Maybe It Isn't Energy?

 I have been sitting with a question that refuses to leave me.

How do we come to know another human before we consciously know them?

Long before words are exchanged, before stories are shared, before trust has been earned, something happens. We notice them. We are drawn toward them or gently pulled away. Sometimes we feel an immediate sense of ease. Other times we experience hesitation that we cannot explain.

Perhaps we call it chemistry. Perhaps we call it intuition. Perhaps we simply call it energy.

Whatever name we choose, it raises a fascinating question. Are we recognizing something in another person, or are we recognizing something within ourselves?

From a scientific perspective, psychologists suggest that familiarity and similarity influence attraction. Similarity Attraction Theory proposes that we naturally gravitate toward people who share our values, interests, communication styles, and beliefs. The more familiar something becomes, the more positively we tend to evaluate it. Maybe instant chemistry is simply rapid pattern recognition, our brains efficiently searching for what feels safe and known.

Attachment theory offers another explanation. The people who immediately feel comfortable may unconsciously remind us of significant relationships from our childhood. Sometimes these patterns lead us toward healthy relationships. Sometimes they invite us to recreate dynamics that no longer serve us.

The body seems to know before the mind catches up. Then I wonder about the paradox.

Why is it that one person winks at us and we receive it with warmth and delight, while another person performs the exact same gesture and it feels unsettling?

The action is identical. The experience is completely different.  Perhaps the difference exists in the invisible space between us.

The philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty argued that we encounter the world through our lived bodies. We do not objectively experience another person as though we are detached observers. We experience them through memory, history, identity, emotion, and culture. Every interaction is relational. Meaning is created not by one person or the other, but in the space where our lives intersect.

Connection is not simply something that happens to us. Connection is something we embody. Lately I have been fascinated by the concept of embodiment. Embodiment is the conscious experience of living through the body rather than solely through the thinking mind. It is the awareness that emotions are not abstract ideas but physical sensations. A racing heart. Relaxed shoulders. A deep breath. A smile that arrives before we realize we are smiling.

Perhaps what I have been calling "energy" is simply my body participating in a conversation before my conscious mind has translated it into language. Perhaps every meaningful encounter is altering something within me. Not just my thoughts but my posture, my nervous system, my expectations, and my future decisions like every connection leaves a trace.

Interestingly, artificial intelligence researchers have arrived at a similar conclusion.

They describe embodied intelligence as the idea that true intelligence does not exist as a disconnected brain floating in isolation. Intelligence emerges through interaction with an environment. It perceives, responds, adapts, and learns through continuous feedback.

In many ways, humans are no different. We become who we are through interaction. We learn through movement, through relationships, through experiences, and through every conversation that changes how we see ourselves and the world around us. Identity is not created in isolation; it is continuously negotiated in the presence of others.

This shifts the question for me. The question is no longer:

Should I keep this person in my life?

Instead, I find myself asking:

Who am I becoming when I am with them?

Do they make me more curious? Do they expand my thinking? Do they introduce me to ways of knowing I have never considered? Do they challenge my assumptions while allowing me to remain fully myself?

The most meaningful relationships are not always the easiest ones. Sometimes they are the ones that invite transformation. Perhaps we are not simply attracted to another person's energy. Perhaps we are recognizing possibilities. A possibility of becoming more compassionate, more courageous, more creative, or more fully ourselves?

There is, of course, a calculated risk in every new connection that allows another human close enough to influence us is to accept that we might change. We gather information. We observe. We feel. Our body responds before our mind has completed its analysis. Then, consciously, we make a choice; to step closer, remain curious, begin a conversation, or walk away.

Every relationship asks us to move. And every movement changes us.

Maybe embodiment is not simply the awareness of bodily sensations. Maybe embodiment is the moment our body, mind, and experience align and ask us to respond. I can. So I will. Perhaps that is what growth has always been. Not certainty. Not perfect reasoning. But the willingness to trust that some connections are invitations to become. And maybe the greatest paradox of being human is this:

We spend so much time searching for people who understand us, when the people who truly change our lives are often the ones who introduce us to parts of ourselves, we have yet to discover.

Maybe we never truly come to know another person first. Maybe, in the brief moment before words are spoken, we are simply catching a glimpse of who we might become because they entered our story.

Who Benefits from the Story you Tell Yourself?

 We all tell ourselves stories. Stories about who we are. Stories about what we are capable of. Stories about why things happen to us and what they mean. Some of these stories are empowering, while others quietly limit what we believe is possible. The interesting thing about these stories is that we rarely question them. We carry them from one experience to the next allowing them to shape our decisions, relationships, and opportunities.

As I prepare for a session on self-doubt, I ask myself these questions to gain clarity on why? Why do create these stories in the first place? Perhaps more importantly, “What if the story you are telling yourself is no longer serving the person you want to become?

One of the profound lessons I learned through curriculum studies and leadership is that identity is not fixed. William Pinar’s concept of currere invites us to understand our lives as an ongoing process of becoming. We are not simply products of our experiences but are active participants in interpreting those experiences and assigning meaning to them.

The stories we tell ourselves matter because they become the lens through which we view the world. As identity is not something we possess, we continually create and recreate ourselves through reflection, experience, and actions.

Consider what would happen if you began telling yourself, “I am the greatest.” “I am capable.” “I can learn.” How would these statements change the way in which you moved through the world. How would it change your interactions, your confidence, and your willingness to take risks?

True learning is not simply acquisition of knowledge. It is the examination of assumptions. It is the willingness to question what we have always believed to be true. It is the courage to ask, “where did this story come from, and does it still serve me?”

Living inquiry teaches us that learning happens through our everyday experiences. Every challenge, relationship, success, disappointment, and conversation provides an opportunity to examine the narratives that shape our lives. Growth often begins when we recognize that we are not the story. We are the authors.

Who Are You Without Your Job Title?

If I took away your job title, your office, your credentials, and your responsibilities, who would you be?

Take a moment to sit with that question.

For many of us our identities become intertwined with what we do. We introduce ourselves through our careers. We measure our success through promotions, achievements, and reviews. We wear our titles like badges that tell the world who we are.

But what happens when those titles change?

What happens when we retire, switch careers, lose our job, become a parent, experience illness, or enter a new season of life? If our identity is built solely on what we do, we can find ourselves feeling lost when circumstances shift.

An idea I encountered through my studies is the concept of currere, developed by William Pinar. Currere invites us to view curriculum not simply as a course of study, but as the study of one's educational experience. It asks us to examine our past, understand our present. imagine our future and reflect on the relationship between them. Through this process, we begin to understand that identity is not fixed. It is continually being shaped and reshaped through experiences.

We are always becoming.

This idea aligns closely with what I have learned through living inquiry. Learning is not something that happens exclusively in classrooms, workshops, or training sessions. Learning occurs in the everyday moments of our lives. It unfolds through conversations, challenges, successes, failures, relationships, and reflections. We are constantly making meaning from our experiences, and in doing so we are continually recreating ourselves.

The danger lies in reducing ourselves to a single identity.

While each role in your life may be true, none of them fully capture who we are. They are parts of our story, but they are not the entire story.

When we become overly attached to a title, we risk overlooking the deeper qualities that define us: our values, character, beliefs, relationships, and ways of being in the world.

Perhaps the better question is not, "What do you do? but rather, "Who are you becoming?"

That question shifts our focus from achievement to growth. It encourages us to look inward rather than outward. It reminds us that our lives are not measured solely by what we accomplish, but by how we continue to learn, evolve, and contribute to those around us.

As leaders, parents, and community members, we are all engaged in a lifelong process of becoming. We are constantly negotiation our identities and creating meaning from our experiences, The journey is never complete.

So today, I leave you with a question worth reflecting on:

If your title disappeared tomorrow, what qualities, values, and experiences would remain?

The answer may reveal more about who you are than any title ever could.

Pressure reveals the Leader, not the workload

It was one of those Mondays.

The drive-thru was full before the doors even opened. Phones were ringing nonstop, a technician was already behind, and an upset customer was standing at the counter waiting for answers no one felt ready to give.

You could feel it, the pressure building in the room.

I watched as the tension started to ripple through the team. Conversations got shorter. Movement got faster. Patience started to wear thin. And then it happened, a response, sharp and reactive, slipped out in a moment that didn’t leave room for thought.

The energy shifted instantly.

That’s the thing about pressure, it doesn’t just test systems, it reveals people. It amplifies whatever is already beneath the surface. If we’re grounded, it sharpens us. If we’re scattered it cracks us.

In that moment, you have a choice. Match the tension… or change it.

Slow down. Lower your voice.

Look the customer in the eye and acknowledge their frustration. Then turn to the team, not with urgency, but with intention.

 “Let’s reset. One step at a time.”

Nothing about the workload changed. The phones didn’t stop. The lineup didn’t disappear. But the room shifted. Shoulders dropped. Communication opened back up. The team found its rhythm again.

The day reminds us of something simple but powerful. Pressure doesn’t define the outcome; the leader’s response does.

Because in every high-pressure moment, your team is watching. Not for perfection, but for direction.

And sometimes, the strongest move a leader can make... is to slow everything down.

So the next time pressure walks into the room, ask yourself, am I adding to it – or leading through it?

Because pressure doesn’t just show who you are as a leader… it shows your team who they can be.

Listening & Learning

 As the wind blows off the lake the spirit reminds me to breathe and release what is no longer serving me and embrace the fresh breeze as it washes over my body. The waves, rhythmic and repetitive, allow a meditation state pulling at the mind to be. Thoughts nestle, echo, and build upon one another, opening the door for deep introspection. With the crackle of the fire offering comfort through light and heat I found myself emotionally safe to unwind with an ancient calling to calm my nervous system. And the nearby chattered storytelling of friends, I am reminded of connection through narrative arcs – ebbs and flows – rather than raw logic. Listening closely, we make sense of the world around us to lived experiences of our fellow kind and in kinship to the environment queuing our state of being.

Between Motion and Meaning

Traversing life, each of our stories unfold differently. What makes me tick, what pulls me out of bed in the morning, or what fuels my ambition feels so far removed from what drives others. And I often find myself wondering why.

Why do I feel this constant pull toward knowledge?
Why is it so difficult for me to settle into the comfort of consumerism and just be content with things?
Why am I drawn to landscapes, to movement, or the quiet unfolding of nature?

There’s something about the connection to land and gaining knowledge that fills me in a way nothing else quite can. It's grounding and expansive all at once. My thoughts are honest, louder, and clearer without being softened or redirected. I am able to exist fully and take up my space.

And I like that.

There’s a clarity in solitude that doesn’t exist in groups. No expectations. No small talk. No need to respond, perform, or engage beyond what feels natural. Just space, and within that space, a kind of freedom.

I’ve often asked myself if something is missing.

Where are others in these moments?
Should these experiences be shared?
Am I supposed to want that?

It’s not that connection doesn’t matter. It’s that I don’t experience it the same way. For me, connection isn’t constant. It’s selective. It’s quiet. It doesn’t require a crowd, and it doesn’t need to fill every space.

There is a common idea that life is richer when shared more, when surrounded more, when constantly in the presence of others. But there’s another way to move through the world — one that values depth over frequency, stillness over noise, and solitude not as absence, but as choice.

Is solitude what sharpens the experience?

Is the absence of conversation what allows depth of thought?

Or is it something I've unconsciously chosen to explore and process alone, to move through the world in a way that protects that clarity?

When I sit alone with a coffee, or walk through a quiet trail, or drive without a destination — I’m not lacking connection. I’m experiencing it differently.

Maybe the question isn’t why I prefer solitude.
Maybe it’s why we assume we shouldn’t.

There is value in slowing down with others, yes. But there is also value in moving alone, in thinking uninterruptedly, in experiencing the world without needing to translate it for someone else.

For some, meaning is found in conversation.
For others, it’s found in silence.

And maybe both are equally complete.

Prediction Creates Attention

 We remember what we think about, so give your employees something to think about.

If you walked into a meeting room, and on the board was a word, a phrase, or a board full of data, took your seat, and listened to the speaker present, how much would you retain?

Now imagine a different option.

You walk into the same room. The same word, phrase, or data set is on the board. You take your seat. But before the speaker begins, they say, Based on what you see here, what do you predict we will be discussing today?

They then go around the room and invite each person to share their prediction.

How much more would listeners retain now?

The answer is likely: much more.

Why? Because now the room is no longer passive. It has become participatory. The listener is no longer just receiving information; they are interacting with it. They are mentally sorting, guessing, comparing, and preparing to see if they are right. That small shift changes everything.

We are engaged because we are human. Our brains are wired to look for patterns, solve problems, and be correct. The moment we are asked to predict, we are no longer observing from the sidelines. We are in.

Prediction creates investment.

The listener now has something at stake, even if only internally. They want to know if their thinking lines up. They want to test themselves against the material. They are listening not just to hear, but to confirm, revise, or improve what they believe.

This is where learning starts to deepen.

But there is another side to this.

If, halfway through the presentation, the listener realizes they were completely wrong, are they still engaged or have they shut down?

Often, they shut down.

Not dramatically. But they have stopped mental reaching. They pull back. They admit defeat internally and decide to just “get through” the rest of the session. Once that happens, retention drops again because the brain is no longer playing. It has stepped out of the game.

This is where the speaker or facilitator matter.

A strong leader does not leave the learner behind when their first prediction misses the mark. They bring them back in. They ask a new question. They create a second entry point. They give the room permission to adjust.

A simple reset might sound like:

Now that we know more, what’s your next prediction?

Or

What changed in your thinking?

This keeps the learner connected.

It reminds them that being wrong is not failure; it’s part of the process. In fact, some of the strongest learning happens when we predict incorrectly and then have to reorganize our thinking. The role of the leaders is to make that moment safe enough to stay engaged through it.