After hours of careful listening, my therapist offered
an image that helped me eventually reclaim my life. 
“You seem to look upon depression as the hand
of an enemy trying to crush you,” he said.
“Do you think you could see it instead
as the hand of a friend, pressing you down
to ground on which it is safe to stand?”

Parker J. Palmer Let Your Life Speak

I met Parker Palmer long before he met me. It was March 2002. I was on a plane to Arizona and I had in my carry-on some things I’d meant to read for a while. Among them were two pieces given to me by my sister Ann: When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron and a magazine article.  Ani Pema’s book became my gateway drug into Buddhism–but that’s another story.

The article was an excerpt from the book, Let Your Life Speak by Parker. I knew others had written openly about their struggle with depression, with difficult challenges of the heart but Parker’s grace, simplicity, elegance, and care, spoke to me. His words released something from deep within me.  I wept.

Several weeks before I’d stepped out of a meeting in lower Manhattan and stood just shy of the still-smoldering wreckage that was Ground Zero and wanted to die.

It hadn’t been my first encounter with suicide. As I often add when sharing this story, “Hello darkness, my old friend.” But thankfully I called my therapist instead. And thankfully instead of giving in to my wish to be put in a hospital, she suggested I get myself to Canyon Ranch for good food and daily massages.

A little later I was weeping in seat 7D, wondering who was this man who spoke so fiercely, with love and heart, and with no trace of maudlin self-indulgence? Ten years later–my life radically, lovingly different—I found myself on a call with Parker, laughing and knowing and laughing some more.

Parker and I came together through my teammates at Cojourneo, Kevin Friedman and Dan Putt. Parker and our good friends at the Center for Courage and Renewal have crafted a workshop built around the principles underlying his Healing the Heart of Democracy. The partnership strengthened and blossomed as this year began.

Then, just weeks after Aaron Swartz, Jody Sherman killed himself. As with so many in this industry, Jody and I had crossed paths a number of times. The first was 17 or 18 years ago when he joined Lycos–one of the first companies I’d helped birth into being. The last was in 2012  when he attended a workshop I’d given on behalf of the guys at Venture51. In that workshop, Disappearing into the Fire: Surviving the Startup Life, I tried to address the emotional demands of this delusional thing called entrepreneurship.

I remember the end of that day, my voice raspy and tired, I paced the room asking in desperation, “What are we doing to ourselves? What are we losing when we pursue this magical, impossible task of building a company?” I wish I could say that I had looked into his eyes when I’d asked those questions. I hadn’t. But later, in that Jody way, he grabbed my hand with a firmness that felt even then a little too tight and said: “Thanks Jerry. That was great. Maybe we can grab coffee sometime and catch up.” I nodded and headed for water.

A distraught client emailed me the day after Jody died. So many people were hurt by the news–whether or not they knew him. I tweeted, emailed, reached out to friends. I wrote to Parker.

My request was simple: Help me help them. We decided the best way to respond was to embody what we believe: that speaking about the existential difficulties, being authentic even in our collective guilt, pain, and fear, is–as Parker coined it in Let Your Life Speak–Leading from Within.  We would have a conversation about the ways in which this merger of self and work exacerbates the pain as well as Parker’s notion of the Tragic Gap. We’d invite others to join us.

The conversation, sponsored by Cojourneo and the Center for Courage and Renewal, is in two parts: the first will be via video chat on March 20 at 7:30 p.m. EDT. You can register for that here. The second will be in person on April 19 at 2 p.m. at Naropa University in Boulder; register here. Both are free.

I have no illusions about our coming up with solutions. I have my theories about why I think the entrepreneurial path is so damn hard but, really, I have no answers. And I’ve written plenty about those dealing with the Monsters (One client said last week, “Um, that’s all you ever write about.” Not true! Okay…so maybe it is true but still…). I just know that there’s something powerful in the simplicity of friends coming together, to listen and to hold each other.

What little I know about the Quaker wisdom tradition comes from my friend Parker. His vision of a Circle of Trust—which comes from that tradition–is such an exquisite example of the opportunity, the responsibility–before all of us: to be the friend whose hand holds another still; to make it okay for them to be with whatever is happening. Simply that.

And, with a nod to yet another wisdom tradition, it is in fact a heart-wrenchingly beautiful yet difficult and hard gift to be simple.

So we will sit, first on a Google Hangout and then later at Naropa. We will talk and we will listen. We will be together.

Yesterday my son Michael sent me a link to a video of a young poet. Watsky spoke to him. This morning, as I write, I recall Watsky’s deeply personal, deeply affirming observation: “We live in a house made of each other.”

Come sit with us. We’ll build that house.

If a sadness
Rises in front of you,
Larger than any you have ever seen;
If an anxiety, like light and cloud shadows,
Moves over your hands and everything you do.
You must realize that something is happening to you,
That life has not forgotten you,
That it holds you in his hand
And will not let you fall.
Rilke

I have to remind myself that there’s nothing noble about the writer who throws his manuscript into the fireplace or the painter who slashes her work with a razor.

“I hate the fucking product,” my client is saying and my mind drifts to Hollywood scenes of the angst-ridden artist. “I wake up, grab the app and feel sick. I want to tear everything apart and start all over.”

This pain, I say to myself, is real. This is pure existential suffering.

I remember when I was the editor of a magazine. I remember planning the redesign; the hours-long conversations about every meticulous detail. We debated font size, picas and kerning. We compared color scheme after color scheme. And when we were done, I felt a rush of pride as the first copies came back from the printer.

One month later I hated every damn aspect of that new design.

Why do we hate what we labor so long to create?

I think it’s partly because the song we hear in our head, the application we dream up late at night as we can’t sleep, the story we write in the car as we drive home is never the same as the song that is sung. It pains me when I see my clients, artists every one of them, frustrated that no one can hear the notes as well as them.

The founder who turns to CTO after CTO, engineer after engineer, to sit through yet another whiteboard session leading to wireframes.
“Make it like this.”
“Then have it do this.”
“And then this.”
Make it feel this way…or that.

And inevitably they blurt out: “No, no, no. NOT that,” grabbing the dry erase marker, “…like this!”

The designer shakes his head, the engineer slinks back to her desk, muttering, “What the fuck do they want?!?”

Sometimes our frustration grows out of boredom; familarity breeding contempt. We live with our creations, day in and day out, and come to hate them. Perhaps, in seeing only the flaws in the creation, we’re really facing our deepest insecurities, our deepest doubts about our right to be creating at all.

Who the hell am I, says a voice deep inside, to think that I can cause this impossible thing to come into being? Why would anyone want to use this thing, this service? Maybe I’m just wrong.

Or perhaps every day that the service doesn’t live up to our expectations (or, maybe just as bad, those of our employees, our investors, and our “friends” in the middle-school-like atmosphere of the particular startup community which we inhabit), we’re reminded of our deepest fear: failure.

I feel that most acutely when I write. Some days, I hate every single syllable I type. I took a few writing courses in college. The extraordinary poet Marie Ponsot would talk about the crow sitting on your shoulder saying things like: “That sucks,”  ”How could you write that?” and “Are you kidding me?”

Diminutive, chain-smoking Marie would jut her tobacco-stained finger into the air, punctuating every word: Shoot. The. Fucking. Crow.

I suspect the particularly exquisite pain of hating your own creation may be yet another manifestation of investing too much of your own sense of being into the company, the product, the service. When we hang our sense of self on the whisper of an idea, what else are we to feel but pain?

Thankfully we live in the age of pivots, failing fast, and “iterate, iterate, iterate.” Those survival strategies are all clever and important–necessary, even, given the pace of innovation, competition, and change. But the most helpful aspect of that implicit mindset is its promise of freedom from the awful mental torture of hating your own company, your own creation, your own self. Failing fast and endless iterations are wonderful little bullets with which to shoot the fucking crow.

Running on Riverside Drive this morning, just next to the park, the wind kept kicking up. I had that exquisite pleasure of my body heating up and the tips of my fingers freezing.

Brad Feld’s most recent blog post on depression and entrepreneurship was on my mind. As usual, I focused inwardly first. I know with the trauma of Hurricane Sandy hitting this week, I was having increased anxiety. “It’s normal and to be expected,” I reminded myself. Then I thought about the ways I alleviate my anxiety: “What are you doing to care for your body?” Well, duh, I thought, I’m running now.

“And what are you doing to help others?” That stopped me.
You see, I firmly believe that one of the best ways to give your mind a break is to focus outside the bubble of your own narcissism. And nothing is better for that than helping others.

I can’t reboot servers. I can drain flooded areas but not as well as people who skilled in such things. But I can listen. Really well.

As I thought about the trauma of Sandy, I realized that even as the waters recede and the Number 1 train finally makes it past Times Square, there are going to be a whole lot of walking wounded around town.
Post-traumatic stress disorder is a bitch. I know; I’ve been there.
Unexplained anxiety, lack of sleep, loss of appetite are serious conditions and the sooner they are dealt with the sooner you’ll be able to get back to work.

I can’t help everyone, but as much as I’d like to rebuild the houses and lives of the people of  Breezy Point, my people are on Broadway from Madison Square on down town.

And one of the things I love about our community, about Startup Communities around the world, is that, as Springsteen sings, “We take care of our own.”

So this is a call to action. Working with Kevin Friedman and Dan Putt at Cojourneo, I’d like to help organize folks who can help with people who need help. I need coaches, therapists, and other mental health professionals to, perhaps, facilitate peer support groups.

Many people, even some flooded out of their homes and whose businesses are in jeopardy, won’t need help beyond the physical. But some of your friends, some of your competitors, some of your colleagues will. And what will turn the trauma of Sandy into a tragedy is if we ignore our peers in need.

If you can help–if you have the time to help organize free small, intimate, and safe online and offline peer support groups, please send an email to: ICanHelp@cojourneo.com.

If you need help, or know someone who does, send a note to BraveEnoughToKnowINeedHelp@cojourneo.com.

And, lastly, if you’re in neither category…pass the word. Let’s take care of our own.

A few months back, after a talk I’d given in Warsaw, I was invited to speak in Sarajevo. “There are dozens of entrepreneurs there,” the woman told me as we sipped drinks in the setting sun on a busy street outside a bar, a favorite for ex-pats working in Poland. “They need to be inspired too.”

Sarajevo sent me spinning. The Sarajevo of my youth conjured images of athletes flying above the snow. The Sarajevo of my adulthood conjures images of death and destruction; of beauty and potential thwarted.

The woman approached me after weeks of travel that had taken me, again, to Berlin and to Krakow, Munich, and Istanbul as well. Months before, in a castle overlooking gorgeous Ljubljana, I met entrepreneurs from Zagreb, Vilnius, and Yerevan.

A year ago, I walked the streets of East Berlin with a young Russian who told me of his plans to distribute work to students around the world all the while really telling me about his life-long desire to rise above, break out, stand apart, and become himself. Earlier last year, I’d sat in a hotel conference room in Chengdu, chatting about the importance of cash flow to entrepreneurs from the Tibetan plateau.

At that moment, standing in the sunset on a Warsaw street corner, I recalled all of these people. I was transfixed: Sarajevo has a startup community.

I remember when the Berlin Wall fell. I remember being told that the forces of Democracy had defeated the bogeymen of my Cold War-dominated youth, Socialism and Communism. I remember Presidents past talking about democracy marching on. At the time, I wondered and doubted. Now I understand. No one won. No system defeated another. That is, the changes implicit in this movement have little to do with the machinations of politicians. What is happening is far more powerful, far more important. From Moscow to Chengdu, from Tunisia to Armenia from San Jose to New York to Boulder, people are taking control of their lives.

I often write about the challenges of being an entrepreneur; it is a large part of why people come to see me. Because of this I try to avoid anything that smacks of the naive cheerleading that often passes for analysis (Apologies to my friends at Inc., Fast Company and, even, the Harvard Business Review but each of you could do a better job of warning about the dangers of pursuing the startup life.).

Those who seek to create their own startup do so more often out of the desires for freedom, dignity, validation and, ultimately, self-actualization (in the full Maslow-vian sense) than for riches. (Indeed, those who seek riches most often fail.) For them, and despite what most politicians and government officials blather on about, it’s not about jobs. It’s about life.

Which is why Startup Communities, by my friend Brad Feld, is so important and why my friends in Armenia, China, Tunisia, Turkey, Germany, Iceland, the Czech Republic, Croatia, Slovenia, the United Kingdom, as well as Idaho, Texas, et al should read it. (You can order it here. You can also take his workshop developed by my friends at Cojourneo in support of the book here. )

The book essentially lays out a blueprint for creating and nurturing startup communities for, as Brad writes, “I have a deeply held belief that you can create a long-term, vibrant, sustainable startup community in any city in the world, but it’s hard and takes the right kind of philosophy, approach, leadership, and dedication over a long period of time.”

He calls his framework The Boulder Thesis and it consists of four components:

• Entrepreneurs must be the leaders
• They must take a long-term view
• The community must be inclusive of anyone who wants to engage at any level
• You must have activities and events that engage the entire entrepreneurial stack

What I love most about this view is what it lacks: notice there’s no call for government action; no pontificating on the need to create “technology parks” where the only people who tend to make money are real estate developers. No pleas for tax breaks or incentives. Indeed, the most important aspect of his view is its focus on the entrepreneurs themselves. You guys, he says, have to do it yourselves.

That fits so well with what drives people to become entrepreneurs: savoring the dignity and pride in being responsible for your own failure or success.

Ultimately, that singular experience of doing it ourselves is the magic behind the entrepreneur-led social revolutions implicit in the startup communities around the world. Just as no one should hand you a job, no one is going to hand you your freedom.

As I internalize that reality, and all the ways it’s shaped my life and the lives of the men and women I work with every day, I realize I have my own little thesis brewing: freedom, dignity, pride, opportunity all coexist with the success/failure roller-coaster of the startup life. And that co-existence is more likely to lift people out of poverty, war, and chaos than any political intervention. I think I’ll call my framework The Sarajevo Effect.

I’m blessed.  I’ve been struggling a bit of late and my ability to delve in, dive in and write has been impeded. I wasn’t entirely certain about what was going on but, as the weeks of the summer faded, and back-to-school time kicked in, I connected with some of the reality. The recent blessings came from conversations with Fred and Brad. I went to them for a little coaching…some reflection on thoughts that have been percolating for months.

“It feels,” I imperfectly remember saying, “that yet again things are shifting for me.” I remember years ago when I began much more earnestly building my coaching practice. At the time, Fred laughed and said something like, “Ah, so you’re serious about this now.” I had signed a lease on my own office space.

Another time, about two years ago, having been prompted, prodded, challenged and ultimately coached by Ann for some time before, I took another deeper step towards being serious. So over the last year I stepped up two aspects of my work: public speaking and going deep with client companies.

This year I collected 12 visa stamps–four from countries I hadn’t visited before. At times, I measure my happiness by the number of stamps in my passport. What’s more, I made friends and connected deeply (that is, made people cry) in all of those places.

I also started working more fully with teams–even dedicating whole days to working within a company. In those instances, it’s felt like I’ve had a different, larger impact.

This all unfolded against a backdrop of the launch of Cojourneo, the platform for online workshops, which Kevin and Dan and team have worked so well and so hard to manifest and about which I feel a deep pride.

Sitting in Fred’s office a few weeks ago, just days after walking and talking with Brad through the streets of Boulder, I spoke about the cooking that seemed to be underway for me. “I’m marinating,” I said, “and I’m not sure what’s next. I like the trajectory that I’ve been on but there’s more out there and I’m not sure what’s next.”

Practiced as he is in getting to the point, Fred  quickly responded: “You’re loving having an impact. You want to have more of an impact.”

Yes. I have loved my private client practice. I am blessed (there’s that word again) with having borne witness to folks’ personal work. I consider myself like Lou Gehrig: the luckiest man in the world.

And yet I do want more; I do want to touch even more lives and impact more folks.

So yet another transformation is occurring. Several months ago I asked a brilliant brand strategist friend of mine to think about the brand of Jerry (presaging, I suppose, this transformation). She’s come back with a series of recommended changes to the way I present myself, my services. A redesigned website and blog are being cooked up now. The hope is to have a more coherent message about my work and my offerings. I see it, if you will, as a redesign of the container to clarify and make sweeter the contents.

Cojourneo is a part of that…next week we officially launch my first paid workshop. It’s a version of the explorations I’ve done around surviving life in a startup. It feels like an important turning point in this process of becoming  more impactful. We have a number of incredibly gifted-teachers and writers lined up to use the service to support their work. Check out the roster here and, if so inclined, sign up for one of the workshops. My upcoming workshop is nearly sold out.

In my Buddhist lineage we have a saying that we use when we describe someone coming into their own. The imagery is of a king sitting on their throne, a warrior sitting on their meditation cushion. We say “they have taken their seat.” My clients know I often encourage them to take their seat, to sit upright and unafraid and embrace life as it is.

I’m taking my seat with new depth, clarity and what the Tibetans call Lungta–Windhorse–the energy that flows like a horse running in the wind.

I’m not certain what, if anything, will change. I suspect I’ll be speaking more, spending more in-depth time with more clients. In effect, perhaps, fewer “clients” but those that I have I will spend even more time with.

I wouldn’t be honest, though, if I didn’t add that this is coming with changes in my personal life…the inner one-third from which my lungta arises. With these changes, I foresee spending even more time in solitude reading and writing. Feeding, if you will, the parts of me that I use to help and feed others.

I have a new house in Boulder, for example. I hope to spend more time there. I’ll be working, of course (When you embrace the notion that work is simply another aspect of life, you don’t stop working until you stop living.). I imagine that these changes will also enable me spend more time with me. And that’s a precious gift to myself.

Lately at night and early in the morning I’ve been hearing this poem:

SONG OF A MAN WHO HAS COME THROUGH

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!

A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time. If only I let it bear me, carry me, if only it carry me!

If only I am sensitive, subtle, oh, delicate, a winged gift!

If only, most lovely of all, I yield myself and am borrowed By the fine, fine wind that takes its course through the

chaos of the world

Like a fine, an exquisite chisel, a wedge-blade inserted; If only I am keen and hard like the sheer tip of a wedge

Driven by invisible blows,

The rock will split, we shall come at the wonder, we shall find the Hesperides.

Oh, for the wonder that bubbles into my soul, I would be a good fountain, a good well-head, Would blur no whisper, spoil no expression.

What is the knocking?

What is the knocking at the door in the night? It is somebody wants to do us harm.

No, no, it is the three strange angels, Admit them, admit them.

D.H. Lawrence

I’m wondering what will happen when the rock splits. What will the angels say to me? Nevertheless, I’ll admit them.

It seems these days I’m always either packing or unpacking. Right now, I’m unpacking. A few hours ago I landed in Istanbul where I’m going to work with the folks at Peak Games. Later this week I’ll be in Munich and Berlin, the latter being one of my favorite entrepreneurial communities. The whole trip was brought about by the folks at EarlyBird VC, especially Ciaran O’Leary (who’s written about why Berlin is a great entrepreneurial city). Traveling like this is hard; I miss my family. I even miss the dog (even though I have an ambivalent relationship with him).

But I also love it. As far back as I can remember, I’d walk into an airport, and be riveted by the names of the places up on the departure board. I suppose I’m still that little boy looking to ride the river.

I also love when the worlds in which I play swoop and dive into each other. I love when the work I do every week that I’m not packing and unpacking, on Broadway, becomes relevant in places whose names I first glimpsed on a departure board.

Istanbul now. Munich tomorrow. Berlin the day after. Krakow and Warsaw at the end of May (see here for tickets to the Hive53-sponsored event and here for CEED Regional Conference). Ljubljana last December.  I love when the talks I give, the discussions I facilitate, and the conversations that ensue move through themes common to entrepreneurs everywhere: the emotional roller-coaster; the challenge of funding, learning to balance and integrate your life;  explaining what you do for a living to your loved ones, and surviving the start-up life. For all our vaunted cultural differences, it’s the commonality of these struggles that make so much of the world—old and new, East and West—one big start-up community.

A few months back, my friend Brad–as part of his efforts to document the ways in which communities grow–built a blog to gather the common experiences. He asked me for my thoughts on building a start-up community. Thinking back to my trip to Slovenia, I shared this story.

I’m sure, as these next weeks unfold and I meet entrepreneurs in Turkey, Germany, and Poland, the stories and the themes will deepen and merge. I can’t wait.

_____________________________________________________________________

I first noticed his eyebrows. Bushy, steel-gray, they danced when he agreed with me.

It was the first of a half a dozen talks I was scheduled to give that week in Ljubljana. This night I was the guest of both the US Embassy in Slovenia and CEED and I was there to speak about the importance of mentoring in the building of start-up community. My subtler mission was to convince many in the room to be mentors.

Born in Socialist era, when Slovenia was a part of the Republic of Yugoslavia, most of the 100 or so folks in the room, it seemed from their stony faces and crossed arms, were still a little suspicious of the emphasis on entrepreneurship taking hold in the city.

“They don’t know,” I continued speaking about the young mentees dominating the nascent tech scene. “They don’t know the cost of missed football games, dance recitals, spelling bees, and dinners with the family.”

And I knew I had him. The bushy eyebrows arched so high in vehement agreement that it threw his head back. It then came down in a deep nod. “They don’t know about the dangers of disappearing into the fire.”

Even the stoniest children-of-Socialism-now-captains-of-industry were sitting up.

I moved on. I read to them from an email I’d received in April, after my first visit to the area. In that note, a young entrepreneur spoke not only of the frustration of raising capital–something he understood was a challenge everywhere-but of the alienation and isolation. Growing up in an era of small, flat worlds and in the belief that he could help create the next Google, he was disheartened by the beliefs of the older generation. That group, satisfied with lifetime employment in the Postal Service and a little house in the country, openly criticized the risk tasking, the ambitions, and the desires for something more that is such an intrinsic part of entrepreneurship.

Frustrated by this lack of acceptance, lack of understanding (manifested, for example, in a law only recently passed that forbade anyone who’d lead a business that failed from starting a new business for ten years–the law, thankfully, overturned by the Courts), he was moving to London. After all, he wrote, he wished he’d been Born Somewhere Else.

Finished with the excerpts from the email, the whole room was now sitting up. The young guy could be their son, their grandson. This young man, and the men and women with whom he struggled everyday to create an enterprise out the nothing more than an idea, these people on whom so much of this tiny country’s economic future rests, was leaving.

My thoughts about what makes a start-up community grow from a Silicon Valley-wannabe into a vibrant and integral component of local economy aren’t particularly earth shattering or unique. They stem, though, from having had the good fortune of sitting beside people like Fred Wilson and the dozens of others who helped grow this community in NY into something expansive and exciting.

Put simply, the entrepreneurial ecosystem needs seven things:

• Opportunities
• Entrepreneurs
• Staff
• Government Support
• Universities
• Local Capital
• Elders

It needs the entrepreneurs, staff and opportunities to create interesting companies. It needs the support of government (or, at a minimum, the non-interference of government where crazy laws that criminalize risk-taking are not the norm), universities, and local capital.

But, most of all, it needs Elders. That is, Mentors, coaches, Angel Investors; people who can serve informally and formally as guides. Their roles vary…from providing the seed capital to germinate ideas to providing a steadying, calm demeanor making the roller coaster of the startup experience just slightly easier to bear. “An Elder,” I say in my talks on the subject, “isn’t merely someone with grayer hair. It can be the CEO of the company next door who is two months ahead of you in their fundraising process. It can be the CTO of that failed company whom you bring in not just for their technical capability but for their experience in having lived through a failure and knowing that there’s life after failure.”

Elders come in all forms.

The day after my talk on mentoring, I ran a miniature version of my Disappearing into the Fire Workshop. The room was filled with 150 entrepreneurs, each at varying stages in their journey. And one man stood out. To my right, the bushy eye-browed grandfather–a local professor of business as it turned out–sat erect and grinning. In my mind, he’d come to personify the Elder and I was thrilled he was there.

Later, at the break, I made my way to him. Gripping his strong weathered hands, I asked if he was enjoying the talks. Yes, yes, he said, he very much understood the need for mentoring and was happy to help. But then he leaned in close to me, whispering into my ear, “But really I’m here to learn because I have this idea. I know it can be the next Google.”

A few months back, I lamented the lack of scaleability in my business. I used that fact to talk about an effort I was making to branch out more, do more talks and workshops. That effort helped greatly and I’ve found myself working with many, many more people…in short bursts as well as longer efforts.

Around that time, I was approached by a few people about the “scaling Jerry” problem. Kevin Friedman, who’d attended a Disappearing into the Fire Workshop Ann Mehl and I conducted at General Assembly took up the challenge. Supported by his friend Tim Pettit and my friend Dan Putt. This little band of optimists have set up a service, the intent of which is to make it possible for even more people to get the support they need on their journeys. We call it Cojourneo. The vision is a platform that will allow people to come together in a safe and intimate way (much like offline support groups) to share their experiences and get peer advice, while being supported by a guide like myself or Ann or another “elder” who’s traveled the path before.

We have no idea if this will be a business. We have no idea if this will work. We have no idea if folks will be helped in this process. And all of those unknowns make this that much more fun.

We’re finalizing the designs now and will be launching an alpha version of our first journey shortly (umm, I think this week). We hope to move quickly into a beta mode and have a series of journeys running simultaneously.

When I do a talk on the dangers of losing oneself in the fire of work, I often end with a set of recommendations to help keep oneself from getting lost. One of the most powerful of these is the notion of an ongoing support or advocacy group…especially a group of peers. Our hope is that this could be a platform for folks to do just that.

One final note, despite our lack of certainty about whether or not this will turn into anything (or, at least anything more helpful than similarly structured platforms), we’ve built a small company–a container if you will–to house the effort. And more important we’ve created for ourselves a values statement. The values have been  guiding principles behind everything we’ve tried to build and how we’ve tried to operate.

I’m very proud of the effort and even more proud of the values. Kevin and Dan deserve credit for driving these.

1. Treat people as human beings first.
1. We aspire to be a great company to work for and work with as well.
2. We aspire to bring heart and soul to uncharted territories.
1. “Call it Needs-based governance. It’s an incredibly clarifying and empowering tool. It expands the notion of the CEO…to include the notion of the CEO making certain that the great people they’ve hired (and put into the right positions) have what they need to succeed.” – Jerry Colonna
2. “Authentic leaders in every setting — from families to nation states — aim at liberating the heart, their own and others’, so that its powers can liberate the world.” – Parker Palmer
2. Life is better shared with others.
1. We aspire to find ways to make it easier, more helpful, and more fun for people to share life together.
2. We aspire to build awesome collaborative communities that change lives.
1. “The thing is, we’re all in this together. We’re a community of helpers, a sangha of fellow travelers, and we’ve got to work together. I mirror you. You mirror me. I hold your heart. You hold mine.” – Jerry Colonna
2. “The gift of giving to the Other is the most powerful salve for closing that hole in your heart.” – Jerry Colonna
3. “Depression is the ultimate state of disconnection — it deprives one of the relatedness that is the lifeline of every living being.” – Parker Palmer
4. “The key to this form of community involves holding a paradox — the paradox of having relationships in which we protect each other’s aloneness.” – Parker Palmer
3. Follow fun and aliveness.
1. We aspire to help people esteem and pursue that which they find fun and brings aliveness.
2. We aspire to remind people that loving oneself is often the best way to love others.
1. “But I think the work is not getting people to romanticize our heroes but to see the incredible in the simple act of getting along, of growing up, of becoming more and more wholly, utterly, ourselves.” – Jerry Colonna
2. “Discovering true vocation does not mean scrambling toward some prize beyond my reach but accepting the treasure of true self I already possess. Vocation does not come from a voice “out there” calling me to become something I am not. It comes from a voice “in here” calling me to be the person I was born to be.” – Parker Palmer
3. “Vocation begins — not in what the world needs (which is everything), but in the nature of human self, in what brings the self joy” – Parker Palmer
4. “By surviving passages of doubt and depression on the vocational journey, I have become clear about at least one thing: self-care is never a selfish act.” – Parker Palmer
4. Dare to be open and honest in a safe place.
1. We aspire to build a safe place that encourages people to deal openly with the challenges of life.
1. “And I watched as this first time CEO manifested not only Connect-Think-Do but the even more powerful Connect-Think-Lead.” – Jerry Colonna
2. “There is a fundamental human gesture that must take place first, before any leader can guide, direct, or point the way. Leaders must first open. They must step beyond the boundaries of what is familiar and routine and directly touch the people and environment they want to inspire. Leading others requires that we first open ourselves to the world around us.” – Michael Carroll
3. “Pain held in is pain. Pain let out is dance.” – Mark Nepo
4. “A second shadow inside many of us it the belief that the universe is a battleground, hostile to human interests.” – Parker Palmer
5. Expect and embrace mistakes.
1. We aspire to build an environment where people have freedom to make mistakes.
2. We aspire to treat people that make mistakes with grace and love.
1. “The lesson I tried to teach was that doling out Do Overs was a powerful incentive. It mitigated the fear of failing and, more often than not, brought out the best….” – Jerry Colonna
2. “Lives dominated by impossible ideals — perfect happiness, eternal love — are lives experienced as continuous failure.” – Adam Phillips
3. “But as pilgrims must discover if they are to complete their quest, we are led by our weaknesses as well as our strengths.” – Parker Palmer
6. Be not afraid or at least admit it when you are.
1. We aspire to not let fear hinder us from pursuing our dreams.
2. We aspire to recognize that fear is not a monster but a recurring friend to be embraced.
1. “When Siddhartha woke up and became the Buddha, the awakened one, he didn’t wake to see the triumphant earthly gods and goddesses. He awoke to the utterly breathtaking beauty of the everyday person facing the truth of the pain and fear of life; facing that truth and choosing to move ahead, regardless. That feels like one heck of a small step.” – Jerry Colonna
2. “I must not fear… Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration… I will face my fear…” – Bene Gesserit
7. Be present, wherever you are, and savor the journey.
1. We aspire to help people stop and embrace wherever and whoever they are.
2. We aspire to help people appreciate every moment on the journey to their dreams.
1. “The real gift is learning to be present in whatever third you’re living. So when you’re working, work. And when you’re loving, love. And when you’re eating, eat.” – Jerry Colonna
2. “Stand still… The hard part is bearing the stage of “No action” necessary so that the right amount of data can unfold.” – Jerry Colonna
3. “We do ourselves a disservice when we look only to the extraordinary for affirmation of the incredible. We set ourselves up, then, to see that our struggles with the pathology of every day are somehow less then. And, of course, that then reinforces our own gnawing aching fears that we are never enough.” – Jerry Colonna
8. See life as a whole.
1. We aspire to help people nurture a holistic approach to life: professional, physical, and personal.
1. “But, the only real chance we’ve got of surviving, indeed maybe even thriving in, the chaos of ordinary life is to develop a centered core: A set of beliefs, rituals, and inner-knowledge that not only remains unshakable with every gut-wrenching drop but, in fact, deepens over time into a philosophy that is at once unique and lasting.” – Jerry Colonna
2. “One third taking care of business. One third taking care of the subtle and gross bodies–the inner you and the physical you. And one third for family, friends, community, the world at large.” – Jerry Colonna

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Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself“

A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. Ralph Waldo Emerson  “Self-Reliance”

A good education teaches us to hold contradictions reflectively rather than reactively. Parker Palmer Healing the Heart of Democracy.

Earlier today, in a dialogue with @shawnccpr, spurred by that Parker Palmer quote, we speculated as to the root cause of our inability to countenance contradiction in the Other or in ourselves. @shawnccpr suggested that it might stem from an “overly self-centered society.” I agreed that the root is a fear but fear of what? The fear of being labeled intolerant, @shawnccpr suggested.

I don’t think so. I think the hobgoblin is a fear of indecisiveness, the fear of uncertainty.

In my work with clients, this fear—this wish to know with certainty—rears up most often in dealing with colleagues. I’m thinking, for example, of the CEO who calls me convinced that they have to fire the COO they just hired.

“The situation at the plant,” he says, “is so toxic and he’s not doing anything about it. I know it’s only been a month but I have to get rid of him.”

Wait, I say. Let’s pull this apart. “Tell me the facts,” I ask, and he starts to tell me his interpretation. I try again, “Okay, tell me a story. You went to the plant and then what happened?”

Pulled aside by some of the staff, the CEO was given a litany of everything that the new COO is doing wrong. “And meetings!” he says with drama and a bit of exasperation, “he’s having too many meetings.”

I remember when I was an active board member. I remember getting calls like this all the time from the CEO. The VP of finance talks too much. The VP of Sales disappears every Friday. The VP of Engineering, a co-founder no less, sits in the meetings and says nothing. Should I fire them, the CEO would ask. And more often than not, I’d say yes.

But I’m older now. I’ve come to realize that understanding the best course of action takes a little more work.  You have to learn to separate facts from feelings, seeing how both contribute to data, which only then morphs into information. And information then becomes knowledge and eventually wisdom.

For example, it’s a fact that you asked for the report before the VP of finance went home on Friday. It’s a fact that you need that report for the meetings with the Series B investors on Monday. But it’s a feeling that the reason this happened is because the VP isn’t suitable for a startup.

Those two things—the fact and the feeling—are simply data. To decide what to do requires separating fact from feeling, triangulating data, and searching for patterns over time. Pattern recognition is the only way to turn data into information. Then, if you’re dealing with a decision about whether or not someone should be fired, you’ve got to present the observation of the pattern to the colleague.

And out of that dialogue comes knowledge. Their response, for example, is more information; vital information needed before you decide and certainly before you act.

The problem is we all want to rush the steps. Compelled by our feelings, compelled by our fears–or those of others in the workplace–we feel we have to act or all will be lost.

I understand and admire the wisdom of the “fire fast” mentality but that wisdom is no substitute for the real work of leadership: figuring out the right people for various roles.  Often when I help a client unpack their feelings while they are  in the throes of a decision about whether or not to terminate someone, what is revealed are contradictory facts and ambivalent feelings. And too often, our discomfort with our contradictory feelings, our ambivalence, leads us to rush to judgement, destabilizing and antagonizing the entire organization.

But if we wait, if we can pause and bear the discomfort of uncertainty, then we have a shot at getting to the heart of the problem manifested in all those facts. Then we have a shot at creating the kinds of organizations that not only succeed, but embody the best of our values, the best of our aspirations.