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In a rustic cabin in the snowy mountains of Manning Park, British Columbia, 35 of my team members and I settled into a mix of old couches, bean bag chairs, and pillows. This rugged setting felt a world away from the polished conference room we were used to. In the 15-year history of our company, this marked the first (and only) time this particular group of individuals would come together in one place for a few days.
As we sat, chatting amongst ourselves, we couldn’t help but wonder if all the effort — aligning schedules, planning, flights, carpooling—would all be worth it. At least our out-of-office autoresponders were set, and we were ready to break from our typical routines and embark on our first-ever “team retreat.”
Moving from skepticism to connection
Looking back, it seems obvious that this would be a powerful moment for us as a team but, at the time, that was far from clear. In the weeks leading up to the event, we had discussed our “desired outcomes” and set out what productive value we needed out of the time. We chose sessions for their relevance to our current work realities. And although the sessions ended up landing as well as we had hoped, the lasting power of this time together resulted less from our productivity and more from the reality that we had created a space and time where we came together not just to achieve or produce, but to be present, to be curious, to listen, and to share.
As we sat around that same room on our last day together, we continued to share and listen. I began to realize this wasn’t just another “offsite meeting;” we were gathering with and for each other in a way that was valuable beyond what I could quantify, and in a way that would change us individually and collectively.
The quiet power of intentional gathering
This was the winter of 2016, and I had only begun to understand the rich, countercultural history of coming together – especially in corporate landscapes that prize independence and individual achievement. I came to understand, gathering as a deeply intentional practice — one that has long been essential for marginalized and oppressed communities. It often emerges in response to systemic oppression, serving not just as an act of resistance but as a potent force for personal, cultural and societal change.
For me, the retreat became a turning point, prompting me to think more deeply about what it means to come together with intention and the potential transformations that can arise from such spaces.
I’ve come to see how the very tools and systems I once celebrated for their promise of connection and progress have also played a role in accelerating disconnection, dehumanization and environmental harm.
Rethinking change in a fractured world
In the years since, many of my assumptions of how healthy change happens have been challenged. I’ve come to see how the very tools and systems I once celebrated for their promise of connection and progress have also played a role in accelerating disconnection, dehumanization and environmental harm. Productivity gains that once seemed destined to free us have instead bound us more tightly to endless cycles of busyness and achievement. Dividing lines—between colleagues, friends, and even family—appear with alarming ease, leaving little room for the depth of relationship and understanding we so desperately need.
Gathering teaches us to see one another not as competitors or resources, not as assets or liabilities, but rather as valuable, complex people, full of stories, struggles, and gifts.
Yet, amid this relentless current, I’ve found that gathering offers a countercurrent—a way to pause, to resist, to break what needs to be broken and create space to build things new. It’s a practice that allows us to reclaim our humanity and our connection to the world in an era that seems intent on reducing us to cogs in the machine. Gathering teaches us to see one another not as competitors or resources, not as assets or liabilities, but rather as valuable, complex people, full of stories, struggles, and gifts. In creating intentional spaces for presence and connection, we can begin to mend what’s been fractured and nurture something more lasting: a sense of shared purpose, a way forward that values people over productivity, and the slow, deliberate work of building community.
A revolution of presence
Although I wasn’t aware of her at the time, when I look at pictures of us in that crowded cabin, I now hear Arundhati Roy’s words: “Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.” These words were a sharp contrast of hope and interconnectedness when she wrote them in the chaotic shadow of 9/11.
“On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.” These words invite reflection. As I’ve paused to listen for this possible new world, I find myself wondering: what role might gatherings play? Perhaps we can see gathering as an invitation to step outside the hierarchical structures and transactional exchanges that shape so much of modern life.
Marshall Rosenberg’s work in Nonviolent Communication suggests that simply being present with one another has the potential to foster understanding and cooperation. Moments of honest expression—sharing needs and feelings—and deep listening can turn barriers into bridges. In these spaces, a different way of seeing, hearing, and valuing one another begins to take shape. It changes both the way we see each other and the way we see the systems around us. The effect is to change us and through this change we naturally challenge the systems that divide.
In this way, gathering feels like a microcosm of transformation. It’s not about grand gestures or immediate solutions but the slow and deliberate work of fostering relationships, reimagining community, and practicing the values that matter most. As Arundhati Roy writes, change doesn’t announce itself with fanfare; it often arrives quietly, through small, intentional acts. Perhaps gatherings are part of this quieter revolution, sowing seeds of connection and solidarity in a world that so often feels consumed by division and noise.
Change doesn’t come from authority but from connection and love for one another.
Four shifts
Reflecting on that cabin experience, I began to see patterns emerge—four quiet shifts that seemed to hold the potential for lasting transformation: moving from individualism to interdependence, rethinking power, redefining success, and elevating patience. Each of these shifts reshaped not only how I viewed gathering but how I approached change itself.
- From individualism to interdependence
Gathering fosters interdependence, creating space to share both strengths and vulnerabilities. Brené Brown calls vulnerability the birthplace of connection, and in gathering, we exercise this courage. We move from isolation to interdependence, discovering strength in the bonds we build rather than in self-reliance.
- Rethinking power
Gathering also challenges conventional ideas of power, offering a “power of withness.” In the fifth grade, my family went to the theatre to see the biopic “Gandhi,” and I became fascinated with his life. Gandhi’s life embodied his belief that “Power based on love is a thousand times more effective and permanent than the one derived from fear.” In gathering, power isn’t imposed but shared, transforming how we listen, connect, and collaborate. Change doesn’t come from authority but from connection and love for one another.
- Redefining Success
Reimagining success has been an ongoing journey. For years, it seemed tied to milestones—growing the company, hitting targets, or building my profile. Those metrics once felt satisfying but gradually began to feel hollow. Gathering with others helped me see success differently.
In these spaces, success felt less like a destination and more like the journey we took together - which sounds cliché, but is profoundly true. It wasn’t about crossing items off a list or hitting goals; it was about the shared moments, the honest conversations, and the unexpected insights that stretched and shaped us. Gathering taught me to ask different questions. Instead of “What did we achieve?” I started asking, “Who are we becoming together?” And in asking that, I began to see that the process of transformation—the messy, beautiful work of being present and connecting—is the real success.
- Elevating patience
Finally, patience is an overlooked virtue in a world obsessed with speed. Painful experiences have taught me that shortcuts usually sacrifice clarity, transparency, or care for others. Gathering invites us to a slower, more intentional rhythm.
A few years back, the book “On Dialogue” by David Bohm was making the rounds at the office. In it he observes that suspension of assumptions, impulse, and judgment is essential to dialogue. In gathering, we practice this suspension, allowing space for understanding to unfold rather than rushing to conclusions or solutions.
Gathering taught me to ask different questions. Instead of “What did we achieve?” I started asking, “Who are we becoming together?”
Bohm also writes, “In the dialogue people should talk directly to one another, one to one, across the circle. Then the time would come, if we got to know each other a bit and could trust each other, when you could speak very directly to the whole group, or to anybody in it.” This kind of exchange and trust requires patience—the willingness to remain present, even when the process feels slow or uncertain. Gathering reminds us that meaningful transformation takes time. It’s in these moments of slowing down, of truly seeing and hearing one another, that trust deepens, relationships grow, and something lasting begins to take shape.
Together, these outcomes—interdependence, the reimagining of power, the reshaping of success, and the cultivation of patience—have shown me that gathering is more than just time spent with others. It is a practice of transformation, a way to mend what is fractured and imagine something new.
The Last Resort: Rediscovering what matters
In the past few days, I have been sifting through some of the fragmented artifacts from that surprising winter gathering. Old emails, budget plans, photographs of us sledding in the snow. I came across one particular email about the logistics of the event. It turns out the old cabin we were staying in was called “The Last Resort.” A tip of my hat to the clever wordsmith that came up with the name! Looking back, maybe that cabin wasn’t just cleverly named. Perhaps it really was a kind of last resort—a moment to step away, to pause, and to rediscover something we’d been missing. In those snowy days, without the usual distractions, we weren’t just colleagues—we were something closer to a community. It wasn’t about achieving or solving but about simply being present, listening, and seeing one another in a new light. What came out of it wasn’t perfect, but it marked the start of something new for us. Perhaps, in that space of connection, we glimpsed what Arundhati Roy saw: “Another world is not only possible, she is on her way.”
