Meeting ‘uninspiredness’ through community

Recently I have had cause to reflect on what it means to feel ‘inspired’. That lovely feeling of flow when energy for a project seems to bubble up without much effort, a natural sense of confidence just arises and the next steps seem clear.

In the organising of our symposium in August, I have, over recent weeks, felt anything but inspired. Instead of the wonderful energy and enthusiasm that came with the conceptualisation of the project I have found doubt and impatience. What needs to be done nestles within and competes with everything else I have to do both at work and at home.  Resentment builds.

Instead of flow there is a sense of ‘blockedness’, of being up against a wall I can’t see around, as ideas for blogs dry up and I lose sense of why I thought any of this was important in the first place. Also within that, more subtly, is an underlying loss of faith in my own capacities – everyone else seems to be doing amazing stuff so my contribution won’t matter/ won’t be as good/ isn’t worthwhile.

Negotiating with this has been interesting! It has been very easy for me in the past to get into increasingly tight mental states in which I become frustrated and impotent and ever more withdrawn as ‘others’ become increasingly threatening. A line gets drawn in the sand between the competent, brilliant ‘others’ and the incompetent, uninspiring ‘me’. However, on this occasion, I have found that reaching out to the contemplative pedagogy community with an honest reflection about how things are going and where I need help has been revolutionary. Being vulnerable enough to say ‘this isn’t going quite as we’d hoped, I need some support’ has brought with it much kindness, energy and inspiration from others. I no longer have to be my own inspiration generating machine and neither do I have to be intimidated by what else is going on around me. I am able to take a step back from the wall, look around and re-evaluate my judgement of what is going on and how to respond in relation to it.

There has not been some miracle shift, but subtle changes that have re-established space, enabled me to identify what I can do and thus move forward.  I have been reminded by others of why the event is important and this has been key. At first glace it seems ironic that organising events that incorporate ideas such as contemplation and mindfulness should be accompanied by difficulty and stress. But there is real danger in seeing this work as some how easier or distinct from the complexity of the rest of human experience.  I therefore felt inspired to share my experience of ‘uninspiredness’  🙂

I am particularly grateful to Dr Mariana Funes for this great graphic and look forward to meeting some of you in August.

Warm wishes

Caroline

Contemplative Pedagogy Symposium

 

 

 

 

The quest for meaning and transformation in higher education

Hello

I am pleased to share my recent keynote presentation at the Mindfulness in Education Symposium at the University of Vienna in February which was kindly hosted by Dr Karlheinz Valtl. You may be interested in taking a look.

It is my attempt to pull together and develop thoughts about the importance of contemplative pedagogy in higher education and how it may help us and our students engage in meaningful and transformative learning.

Contemplative pedagogy, meaning and transformation in higher education

Since doing this talk I have realised that I am particularly interested in how contemplative pedagogy can support the development of new perspectives, in both educators and students, that question the status quo and help us see beyond accepted social norms.

If you are interested in the questions raised in the presentation do think about coming to our four day symposium this summer: Coming to our senses: embedding contemplative pedagogy in higher education’

I have included my notes for completeness and I am happy to discuss them, but please do not cite them.

Best wishes

Caroline

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reflecting on Phd research with a contemplative technique

Many thanks to Dr Geoff Taggart for contributing this very helpful and practical blog on a contemplative activity that supports PhD students to reflect on and deepen their understanding of their research process. If you have any comments or questions for Geoff please comment below.

I recently ran a session for new Phd/EdD students in all disciplines called ‘making the most of your Phd journey’. Participants came into a room where carpet tiles were set out on the floor and they were asked to ‘make a picture’ of their Phd using the stones provided (of various shapes, sizes and colours). The idea was to help them think more holistically about all of the different elements involved.

PhD Research contemplative task

Contemplative, therapeutic activities with stones, beads and other materials have been known to help access more creative and archetypal aspects of consciousness (e.g. Jung). Afterwards, I gave them a sheet with these questions

  • What is at the centre of the picture board and why is this so important compared to other things which could have gone there?
  • What sort of stone are you? Why this size and shape?
  • What sort of stone is your supervisor(s)? Why this size and shape?
  • In the picture, what is the distance between the student stone (you) and the supervisor stone? What might this show?
  • How is the subject matter represented? (e.g. one stone or many, close or far apart, irregular or in a pattern) What might this show about your research?
  • How are the following represented:
    • University services (e.g. library, study advice, graduate school)
    • External services (e.g. British Library)
    • Other PhD students, friends and family?
  • Is the picture a snapshot of the connections today between you, your supervisor and your subject? If so, how could the picture show the research being carried out? (i.e. Why have you produced a picture without the dimension of time?)
  • Does the picture show a series of stages in your research, such as your research plan being followed? If so, does it also show in enough detail the complexity and subtlety of the research topic and how the different elements relate to each other? (i.e. Why was the dimension of time emphasised in your picture?)
  • Do you feel that anything is missing from your picture? If you were to do this again, how would it be different and why would this be?

I then asked them to think about the questions and then talk about their picture with a fellow participant working in a different discipline. Feedback sheets suggest that this was the part of the session they liked best!

By Geoff Taggart, University of Reading

Post-truth heartbreak and no hope!

I wanted to take this opportunity to send my good wishes to you all and thank you  for your on-going commitment and engagement to this blog and pursuit of contemplative pedagogy.

This is a picture from the blog’s stats page showing how the number of visitors (in dark blue) and views (mid blue) have increased year on year with just over 2000 visitors and just over 4000 views in 2017.

Cntemplative pedagogy stats sml

I have really enjoyed seeing these numbers increase with each year, and whilst on the one hand we shouldn’t get too dependent on statistics to provide a sense of purpose, it does fill me with excitement about the future.

And lets face it  – that’s not an easy feeling to invoke after what many of us have experienced as a particularly bruising year. At no other time have I felt as shaken by world affairs as I do now. The challenge in my eyes is not to sit, powerless, paralysed by horrified anxiety, or shut ourselves away, but be willing to look, feel and respond.

At this time of the year with the huge emphasis placed on being ‘happy’ and ‘merry’ I doubt many blogs will mention heartbreak but it seems relevant to me. To engage with the challenges we face, in fact to fully engage with life, heartbreak is unavoidable. Palmer (2009) usefully draws out the difference between ‘a heart broken into a thousand shards…that sometimes become shrapnel aimed at the source of our pain…’ and a ‘heart ‘broken open’ to the largeness of life, into a greater capacity to hold one’s own and the world’s pain and joy’.

So whilst this year has been difficult, as result of it I feel a deepening sense of urgency. It seems my ability to turn away from what ails us is diminishing.  I know that I am not alone in this sense. 2018 needs to see the development of discussion about how contemplative pedagogy can help prepare us and those we teach for the inevitable heartbreak of being human and how collectively we support each other through that. It also needs to directly engage with the challenges of a post-truth, post-expert world in which views are aggressively expressed and offence easily taken. In particular I am interested in how contemplative pedagogy can become more critical and, slightly ironically, become more aware of itself, the way it both questions and reinforces the status quo. Is there a danger in teaching the importance of becoming quiet and still when what we really need is noise and action?

Anyway all of that aside, like many of you, I am tired. I am looking forward to sometime away from my computer and hope that you all find some time for things that restore you in readiness for the new year.

I’ll leave you with this poem excerpt:

‘Let’s stop making deals for a safe passage:
There isn’t one anyway, and the cost is too high.
We are not children anymore.
The true human adult gives everything for what cannot be lost.
Let’s dance the wild dance of no hope!’

(An excerpt from the Darkini Speaks by Jennifer Welwood)

Warm wishes

Caroline

Creating the time and space to learn together

In the midst of this rather hectic end to the term it is a real joy to take a few moments out to let you know that our plans for a summer school type event have come together. This is the blurb for the event:

Coming to our senses: embedding contemplative pedagogy in higher education

This four-day event at Emerson College will bring together educators working in higher education to explore, experience and study contemplative pedagogy. It will be a valuable opportunity to connect with like-minded people, learn from what others are doing in their classrooms and reflect on our own contemplative practice and how this impacts our teaching and conduct.

2pm 27 August 2018 – 2pm 30 August 2018
Please visit the events page for more details and information on how to book.

 

For me personally this event seems to have emerged out of the efforts and enthusiasms of many different people over the last few years. The fact that we are even attempting such an ambitious event, for such a long period of time (taking four days out of work to attend a training event is a big ask), reflects the belief amongst the organising team (myself, Iddo Oberski, Siobhan Lynch and Steven Stanley) that there is growing interest in contemplative pedagogy. In particular that people are keen to learn relevant skills, explore their understanding of this approach and think about how they can embed it within their work with students and each other.

The event will embody what it is hopes to teach. We will be creating community, taking space, being quiet, exploring our internal experience as well as considering how our ideas and desires connect with the external world and asking how we move these ideas forward and enable ourselves, our teaching, our students and our institutions to be transformed by the deep learning that emerges from contemplation.

There is no quick way to do this. No short cuts to understanding. What I hope is that over those four days we start to feel less alone in our struggles, that we find the confidence together to wade around in the mud of not-knowing, share the embarrassment of our mistakes and the deep vulnerability that comes with risking being wrong and revealing ourselves in the pursuit of knowing something more deeply.

We will be doing this in good company, in a wonderful setting, in which we can get close to nature, eat nurturing and lovingly prepared food, laugh and have fun and learn from the unique offerings that we will all bring.

Please come, you are most welcome 🙂

Caroline

 

 

 

 

Resilience, narrative and common humanity in self-care

This blog has generously been contributed by my colleague in the School of Health and Social Care at the University of Essex, Ness Woodcock-Dennis. Thanks Ness!

I have just returned from International Health and Wellbeing week at Turku University of applied sciences in Finland after giving a workshop to Finnish nursing students based on the theme of health promotion. My clinical experience delivering health promotion as a public health nurse taught me that as professional care givers, nurses are poor at self-care and promoting their own health.

Nursing literature considers this from the viewpoint of how resilience can serve the service and service users; but what does resilience mean to the individual? To understand this, an individual must first understand their own vulnerabilities, and to acquire an authentic understanding of this, must be able and motivated in understanding their own inner curriculum, which Ergas (2016) attributes to factors such as how we are influenced by our worries, bodily sensations and our ability to interact and respond to the world.

Narrative is widely used in nursing as the patient story is intrinsic to care, just as listening skills are if these stories are to be interpreted and accurately understood as a means of utilising a genuine person-centred approach. As educators we understand the importance of role modelling professional behaviours and compassion, but what about role modelling self-care?

The use of narrative in the classroom is a powerful tool for developing compassionate nursing practice and a staple of contemplative pedagogy, enabling students to realise their own proximity to a greater narrative through understanding their own story (Barbezat & Bush 2014). This interplay is the common humanity described by Neff (2003), and is the interconnection between things central in Buddhist ethics; it is also the kinship that is fragmented and missing from caring relationships between nurses (Ballat & Campling 2015). I think it is the glue that holds the wider concepts of compassion together.

When I was asked to speak to the Finnish students about health promotion, I reflected on the importance of narrative, even more so on how important it is to listen to our own, particularly if we are to understand the barriers to communication and care imposed by ourselves when we are overwhelmed. My own experience of burn-out as a clinician has enabled me to create a narrative which demonstrates my experience of vulnerability in an authentic way.

Communicating beyond ourselves and our immediate audiences is essential if we are to strengthen our sense of common humanity. Sharing my experiences enabled me to connect with others on a deeper level which was energising and humbling. Despite differences in health infrastructure and culture, common humanity was found through sharing my narrative. By telling my story, colleagues were motivated to approach me and share their experiences, enabling common humanity that I believe was cultivated by having the courage to be authentic and accept my vulnerabilities as a clinician and human being.

References

Ballatt J & Campling P (2015) Intelligent Kindness: reforming the culture of healthcare, RPsych Publications

Barbezat D & Bush B (2014) Contemplative Practices in Higher Education, Jossey-Bass: San Francisco

Ergas O (2016) Reconstructing Education through Mindful Attention: Positioning the mind at the centre of curriculum and pedagogy, Palgrave Macmillan: London

Neff K (2003) Self-compassion: An alternative conceptualisation of a healthy attitude toward oneself, Self and Identity, 2, p85-101

The deliberate cultivation of love

Compassion is a word that seems to be everywhere at the moment so I thought I’d kick off the first blog of the academic year with some reflections about it. I am reading about compassion, researching compassion, attempting to teach compassion…and it’s not just me! It is something of a buzzword. But amidst all the hype, it is easy to think that the intellectual understanding of something automatically results in the practice of it, that because I can explain the complexities of defining compassion or the importance of compassion for our wellbeing that I, by default, become a compassionate person. This is something that needs serious reflection on our part as educators.

Initally, when I was first introduced to the idea of actively developing compassion the through Loving Kindness meditation it did not sit well with me. I thought that compassion for others emerged based on a particular emotion arising in me and then me feeling as though I needed to act upon it. Within my understanding compassion could not be actively developed – it was simply present at times and not at others.

It has taken many years for me to fully embrace the idea of the deliberate cultivation of love as a worthwhile endeavour and to recognise that this should not just be done sat on the cushions but had to woven into the fabric of my life. I think part of my reticence was that admitting to myself that I needed to actively develop love and connection with others touched into some deep vulnerability in me. It meant having to look at how I disconnected, pushed people away and ignored their suffering (as well as my own). I have found this deepening sensitivity to my own experience has fuelled the development of compassion within me because in recognising my vulnerability I have come to see it in others too.

Why is this relevant to teaching? For those of us engaged in teaching students explicitly about compassion, we need to encourage a non-judgemental exploration of where we all fall short of our expectations with regards to the way we treat others and ourselves. Being compassionate is not just a tick box exercise and our capacity to be compassionate is not just dependent on going on a training course or whether or not we were born a ‘compassionate person’. We also need to encourage students to see that compassion is not just about our individual capacity to care, it is also a manifestation of the conditions in which we work and how we work together.

More broadly we need to find a language to start exploring compassion within higher education. Not as a solution for all its ills, not as a way of individualising the difficulties of particular staff or students but as a way to increase awareness of our shared humanity and the vulnerability and frailty inherent therein. The prevalence of mental illness amongst academics and students suggests that our culture may not be a healthy one. I suspect competition, pressure and isolation contribute significantly to this and I know that connecting with people who also seek to create meaningful connection through compassionate, constructive dialogue is transforming my experience of my working life.

So, we can read all we like on compassion, we can learn poems about love and theorise about what compassionate care might look like, but it is in developing awareness of how we treat people, and ourselves, day to day, rejoicing in our generosity and learning from our meanness’s, that we can develop compassion for each other from which our students will inevitably learn.

Would love to know your thoughts and experiences about this.

Caroline

Labyrinths, lads & letting go of how ‘learning’ looks

Earlier this month, I was asked by Dr Amy Armstrong to deliver teaching on self-compassion to her undergraduate business students at Ashridge Executive Education as part of a module on ethics and care, which had embedded contemplative practice from the outset. I am hoping that Amy might agree to share some more details about the course as a whole in a future blog. My intention here is to reflect on what I learnt with particular emphaisis on my first labyrinth facilitation experience.

We initally talked a little about the theory of self-compassion, using Kristen Neff’s model as well as a little of Paul Gilberts work.  I was particularly moved by how engaged students became when we discussed how our uncompassionate and critical selves can show up in our lives. Their list was far better than the one I had prepared:

20170610_105711

Class discussion on our uncompassionate selves…

In terms of practical exercises, I used a common humanity practice in which the students are placed in pairs and then, having closed their eyes and become still, reflect on phrases such as ‘this person gets ill, as I do’; ‘this person wants to be happy, as I do’; ‘this person suffers, as I do’. We also did a compassionate breath practice in which the students were asked to close their eyes, focus on the breath and imagine breathing in compassion for themselves and breathing out compassion for the person they had been paired with.

On the day I noticed that I felt very unprepared to teach a group of 24, largely male, 19-21 year olds about things I would normally assume they would not be interested in. I am used to small groups of predominately female professionals who appear relatively unthreatening to teach. Here, there was a playfulness, directness and boisterousness that I was unused to. Just to be clear  – they were a great bunch of students, who really engaged, but the energy was just incredibly different to what I am used to.

20170609_213906

The beautiful labyrinth at Ashridge

This difference became most apparent when it came to leading the labyrinth walk which took place after lunch. I had imagined that the students would be so captivated by my introduction to labyrinths, so thrilled by the opportunity to engage in such a deep and historic practice that we would walk to the labyrinth in awed silence. The students however did not get the brief! There was lots of good-humoured banter, the throwing of the odd pine cone, skipping, jumping – not the solemn atmosphere I had envisaged!!

I realised very quickly that I had to let go of what I wanted to this to look like, that I risked alienating them if I tried to make this ‘my’ labyrinth walk. When we reached the labyrinth however, I did say that while they were waiting to enter, it was important to be quiet in order to respect the experience of the other students. I also emphasised that it was optional to walk and one student decided not to take part. To my surprise (and, if I’m honest, relief!) they were very respectful once the walking started. Some also asked to take their shoes off – something I took as an encouraging sign of willing engagement.

Although I had walked the labyrinth several times the night before, waiting for the first student to reach the centre was a nerve-wracking business. I had a very real sense of not wanting to look stupid in front of the students, so when the leading student passed another on the way out of the centre for the first time and they high-fived each other, my feeling was not annoyance that they were not taking it seriously but a humourous recognition of how much their gesture reflected my own internal sense of relief! Some students walked in silence, others shared a few words, there was skipping, shared smiles and raised eyebrows. The sense of community was palpable from the ways they interacted as well as the way they did not interrupt each other without invitation. I realised that I was there to witness how they would walk and support them in that, rather than make them do it ‘right’.

After the walk we discussed what had made them feel vulnerable or what they had found difficult on their walk. They identified that it was different from what they usually do, that the couldn’t make any choices about where to go once they started, that they didn’t know where the centre was or how long it would take to get there and several experienced bordem. I had also asked them to leave their phones the classroom which had, I think, contributed to a sense of insecurity. Then we discussed what they had enjoyed or found pleasurable, interestingly many reported liking the fact that there were no choices to make, someone said their mind became quieter, another reflected on how going first made him feel like the leader and that this had evoked a sense of care in him for the others but also a self-consciousness about whether he was doing it right.

One of  the most pertinent student comments, was that the experience had been paradoxical, that although he had no choices as to where to go within the labyrinth and that to some extent he had been disempowered, he found the decision to walk, and the experience of doing so, empowering.

I came away with a stronger awareness of the importance of giving up my preconceptions about what learning looks like, because only then can I really meet students where they are. I noticed how vulnerable I feel when it doesn’t look like I think it should. We are of course responsible for setting up the conditions for learning (and in some cases assessing that learning) but we also need to allow space for the learning process to emerge from within each student and to actively welcome that difference and diversity. The labyrinth proved to be a powerful teaching tool. I found it challenging because I was aware of how little control I had over what the students learnt from it. I was then forced to consider whether we ever have the power to determine what students learn from what we teach?

Any thoughts welcome!

Caroline

 

 

 

Becoming a contemplation activist

A huge thank you to Mariana Funes for writing this thought provoking blog, that really gets to the heart of what contemplative pedagogy is about.


I have been reading the beautifully titled article by Sandra Braman ‘When nightingales break the law: silence and the construction of reality’ and it has made a big impact on me. I teach online insight dialogue at the Mindfulness Studies Masters at Lesley University. Contemplative Pedagogy is integral to my work and what makes it interesting and challenging is that all my teaching is online inside a Learning Management System; designing and delivering a course that enacts contemplative dialogue on this kind of system is a non-trivial task.

At times I feel very alone, against a tide that privileges the social over the contemplative.
Sandra’s paper speaks beautifully to the need for a balance between these two different ways of meaning making,

“Strikingly, theorizing about digital technologies has led us to recognize many habitual subjects of research as figures against fields that are also worthy of study. Communication, for example, becomes visible only against the field of silence. Silence is critically important for the construction of reality – and the social construction of reality has a complement, the also necessary contemplative construction of reality.”

Yet, we do not act in the world as if these two realms where equally valuable. Instead, we seek ways to distract ourselves when a rare moment of contemplation becomes available in a busy day. We are born to distraction and must cultivate attention. So Sandra encourages us all to protect our moments of silence,

“Finding ways to protect silence as an arena of personal and social choice is particularly poignant […] at this frontier moment for the human species.”

This put me in mind of the idea that attention and how we use it is a moral and a political act. Iain McGilchrist synthesises this well when he tells us that “Attention is a moral act: it creates, brings aspects of things into being, but in doing so makes other recede.” Attentional choices often requires us to work against habit and ease, we need to become contemplation activists. Fighting to ‘protect silence as a personal and social choice’ often means taking the inconvenient course of action. Why bother?

We bother because we are losing the battle with mind chatter. We are being weighed down by too much information and too few inconvenient choices. Our mind chatter has become an inner landfill and unless we cultivate attention, distraction will win and our cognition will (is already?) suffer. We want permanence and yet all we have is a reality that is dialectical in nature; oppositional constructs that are held in tension and, paradoxically, only temporarily permanent. Silence and conversation. Stillness and movement. The social and the contemplative. And we see this flow over time only if we cultivate our attention and stop being seduced by distraction.

So I am now calling myself a contemplation activist. I remind myself daily that:

  • I need to cultivate fluidity to see background and foreground beyond motivated reasoning
  • I should ask: What is not being attended to?
  • Remember to pause to see the world as it presents itself to the eye not just seek to impose a shape on it
  • Mind chatter is the boundary of conscious and unconscious, I train the mind to access it when I cultivate silence and pause
  • Else, fast will always win

These ideas are summed up from the work of David Levy who I also have to thank for the term Contemplation Activist. I highly recommend that you read his work as well as Sandra’s article if these ideas appeal to you.

This is not about picking ‘the right way’; it is about living with ambiguity and impermanence,

Dialectically, social and contemplative practices can oscillate, feeding into each other, as a cycle of activity and respite; a pulse for everyday life. Mara Adelman

We need silence to hear the pulse of everyday life oscillating moment to moment. So how do we bring contemplation (back) to the fore?

  • Know we embody the obsolete in mind chatter – train the mind
  • Protect silence as a personal and social choice – inconvenient choices
  • Anthropomorphising the clock to blame it for our lack of time, brings only temporary relief
  • Every decision excludes (or should) as much as it includes

David Levy talks about how he tackles distraction one student at a time. I say that is a worthy goal not just for my teaching but also the rest of my life – tackle distraction one moment at a time by privileging the pause a little more often each day.

By Mariana Funes, May 2017
_________
Braman, S. (2007). When nightingales break the law: Silence and the construction of reality. Ethics and Information Technology, 9(4), 281-295.
Funes, M (2017) The contemplative construction of reality. Haiku Deck created for my students. You can find it here: https://haikudeck.com/p/bd70009771
Funes, M. (2017) The contemplative construction of reality.

The importance of community for balancing self-doubt and omnipotence

When we are at our strongest and most resilient our sense of needing others diminishes. It feels, rather deceptively I have found out, as though we are the masters of our own destiny. As both an academic, and in the past as a student, I have had times when things just feel under my control, that I am behind the steering wheel  and I can make things go my way. Whilst this can feel wonderful at times, I have come to see that without awareness it can have negative side effects. Firstly, I no longer have a sense of how much others contribute to my life, I lose sense of their contributions, whether personally or professionally, rendering me unseeing and ungrateful (not completely perhaps but it certainly reduces my capacity to be so).

More recently, I have noticed that this sense of personal power also significantly diminishes my capacity for compassion for others – I can sort my life out so why can’t they? The last sixth months have taught me much but how this sense of control and self-determination is deeply illusory and that I can be good and generous and kind and work really hard but that this does not make me immune from that which I fear.

This got me thinking about higher education and how as both teachers (and increasingly for students) there is considerable pressure to build up a personal ‘brand’ to prove our ‘expertise’ and I worry that this pressure leads to us having to appear more sure about what we know and what our skills are than we perhaps actually are. I am concerned that the creation of personal brands over values our strengths and forces us to move too quickly from unknowing, that place of exploration and openness, to ‘expert’.

There is a balance here though. When I feel vulnerable I look at my staff profile, research gate, blog, whatever it is, and feel like a complete fraud – trying to work alongside people who I revere and feeling unworthy of doing so. Whilst when feeling powerful and in control I am perhaps a little more seduced than I should be, by the sense of knowing exactly where I am going and believing it is completely within my power to ensure my ‘success’. I don’t expect that this dance between deep doubt and naïve certainty will end anytime soon, but I have noticed how community can help me navigate the choreography rather more skilfully.

I have particularly noticed this in recent months, how friendly conversations with colleagues can make me feel valued even if I am struggling to see my own self-worth. How reaching out to help someone else can help break unhelpful thought patterns. One thing that has stood out however, about the contemplative pedagogy community in particular, is that it helps me manage not only vulnerability and insecurity, through its warmth and generosity, but it also helps me to notice and be mindful of when I get a bit too sure and confident. The depth of open questioning and exploration and the value given to others’ contributions is a healthy counterbalance to the need for a personal brand that puts forward a successful, coherent account of ourselves as self-made individuals.

I am therefore hugely looking forward to the upcoming contemplative pedagogy event at Queen Margaret University in Edinburgh organised by Iddo Oberski. It will be a rare opportunity for emails, phone calls and skype meetings to be swapped for hugely valuable face to face interaction. A time to explore my uncertainty and questions, help others do the same and as such come to know myself in connection with others, as part of a community, rather than as a lonely individual trying to shout louder than everyone else on twitter!

Looking forward to seeing some of you there.

Best wishes Caroline