Relational Presence
Resisting the pull of abstraction, scale, and expertise in favor of human connection
Online meetings are a big part of my life. At least once a week, I’m in a large Zoom session or webinar focused on learning. Most are genuinely enriching.
I’m especially fascinated by the variety of meeting structures, both culturally and technologically. My favorites are those that have some degree of interactivity. I’m trying to discipline myself to stay on camera more often, even when it feels a little lonely.
I write a lot here about how we gather and how we organize ourselves to accomplish things (governance). I’m always curious about these dynamics and how they play out, always holding the question of what draws us more deeply into relationship with one another. Because I believe deeply that it is the supportive structure of relationship that really leads to positive change.
The pull of abstraction, scale, and expertise
I recently logged onto such a meeting. I almost skipped it. I was having a bad day and didn’t feel like I belonged. But I pushed through that, logged on, and was immediately heartened to see a number of friends’ faces and names. From the beginning, the meeting had a tone of warmth and hospitality. The host spoke slowly and warmly, shaping the room’s culture with clarity and ease. It felt like a safe space.
Several panelists shared. In each case, they voluntarily took a relational tone. One shared an example drawn from her family relationships. Another shared openly about a difficult passage in her own journey. Nothing felt too personal. They felt genuine, grounding. They made the topic at hand feel more real because it was embodied and lived. I appreciated that the host affirmed this and even asked questions to go deeper. The whole meeting felt very human.
The chat in these meetings fascinates me. I often notice comments like:
“Our organization, X, is really excelling at this. Check out our work @... “
“What we’re talking about here is X … I write about this in my book @...”
“The theorist X talks about this exact thing in their work @...”
“How might you scale this or apply it elsewhere…”
These comments represent three parallel dangers: focus on abstraction (stepping away from the personal to the broader patterns), scale (how we replicate success in one place in another), and expertise (how we show what we have to bring to the conversation). All three are normal, important, and sometimes even essential. Yet I find that too much of any of them pulls us away from the sort of relational, human spaces that we need.
I’ve lost track of the number of times when I’ve seen abstraction used as a tool to wriggle out of an uncomfortable moment. I’ve done it myself more often than I care to admit. I love Thomas Hübl’s description of the abstract stance: “Split and compartmentalized, we speak about instead of from life. We stand distant and remote from ourselves and one another, affixed to interpretation but cut away from feeling.”
Abstraction often shows up in the form of querying the use of a term or seeking a more precise definition. It is almost always analytical in nature, attempting to see something that is embodied and subjective in a more neutral and objective fashion. This can be important, even essential in some conversations. Definitions and terms matter. Sometimes we need to take a step back. What concerns me is when such moves are used to skirt important relational work, work that touches our own stories, our fears, or our insecurities. We also use abstraction to skirt uncomfortable but necessary and productive conflict. There is a time and a place for abstract thinking, but it shouldn’t be used as a defensive or protective strategy.
One of my deepest pain points as I look back on 25+ years in the social change world is the rush to scale. This happens when a beautiful endeavor comes under the gaze of philanthropy people (myself included) asking the question “how can we make this bigger or take this elsewhere?” Such questions often reduce things to a log frame of disembodied inputs and outputs, with little attention to the relational soil. In meetings, the urge to scale often shows up in comments like “here’s a framework for how to implement this” or “in X, we’ve seen great success…” Don’t hear me wrong: frameworks can be useful, and some things need to scale. But my concern is that a rush to scale can often derail an embodied, place-based conversation and learning.
Finally, I often feel the tension of expertise in these gathering spaces. Sometimes this shows up subtly in the form of comments intended to demonstrate a participant’s command of or experience with the topic. Sometimes, it’s the invocation of a certain theorist’s name. I’m always a little startled when this shows up bluntly – someone promoting their organization’s program, consulting practice, book, or other fundable resource. The change-making space is so often a performative culture. When our first concern is to prove to others that we have something to bring, we are almost guaranteed to stifle the relational magic that real change requires.
It’s difficult to strike a balance around expertise. Sometimes, I appreciate the directness of those who boldly share their successes and wares. I understand the tension. It’s hard not to see professional gatherings as a “sales” space to generate new clients, donors, or resources. We all have to earn a living. I’m probably overly sensitive to this dynamic. I’ve recently been told that I need to be a bit bolder in promoting myself and what I bring. But I have to believe there is a balance to be struck here that doesn’t undermine the relationality of the room.
Abstraction, scale, and expertise all have value. Some of my greatest learning has come from theoretical models born of abstract conversations. I’ve longed to see good ideas, especially those rooted in real stories and communities, amplified and shared. And as a self-employed person, I feel the tension of needing to “peddle my wares” in a crowded, distracted space.
How do we balance these tensions?
It’s ultimately a question of how we gather. Facilitators play a vital role in shaping these spaces. Resisting the pull of abstraction, scale, and expertise requires deep attention and presence of mind. It calls for a gentle, welcoming authority: someone able to name what often goes unnamed, to notice the unseen dynamics that shape the room.
It means guiding panelists and participants not to perform, but to show up as they are, with stories that breathe. It means pulling gently on those threads of humanity when they appear, trusting that what is embodied and relational is not a distraction from the “real” work, but the very heart of the journey.
If this resonates, you might take a moment to reflect on…
When have you noticed yourself reaching for abstraction, scale, or expertise in a group setting, perhaps as a way to stay safe or gain credibility? What might it look like to stay more relationally focused instead?
What helps you feel most human and connected in a virtual or in-person gathering? What practices help shape that kind of space?
What design choices in your gatherings support relational presence, and which ones unintentionally reward abstraction or performance?
And finally, here are a few articles that I’ve appreciated lately:
A fascinating Economist report from Baghdad.
Aaron Renn on the film Weapons (which I’ve not seen – I don’t generally do horror – but I appreciated the social commentary).
I think often about 2020. I found Matt Johnson’s article on what 2020 meant fascinating.
Jason Lewis’ article on Peak Bureaucracy resonates deeply, as he explores “the moment when processes, plans, and performance metrics begin to overshadow the mission itself—when the system becomes the story instead of the people or problems it was designed to serve.”
And finally, I’ve drawn so much from Joanna Macy’s and Anita Barrows’ translations of Reiner Maria Rilke’s poetry. This On Being rebroadcast of an interview with them felt deeply grounding to me as I’ve taken in the dizzying news of the past week.
I loved hearing Macy, who died recently, reading Rilke’s Go to the Limits of your Longing.
God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.
These are the words we dimly hear:
You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.
Flare up like a flame
and make big shadows I can move in.
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don’t let yourself lose me.
Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.
Give me your hand.
***
Just keep going.