Nowhere better than an arboretum on a bright winter's day.

Good morning 2026

How we each read a situation goes way beyond any words written on the page or spoken in a moment.

The continuous, breathless, scroll of 'thought pieces', shiny 'new' ideas, shortcuts to supposed 'success'. It's exhausting & bewildering. Yet, in contrast to all the clamour of 'advice' proffered, it's space that feels of most value. Space to think, breathe, listen, connect...

A bit of a walk on Boxing Day with some big skies.

For all the times in this place, and for moments shared, in listening and feeling listened to, for love and friendship and generosity, I am so very grateful.

Precious light

Good morning

What I can see depends on when I am ready and able to notice.

I know I learn more when I can work out loud. Share what's really happening, how I'm really feeling - without needing to dress things up as perfect, neat, sorted. When I can listen, talk openly, think aloud, feel heard. Then things actually come more clearly into perspective.

In every twig its inner strength reaches out intricate beauty.

In my view, the most compelling spaces for learning feel a bit homemade, messy, informal. (Not all shiny, performative, neat at the edges). Spaces where it feels OK to share our doubts, fears, hopes, and ideas out loud. Notice, listen, and talk openly in the spaces in between.

You can't control spontaneity. You can't prescribe joy. You can't force organic ways of connecting into a formal process. (Not without changing them that is). You can't guarantee certainty. You can't remove their feelings of doubt. But we can listen and be there with each other.

It can feel like no time at all, a different lifetime ago, all at the same time. Not one or the other, not good or bad. Just different. Markedly, imperceptibly, different. I can embrace it all. Each moment of difference adding to, gently shaping, the meaning. Each moment matters.

Each of us arrives in a meeting with lingering doubts, unfinished conversations, unsettling feelings, noise. None of it stops just because the meeting starts & demands our undivided attention. I know we can't solve it all. But we can pause, notice, care, acknowledge how we are...

Often it's the finished article that's shared publicly. The 'outcome', 'measurable impact', 'tangible justification'. Yet maybe the real value is found in the working out loud, the messiness of what it feels like, how everyone *in* it found it to be (way beyond a tidy write-up).

Thoughts branching off, maybe leading somewhere? Maybe not. Baffling complexities. Intricacies. Moments of clarity? Fleeting views of a thing. A seeming deadend? Many interweaving connections. Joy of discovery. Woe of overwhelm. It can't be bypassed or made up. It's all the work.

That creeping sense of doom that can grip me when I scroll and how I need to remember to see beyond the clouds obscuring and listen through the raucous noise to the shared humanity and meaningful connections all of which are still there too.

December moon in the afternoon.

We had the 500th Spaces for Listening last week... What's all that about? Have a read of our blog here: brigidrussell43.medium.com/being-here-s... A heartfelt thanks to everyone who's come along over the last few years x

I'm struggling to find the words. It's something about wishing there were more places in which conversations felt more real, incomplete, unfolding, empathic. Not performative, divisive, cruel, embattled, tripping the other up. It's a harsh world without more understanding spaces.

I might not have the words in the moment. What did I mean to say? What if I just don't know what to say to you? Felt clumsy, worried I'd say the 'wrong' thing? What even are the 'right' words in any case? How many of us are carrying all this unsaid stuff in the spaces in between?

So often the conclusion reached is something like "more leadership is required". Makes me curious. Is it really more "leadership"? I wonder if what's needed are more spaces for connection, and for valuing all the capabilities and ways of knowing we hold collectively between us?

If it's all broadcast with little space for listening, inquiring, and dialogue. If it's all shouty noise with scant chance for quiet curiosity and gentle generosity. If it's all performative with no genuine connection in shared humanity. Then what really is the point?

So much of the work relies on bringing together our different capabilities and ways of knowing. That requires collaboration between us. Which means paying attention to valuing and nurturing our relationships. And it doesn't just happen. All this takes space & care for connection.

Just because we all expected ‘too little, too late’, the lack of a plan and the damage caused by ‘a toxic, sexist culture’ in No 10, it doesn’t mean these points from the Covid report should wash over us. Lessons for government more generally, not just in a pandemic.

It is about all the parts. The deepest grief. Love that never goes away. Moments of exquisite beauty. Joyous connections. Finding a voice to say what feels meaningful, write what matters. Being here. Feeling understood and so very heard. A wintry walk in a very special place.

A crisp, cold, sunny and beautiful wintry walk today. Snow on the hills, too.

If we rush past stuff which feels heavy and scary, it won't make it go away. Churning through the content, ticking the boxes, doesn't make things more efficient or possible. We need space to share uncertainties, find nuance in that heaviness, and feel connection in solidarity.

The work starts long before I enter the room, in the shadows and the silences, and all the moments of noisy doubt and uncertainty. And so it continues, during, after, in the reflections unfolding, and beyond.

When so-called progress is talked about in threatening tones ('you'd better keep up or you'll be left behind'), I'm struck by the irony. It means I want to slow down, take it at my own pace, understand more about where it comes from, why (if) it represents 'progress', & to whom.

Delicate moments all the more beautiful for being so fleeting.

Quintessentially Autumn

Between what's going on for me, you, and how it all gets translated into words and actions spoken (or not) in the collective space. These aren't defined moments that can be neatly scripted and managed a to b to c. Too often we sweep past, and yet all live with the consequences.

It's the dreich times which make these moments of sunlight all the more precious.

Confidence is a funny concept. A subjective thing which is often treated as if it can be objectively measured. Do you trust I have the experience you think I need? I could say I do - with confidence! When really it's my humility to be open and open to learning which say far more.

Going more slowly. That's not a bad thing. Actually, I feel it's essential. Going faster and faster and faster achieves what exactly? I think it means we miss out on so much. The meaningful warmth of connection for one. The beauty all around us for another.

Life doesn't happen in neat lines. We don't live our lives in discrete categories. Real conversations don't follow a script and relationships don't conform to a formula. So why do we sometimes try to organise work, manage organisations, and handle our interactions as if they do?

If all the focus is on 'getting stuff done' with no room to stop and ponder, what really gets done? Without the space to wonder, how much is missed?

As daylight fades, the colourful burst of autumnal evening sky feels all the more glorious in its fleeting presence.

The more polarised and performative the 'debates' about deeply important issues become, the less space there is for genuine curiosity, openness, and mutual understanding. Where's the space for not knowing, grappling with the differences, and learning? Such space is essential.

Friday evening light

Grief isn't a thing to 'get over'. It's something I live with. I was gently reminded of that yesterday. Grief is so closely interlinked with love. It doesn't just end because so much time has passed. It's there in many timeless reminders. And that's not necessarily a sad thing.

Being truly and quietly listened to. It doesn't 'solve' whatever may be going on. That's not the point. It just helps to know that someone can and will listen. To feel heard. In that gentle act, there's a feeling of solidarity and support. It can be both reciprocal and generous.

Night out in the City

Silence isn't empty. It's full of noisy thoughts and troubling feelings struggling to find the words. Words which don't confront, over-simplify, or polarise. How to stay curious, generous, hopeful, and connected in these times of turbulence, distraction, delusion, and deep hurt?

I wish I could say I'd noticed the changes of the seasons as much when I was younger as I do now. But I didn't, and that's OK. Similarly now, it's OK to see how much more I have to learn. More than OK, it is essential. And I'm glad to have the chance to do so. It feels precious.

Gaps in my knowledge are both risk and potential if I'm able and willing to see and (re)frame them. Assumptions of 'success' and prevailing systems in formal education and work mitigate against the curiosity and humility needed to stay open-hearted and minded to exploring the gaps.

'Are you for or against? It's either this or that.' Too often we're pushed into either/or thinking and taking a set stance. Lived experiences show us that so much is a lot messier, nuanced, and layered than that. We need more spaces in which we can sit with and explore all that.

I never want to take the moments of beauty and connection for granted.