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Dear Reader, On Sunday, I almost missed my first marathon 😳 After sixteen weeks of training, I nearly missed the start because I arrived five minutes late. I’d adjusted my schedule, diet, sleep — everything. Yet there I was, begging the security guard to let me through with another late runner from the US. He eventually waved us in. Crossing that starting line already felt like we’d made it 🏆 and back then I wasn't aware of all the lessons I'd learn that had nothing to do with the run. For years, I’d believed I ran best alone, that I didn't like company and that my lungs weren’t strong enough to talk and run at the same time anyway. Turns out, those were just stories I’d been telling myself. My new running partner paced us perfectly. We chatted, laughed, and before I knew it, 25 kilometres were behind us. We weren’t the last anymore. We were flying. Until we weren’t. Around kilometre thirty, her pace slowed. Cramps, heat, exhaustion. Her jet-lag kicked in. I could see the frustration in her face. She’d helped me through the first half, I wonder whether I had made it so easy so far without her. Now, it was my turn to return the favour: with jokes, water, a quick back massage. But as I slowed down with her, sometimes walking, a voice crept in: What about my race time? What a guilty thought. Allyship should matter more than numbers, records, pride. To motivate her, we made a deal: if she could stay strong for the next 5 kilometres, I’d let her walk the final two. It worked. For a while. At kilometre forty, she stopped, looked at me, and said, “Go. I’ll walk from here.” I hesitated, then ran. I wanted to meet her at the finish line, but the crowd made it impossible. Crossing it alone felt strange: a mix of pride and betrayal, relief and guilt. I found peace with the thought that this is part of leading and living. Sometimes we match pace. Sometimes we cheer from behind. And sometimes we run ahead, not because we’ve given up on someone, but because both of us need to finish our own race. 🎙 Meanwhile, on the podcast…Does an empty cup have nothing in it? Possibilitarian Mike Parker, believes not in its nothingness, but in its potential. Because when we pour our thoughts, feelings, assumptions and beliefs out of the cup, setting everything free, we create a container of emptiness – to make space for what we need. Mike returns to the show with his signature calming presence to share his brilliant, beautiful thoughts on nervous system regulation in our age of overwhelm – and why guided relaxation could be the balm we are all missing. From hypnotic anaesthetics, to neural networks, REM sleep, and the wondrous world of metaphor, episode 344 is for slowing down, tuning in, and returning to yourself. And at 59:36, Mike leads us all through a special, guided relaxation to do exactly that! Find out about:
And if you enjoy today’s guided relaxation, Mike hosts monthly group sessions over at Liminal Lounge, where you can experience more of his wonderful work – as well as short guided relaxations on his website. 🎧 Click here to listen to the interview📥 Check out my 1-page summary 👀 Watch the unedited interview on Youtube 🎤 Preparing UnprofessionalismFrom January 2026, the workshops work podcast will become the Unprofessionalism podcast and I have already started interviewing my first guests and sourcing interesting stories that inspire us to be more human at work. If you can think of a anecdote when being unprofessional turned out to be the smartest move you (or someone around you) ever made, share it with me here - I might invite you on the podcast https://unprofessionalism.com That’s it from my side! I hope you enjoy the story and find inspiration to run your own race — with others, beside others, or sometimes just for yourself. I’ll see you next week! Myriam
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I'm a recovering academic who uses her insights from behavioural economics to develop methods that facilitate collaboration. In my weekly newsletter, I share the summary of my latest interview on the "workshops work" podcast along with an application of facilitation as a life and leadership skill.
Dear Reader, I said yes. Too quickly. Again. And here I am, looking at the pile of broken glass, wondering what I could have done differently. Isn't it ironic that I'm a facilitator who literally teaches people how to work together. And still, I fell into the oldest trap in the book. Someone invited me to collaborate on something exciting. I felt flattered. My gut told me to slow down, to have a real conversation about how we'd work together. But I didn't want to be the difficult one....
Dear Reader, How do you know whether the group you're speaking to is engaged or not? Last week I was facilitating a workshop on the basics of facilitation for a new community. I asked a question. Silence. Everyone stayed on mute. I tried another prompt. More silence. But people had their cameras on and smiled—they were clearly engaged, just not speaking. I've written about the sound of silence in facilitation, and this week Yuko shares the Japanese perspective on it in the podcast. But last...
Dear Reader, Do you avoid difficult conversations? The 'constructive' feedback? The cancellation of an appointment? The ask for a raise? If so, what's the story you tell yourself when you do? What if they won't like me? What if they get angry? What if they push back or shut down or accuse me of making things bigger than they are? What if they dismiss what I say? What if they think I'm the problem? What if I actually am??? As I've observed not only my own responses but those of participants in...