27 Things

How sharing a special place brings friends in.

“Make a list of 27 things you want to do before you die.”

I use this exercise with some of my coaching clients who are working on a career or life transition. I also use it myself. It’s a great way to get beyond the two or three items you’ve put on your “bucket list,” places you plan to travel or hobbies you want to recapture.

When pushed, my list might reach 10 items. Setting a goal of 27 made me think broadly about my current plans, dream vacations and new hobbies as well as paths not taken, risks abandoned and flights of whimsy that had to be curtailed for lack of money, time or imagination. Making a list helped to bring these ideas into focus: which ones can I absolutely do, which ones do I want to consider anew, and then what am I leaving aside for now?

When I made my list last fall, two entries rose to the top: i) host a writing retreat and ii) spend a weekend alone writing.

As I throttled back on my consulting and coaching business, the idea of designing a writing retreat took hold. I shared the idea with my coaching circle, a group I met in an embodied leadership course, who I thought might be game. Two of the group stepped forward: Tracy, a Pd.D. candidate (organizational development and behavior) who wanted to accelerate her dissertation research and Clay, an NGO leader who was making a mid-career pivot into social work, beginning a master’s degree program in the fall. Both agreed to spend a weekend in western Maine with me. My college friend, Linda, a skilled facilitator with her own writing practice, volunteered to lead our retreat.

I quickly shared a list of elements I thought would make the weekend special: embodied practices, writing, fun, connection and food. We organized a few zoom calls (Tracy and Clay live several states away) and discussed what each of us wanted from the retreat. Success for me meant spending a weekend doing some embodied practices (centering meditation), writing and enjoying each other’s company – in whatever quantity each element unfolded.

Our calls were a preview of the weekend with lots of energy, excitement and laughter at the prospect of designing our own adventure with the Maine’s western lake district as our backdrop.

My anticipation surged as the date of our writing weekend approached. Linda volunteered to serve as cook and quartermaster. Clay planned a major shopping for assorted treats from Portland’s Standard Bakery and Whole Foods. When the date came, we rendezvoused near the airport and continued our journey, arriving after dark on Thursday night. I joked with Tracy as I pointed out important landmarks along the way, invisible in the pitch-dark Maine sky.

We started each day by joining Linda’s daily on-line meditation – with some of my dedicated writing colleagues opting for the prone position from the comfort of their beds while others joined Linda (off camera) in the small family room. A short walk or exercise followed before we began our writing practice. Each session began with a “sprint” – a five-minute writing exercise in response to a prompt. We finished the exercise by sharing what we wrote and then Linda would read a long quote or poem to launch us into a 2 ½ hour writing block to be used however we chose.

I focused on my book outline with a goal of turning some of my previous work into the first section under a working title of “Raised on Friendship.” My colleagues offered encouragement and suggestions as I began sculpting my writing into something more textured, deep and coherent. I was treated to their work as they shared beautiful writing, some from the head, some from the heart, as if they had been writing their whole lives. Our conversations bubbled as each topic spilled into the next, powered with creative energy and care.

Jo kata practice - Writing Retreat

Beyond the business of writing, I noticed something else was occurring. In our Maine camp, where I had taken so many getaway weekends, family vacations and hosted close friends, I felt the familiar comfort of my sanctuary. I enjoyed playing host, describing the local landscape and blending in stories about the intentional community my family and I built from 30 years of summers spent at the lake.

My colleagues gave me more than their polite attention. There was something about the interaction of activity and place that made me feel a somatic opening. Contained in this trusting space, our conversations went deeper, as we filled in our biographies and our current preoccupations. Words – written and spoken – flowed freely, drawing us together, appreciating the work, the talent, and these wonderful beings in our small circle. The combination of sharing my writing in a place so close to my heart made me feel an openness and vulnerability to this small group of witnesses. I realized that sharing my connection to this most special of places was a way to invite people into a more expanded understanding of me and our friendship. I was announcing “this is me as my best self and I wanted to share it with you.”

Weeks later, I am still riding the wake of my first writing retreat, recalling the power of our gathering and its impact on our friendship. Beyond checking off one of my “27 Things,” I learned the power of place in building friendship.

Do you have a place that is particularly meaningful to you?

Is it somewhere that you share with friends?

I’d love to hear about it in the Comments.