Composting Fear, Seeding Courage
Notes from a Systems Sensing Workshop
This was my last workshop of 2025, held in chilly Brooklyn. I arrived curious about what the year had been teaching me, and what would surface when a group of people gathered to slow down and sense what was moving beneath their work.
We weren’t there to think harder or produce answers.
We were practicing something quieter: noticing. Turning inward. Paying attention to what sits just beneath the surface of our leadership.
At one point, I invited people to name what they were carrying and what they were ready to release. A simple practice. Nothing dramatic. Just honest reflection collected on a sheet labeled Composting.
A small cluster of notes appeared. Enough to reveal shared pressures we often treat as private: fear, urgency, scarcity, the expectation to perform expertise, the sense that institutional validation matters more than our own instincts. These weren’t abstract critiques. They were the conditions shaping how people show up every day.
Standing in front of that cluster, I felt how much weight people hold, even in spaces designed for openness. Composting didn’t resolve that weight. It simply let it be seen.
The Tenderness of Seeding
Later, I invited people to name something they wanted to carry forward—a seed, a word, a gesture toward possibility. Only a few notes appeared on that second sheet. The wide blank space around them felt surprisingly honest.
One person wrote from courage: “Fuck it—let’s try it.”
Another wrote from care: “Heart-centered engagement.”
Seeding often emerges slowly. It requires safety and spaciousness. People can usually name what is heavy long before they can name what they hope for. But seeds don’t need to be numerous to matter. They just need room.
New Pathways, Subtle Movements
As the session continued, something softened. People began noticing the quieter information in the room: small shifts in energy, the way tension settles, the difference between pushing and allowing. Words like “turning toward,” “lifting,” and “calm alertness” began to appear in their reflections.
When people sense rather than force, new possibilities show up on their own timeline. Sometimes as a shift in posture. Sometimes as a surprising insight. Sometimes as the simple realization that they already know what they’ve been trying to figure out.
What This Taught Me
A few truths stayed with me:
1. We can’t imagine new futures without acknowledging the realities shaping us now.
Even a handful of compost notes can reveal patterns we’re living inside.
2. Possibility emerges slowly and honestly.
Seeding is not about enthusiasm. It’s about willingness.
3. Insight doesn’t always come from the mind.
Sensing is as much somatic as it is cognitive.
4. Small movements matter.
Sometimes a single question or gesture shifts the stance of the entire room.
5. Softness is not the opposite of strength.
It creates the conditions for more truthful choices.
Why This Matters Now
We’re living in a culture that rewards speed, certainty, and constant output. Many leaders feel pressure to stay “on,” even as the world asks more of them than ever.
Systems sensing interrupts that momentum.
It invites us to pause long enough to feel what is actually happening.
It widens our perception.
It reconnects us to ourselves and to each other.
Presence is not a passive state. It’s a form of leadership.
What I’m Carrying Into 2026
I’ve been thinking a lot about those few small seeds on the wall at the end of the workshop. They weren’t big declarations or sweeping visions. They were simple signals of what felt alive in the room: courage, care, alignment, ease.
Sometimes transformation begins that way, through a small opening, a shift in attention, a moment when people feel enough support to try something new.
Composting is honest.
Seeding is brave.
New pathways appear when we listen with more of ourselves.
As I head into a new year, I’m carrying those small movements with me. They reminded me that change doesn’t always look like a breakthrough. Often, it looks like a beginning.