On November 19, 2018, I met Sam for the first time. I rendezvoused with the co-directors at a major transit hub, and we walked a couple blocks to the nearby lobby of the Hotel Downtown. They told me they frequently take meetings there. I have returned myself at times when I’ve been in the neighborhood and needed a workspace that didn’t require me to buy something.
The lobby itself, an atrium-style space, is not at street level. The effect of entering and taking the escalator was a sense of purposefulness and familiarity. I wondered if this was strategic on their part—perhaps to decrease the likelihood of being identified as non-guests of the hotel? We chose a couple of couches or paired chairs facing each other around a low table. Nearby, hotel staff were putting up lights and other holiday decorations.
I had been living on the West Coast for less than two months at this point, so much of our small-talk revolved around adjusting to the new culture and geography, including in the religious denomination we serve. I asked about differences between here and the city where they’d previously lived and worked together. I learned that neither is a native Californian, and indeed they both have past connections to the Appalachian region.
Although there are many ways in which Tapestry is a storytelling organization, I now appreciate that this practice is essential to any new venture. The best answer to the question “Who are you?” is a story.
At some point, the pair told me the story of launching Tapestry, and I, in turn, told them about my interest in digital storytelling as a meaning-making practice and research methodology. I believe I shared with them some of what I had learned at a StoryCenter facilitators’ training I had attended about a month earlier in Denver.
Since this was still an exploratory conversation, I foolishly did not make an field notes afterward. I won’t attempt to pin down much more of the substance of our conversation. In constructing this representation, each time I thought I remembered a definitive detail, I wondered whether I was projecting it from a later meeting. I am confident in my memory that it felt much more like we were getting to know each other than making any concrete plans for the collaboration.
I now believe this trend is deeply connected to the Tapestry “guiding principle” of communion.
Toward the end of our discussion, we adjourned to a nearby taco place for lunch. They insisted on paying, a trend that would continue at our meetings for as long as we were able to have them in person and that mirrored the organization’s generosity and thoughtfulness about food in particular.
We made plans for me to attend the organization’s whole-network event the following Saturday, which would involve meeting some mentor teams.
Data collection
- Field notes?: No
- Audio recording?: No
- Photographs?: No
Significant observations
- Hannah is a very thorough, clear, and prompt communicator. She sent regular updates of their transit status throughout the morning before we connected.
Interpretive insights
- It may have been this early in the relationship that I understood that Tapestry, at least as it exists now, is the people and not a place. Sam had to step out for a phone meeting, I believe subbing for a facilitator or otherwise troubleshooting (“triaging”?) a mentor team conflict or issue. It was a natural transition on both ends, with Sam and Hannah signaling and taking the time they needed for a short debrief before we resumed our common discussion. I think I took that opportunity to use the bathroom.
Implications / reflections
- This meeting took place during wildfire season (my first sustained experience of them), and my overwhelming impression on revisiting the memory is about the strangeness (at the time) of wearing masks, and the strangeness (in retrospect) of not having to wear them indoors.
Image credit: “Atrium” by Michael Coghlan via Flickr (CC BY SA 2.0). For illustration only—not a research artifact.