A Long Loving Look at the Real

Following Session 2: A Long Loving Look at the Real

November 12 – December 9, 2025

Synthesis Statement

This session invited us to take a long, loving look at the reality of the meta, or poly-crisis we inhabit, and how we can best orient ourselves in that reality. We acknowledged that our lives have largely unfolded within the ‘Old Story,’ and thus, moving towards a New Story will bring some existential challenges. The call now is to let the heart guide the cultivation of a New Story. While we may exist within Old Story institutions, we no longer have to give them our heart. 

As Stewards, we ground ourselves through practice so that we may see clearly through the turbulence of the present and midwife what is emerging. We engage in meditation, prayer, contemplation, the arts, and action, all to help cultivate our awareness and footing in the New Story. So doing will not only allow us to help others understand what is happening amidst the chaos in their lives, but will also cultivate in us the ability to serve as builders and leaders of what is to come. 

Report on Practice

This cycle, my awareness shifted again. I entered the program somewhat thinking we were going to learn the principles, tactics, and narrative to better lead in the world. Following the first and into the second session, I moved a bit more internal, sensing the work is more interior: how do we align ourselves to deal with the “ungovernable complexity” of the world. Now, entering into the third session, I have a deeper sense of the interplay between the two worlds – the interior and exterior. 

So, what were some of the practices and triggers that helped me land there? 

Scaffolding: 

A term I first came across in a college course on Philosophy of Psychology, scaffolding involves modifying your external environment as a reminder to do something. As per a homework assignment, I put on my office wall the note: No more will I give myself to the Old Story. This both reminded me on a daily basis that my orientation should be toward a New Story, and it also sparked a couple of conversations with others who stopped by my office. It also occurred to me that both cultivating a work of art showing the old and new story, as well as finding music that helps you into the New Story, is a form of scaffolding as well. 

For a long time, I have been looking to move into a New Story, but I often found limitations. I could not crystallize what I was trying to become. I was unsure of where and when to do what. The whole movement felt very amorphous, nebulous. In a conversation with Bill Grace, he affirmed the challenge of thinking your way to an answer and offered that having some more formal structure often leads to greater traction. I am already finding this program to be doing exactly that. Capturing synthesis statements, recording my practice, talking to a program buddy, meeting with the full group, all these things are a structure, scaffolding to help facilitate change. 

More concisely: The structure of the Stewardship program itself—synthesis statements, practice logs, buddy conversations, group sessions—has become its own form of scaffolding. It is already providing the traction that pure introspection never did. The external form is supporting an internal realignment toward the New Story.

Community:

My buddy helped me realize the value of this Stewardship community. I left organized religion at about 13 years old. I studied religion in college, so I did not entirely leave spirituality. I just left the communal practice of worship. Buddhism talks about the Three Jewels: the Buddha (the awakened being), the Dharma (his teachings), and the Sangha (the community). Rooting oneself in these is the foundation for Buddhist practice. I never really appreciated the community pillar. I thought of people who went to church, temple, mosque, and monastery, etc., together and very much loved their communities, but never felt that was something I needed. Similarly, I always felt fine doing yoga on my own, or running, or lifting weights. I did not need, or particularly want, a workout class. 

However, after a conversation with my program buddy, I realized that maybe my not feeling the need for the community was more about my not resonating with the teachings, the vernacular, of those faiths. While our cohort has only had two group sessions so far, it is evident to me that my commitment to my practice is strengthened by the community. My interest in being accountable to myself, my interest in evolving with the group, my interest in exploring my personal growth, and my interest in understanding the experiences of others in the program all serve as fuel (and scaffolding), both igniting and driving deeper practice. What I once believed was a preference for solitary practice now appears, at least in part, more like an absence of resonance with prior communities. In contrast, this Stewardship circle feels aligned in purpose and language, making community not only meaningful, but essential.

Centering:

Recent conversation about the Centering Prayer from The Cloud of Unknowing further reminded and encouraged me to choose a verbal anchor during meditation, a reminder to come back to center, to be fully present. I experimented with different words at different times. Sometimes I found simply my breath to be the best anchor and more serene than any word could be.  

I heard an interview with Ken Wilber. He pointed out that our ego is a self-contraction. We don’t need to destroy it. We don’t need to feed it. We need to recognize it and transcend it. I appreciated this description as it very much reflects the physical sensation I experience when I am getting trapped in myself. My world contracts. I have a hard time seeing the bigger picture. All I see are problems that I somehow have to navigate. But all of that is a contraction, and when I recognize that, I can realize that I need to take steps to shift my perspective so I can transcend my stuckness.  

One day was a particularly challenging day for me. I had had a very stressful week and was contracting ever more into myself. I needed to shift my energy, shift my perspective, change my scenery. I decided to get out into nature. It was a beautiful fall day, complete with a soft rain. I knew with a proper shell, waterproof shoes, and the forest canopy, I’d be fine. When I remember, I like to try to turn my hike into a blend of walking meditation and forest bathing. Be as present as you can. Smell the smells, see the sights, hear the sounds, feel the air around you, and yes, maybe even go hug a tree. In this case, I decided to try a mantra. As I walked, out loud I would say: help me relax into the New Story…help me relax into the new story…help me relax…

I loved this mantra and practice for a few reasons. I allowed myself to repeat the phrase out loud. That helped get out of my head and into the world. After all, my sound was ‘entering the outside’. The phrasing itself was powerful for me. ‘Help me relax’ reminded me that orienting to a New Story was a natural state, the present is a natural state. I could let go of my contraction, of my thoughts, my preconceptions, my concerns. I could simply relax. Further, it reminded me that by relaxing, I was entering a New Story. I was present with a New Story, even if only for a moment. There was nothing separating me from my role, my contribution in this New Story. And finally, it was an exercise in visualization. I know some people have aphantasia, the inability to see images in their head. But that is not me. I do see images. So, every time I said ‘New Story, I caught a glimpse of what that New Story could be. If my mind wandered, when I returned to the mantra – help me relax into the New Story – the image that appeared in my mind of the New Story often related in some way to whatever I was wandering over just moments before. “Help me relax into the New Story” helped me relax; it helped me anchor to the present. Every time I said “New Story,” I was both again present and catching a tiny glimpse of what that New Story was becoming. I was fully present, I was immersing myself into the New Story, and I was catching minute glimpses of that New Story. In that moment, “help me relax into the New Story” became not just a mantra, but a doorway—an embodied reminder that presence itself is New Story consciousness.

One other item I want to include:

Bill Grace said, either at this most recent session or in the first session, “great, these are the conversations I want to be having.” While he, in part, appeared to be saying that somewhat to himself in affirmation of the work we were doing together, to me it highlighted something very important. Just as we all are, he, too, is building a New Story. He is creating something that shapes the future in a way that feels most aligned with his own inner drive and purpose. The humility and humanity in that comment, and the genuine reflection of him as a practitioner as well as a teacher, was a perfect example of what we can all be doing. 

Community & The Gift Economy: 

This period, we were encouraged to participate in (or start) a local Buy Nothing group. I find myself grateful that our small town has an active Buy Nothing group in which I regularly participate. I have acquired new things, passed along things I was no longer using, and even borrowed items for a short time in periods of need. For example, neighbors I did not know allowed me to borrow a stroller and kid carrier backpack when out-of-town visitors with kids stayed with us for a bit. I made sure to take a moment to appreciate this community and how it functions so well in our community, and that we all exchange goods we need as it benefits us all. No transactions, nothing in return but a thank you. You feel good as both giver and receiver. 

With our conversations about the Cloud of Unknowing, I recalled I know some folks that might really enjoy that book. They love Christian literature and often read together. It felt great to allow myself to go online, buy two copies, and then deliver the books during a visit. Somehow, I felt quite liberated to do so, and it was a gift to me to give to someone else. 

Finally, in this Community and Gift Economy category, I have found myself this month beginning to think about how to retool my offerings at Our Olive Branch. I want to shift my revenue model to whatever degree I can away from being transactional and have it be aligned with the value my clients feel I provide. I think this will open the door to deeper, more meaningful conversations that don’t necessarily have to be about a deliverable, but an orientation to working. I have some books I need to read, and am hoping to do a deeper contemplation around things like Universal Basic Income and Social Credit systems when I have some open time. 

I have decided to build a website that might host some of my examinations of these ideas, reflections on books, and reports such as this one. At the moment, I am feeling like this ties many of these threads together for me. It gives me purpose, structure, offers my work as a gift, and it possibly contributes to community and connection. 

These experiments—giving freely, receiving without transaction, letting generosity be its own reward—are quietly rewiring my economic imagination. They are helping me discern how my professional work might also move toward a more relational, trust-based model.

Music and connection: 

One of the assignments this time was to “Recall and listen to a piece of music that supports you in taking a long, loving look at the real and in continuing your disconnection from the Old Story.” This was an interesting journey for me. I have been navigating some vestibular symptoms that have made much additional stimulation for me very hard. I often try listing to music and find it just too difficult to listen to. I try different genres, different volumes, with and without lyrics, and it has been rare that it’s felt ok. This in and of itself has been very sad for me because I love music. It is one of the ways I often destress. 

Over the course of my life, I have spent more hours with Phish than with any other band/composer/artist. Their ability to play pretty much any genre well, and their constant mixing of those genres into cohesive pieces of music is really special. Many people don’t ‘get’ Phish, but there is no doubt to me that 100 years from now, people will still be talking about Phish. 

When I was contemplating what ‘piece of music would help me shift from Old to New Story’, I was going through Phish’s deep catalog to try to decide what would be best. Nothing was jumping out at me in any obvious ways. Certainly, I often found their music to be opening, because of how they do live improvisation throughout most performances. It is active creation based on the energy in the moment. Their shows are an active striving for those moments of ‘flow state’ for the band and audience to all be one, held together by music. Yet, no one song was coming to me. So, I thought to myself, maybe I need to find new music. Something very different from what I typically listen to. A new soundtrack for a shift into a New Story. 

I decided Jacob Collier would be a great place to start. If you don’t know Jacob, you should spend some time. He is young, understands music in ways many people alive today will never, and he is tapped into a well of creativity that many of us only sense. There was a story not terribly long ago about AI. Researchers gave Google’s DeepMind the rules for the Chinese game Go. When playing against a person, DeepMind executed moves that were perfectly legal, yet no human had ever thought of anything like that. It was mindblowing. Jacob is sort of like that. He finds and assembles harmonies and musical cadences that are beautiful and way outside of what we are used to. It may not immediately satisfy your soul like your favorite music does, but there is something really special about it, and people who deeply understand music, music theory are regularly mind-blown by Jacob. So, I decided to spend some time with his music this period. 

With all that said, during this period, the lead composer and guitarist for Phish was playing a fundraiser set of shows. He did something similar 5 years ago and it was beautiful so I decided to watch it. He incorporates classical musicians playing cello and violins, classical piano, with a traditional base guitar, drum kit, lead guitar, a horns section, backup singers, a world percussionist, and a jazz/blues/improv keyboardist. The music was absolutely fantastic. Probably 50%-60% were Phish songs with altered arrangements for this format. 

Side story for background. My daughter hated smoke alarms. She obviously hated the noise, but also the little lights on them. She would put electrical tape over the lights on the smoke alarms in her room so she would not ever notice it in the dark. She once joked that she was going to run for president and her platform would be to banish all smoke alarms. 

Lately, I have been trying to stay open to signs from the universe – little nudges to let you know this or that. Since my daughter died, there have been a few types of signs that it seem she tends to send. Since her death, I am quite confident that she has set off our fire alarms at key moments to let us know she is there. I could expand on some examples but I think that is a bit more than we need here at the moment. I’d also like to add that I am hard of hearing and grew up not really listening to lyrics. To me, the voice really has always been an instrument more than a vehicle for poetry in music. I am wrong about that – the lyrics are meaningful and can carry a song's essence – but it is part of my New Story to understand that. My son is helping me. He sings, solo and in various ensembles, so his music usually has no instrumental accompaniment. That has shifted me to listen more to lyrics when I can hear them clearly. 

So, during the concert I was streaming, I was sitting alone in the room, just quietly enjoying the music. They started playing a song that I am familiar with. It’s a fine song, but was never one of my favorites. It usually has a good improv section, so I am sort of waiting for that part to tune in more. As I am looking at my phone and half listening, the thought again comes to me, that I am meeting with the Stewards again soon and really need to find a song to include in my report on practice. And just as I have that thought, the smoke alarms go of for maybe 2-3 beeps. I stopped, and realized what the lyrics of the current song were and realized my daughter was telling me this is the song I have been looking for. In that instant, the ordinary became luminous. The lyrics I’d always skimmed past suddenly revealed themselves as a teaching: a letting go of the Old Story’s contraction and an anchoring in the present where “everything’s right.”

Everything’s Right, by Phish (edited out repetition in chorus for more efficient reading)

Time to get out, I've paid my dues
I need to shout there's no time to lose
No more to give, the well is dry
The pavements worn, my brain is fried
It's time to get out, I've paid my dues

My shoes have holes, my socks are bare
The mirror's secret is I'm losing my hair
I'm in prison without a crime
The sentence stretches on undefined
It's time to get out, I've paid my dues
I've paid my dues

But everything's right
So just hold tight
Everything's right
So just hold tight (repeats several times)

I'm going downhill with increasing speed
And compassion gives way, if you listen to greed
Focus on the past and that's what will last
Nothing that is real and nothing you can feel
Focus on tomorrow you'll have to borrow
Images and mind and thoughts you've left behind
Focus on today and you'll find a way
Happiness is how
Rooted in the now
'Cause, everything's right
So just hold tight (repeats several times)

Look into the eyes of everyone you meet
Try not to step on your best friend's feet
The line is in the sand, the flag is planted
The rest of your life
Don't take it for granted

'Cause, everything's right
So just hold tight (repeats) 

This world, this world
This crazy world I know
It turns, it turns
And the long night's over and the sun's coming up (stanza repeats several times)

Wrap up:

Across this cycle of practice, what I am noticing most is that the New Story is not a destination but an orientation—a way of seeing, sensing, and responding. Through scaffolding, community, contemplative practice, gift exchange, and even music, I am slowly training my attention toward presence, sufficiency, and connection. These small openings feel like early signs of the larger consciousness shift we are here to bring forth together.

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Longing for a New Story

Following Session 1: Longing for a New Story

October 14 – November 11, 2025

Synthesis Statement

In our first session, we introduced ourselves — not just our names or roles, but the deeper reasons we showed up. I felt genuinely honored to be among people who care deeply, who give large parts of their lives to service, and who seem to be asking similar questions about how to live well during times of uncertainty.

Together we explored the idea that an old way of orienting to the world is loosening, and something new is beginning to take shape. We’re in a liminal space — the space between stories — where the old no longer fits and the new has not yet arrived.

Our work, individually and collectively, is to become conscious of that transition and to learn the part each of us is called to play.

During a brief period of silent meditation, Bill said something as we were coming back: “…the community you are building.” That landed. It reminded me that while the future is unclear, creating community — real community — is already part of the work. It is itself a step into the new story.

It felt like a grounding place to begin.

Report on Practice

Over the past month, I’ve meditated for about twenty minutes a day. I’ve probably missed a couple of days, but overall I’ve been steady. My practice partner and I met weekly, except for the week he was traveling.

This stretch of time has been intense. My wife has been traveling for the past month and will be away for a little while longer. I’ve been single-parenting while continuing my City Council work and running a re-election campaign. And last week marked two years since my daughter’s death.

This is the environment in which I’ve been practicing.

Institutional Change & Creative Destruction

I read recently about this year’s Nobel Prize in Economics, awarded for research into how innovation and “creative destruction” fuel economic growth. This felt relevant as I’ve watched long-standing institutions destabilize in recent years. That destabilization can feel alarming, but somewhere in it I sense the possibility that we may eventually build better, more humane structures. Something new may yet arise from what collapses. And given how entrenched our institutions have become, perhaps this is the only way they shift.

Point of clarification:

“Creative destruction” refers not to destroying something and then building anew, but to how creative innovations inadvertently dismantle old structures. I’m not saying that’s what is happening in our current moment, though you could argue that some efforts or movements are attempts at it. More, I’m observing the opportunities that emerge when the norms and assumptions of institutional life are disrupted.

Disruption is rarely comfortable, but it can expose openings that were previously invisible.

Breath as Boundary and Bridge

I watched an interview with a Shaolin monk who said that breath is the unifying element between our physical body and our more amorphous mind. He described exhaling as “…when breath enters the outside.”

That phrasing lodged itself in me. During meditation, I sometimes try to feel that — not breath leaving my body, but breath entering the outside. It shifts my sense of boundary, subtly softening the line between what I think of as ‘me’ and everything beyond.

A Glimpse of Non-Duality

While meditating, I had a touch of a non-dual experience that clarified something I had previously only understood intellectually.

Spiritual literature often says that “there is no separation between self and other.” Many of us work to achieve some depth of knowing that, but it’s difficult to access with the rational mind. However, when we are actually in a non-dual state, the reason there is no separation becomes clear: neither “self” nor “other” exists independently. As soon as we form the concept of either one, we are no longer in non-duality. Even the idea of “non-separation” creates separation. 

Simply put, language dissolves at the threshold of experience.

All there is… is all there is.

The Metacrisis as Initiation

A quote I came across struck me:

The metacrisis isn’t something to solve — it’s an initiation we must undergo. We’re not facing problems that need fixing but a species-wide transformation that requires us to grow up. This isn’t about finding the right answer but becoming the kind of beings who can navigate ungovernable complexity together. The crisis is the curriculum.

This feels true for the moment we are in — individually, collectively, and through this program. We may or may not identify tactical levers for writing a new story, but what we are doing is creating a liminal space in our lives: a fertile ground where a new paradigm might take shape. The work ahead isn’t technical; it’s transformational.

This is about aligning ourselves — becoming. How do we shift our being in such a way that we can “navigate ungovernable complexity together”? Ultimately this becomes an individual act of consciously working with others for the benefit of yet others — all of us.

This was also aligned with my earlier comment about “creative destruction.”

Liminal Space as Sacred

My practice partner shared something that reframed liminality for me.

He pointed out that liminal space isn’t only “the unknown between two things.” It also refers to moments, places, and experiences that open us to the sacred.

This moment — in our lives and in our shared history — is sacred. All moments are, but when we recognize that a shift is happening and remain present to it, honoring it, we may find the openings that invite our highest contribution. Sacredness blooms when attention meets transition.

The Drawing Assignment

Our homework assignment was to draw a picture of ourselves moving from the “Old Story” to the “New Story.” The prompt initially led me to imagine a figure stepping away from the Old Story. Later, the image evolved into a meditator — perhaps because my practice this month was rooted in meditation, or because the shift we’re undergoing feels interior as much as exterior. 

I kept thinking about emerging structures like co-ops, B Corps, universal basic income, concepts of pluralism, and shifts away from structures like Jim Crow, mass incarceration, and tribalism. These “new” concepts are promising, but they already exist; they’re not the New Story itself. The New Story is still undefined, still forming. It may or may not include these newer concepts. Doing the art project helped me feel this territory — the evolution toward what may come.

Integration Through Reflection

Finally, I want to note that simply taking the time to record these reflections has been meaningful. It’s easy to notice something, or have an idea, and move on. Being accountable — to others and to myself — and the act of writing it down helps crystallize the moment and integrate it more fully into my being.

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Reports on Practice: An Introdcution

In October 2025, I joined a year-long leadership and spiritual development program called the New Story Stewards, led by Bill Grace. The program meets monthly and asks participants to maintain a daily contemplative practice while reflecting on questions about how to live and lead well during times of profound transition and complexity.

I came to this work for reasons that have been building for years. My life exists at several intersections: public service and inner work, organizational consulting and spiritual practice, the demands of showing up for my community and the quiet necessary to stay grounded in myself. For a long time, I've been looking for a structure that could help me integrate these dimensions rather than toggle between them. I've also been seeking a community of people engaged in similar questions—not just intellectually, but as a lived practice.

The program has given me both: a container for sustained contemplation and a group of fellow travelers who take the interior work of leadership seriously.

Why Make This Public?

Each month, participants are asked to write a brief "Report on Practice"—a summary of how our daily spiritual practice has unfolded, what insights have emerged, what we've struggled with. I've found myself writing much longer reflections than required. What started as a program assignment has become something closer to field notes from an ongoing experiment in paying attention.

I've decided to share these reports publicly for a few reasons.

First, accountability. There's something clarifying about writing for an audience beyond myself and the small circle of program participants. It sharpens my attention and makes me more honest about what I'm actually experiencing versus what I think I should be experiencing.

Second, connection. I suspect others are navigating similar territory—trying to show up with integrity in their work and communities while also doing the quieter inner work of becoming more whole. If these reflections resonate with even a few people, that feels worthwhile.

Third, offering. For years I've benefited from others who've been willing to document their own practice and process publicly. This is part of that larger gift economy—making visible some of what usually remains private, in case it's useful to someone else.

And finally, integration. I'm building this site as a place to bring together different threads of my life: reflections on civic leadership, notes from books I'm reading, examinations of ideas I'm working with. These Reports on Practice belong here. They're part of the same orientation—toward learning how to be more present, more useful, more aligned with what matters.

What to Expect

These reports are personal and incomplete. They are written from within the process, not from some position of having arrived. They document what one person is noticing, practicing, and becoming as I try to show up more consciously in my life and work.

You'll find reflections on contemplative practice—meditation, walking in nature, working with mantras and silence. You'll find thoughts about community, about disconnecting from old patterns and orienting toward new ones, about grief and gratitude. You'll find stories from daily life: conversations that shifted something, music that opened a door, small experiments in living differently.

The writing will vary. Sometimes more structured, sometimes more stream-of-consciousness. Sometimes focused on a single insight, sometimes ranging across multiple threads. These are field notes, not polished essays. I'm keeping them that way intentionally—the roughness feels truer to the work itself.

I won't be explaining the program's framework or curriculum in detail. That's not my story to tell, and it's not the point. What I'm offering here is simply my own experience of engaging with questions about how to live well during complex times, how to cultivate an interior life that can sustain outer work, and how to stay grounded and useful when the world feels increasingly ungovernable.

An Invitation

If you find yourself drawn to these questions—how to live with integrity during times of transition, how to balance action with contemplation, how to stay connected to what's real and human amid so much noise—then perhaps these reports will resonate.

You don't need to be in a formal program or have a developed spiritual practice to engage with this material. You just need to be curious about the relationship between your inner life and your outer work, between who you're becoming and what you're able to offer.

I'm sharing these reflections in the spirit of companionship for anyone walking a similar path. We're all figuring this out together, and sometimes it helps to know what someone else is noticing along the way.

New Reports on Practice will be posted monthly as the program unfolds. Shared with the program founder's blessing, to ensure these reflections represent only my personal experience.Don’t worry about sounding professional. Sound like you. There are over 1.5 billion websites out there, but your story is what’s going to separate this one from the rest. If you read the words back and don’t hear your own voice in your head, that’s a good sign you still have more work to do.

Be clear, be confident and don’t overthink it. The beauty of your story is that it’s going to continue to evolve and your site can evolve with it. Your goal should be to make it feel right for right now. Later will take care of itself. It always does.

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