Seeing Patterns

On this northern hillside, not far from my door, Naturequietly, slowly reasserts herself. The once farmed hills are shrugging off the patina of introduced ways, species and chemicals. Reverting to what has been for millenia. Tracing from an intricate pattern of eternal relationships between soil and weather, plant, bird, insect and worm. Beneath my feet in six inches of earth - roots and fungi and other organisms - sustain what emerges above in the lichen and shrub and canopy. Re-creating, even partially, what has been lost. These deep patterns so seldom seen, yet fully revealing themselves right in front of my eyes.

Old, irresistably and effortlessly and naturally becoming, again.

 I wonder about my own patterns. What patterns are shaping my own slow becoming. How are they shaping my days and my ways of being in my work, my life and my world. Can I discern a form that makes a sense of my past, present and future? Is it a pattern that I can bear? Is it truth or mere deception, I ask. 

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives

Annie Dillard

So, curiously, I notice my last twenty years of working. Formed from impulse perhaps, there is a shape of six-year cycles, it seems. First there was Communication, then there was Trust, then there was Change. What next for me, Consciousness? Each time feeling like a stepping off a cliff. There’s a rhythm here. Of commencing and completing, then moving on. Being novice first then developing something of a competence, a position, a proposition, a confidence. An identity even. Becoming what it is I’m doing, at this particular time of my life. Only then to left it go and move on, from identity to identity. Perhaps, always seeking a fuller version of me. I’m reminded of Derek Wallcott’s poem “Love after Love”

The time will come when, with elation 
you will greet yourself arriving 
at your own door, in your own mirror 
and each will smile at the other's welcome.

I notice another pattern here too. I wonder if I’ve noticed this before. There is a pattern to each cycle also. Each next time progressively becoming less concrete, less pre-mediated, less calculated. Less superficial, deeper somehow, more profound perhaps. More courageous maybe, or more risky, more naive, more fool-hardy even. More alive? Each time less ‘winged’ for what may come. Always having to rely on growing some of my own ‘wings’ on the way down from that cliff edge. 

Sensing our own patterns takes a certain maturity.

The capacity to see our own patterns seems only possible with a sense of separation from ourselves. A maturity say, that allows some distance taking and a willingness to stop and explore ourself in hindsight, without judgement. Such reflection seems rare in a world of work that too strongly appreciates responding to the immediate. And advocates for conforming to particular ways of being. Deliberate contemplation is squeezed into the margins. When it could be front and centre if we were serious about bringing more fundamental change. Creating what seems persistently lacking – real leadership, full engagement, change capability, stewardship & sustainability, joyful relationships and wellness.  Despite our best intentions and investments.

Are we ready to review our habitual ways

of seeing, thinking, acting and being.

 Its scary though, to see our own well worn patterns. Becoming conscious of these patterns can imply an uncomfortable responsibility. Accepting accountability for our own decisions, rather than responding out of habit, assumption and blame. Feeling a culpability for creating exactly what is happening in our lives. Realising that we might be at the cause of those changes we seek so desperately to make in ourselves, others and our world. 

 Maybe some patterns are merely holding patterns. Keeping us safe from nagging fears and doubts. Or assumptions, beliefs and metaphors about ourselves and others, carried from our inexperienced past into the daily experience of our working lives. Keeping us away from those troubling parts of ourselves. Its good to feel safe, of course. But safety has its own costs, denying ourselves the vitality of spending some time at our own edge. Keeping us from those persistent challenges that remind us of the possibility for self-transformation. Only waking occasionally to that alarm on Groundhog Day. Perhaps its time to explore those underlying metaphors, assumptions, beliefs and tensions that can keep us stuck.

 Whatever the pattern, we can choose to start to etch a new one. Or embolden an already growing pattern. A pattern that might allow for greater interdependance where only dependance or independance might once have only been. A pattern where inclusion might expand where separation was once safely sought. A pattern where acceptance might replace unnecessary judgement. A pattern where opposing tendencies might be balanced where once it was merely binary. A pattern that evolves and expands our own identity, breathing life and vitality into our work and life. And the work and lives of others, perhaps. 

Am I ready to take responsibility for my own slow ‘Becoming’?

Making the time to stop and notice.  Paying attention to the details of life, noticing the finer details of Now. And stopping with the intention to make sense of that long line of ‘nows’ stretching back into our past. Allowing a most intimate of insight to emerge. Not as a solitary practice but rather with trusted friends and partners who have the benefits of seeing from the outside. Unblighted by the personal filters that blind us to ourselves. Holding a kind of co-responsibility for each others self-evolution.

Finding those personal patterns that light the path forward,

offering the least resistance to our own natural becoming.

Kim and Bernie