community or organization is its people. Appreciate them each and every day. It doesn’t take a forest fire to learn the value of that lesson.

Photo by maushammer