Fall into Connection
Balancing handlebars and boardrooms, mastery’s more fun (and effective) when it’s shared
Cool, crisp sunshine on my skin and the damp scent of fallen leaves, fall is pure magic to me. There's a special pleasure in this seasonal shift: the hustle of summer yields to introspection, slowing down, and the celebration of the harvest. My son is especially excited, picking handfuls of volunteer orange tomatoes from our garden, gathering herbs, kale, and, in the mountains, wild rose hips and yarrow. I love every season, but autumn brings out something unique in me. The waning light and that sweet reminder of impermanence make me feel deeply alive and more connected to the earth’s rhythms. Whenever I sync up with nature’s pace, I feel supported and nourished, it makes sense, since we are nature too.
As I sit in my backyard reflecting on all this, I notice how my writing has shifted lately, grief, sadness, rage, heaviness moving through. Yet emotions don’t live on forever; this week, I’ve felt more access to joy and laughter again. The deeper I go into grief and the emotional heaviness, the further my branches of happiness and joy stretch. Current science tells us a feeling’s chemical burst lasts about ninety seconds. When I trust the process (“TTP,” as we said in grad school) and have safety, support, and tools to ground, those waves of emptions move through and transform instead of lingering or turning toxic.
In some ways, my current capacity for introspection and self-connection probably began with the same childlike curiosity that drew me toward people and cultures as a youngster. My lifelong curiosity about people and culture began in grade school, surrounded by classmates from diverse backgrounds, teachers who valued inclusion, and a shared love of learning and food. I remember kids bringing family traditions into the classroom: trying on kimonos, decorating Faberge eggs, and at their homes, sharing tamales and baba ghanoush. Those moments opened my palate, grew my empathy, and fueled my desire for deep, authentic connection.
Honestly, I believe a good potluck can heal division, sharing food is one of the best ways to dissolve boundaries that fuel division and disconnection. On an Alternative Spring Break trip to Trinidad and Tobago during grad school, I dove into research about the local dishes before we left. When my group ran into tension at customs, I struck up a conversation with the stoic agent, asking about her favorite dishes from what I'd read. Her whole vibe shifted, my interest and knowledge sparked connection and replaced the apprehension surrounding the whole exchange. Sharing meals with the locals who were were collaborating with was a highlight: the food was incredible. I’ve observed and tasted how when diverse cultures come together, their co-creativity produces some of the world’s best food.
That childlike curiosity is still alive in me, but now it's deepened by empathy and stronger relational skills, helping me see through many eyes. It’s what brings me joy, purpose, and meaning. Connection is essential; loneliness and disconnection impacts our health as much as smoking a pack and a half every day. As Terry Real says, when we rediscover intimacy after isolation, it sells itself, we are wired to connect.
Viewing everything through the lens of connection, I’ve been reflecting on my experiences this week at Colorado Startup Week. I left feeling mostly disappointed by the many missed opportunities for deeper connection and richer discussion. Words have their place, but real impact comes from lived experience. That’s what draws me to outdoor adventures and group learning, whether I’m shredding Jedi Mind Tricks in Doctor’s Park with friends, or guiding a team of executives as they build genuine psychological safety together. Sure, sometimes I’m stoked to watch world-class bikers go big at Redbull Rampage, but unless I’m totally wiped out, on a heavy period, or sick, most of the time I’d rather be doing the thing myself. The true payoff for me and my people is in embodied, lived experience.
Many presentations this year made me wish for more: less talking at us, and more opportunities to participate and connect. Only one session I attended included an experiential activity, it quickly became my favorite, though it too, could have fostered a deeper sense of connection. In my experience, the most impactful workshops invite everyone’s wisdom and energy into the space, not just the expertise of a few. Having led and observed groups for decades: from co-teaching preschool Sunday school in middle school to facilitating teams and attending a range of professional trainings, I’ve found that the most vibrant rooms are those where everyone is invited to move, interact, and truly engage, rather than simply listen.
It all comes down to balancing connection and mastery, relationship and competence, warmth and strength. Terry Real highlights how our culture tends to split these types of qualities, making us choose: be confident or be connected, rarely both. Yet the best leaders, and the most wholehearted people (Brené Brown is spot on here), can move skillfully between both, adapting to what the moment calls for. The presentations that inspire me are led by facilitators who embody this balance, no faking it. Real structure and meaning support genuine connection, and that sense of belonging gives purpose to the work.
There’s always a dance: too much connection without direction and structure and nothing gets done and meetings feel aimless; too much structure without humanity, and it’s every person for themselves, with AI running the show instead of simply supporting genuine meaning and connection. Magic happens in the balance: divine masculine and feminine, vision and real-world limits, creativity and community. That’s what I seek, whether I’m working with teams, attending trainings, supporting couples, or out on adventures with Scotty. It’s not about avoiding challenge, but feeling alive together and embracing some “type 2 fun.”
Tech tools definitely boost efficiency and let us pour more energy into creativity and potential, but just like a bike needs a rider, all the AI in the world can’t replace the joy and authenticity of true human connection. I want more spaces that offer voice, structure, and belonging, places where mastery and warmth come together. When those elements meet and interact, the magic is inspiring and endless.