When the session went well, I had done nothing
I used to be desperate to "keep the session moving."
I was afraid of silence. If a period of time passed where no one spoke, I felt like I had failed. So I filled the gaps. I asked question after question. I brought up topics. I tried to get laughs.
I measured whether a session went well by how much I had moved around.
I think I was very tired back then.
Things started to change at a small book club. A circle of about ten people. I was the facilitator, but I wasn't feeling well that day. It was hard to even speak, so after I threw out the first question, I stayed mostly silent.
Then, something strange happened.
The participants started talking on their own. When one person spoke, someone else nodded. The nodding turned into words, the words turned into questions, and the questions drew out someone else's memories. It was a chain reaction. Even though I did nothing, the session was moving.
After it ended, several people told me, "Today was really great."
Even though I hadn't done anything. Or perhaps, precisely because I hadn't done anything.
That experience stayed with me for a long time.
Later, I had a chance to talk with a mentor in facilitation. This person had been creating spaces for dialogue for many years. I asked, "What kind of session is a successful one?"
The mentor thought for a moment and said, "A session that can stand on its own even without me there."
At first, I didn't understand what that meant. If the person creating the space doesn't need to be there, then what is their purpose?
But now, I think I understand a little. The job of someone who creates a space is not to "keep it moving." It is to prepare the conditions for the space to "start moving on its own."
The arrangement of the chairs. The initial question thrown out. The length of time. And the empty space where nothing happens.
Design is important. But a session that proceeds exactly as designed becomes somewhat stifling. An air of predictability hangs over it. Participants start looking for the "correct answer."
Truly rich sessions have moments that transcend design. Topics emerge that no one expected. Unexpected silences are born. And those silences bring deep words with them.
It may look like coincidence, but it is not. Because there is empty space, coincidence can enter.
Lately, when I stand in front of a group, I think about "how little I can intervene." I hold back the urge to step in. I don't fear the silence. I wait. I trust.
Even so, there are times when I still end up speaking up. The fear hasn't disappeared yet. There are nights when, in the silence, I lose sight of my own sense of purpose.
However, when I look back on a situation that went well, that memory is still there: the memory that "I hadn't done anything."
Perhaps a space is not something you manage, but something you open.
Once opened, it belongs to the people who are there. I just want to be the person who protects that margin. That is what I think now.
Katsuki Yamada (Connie)
PR Advisor, Community Designer, Workshop Designer
Based in Kyoto, I accompany companies, local governments, NPOs, and startups in "creating opportunities."
🔗 Akari Studio: https://akaristudio.jp
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