Developing Action-Confidence: Through the Lens of a Scribe
This is a challenging time for many, so much so that it need not be restated. Yet through the distance, the disruption, and isolated bouts of desperation, life still calls on us to see the spots of brightness and engage with it the best we can. Developing a capacity to meet the day and to greet one another, let alone DO anything of any consequence, requires commitment to growth. In Presencing Institute’s language, we call this “Action-Confidence”.¹
Action-Confidence is “the courage and capacity to step into something new and bring it into being, or, in the words of the late cognitive scientist Francisco Varela, ‘to lay down a path in walking’, creating reality as we step into it.”² —Otto Scharmer & Eva Pomeroy
When considering scribing, action-confidence is an essential, required capacity. Scribing — a visual, social art of representing ideas while people talk, thus making the unknown known through marks — is a distinct social art form that facilitates group learning and cultural memory. Scribing serves a whole. It is not an artist painting alone in a studio (which I also do!) It is an art that comes to life in, and for, a social body. It exists only in a social context, where a drawing manifests meaning that wants to come through the gathered group.
I have written in Generative Scribing of inner capacity development, and would like to bring forward some key areas that seem especially relevant. Working in this profession — also known as graphic recording or graphic facilitation — for over 25 years, it’s been a long, slow build of my own action-confidence. Each time I stand at a wall, or hunch over an iPad connected to Zoom, it takes intentional commitment to show up, listen, and draw. A lot can get in the way, but ultimately does not serve what is trying to be seen and known through the drawing.
Key areas for developing action-confidence, then, that matter to a scribe’s practice (to anyone’s practice in any profession!) and ultimately to the evolution of our species would include:
- Establishing safe containers
- Cultivating awareness
- Accepting “can’t” as a belief
- Opening up to ourselves and others
- Staying authentic
- Taking risk
1. Establishing Safe Containers
Containers, energetic holding spaces for possibility, are an essential taproot for any facilitative practice.³ Without being able to hold ourselves steady in challenging situations, we cannot offer a holding space for others. If we are wanting to work with systems, the capacity to be able to both ground and open up will determine the level of complexity we can receive, process, and ultimately support in a room.
The weakness or strength of a container determines the likelihood for detrimental or successful conversation, for harmful or loving relations, for destructive or productive environments, for ill- or well-being. In a way, just as ice forms from and melts back into a pond, containers provide energetic ground for life and death, for growth and decay. We serve as containers for others, and they for us. The stronger a container, the stronger the trust, the stronger the safety, the more that can be nourished, tended, grown, realized.
Here’s an example: As my grandmother Margaret Bird was aging, we would occasionally lunch at a local diner in New York City. She would ask me things about my life and marvel at the complexity of the world in which I lived. (This was 1984, so we can only imagine what she would say today!) What I recall most poignantly is the way she paid attention, and the way she made me feel safe and loved — no matter what I said, no matter what I had to share. I never felt judged. No matter what she thought about the details of my escapades, she listened closely, looked me in the eye, and continued to pursue an understanding of my life. She provided a container, a space where I could see myself more clearly and grow as direct result of how she was holding me. I could be more vulnerable because I felt safe. She brought out the purest part of me by how gracefully she held me in her own heart.
Love, as a base note, is the ore, and order, of the container.
2. Cultivating Awareness
Scribes are reflective aids. Information filters through us on its way to a participant-audience⁴. Because it’s a live process, the filter needs regular tending to work effectively. If we do not take care of the inner landscape—our awareness—we might draw beautifully, but miss an unfolding reality, skating over the surface of deeper potential. I might, for example, not recognize the fineness of something new coming to light, like a very quiet voice in a room saying the one thing no one else wanted to say, the one thing that might reroute the path of a conversation.
A scribe’s medium is cultivating social awareness, which first requires intentional development of personal awareness.
To shape my own practice and grow, I have tried to locate my best self — the self that accepts, that chooses possibility over apprehension and frustration, the self that welcomes the new and even carves a path for it. With this orientation, I imagine serving as a microcosm of reorientation for every part of a system that my drawings might touch.
My first experience of this occurred sometime in 2006, when working with the Ashland Institute on a long-term project for the Girl Scouts of Arizona. My role was mostly to document and archive the output from multiple discussions among council staff, elders, and volunteers. My explicit purpose was to translate the group’s learning from verbal reflection into tangible form, to be shared with other councils and the national system.
During one session near Sedona, Arizona — in a cabin with fifteen other women nestled amongst forest and red rock and a nearby creek — I remember one pivotal conversation. Each person had gone into nature for an hour and a half to find her place in silence, to listen to her heart and “let come” a deeper wisdom. After they returned to the cabin I scribed while each woman shared her insights.
The drawing I produced was full of their revelations: “This is a hologram of the whole.” “Serve as a beacon; I am the organization.” “Guide the deliberate and allow for emergence.” And I recall the shift in me with each verbal sharing; some kind of larger participatory transition was also under way. I was standing at a wall in this small room, the women were in a circle, charts covered the walls. Each contribution (verbal, drawn, gestured, even pregnant pauses) extended and deepened the others. Each voice spoke for the whole.
I was not just a scribe on the periphery of the gathering, but belonged in this constellation that held a promise for more than 1.5 million girls. I was drawing for my colleagues and the clients in the room; and I was drawing to facilitate a cultural turning, the scope of which was beyond what any of us could have logically considered.
Scribes contribute to activating social fields by showing up from the inside out. As we cultivate our practice over time, health matters. Mental clarity matters. The state of the heart matters. If any of these aspects weaken or become stale, how can I stay ready, for myself, for others?
As my hand has matured and drawn increasingly refined lines, so has my inner attunement grown to guide my decisions. Learning to say no to certain work opportunities, for example, takes determination to clarify the yeses. Neither response comes lightly, and both require a clarity of mind I still seek to develop.
I can let my mind slip into habit and draw a picture from memory. That might help me on a day when I’m sleepy or lacking energy. But over the long term, my growth stagnates if I don’t absorb new information and experiment.
3. Accepting “Can’t” as a Belief
Almost every scribe I’ve talked with shares some apprehension when facing a blank wall or tablet at the start of a session. Many of us are introverts by nature and need to summon courage for this quasi-performance art. As we try to follow the cadence of voices and make sense of in the moment — and just as quickly choose what to draw — confidence can diminish, and questioning of oneself escalates: “Am I worthy? Why do they want me here? What on earth am I drawing? Will anyone notice if I crawl under this table and hide?!”
The thought “I can’t . . .” creeps in easily and perennially. And unless we learn how to notice this running tape in our heads and turn it off in favor of another thought, it’s really, really easy to get psyched out and freeze. And it’s a slippery downhill slope.
Years ago a friend said: “Once you decide you can’t, you’ve pretty much guaranteed you won’t.” Which can translate to “I can’t” is a belief.” The “can’t” belief festers in (some of) our psyches, ready to burst forth and take the stage at the slightest challenge. It’s a belief that “I am less than…”, “not smart enough to…”, “inexperienced at.…”, etc. You can fill in the blanks if this has ever been in your mind!
But these thoughts are all residue from past experience that have led to the formation of belief. Something happened, we felt embarrassed, rejected even. Shame might have set in, reinforcing future choice and outlook. For example, as a young girl, I played municipal softball with great enthusiasm. Then at some point when trying out for a basketball squad and — after falling flat on my face in attempting a layup — was the only girl of about 18 who did not make the team. My enthusiasm for sports quickly dwindled. And now, some forty years later, I still believe that I’m inherently unskilled at sports.
Maybe “I can’t” is a kind of stoplight, a temporary pause until we turn the light in our mind green. Maybe every “can’t” is a gift in disguise, a twisted offering to reframe within the present moment to a mindset of “what if?”
4. Opening Up to Ourselves and Others
Scribes need to stay open. It’s as simple as that. If we close down, we miss what is being said, get lost in our own heads, and disconnect from the flow of data and meaning that wants to be mapped. Staying open is a key skill to manage, and the challenge to do so — while listening and drawing — is constant.
There are three key capacities⁵ to cultivate:
- Open Mind — where with Curiosity, we Perceive
- Open Heart — where with Compassion, we Join
- Open Will — where with Courage, we Know and Draw
Yet quite often we encounter “Three Enemies”or voices that block the path:
- Judgment restricts the Open Mind
- Cynicism restricts the Open Heart
- Fear restricts the Open Will
Sometimes these voices are sticky and won’t go away. But shutting down is not an option when my back is to ten or a thousand people waiting for a picture to unfold. Shutting down is also not an option when you’re a professional coach trying to offer a coachee safety, or a chef who wants to combine just the right ingredients for a tasty seasonal stew. The option to avoid a situation that might feel dangerous, or open into it, inevitably presents a choice-point.
Where developing action-confidence is concerned, what’s important is to stay honest about discomfort, and just keep going, as openly as possible.
For example, once I wanted to stay open-minded, in a room of people with political views opposed to my own, which seemed extremely difficult. The choice was between (1) censoring what I heard and drawing to align with my own values, thus misrepresenting the client’s views, or (2) suspending my own judgment to inquire through their lens, thus opening my curiosity. Deciding that the risks of number 1 were too high, I chose #2.
Another example . . . I was at a wall, poised to listen with an open heart, and found myself deeply troubled by what I was hearing — sex workers sharing their powerful stories of living with structural abuse, advocating for victims’ rights. What was at risk? (1) Getting swallowed by cynicism that the judiciary system could ever change, thinking my work there was futile, or (2) revealing sympathy for the victims and not accurately tracking all parts of the system in play. I chose #2.
And another . . . I had momentarily gone numb on stage, with the pressure of being filmed and projected on a large screen in a conference hall. I had a terrifying fear that my mind would literally stop processing while someone was speaking. I had no open will, and I faced this choice: (1) draw what I did understand, even if it was very little, or (2) don’t draw at all. I chose #1.
In most cases, multiple factors inform the freeing up and movement of energy. What I try to remember is this: By staying open we become a channel for what wants to come through. We scribe to be of service to something that wants to be seen. By overcoming our inner voices we enable that service.
5. Staying Authentic
By acknowledging our limits and tapping into natural talents, we overcome deficits and find inner strength. When first learning to scribe, I was intimidated by colleagues who could draw pictures of people, animals, buildings, and objects from memory. Some people have this innate ability, but I don’t. Really! After one or two years of dedicated journaling, where I wrote words alongside sketches, I realized that my style — my true voice — was going to have to be something different. It would be a mix of what my hand could shape combined with a processing method unique to my brain.
What resulted was an organic approach that represented how I saw and made sense of the world. I stumbled quite a lot in private and in public while figuring this out. And my strength — bringing coherence to the surface — only became clear after many years of awkward and aching experimentation.
This leads to the point of authenticity. When learning to scribe, I emulated others. As part of a team facilitating collaborative workshops, I would literally “wall-copy” to document the work of others, which is an excellent way to learn scribing.⁶ But it required true diligence and time to uncover my own unique gifts and give them shape.
I grew by following curiosity. My view of things shifted with each new vantage point, like walking a route that I normally would drive, or flying above a field of grain I was used to seeing as cereal in a bowl. I settled into my more authentic self as I started to listen to that internal voice, the one that says: “This is true. Yes.” To the impulse in the gut: “Okay, go with it.” To the heat rising through the veins: “This matters.”
We learn by copying. We advance through integration. We master by tapping into our own, authentic source.
6. Taking Risk
Risk is not something I’ve written about publicly in detail. But I have over 40 years’ worth of journals that catalogue my long relationship with this safety-to-danger spectrum. Through writing privately, I’ve come to understand my tollerances and limits. Without going into great detail, there have been numerous personal choices I’ve made that, looking back, seem questionable. This includes: traveling as a woman alone at night in strange cities, spending money on investments that perhaps were out of reach, and not settling down with a family of my own. But none of that matters now, because I am healthy and stable (enough). What matters is that in having taken risk, I’ve learned.
Risk is an inextricable component of developing action-confidence.
To expand on this, let’s take the case of scribing for the live broadcasts of u.lab and where that has led. Colleague Julie Arts defines u.lab as “a platform that blends new tech tools, social change processes, and multi-local community building efforts aims to catalyze and scale societal renewal.” It’s an annual, online-offline course offered through MITx and Presencing Institute that specifically develops vertical literacy, “the capacity to lead transformative change”, to shift awareness and action from the place of one/me/ego to the place of many/us/eco.
As part of the core team that co-created u.lab, my role has included scribing the live sessions that complement volumes of online content and peer-to-peer offline practice. In 2015, we launched the 1st cycle in a record-breaking blizzard, with over 25,000 enrolled and an estimated 10,000 viewers, from 192 countries all around the globe. I was a nervous wreck, flooded with fear.
Yet. YET. The team was intact and caring, providing a solid container. I activated 360° perception and expanded my own field of awareness. I stepped into imaginary footsteps of “I Can”, adjusting my beliefs. I opened my mind to the content, my heart to the field of participation, and my will to the marker. I trusted in my experience and capacity. And I drew.
Here is the first u.lab drawing, and then the most recent. You can see for yourself the evolution.
What’s happening now? Six years later, the world seems like it is both exploding and collapsing inward. Personally, some days I struggle to stay focused enough to write or draw or even talk with friends. Other days I see evidence of collective action-confidence, on behalf the whole field of visual practice, rippling outward, and this brings tremendous joy and fulfillment. To name only a few examples: Thousands of scribes in every region now helping navigate these strange times… Colleagues crafting learning experiences for others to come into the field… Translators making it possible to share thinking across boundaries… An overall scaling of awareness-based action.
Together, with action-confidence, we evolve contexts for creation.
What will be your next steps on your—and our shared—journey?
Visual Sensemaking
If you are interested in exploring scribing as a visual practice and social technology, you might consider the upcoming Visual Sensemaking program, from Dec 1–3, 2021, offered through Presencing Institute.
Visit Kelvy’s website www.kelvybird.com and sign up for her newsletter.
[1] The term “action confidence” was first coined by Eva Pomeroy and Keira Oliver in their research with u.lab Scotland participants (see Pomeroy, E. & Oliver, K. (2021). Action confidence as an indicator of transformative change, Journal of Transformative Education, 19(1), pp. 68–86)
[2] C. Otto Scharmer and Eva Pomeroy, Action-Confidence: Laying Down the Path in Walking. (Field of the Future blog, 2020)
[3] “Containers” is a concept I first learned from William Isaacs. Find more in his book Dialogue and the Art of Thinking Together (New York: Currency, 1999)
[4] I often refer to those engaging with artwork as a “participant-audience” to intentionally help people think about an audience not as passive receivers of an artist’s expression but as active players in the artwork’s creation.
[5] C. Otto Scharmer, Theory U: Leading from the Future as It Emerges (San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler, 2009, p. 40–44)
[6] “Wall-copying” was a method of mimicking the handwriting and images from a drawing someone else had done on a dry-erase wall, onto an 8.5 x 11” sheet of paper. “Knowledge workers” would do dozens of these in one three-day DesignShop™, hundreds in a few months.
