My activism in the world takes multiple forms these days. I write to my elected representatives frequently. I march in the streets whenever a relevant protest gathers. Occasionally, I post my views on social media. But where I feel the greatest impact – and hope – is in the slow, unassuming work of creating what I think of as practice grounds for a more thrivable world. In a wide range of communities and organizations, I and a growing number of others like me are helping people come together across divides, imagining new, creative possibilities and actively caring for each other and their shared place.
This is the work of collective capacity building. It’s what many are calling a “regenerative” approach to leadership and change. And at the heart of it is the transformative, largely invisible practice of stewarding life’s potential, in all its complexity and emergence. Amid all the things I despair over, I find comfort in knowing: this is also happening.
I believe this subtle work of bringing people together in community and collective care is a powerful antidote to rising fascism and polarization.
Indeed, I believe the practice of stewarding our shared potential is the only way we’ll find the creativity, the collective will and the collaborative capacity to address the complex problems we face. Our resilience is dependent on the quality of our relationships, on our ability to learn and generate new possibilities together, and on the courage that comes from standing for something that truly matters.
Tending the soil of community
In my work, this looks like a community of 50 or so farmers with diverse, even conflicting, agricultural methods and perspectives but a shared interest in soil health. They are brought together regularly and in a variety of ways by a small circle of stewards – ordinary farmers, themselves – who are committed to “tending the soil of community.” There is solid practicality involved, with talk of cover crops, compost and soil metrics. But “to become better farmers,” the stewards assert, perhaps most of all “we have to become a better farming community.”
In the responsive, emergent work of tending such a community, they’ve found inspiration in nature’s own patterns, asking regularly: what would soil do? After all, a community is not only a collection of people but a dynamic, human and more-than-human ecology. And while that ecology holds more complexity and potential than the stewards can fully know or control, they have articulated a small set of “core intentions” that guide their actions. What they are working towards is that:
These are necessary fertile conditions for regenerating the soil on individual farms and across the landscape.
The circle of stewards has found a nourishing sense of meaning in the mix of care, knowledge, skills, attunement and even identity that make up the practice of stewardship.
Just as important: a recent impact evaluation affirmed that their approach creates “critical social infrastructure” for the farmers of this community. It enables learning, experimentation and adoption of more regenerative methods of agriculture. It supports farmer mental health. And it makes them more likely to keep farming. “It’s been a real farm saver,” one community member reported. These are vitally important outcomes that can’t be assumed.
Hosting community wellbeing
In my experience, stewarding life’s potential also looks like the residents of a popular tourism destination working to grow into a more cohesive, caring, creative "hosting ecology" capable of generating collective wellbeing.
Like another beautiful project I’ve written about before, the initial spark for this came from the local Destination Management Organization (DMO). In most places, that entity’s mandate is endlessly growing the number of visitors and the amount of money they spend. In this case, however, the DMO’s bold 2030 strategy framed their primary role as “an incubator for community wellbeing.”
To that end, they gathered a Destination Stewardship Council – a mix of business owners, economic development champions, city representatives, arts & culture activators, and leaders of community organizations. With ongoing learning and support around the perspectives and practices of stewardship, the Council recently held the first in a series of larger community convenings, exploring the ways in which residents are meaningfully hosted by each other and by their living place, as a hosting ecology. As a point of convergence and a practice ground, the convenings are focused on an ambitious project around the local river, generating collective wisdom, community engagement and creative guidance.
“The river is a metaphor for connection, joy and play,” reflected one community member. “To keep going, we’ll need those.” “A much bigger door opened than I anticipated,” shared another.
The project is certain to attract and serve visitors, but most of all it will serve the wellbeing of the community, including the river itself as beloved kin. The envisioned outcome for residents is more creativity, adaptability and year-round vitality because they are a more connected, cohesive community. And this can only happen through a thoughtful practice of shared stewardship.
Cultivating a learning ecology
Then there is the three-year research project, co-stewarded by two large networks of care organizations and a major cultural institution, in which the point of convergence is increasing access to learning for those who face social exclusion. As I wrote elsewhere: “The research has shown that … people are most likely to learn within a space that is full of life, relationship, and the emergence of new possibilities. The most potent solution, it seems, is to cultivate a learning ecology: a space in which multiple forms of knowledge and learning are brought together; people learn from and with each other; and it is not for or about people in contexts of exclusion but together with them.”
The project is exploring, supporting and documenting the practice of stewardship that enables such learningful spaces. And part of that is naming the experience of it. How do we know we've been in a well-stewarded gathering? it asks. The project website offers this answer:
Because something still hums. Not just the memory of connection — but a felt sense that what happened mattered. Warmth in the chest. A quiet sense of rightness. And a subtle confidence: that the work we’re doing is not only good — it is necessary.
And more...
And then there is the wood-fired brick oven in a tiny park, stewarded in ways that cultivate a generous, generative community, so much so that the contributions and care expressed within that community are being recognized alongside formal social services.
There is the inspired biotech company that embraced the practice of stewardship internally and is now extending it to their partner and industry ecosystem, potentially "editing the DNA" of how work is done in life sciences.
And there is the coalition of 30 eldercare organizations exploring ways to be a practice ground together – a creative, collaborative village, as they’ve imagined it – in the slow, unassuming work of stewarding system change.
In recent protests I’ve been part of, someone will call out: “tell me what democracy looks like!” and we in the crowd will chant back: “THIS is what democracy looks like!” I feel that way about the examples I’ve described above. THIS is what democracy looks like. THIS is what mutually responsible community looks like. THIS is what collective wisdom looks like. This is what it is to create a practice ground for a more thrivable world.
Amid all the chaos, division and harm, this is also happening.
