The door opened and four people spilled into the pizza shop. The televisions weren't on as usual, so the restaurant part of the shop was quieter than usual. A burly man wearing the high-visibility shirt and sturdy boots which denotes "blue collar" followed in the tumble of girls and curls who spilled in before him. Their prissy and fussy starkly contrasted with the utilitarian functionality of the man.
He asked the girls where they wanted to sit. They noisily chose a booth and proceeded to pile onto the banquette, opposite their father who looked as if he was attending a job interview. Quickly the girls were silenced by the compelling content of their electronic device. He studied the menu. All interaction between the opposite sides ceased. The middle girl would occasionally elbow the older and the younger to stop them crowding her as their hypnosis deepened.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"Where's mum?" they asked.
"She'll be here soon," he replied.
Is this a Friday night handover of children between divorced parents? I wondered.
"What do you want?"
"PIZZA!" they screamed.
Well, it's a pizza shop, so that's a pretty good pick.
I continued to wonder at the contrast between the man and his progeny. All these girls - so many of them! - with their giggles and glances and things - so many of them! - must be mysterious to such a man. How does he come to know and understand his daughters? Already they seem to wield power of the man.
A feeling of confused wonder surfaced. I'd had it before. I remember sitting on a train when a group of young women dressed for a night on the town all boarded the carriage together. The sounds, sights and smells were overwhelming. As a pack, they were intimidating. They had so many shoes and bags and nails; so much hair and earrings. They jangled and tinkled when they moved, providing the soundtrack to their overly loud voices and awful, false, self-conscious tittering. The wall of their perfume made them an impenetrable group.
I look at the father and think about how lonely it can be when you're on the outside of a group - even if it's one that you don't want to be part of.
*****
I'm doing some professional development next week as I embark on an Advanced Diploma of Group Dynamics. See you afterwards.
Showing posts with label group. Show all posts
Showing posts with label group. Show all posts
Sunday, 19 April 2015
Wednesday, 26 March 2014
The compulsion of the mobile phone - is that email really so important?
When I facilitate groups, I've noticed that the way I set up expectations about the use of personal devices like mobile phones, ipads, laptops has changed significantly. If I don't have an explicit conversation about boundaries and respect, then participants would be checking emails, facebook and tweeting throughout their learning sessions.
When I'm working with leaders, I talk about the messages they send to their team if they are consistently responsive to emails and phone messages. I ask whether they have faith in the team they have around them to carry on in their absence. Generally they nod and smile and tell me they have complete faith in their team. A few moments later, they'll be surreptitiously reading email under the desk.
Reading email on the phone under the desk is the same as picking your nose when you're driving the car: everyone can see what you're doing!
Why is it that the information and communication on our phones has apparently become more compelling than the interactions occurring beside us?
After setting up and gaining explicit agreement about phones being put away and only checked during breaks so that focus is intense, participants engaged and fellow students respected, usually people adhere to that agreement. Sometimes, however, they don't. I know that this really gets under my skin and I need to make a choice about how I respond.
I'm now clear that when I've set boundaries, the group looks to me to help them hold those boundaries in place. If behaviour that is outside what the group has established occurs and is left unchecked by the leader (me) then very soon resentment will breed and the agreement will crumble.
Sometimes when I speak directly to someone about the boundaries and how they're outside them, they look to me to tell them what they should do. I don't. I remind them of where they are and what they've agreed and tell them that they need to make a choice that takes account of their commitment and respect for the group as well as their own needs. Mostly, they put the phone away and meet the needs of the group and their commitment to it.
And then at the end of the day, someone will shake my hand and say goodbye with the ipod already plugged in. Talk about feeling dismissed!
How do you manage the compulsion of the mobile phone?
When I'm working with leaders, I talk about the messages they send to their team if they are consistently responsive to emails and phone messages. I ask whether they have faith in the team they have around them to carry on in their absence. Generally they nod and smile and tell me they have complete faith in their team. A few moments later, they'll be surreptitiously reading email under the desk.
Reading email on the phone under the desk is the same as picking your nose when you're driving the car: everyone can see what you're doing!
Why is it that the information and communication on our phones has apparently become more compelling than the interactions occurring beside us?
After setting up and gaining explicit agreement about phones being put away and only checked during breaks so that focus is intense, participants engaged and fellow students respected, usually people adhere to that agreement. Sometimes, however, they don't. I know that this really gets under my skin and I need to make a choice about how I respond.
I'm now clear that when I've set boundaries, the group looks to me to help them hold those boundaries in place. If behaviour that is outside what the group has established occurs and is left unchecked by the leader (me) then very soon resentment will breed and the agreement will crumble.
Sometimes when I speak directly to someone about the boundaries and how they're outside them, they look to me to tell them what they should do. I don't. I remind them of where they are and what they've agreed and tell them that they need to make a choice that takes account of their commitment and respect for the group as well as their own needs. Mostly, they put the phone away and meet the needs of the group and their commitment to it.
And then at the end of the day, someone will shake my hand and say goodbye with the ipod already plugged in. Talk about feeling dismissed!
How do you manage the compulsion of the mobile phone?
Thursday, 12 December 2013
Status games - observations in the wild and closer to home.
One of the things I like to observe is the status of people. It's one of the first things you learn in theatre improvisation and it can be a quick way to create character. When facilitating groups, tuning into status can really help stay on top of a group's dynamics.
Walking across Princes Bridge today, I deliberately played high status. My path was on the left of the pathway and there was no one who was going to move me from my route. I said nothing, but people moved out of my way. I was even walking up behind some people going in the same direction as I was and they moved out of my way; again with no words from me and without seeing me. They could obviously "feel me". If I was playing low status, no one would move. Ever had an "invisible day"? That's low status.
One of the other interesting places to observe status - apart from the zoo - is in the workplace. Some people are bestowed with status because of their title or job role. Sometimes their personal status might align with the hierarchical status; other times it might be at odds. Think of the leader who is personally low status. They fail to command respect and won't last long. The person who is lowest in the hierarchy might have high status, however, and it's interesting to observe the dynamics that creates.
I'm thinking about this tonight because I've been watching the television show "Survivor", which is another great place to observe status games playing out. How do people acquire their status? Do they naturally have high status? Will they be able to keep it? What are the thought processes and behaviours that emerge when someone is aware that their status has shifted?
There's a woman in the office of one of my clients who is dominant in the workplace, but I've had a hard time picking her status. I've decided that she is high status. Her role is middle on one consideration, but on another she wields power. In her mind, she appears as though she is the ruler of the roost. It's classic "head of the typing pool" syndrome.
She and I have had some interesting encounters. In the constructed hierarchy of this particular workplace, I know I have low status. However, I know that I personally carry high status. One of the things that gives me high status is that I don't care about the hierarchy. I just care about doing good work and getting on with people. Sometimes this gets me into trouble. Mostly, it serves me well and I'm consequently well-connected throughout the workplaces in which I move. I've observed that people with a misalignment between their status accorded them by the constructed hierarchy and their personal status, really don't know what to do about people who disregard their high status position. They often want to lash out, but know they will be let down by their ultimate lack of authority. Or they will turn into bullies.
Another way to think about status is in terms of the "natural leader". Generally my observation is that people whom we perceive as natural leaders, carry high personal status. Nelson Mandela is a good example - he was born with low status in his country (a black man in a country imposing apartheid) yet rose to be one of the most respected men and leaders in the world. One of the things he had was high personal status.
Recent Australian politicial history is interesting to consider through this lens of status. The last two leaders of the Australian Labor Party (Julia Gillard and Kevin Rudd) were both elevated to leader of the party and the country. Before their elevation, I would argue they had high status, but as soon as they were in the position, both lost their status.
Back to the particular woman in the client's workplace...she often stops talking when I enter the room. Recently, I heard my name said just before she stopped talking and responded from a high status position. I told her I heard my name and made strong eye contact with her. She said nothing further, but the person with whom she was speaking, made excuses of denial. Meanwhile, I said nothing (again, a high status move). In another classic move, this woman "shooshed" me once when I was just talking to someone around the workplace. I looked her in the eye and told that her that I don't respond to "shooshing". She didn't respond.
I think that when relationships are functional, we hardly notice status at all. People just smoothly get on with it. The social satisfaction gained in this functional world will keep everyone humming along, usually until something changes, for example, someone new arrives. It's no wonder that "stranger comes to town" is one of the archetypal stories we've been telling down through the ages.
As a freelancer, I'm often the stranger coming to town, paid to observe and to challenge. To do this, I need to be secure and good willed. Mostly it works.
In the crowds of Christmas shoppers, it can be interesting (and useful) to play high status. Why not try it next time you're trying to go somewhere? Imagine you are the top dog, the big cheese, the king of the jungle and that you are entitled to take whatever path you choose. Carry this thought and make eye contact and watch people move out of your way! Have a go at doing the opposite and see what happens when your status is low. Further fine tune your observation skills by studying the status people in your workplace hold. See if you can identify what it is that makes a person high or low status.
It can be a real eye-opener.
Walking across Princes Bridge today, I deliberately played high status. My path was on the left of the pathway and there was no one who was going to move me from my route. I said nothing, but people moved out of my way. I was even walking up behind some people going in the same direction as I was and they moved out of my way; again with no words from me and without seeing me. They could obviously "feel me". If I was playing low status, no one would move. Ever had an "invisible day"? That's low status.
One of the other interesting places to observe status - apart from the zoo - is in the workplace. Some people are bestowed with status because of their title or job role. Sometimes their personal status might align with the hierarchical status; other times it might be at odds. Think of the leader who is personally low status. They fail to command respect and won't last long. The person who is lowest in the hierarchy might have high status, however, and it's interesting to observe the dynamics that creates.
I'm thinking about this tonight because I've been watching the television show "Survivor", which is another great place to observe status games playing out. How do people acquire their status? Do they naturally have high status? Will they be able to keep it? What are the thought processes and behaviours that emerge when someone is aware that their status has shifted?
There's a woman in the office of one of my clients who is dominant in the workplace, but I've had a hard time picking her status. I've decided that she is high status. Her role is middle on one consideration, but on another she wields power. In her mind, she appears as though she is the ruler of the roost. It's classic "head of the typing pool" syndrome.
She and I have had some interesting encounters. In the constructed hierarchy of this particular workplace, I know I have low status. However, I know that I personally carry high status. One of the things that gives me high status is that I don't care about the hierarchy. I just care about doing good work and getting on with people. Sometimes this gets me into trouble. Mostly, it serves me well and I'm consequently well-connected throughout the workplaces in which I move. I've observed that people with a misalignment between their status accorded them by the constructed hierarchy and their personal status, really don't know what to do about people who disregard their high status position. They often want to lash out, but know they will be let down by their ultimate lack of authority. Or they will turn into bullies.
Another way to think about status is in terms of the "natural leader". Generally my observation is that people whom we perceive as natural leaders, carry high personal status. Nelson Mandela is a good example - he was born with low status in his country (a black man in a country imposing apartheid) yet rose to be one of the most respected men and leaders in the world. One of the things he had was high personal status.
Recent Australian politicial history is interesting to consider through this lens of status. The last two leaders of the Australian Labor Party (Julia Gillard and Kevin Rudd) were both elevated to leader of the party and the country. Before their elevation, I would argue they had high status, but as soon as they were in the position, both lost their status.
Back to the particular woman in the client's workplace...she often stops talking when I enter the room. Recently, I heard my name said just before she stopped talking and responded from a high status position. I told her I heard my name and made strong eye contact with her. She said nothing further, but the person with whom she was speaking, made excuses of denial. Meanwhile, I said nothing (again, a high status move). In another classic move, this woman "shooshed" me once when I was just talking to someone around the workplace. I looked her in the eye and told that her that I don't respond to "shooshing". She didn't respond.
I think that when relationships are functional, we hardly notice status at all. People just smoothly get on with it. The social satisfaction gained in this functional world will keep everyone humming along, usually until something changes, for example, someone new arrives. It's no wonder that "stranger comes to town" is one of the archetypal stories we've been telling down through the ages.
As a freelancer, I'm often the stranger coming to town, paid to observe and to challenge. To do this, I need to be secure and good willed. Mostly it works.
In the crowds of Christmas shoppers, it can be interesting (and useful) to play high status. Why not try it next time you're trying to go somewhere? Imagine you are the top dog, the big cheese, the king of the jungle and that you are entitled to take whatever path you choose. Carry this thought and make eye contact and watch people move out of your way! Have a go at doing the opposite and see what happens when your status is low. Further fine tune your observation skills by studying the status people in your workplace hold. See if you can identify what it is that makes a person high or low status.
It can be a real eye-opener.
Saturday, 30 November 2013
Under my skin - mockery in the group
This week I worked with a group that I found really challenging. There was one man in particular who seemed to get under my skin and make me feel unsettled.
Initially I found him thoughtful. He would wait until others had finished speaking and then quietly offer a considered opinion. His energy was calm at these moments. However, any activity or discussion that went for more than about 15 minutes and he would be jiggling and fidgeting. The worst thing was that he then had this smirk on his face and would throw comments in that were only audible to the people sitting immediately near him. They would all laugh and then no one would make eye contact with me. I didn't know what was being said, but it didn't feel good.
During small group activities he continued this persona and it started to feel like mockery. The group around him seemed to like him and respond positively to whatever he was saying but he was actually taking the group away from their task.
He was doing my head in and I felt myself becoming snippy - I was sick to death of his smirking and just wanted to tell him to stop and take things seriously. I resisted. No purpose would be served by putting my stuff on the table in front of the group. I did however ask him to speak up so the whole group could hear his contributions. That slowed down the flow of comments but didn't remove the smirk.
I spoke to my cofacilitator about it. She wasn't having the same issue with him but she described him as "taking the piss". Yes! That's exactly what it felt like.
Overnight I examined what it was about his behaviour that was rattling my wind chimes. It was both simple and complex. Simply, I felt like he was mocking me, doing it in such a way that I couldn't call him on it without losing my authority in the group. On another level, the program was about leadership and the fact he didn't appear to be taking it seriously. He didn't have to be there. Sure, his employer had sent him, but it seemed that that was the only reason he was there.
Mockery is such a hard thing to deal with. It's a very effective way of putting someone off balance. Depending on the status of the person doing it within their group it can also be a weapon to wield or steal power. I think the man I encountered this week was stealing power.
So I did nothing about it. Whenever he would do it, I went into neutral body stance, listened and then offered no comments. After doing this a few times, his behaviour shifted. His focus turned to his peer group. It was almost as though he was looking to them for validation. They continued to respond, but he was getting nothing from me.
After two days of this, I was exhausted. I reflected and continued to wonder what it was about him that I had reacted to, but I also congratulated myself on being aware and not engaging with his behaviour.
What gets under your skin? Who gets under your skin? What do you do about it?
Initially I found him thoughtful. He would wait until others had finished speaking and then quietly offer a considered opinion. His energy was calm at these moments. However, any activity or discussion that went for more than about 15 minutes and he would be jiggling and fidgeting. The worst thing was that he then had this smirk on his face and would throw comments in that were only audible to the people sitting immediately near him. They would all laugh and then no one would make eye contact with me. I didn't know what was being said, but it didn't feel good.
During small group activities he continued this persona and it started to feel like mockery. The group around him seemed to like him and respond positively to whatever he was saying but he was actually taking the group away from their task.
He was doing my head in and I felt myself becoming snippy - I was sick to death of his smirking and just wanted to tell him to stop and take things seriously. I resisted. No purpose would be served by putting my stuff on the table in front of the group. I did however ask him to speak up so the whole group could hear his contributions. That slowed down the flow of comments but didn't remove the smirk.
I spoke to my cofacilitator about it. She wasn't having the same issue with him but she described him as "taking the piss". Yes! That's exactly what it felt like.
Overnight I examined what it was about his behaviour that was rattling my wind chimes. It was both simple and complex. Simply, I felt like he was mocking me, doing it in such a way that I couldn't call him on it without losing my authority in the group. On another level, the program was about leadership and the fact he didn't appear to be taking it seriously. He didn't have to be there. Sure, his employer had sent him, but it seemed that that was the only reason he was there.
Mockery is such a hard thing to deal with. It's a very effective way of putting someone off balance. Depending on the status of the person doing it within their group it can also be a weapon to wield or steal power. I think the man I encountered this week was stealing power.
So I did nothing about it. Whenever he would do it, I went into neutral body stance, listened and then offered no comments. After doing this a few times, his behaviour shifted. His focus turned to his peer group. It was almost as though he was looking to them for validation. They continued to respond, but he was getting nothing from me.
After two days of this, I was exhausted. I reflected and continued to wonder what it was about him that I had reacted to, but I also congratulated myself on being aware and not engaging with his behaviour.
What gets under your skin? Who gets under your skin? What do you do about it?
Saturday, 19 May 2012
Humour - when it isn't very funny.
This week I've been thinking about humour. For the first time in my life, I experienced humour in a negative way and gained a different perspective.
From my perspective, I've always thought that a sense of humour is as necessary to sustaining life as a heart and lungs. I even remember ending a relationship because it became apparent that the man in question had no sense of humour. It was worse than a physical disability. I see the funny side of life and like to laugh, so was confronted when I had a participant in a program I was facilitating who used it to deflect responsibility.
The man was in a group of senior leaders in a significant organisation. As it turned out, several of the other participants were led by him. Very early in the course, he started to drop one-liners in response to anything anyone said. There's nothing wrong with making people laugh. What I noticed was that the response to his interventions was at best, lukewarm, polite chuckling. And still they kept coming. Any time this man was challenged or confronted he used humour to deflect responsibility and to dilute the confrontation.
This can be a really useful skill if you find yourself under attack. Distracting the attacker and making them laugh at themselves is a way of ensuring safety.
The program I was facilitating was in the realm of leadership development and by it's nature is confronting. My role as a facilitator is to "turn up the heat" and challenge participants to explore unfamiliar territory and think and act differently. I could see that this man needed to take responsibility for the way he was acting and the results he was getting. His use of humour as a deflection weapon was perfectly designed to distract attention away from his shortcomings.
He was very creative and tried everything to stay "safe": he forged alliances with anyone else struggling with a concept, he argued with me, he blamed me, he complained that a particular task was "hard". The one thing he failed to do was take responsibility. He was the king of the "yes, but" response. He had official status within the group - he was probably one of the most senior leaders in the room - but over the two days of the program his status was diminished. Through his unwillingness to take responsibility, he made himself less powerful and less relevant.
Truthfully, he was getting on my goat. I wondered whether this was because he was stealing my spot as the funny person in the room. I observed myself as carefully as I was observing him in the group. There were opportunities for humour and I felt myself hesitating to use it (would humour at this point allow the whole group to deflect responsibility?). I made the choice to be myself and took the opportunity to make the group really laugh. They did. Then I wondered whether I was actually being competitive with this man. I rationalised my behaviour, deciding that we had fundamentally different roles in the room and that no competition existed. I checked my view of this man with my co-facilitator. He was thinking the same thing.
So, I challenged this man by asking him what was happening for him. He opened right up and essentially debunked the organisation's view of leadership and what they are requiring of their leaders. Ah ha! He was fighting for air as the tide turned and he had to change or (metaphorically) die. If he could create the sense that he's a "good bloke" it would be a useful defence to help him retain his job.
By the end of two days, there was a massive shift. I was facilitating the closing session of the two days and asking participants to share their next steps. This man waited until last. He sat in his chair and put his hands on his head, thrust his chest out and spoke so quietly I had to ask him to repeat himself. He started by saying "if I'm honest, and I suppose I have to be" and then said that he could see that the world had moved on and he had some decisions to make about what he would do.
I was so pleased! Without this realisation and acceptance, this man would not give himself the opportunity to change. He would continue on his path and then wonder why he was being moved on. At least he was now in charge of his decisions.
In a different setting, perhaps I would have found him funny and been happy to laugh along with him. Even though he was very challenging, I'm thankful that he was in a workshop with me. He gave me the opportunity to question something fundamental to my way of working - humour.
As the group dispersed, another participant came to say goodbye to me. He made the point of telling me that he really enjoyed my humour.
What's your relationship with humour?
From my perspective, I've always thought that a sense of humour is as necessary to sustaining life as a heart and lungs. I even remember ending a relationship because it became apparent that the man in question had no sense of humour. It was worse than a physical disability. I see the funny side of life and like to laugh, so was confronted when I had a participant in a program I was facilitating who used it to deflect responsibility.
The man was in a group of senior leaders in a significant organisation. As it turned out, several of the other participants were led by him. Very early in the course, he started to drop one-liners in response to anything anyone said. There's nothing wrong with making people laugh. What I noticed was that the response to his interventions was at best, lukewarm, polite chuckling. And still they kept coming. Any time this man was challenged or confronted he used humour to deflect responsibility and to dilute the confrontation.
This can be a really useful skill if you find yourself under attack. Distracting the attacker and making them laugh at themselves is a way of ensuring safety.
The program I was facilitating was in the realm of leadership development and by it's nature is confronting. My role as a facilitator is to "turn up the heat" and challenge participants to explore unfamiliar territory and think and act differently. I could see that this man needed to take responsibility for the way he was acting and the results he was getting. His use of humour as a deflection weapon was perfectly designed to distract attention away from his shortcomings.
He was very creative and tried everything to stay "safe": he forged alliances with anyone else struggling with a concept, he argued with me, he blamed me, he complained that a particular task was "hard". The one thing he failed to do was take responsibility. He was the king of the "yes, but" response. He had official status within the group - he was probably one of the most senior leaders in the room - but over the two days of the program his status was diminished. Through his unwillingness to take responsibility, he made himself less powerful and less relevant.
Truthfully, he was getting on my goat. I wondered whether this was because he was stealing my spot as the funny person in the room. I observed myself as carefully as I was observing him in the group. There were opportunities for humour and I felt myself hesitating to use it (would humour at this point allow the whole group to deflect responsibility?). I made the choice to be myself and took the opportunity to make the group really laugh. They did. Then I wondered whether I was actually being competitive with this man. I rationalised my behaviour, deciding that we had fundamentally different roles in the room and that no competition existed. I checked my view of this man with my co-facilitator. He was thinking the same thing.
So, I challenged this man by asking him what was happening for him. He opened right up and essentially debunked the organisation's view of leadership and what they are requiring of their leaders. Ah ha! He was fighting for air as the tide turned and he had to change or (metaphorically) die. If he could create the sense that he's a "good bloke" it would be a useful defence to help him retain his job.
By the end of two days, there was a massive shift. I was facilitating the closing session of the two days and asking participants to share their next steps. This man waited until last. He sat in his chair and put his hands on his head, thrust his chest out and spoke so quietly I had to ask him to repeat himself. He started by saying "if I'm honest, and I suppose I have to be" and then said that he could see that the world had moved on and he had some decisions to make about what he would do.
I was so pleased! Without this realisation and acceptance, this man would not give himself the opportunity to change. He would continue on his path and then wonder why he was being moved on. At least he was now in charge of his decisions.
In a different setting, perhaps I would have found him funny and been happy to laugh along with him. Even though he was very challenging, I'm thankful that he was in a workshop with me. He gave me the opportunity to question something fundamental to my way of working - humour.
As the group dispersed, another participant came to say goodbye to me. He made the point of telling me that he really enjoyed my humour.
What's your relationship with humour?
Monday, 23 January 2012
Communal knitting.
Tonight I went to knitting group, or stitch and bitch as they are sometimes known. I remember telling my brother once that I was not available to do work for him because I was going to knitting group and he laughed his head off. Of course my brother does not knit and so the concept was totally alien to him, but still, his mirth had a little touch of mockery mixed in.
Our group meets in a cafe on a Monday night where Tony, the cafe owner, seems delighted to have us there. He has a system to allow us to order and pay for our drinks and food separately, so settling the bill isn't a hassle and tonight he even went out and bought more bread.
I have been to this group a few times before (usually in winter) and noticed that we attract a lot of attention. We've been pointed at, studied and photographed by curious onlookers. I wonder what the attention would be like if we were doing something exotic! I was second to arrive tonight and wasn't sure if I had previously met the first arrival (it's been a while). First names meant nothing until we introduced ourselves using our Ravelry names.
The group of women come from all different occupations, backgrounds and lives, but when we take out our needles and start knitting together we share a common language and appreciation for each other's work. Tonight I seemed to be surrounded by scientists and learned all kinds of things: there are no caves in Melbourne! the thylacine was present in Papua New Guinea! This is what a blob fish looks like and yes they are real! We talk about work contracts not being renewed and problems with neighbours and what movies we've seen lately. And we share knowledge and love of our craft.
It's fascinating to see what everyone is knitting - and how they're knitting it. There are so many different ways! Tonight I was able to see how someone else changes colours for stripes when knitting socks in the round. Our collective brains helped someone else decide whether the waistband of a top they had just cast on was going to be the right size and we pondered the question of whether the length of a circular needle includes the needles themselves or just the cables connecting the needles.
But there were also periods of companionable silence. Just a group of women sitting together and knitting. A simple and lovely thing. And then we all disappeared into the night and back to our separate lives.
Our group meets in a cafe on a Monday night where Tony, the cafe owner, seems delighted to have us there. He has a system to allow us to order and pay for our drinks and food separately, so settling the bill isn't a hassle and tonight he even went out and bought more bread.
I have been to this group a few times before (usually in winter) and noticed that we attract a lot of attention. We've been pointed at, studied and photographed by curious onlookers. I wonder what the attention would be like if we were doing something exotic! I was second to arrive tonight and wasn't sure if I had previously met the first arrival (it's been a while). First names meant nothing until we introduced ourselves using our Ravelry names.
The group of women come from all different occupations, backgrounds and lives, but when we take out our needles and start knitting together we share a common language and appreciation for each other's work. Tonight I seemed to be surrounded by scientists and learned all kinds of things: there are no caves in Melbourne! the thylacine was present in Papua New Guinea! This is what a blob fish looks like and yes they are real! We talk about work contracts not being renewed and problems with neighbours and what movies we've seen lately. And we share knowledge and love of our craft.
It's fascinating to see what everyone is knitting - and how they're knitting it. There are so many different ways! Tonight I was able to see how someone else changes colours for stripes when knitting socks in the round. Our collective brains helped someone else decide whether the waistband of a top they had just cast on was going to be the right size and we pondered the question of whether the length of a circular needle includes the needles themselves or just the cables connecting the needles.
But there were also periods of companionable silence. Just a group of women sitting together and knitting. A simple and lovely thing. And then we all disappeared into the night and back to our separate lives.
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