I had a pretty interesting meeting a few weeks ago with Dave Hammis

(http://www.griffinhammis.com/) and Tim in Middletown talking about work, and

what works in the world of work.  Since then, I’ve been pondering the idea of a “sense of

place.”  I’ll admit, Middletown invoked part of the question I am chewing on, mainly

because what Tim and I drove past for the most part were abandoned strip malls, realty

signs, and empty buildings.  I don’t pretend to be a history expert on Middletown, but I

do think this “place” has seen better days. How then, does a city in decline recapture the

“sense of place?”  I don’t know, but I think the answer begins will reconnecting the

community to the people.  Perhaps a conversation at another time.

The bigger question I am struggling with is how people find their “place” both in the

sense of physical location, and in the idea of what one is “supposed to be.”  I cease from

using quotation marks around place and supposed to be from here on out!

Let’s start at the beginning.  (by the way, check out this song while you read this! I think

it’s appropriate given the topic)

MP3: Atlas Sound: “Walkabout (w_ Noah Lennox)” )

For many of us what we’re supposed to be is directly linked to expectations and

commitments we made for ourselves, expectations placed upon us from our parents,

encouragement from a close group of friends, supportive teachers.  For me, I was

supposed to be a teacher.  I studied Theology at Xavier University, enjoyed the theories

and the philosophical arguments, loved the thick and muddled readings from history. 

Yes, this was supposed to be my future.  My career, my dream job, if you will.  Three

months into teaching at a Catholic high school, I realized I was obviously wrong.  I did

not enjoy the school setting with its imposed limitations, requirements, red tape and

bureaucratic structure.  The curious exploration I enjoyed from reading and studying

was squashed to 50 minute periods of lesson plans, curriculum, and grading.  Wait, I

thought!  This isn’t what I’m supposed to be doing!  Is it?  Where’s the intellectual

dialogue?  Where’s the debate?  Where’s the internal churning of ideas?

What then was I supposed to be doing?  I read in a C.S. Lewis book a line that I think

applies here.  He said, “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to

another: “What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”  How relieved I was to hear a

friend say recently that he was formerly a lawyer.  You too?!   Now, David is the Director

and founder of Prairie (http://www.prairiecincinnati.com ) a non-profit photography

studio in Northside that is committed to community based art and collaboration.  It’s

strange how finding your “sense of place” sometimes comes from failing (in my case) or

from fruitful longing (in David’s).

What we are “supposed” to be doing isn’t necessarily linked to what we planned on

doing.  And believe me, I am a planner.  I enjoy to do-lists and calendars like nobody’s

business.  I get excited when Outlook reminds me of an upcoming meeting.  I use post-it

notes religiously, and feel satisfied when I can cross off an item.  However, there are

some things we don’t plan for, things we aren’t supposed to be, but wind up doing.  For

people like David, and myself who’ve felt a longing for something other than what you’ve

been doing.   For me, it was as simple as discovering I really hated being in front of the

classroom, “pouring” my knowledge into the minds of students as Freire would put it. 

No, certainly that wasn’t my place.  I didn’t ask David what it was for him to make the

jump from law to photography.

What then about people with disabilities?  Much of my success and failures come from

being able to choose for myself.  Dave Hammis, I was encouraged to hear, echoed this. 

He said, we should all be “choosing with, not choosing for someone.”  Yes.  In doing so,

he continued, there’s a discovery that needs to take place.  In the world of people with

disabilities, often this happens through staff, supports, essentially through paid help

who choose what they’re “supposed to be doing.”  Dave hit the nail on the head when he

said (with regards to navigating the discovery with someone), “I don’t really know who

you are, and I need to remember that.”  Let’s all remember this when working with

everyone.  In order to find our place we need to admit, we don’t really know ourselves

half as well as we’d like, and consequently, we don’t know others as much as we’d like,

either.

As I continue to discover what I am “supposed to be doing” I like to stay open to the vast

array of interesting possibilities.  Let’s keep the door open, and a seat at the table for

people with disabilities, too, and allow them to choose with, not be chosen for.

Today ranks in the top 10 days of my life.

Today, we said goodbye to David Johnson.  I met David nearly two years ago when he

entered his first year of Starfire U.  David was a wizard with people and over the past

two years, I had the pleasure of watching him work his magic on a daily basis.  I told him

more than once how great he was at giving compliments.  It was impossible not to get a

big head around David.  Everyone “looked nice” and felt great when he was around.  For

the past two weeks, since we learned of his passing, I’ve definitely felt the void he left. 

Today, we spent time remembering, grieving and celebrating together.  Some of us cried

and told stories of loss, some of us laughed about funny things he would do or say,

others mustered up the courage to say goodbye to our dear friend, and all of us leaned

on each other all day.   I love this picture of him and sent it out to some of his friends

when he died.  I love it because of his smile and because it’s in the Starfire U Commons,

which he was so happy about and proud of.  This was taken at the Grand Opening of the

space in April, and if you were there, you remember David because he was the host and

tour guide for everyone. 

Today, I love this picture for a different reason:  David was a Mormon, and as we prayed

and listened to his friends and family tell stories at his church, I was reminded that

Mormons pray with their arms folded, just like David is doing here.  I know that David is

praying for all of us now and doing just what he did in his time with us:  making sure

everyone’s alright, sharing his spirit with us as we navigate our days, and helping us love

each other a little more than we did yesterday.

About a year ago, I was introduced to the PATH process by Jo Krippenstapel.  I had

really never heard much about the Person Centered Planning world, and Jo set me

straight over coffee and all kinds of books, pictures and articles.  At first, I got it

confused with Ohio’s PATHS training, an equally important effort that Scott Osterfeld

and some other friends are involved in.

Once I sorted out exactly what PATH was, though, I was in love.

I don’t know what PATH stands for, but I know that talking about people’s futures, and

especially discussing what’s positive and possible in our lives, is incredibly

powerful…and fun!  We decided to experiment a bit, and each of us at Starfire did a very

brief PATH on ourselves in small groups last August.  Everyone loved it, and I credit my

PATH for kicking my butt and making me finish the work on the house so we could have

the Derby party this year.

After dipping our toe in the PATH pool, we decided to jump right in.  With Jo’s help, we

were able to do a PATH for each person entering their 3rd year of Starfire U.  We had a

ton of great volunteer facilitators and graphic recorders (headed up by the wonderful

Dawn Freudenberg!) from Hamilton County Developmental Disability Services and

ended up completing about 20 PATHs!

I sat in on the PATH for two of my friends, and I got to talk to all the families as they

left.  They all raved about how wonderful this process felt to them.  They came in

expecting an IEP meeting or some other baloney, and they left feeling energized and

excited about the potential the future holds.  AND…..The people who the PATH was for

have started doing incredible things!  One man is now coaching a swim team.  Another

guy started riding the bus on his own for the first time..and has since done it more. 

Literally everyone involved in the PATHs we hosted has been changed in a positive way

by the process. 

I think that’s primarily a result of the power of PATH’s North Star and “Positive and

Possible” discussions.  Both are refreshing changes from SWOT analyses and

other approaches that focus on problems to be solved.  A PATH, by contrast is about

futures full of possibilities based on present gifts and assets. 

As you can see in the pic above, the process is very visual – lots of drawings and

pictures.  In fact, notice that even though Juan’s PATH is in Spanish, we can still tell

that he loves basketball, wants to fly/travel, make some money, enjoys music and wants

his friends and family to be a part of his future!  I was a little skeptical at first (I

remember thinking “What is this hippy stuff?  Can’t we just write it out, put it in a Word

doc, and email it to everyone?”)  But the visual component helps everyone think

differently…more creatively. 

Don’t take my word for it, though.  These people taped their feelings on their PATH

experience.

Something cool that we’re working on:  A new version of PATH (and its cousin MAPS) is

out, and we’re trying to bring Jack Pearpoint, John O’Brien, and Lynda Kahn to

Cincinnati in the Spring of 2011 to train us on it.  Will keep you updated!

In 2007, we were exploring the concept of Starfire U, and part of that research included

a conference in Columbus on post-secondary education opportunities for people with

disabilities.  Bridget and I went up there excited to learn about all the possibilities out

there.  Little did we know that we would have everything we’d known about ourselves,

our work and our calling challenged.

Instead of spending the ride back talking about how to build on what was out there or

invent new ways, we were speechless thanks to one little phrase mentioned by one of the

speakers ( Candee Basford ):

“disability industrial complex.”

You’ll need some history to understand the term, but basically, Ike warned us that if war

makes people money, then people have a vested interest in making war.  (And while

you’re researching, you might as well get John McKnight’s The Careless Society off of

Amazon or from the library).  So following the analogy, without people with disabilities,

lots of people don’t have jobs, yours truly included.  

So, do we have a vested interest in sustaining dependence upon our service

systems?  Let’s say I run a work skills program.  Let’s say I am charging the State

$50/person/day to teach people how to work.  The day they walk through my doors, it’s

better for my business if they never progress.  That way, they’ll always need more work,

more practice, and I’m there to provide it.  I’d say that in that case, I have a vested

interest in keeping people unemployable.

The real question, I think, is if the disability industrial complex is the work of cynical

profiteers or well-intentioned, but oblivious people.  I’m hoping it’s like 99% the latter,

but admit to not knowing.

Personally, I can tell you two things:

1.  Candee Basford will forever scare the crap out of me.

2.  I’m so thankful to her for opening my eyes. 

The only answer, I think, is to be aware of the pitfalls so you can work to avoid them. 

For example, because of this one phrase, Starfire U is capped at four years.  Instead of

having a vested interest in people’s lack of development, our success is tied to theirs, and

there is not an infinite horizon for our work. 

So thank you, Candee.  Even though we’ll never meet because I will hide in fear if I ever

cross your path again, you opened my eyes to a new way of looking at myself and my

work.

One last note on The Careless Society:  One of John McKnight’s great illustrators of his

point is the “grief counselor.”  In the good ol’ days, when someone died, neighbors and

family were there to take care of them and help them work through it, bringing them

dinner (most likely the ever-popular funeral staple:  lasagna) and helping them out. 

When the “grief counselors” entered the scene, the neighbors and family withdrew,

feeling under-trained and inadequate for the job.  The grief counselor gets paid and jets

when the allotted sessions are up, leaving the mourners alone without that previously

rich network of support.

I get that. 

But what about people who live with disabilities?  When were their good ol’ days?

I read this post by Al Etmanski.  Al heads up Plan of Canada, which focuses on building natural networks of relationships around people.

In it, he talks about natural care and discusses the myths of indiviualism, independence and self-reliance. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about this recently because many involved in the lives of people with disabilities hold “independence” up as some sort of endgame solution.  Now, don’t get me wrong:  being as independent as possible is a great thing to strive for.  It’s even in Starfire’s mission statement, so that should tell you that I’m onboard with the big “I.” 

And we all hold up our independence as a shining virtue.  Indeed it is one of the founding principles of our country!  But are we really “independent?”

When I think about the people in my life that I rely on – Bridget, my parents, my friends, my co-workers, my mentors, and on and on and on –  When I think about those people, I start to realize that not only am I waaaaayyyy less “independent” than I ever imagined…I’m completely dependent on them. 

I like to think about “interdependence” instead.  We are all interdependent on each other to some degree.  We are connected:  I rely on my neighbors to keep the loud partying to a minimum at night,  I rely on my wife to love me and put up with my weird habits, and we all rely on Kevin Bacon to relate us to each other.

I really disliked blogspot, and a friend recommended WordPress.  So far, so good.  I’m going to link the old posts so we’ve got everything in one place!