How are you, really?

2021 has been the hardest year of my life, so far. But that's okay - smooth seas don't make skilful sailors.

I've been reading "The Art of Gathering" by Priya Parker and thinking a lot about how to apply her principles to my everyday life. Parker argues that we "rely too much on routine and the conventions of gatherings when we should focus on distinctiveness and the people involved. At a time when coming together is more important than ever, Parker sets forth a human-centered approach to gathering that will help everyone create meaningful, memorable experiences, large and small, for work and for play".

Often, and especially at this time of year, we attend gatherings on autopilot, not really stopping to consider if our holiday traditions are still fit-for-purpose. We don't often reflect on whether they're working for us, sparking joy, facilitating real connection, or if it's just what we've always done.

Before the holiday break, a colleague and I organised a dinner at a restaurant on the waterfront for all of the women in our division. We were lucky to get a semi-private dining room, and as my colleague friends filed in one-by-one, I thought about Priya Parker and what the real purpose of our gathering was.

After everyone had ordered, I went out on a limb and suggested that - if people felt safe and comfortable - we go around the table and each share what 2021 has taught us about our personal journey and about our own happiness.

I wasn't sure, at first, whether people would want to participate. Like really participate meaningfully. But as we began, with the girl to my left, I was instantly mesmerised by her bravery and willingness to be vulnerable. She recounted a year of grief, pain, and time spent deeply concerned about a close family member having serious mental health troubles. The specifics of her story aren't mine to share, but her bravery prompted the colleague to her left to follow suit. One-by-one, we each shared our deepest, darkest experiences of this past year.

I learned that I wasn't the only one whose relationship ended this year. I was surprised to learn I wasn't even the only one whose relationship ended at the same time as starting at our organisation.

Collectively, I think we were all transformed by the realisation that you can sit all of two meters from someone every day and only really have a surface-level understanding of what they’re going through.

I think we tend to assume that if we can't physically see others struggling on the surface, then they must be "fine" and have it all figured out. But that's just not the case. Because when a group of people open up like this, together, and give each other permission to speak honestly, something powerful happens.

We gathered, we shared, we cried, and we emerged a different group than we'd been only a few hours prior. I think all ten of us in that room would agree that something incredibly special was shared that night - we each stepped into the "arena" (to quote Brené Brown) and we created a community.

With the privilege of knowing the intimate details of what each of these incredible humans are navigating at the moment, I look forward to returning to work next week and asking myself: how can I better support these women? How can I ensure I'm really showing up for them?

For starters, I think it will begin with just continuing to hold space for each of them. Space to share and not share as they feel compelled. But I know when I ask each of them how they are, rather than the cursory questions about their break, I'll be asking: how are you doing, really? And reminding them that I am always here, even if only to listen.

Cover photo by Christine Jou (@chriskjou)