the tiny mindful moments podcast

Most futures work still treats imagination as something that happens in the head. But the brain doesn’t work that way.

We often talk about futures work as if it happens in a room. But place is never neutral. When we work with place consciously, it becomes a co-facilitator.

We’re wired to treat uncertainty like a threat. Not metaphorically. Neurologically. Ambiguity scrambles our attention, tightens our thinking, and makes us reach for quick answers.

In futures work, hope is often misunderstood. It’s sometimes treated as optimism, a belief that things will turn out well. But in complex systems, that kind of hope rarely survives contact with reality.

Have you ever noticed how the most compelling facilitators, teachers, and change-makers all seem to be good storytellers? 

I often say that my work is oriented toward hopeful, sustainable futures. People sometimes hear that as optimism, a belief that things will turn out fine. That’s not what I mean.

When I’m facilitating futures work, I’m obviously paying attention to the process: time, flow, activities. But a lot of my attention is elsewhere.

I often describe my work as oriented toward hopeful, sustainable futures. When describing my work this way, people sometimes assume that means I only work with organisations, institutions, and communities who already see themselves as “doing good”.

When people struggle to imagine different futures, it’s tempting to say they lack imagination.I don’t think that’s usually the problem.

As I am sure I’ve said before, one of the most persistent misconceptions about futures and foresight is that it’s about prediction. It isn’t.

People are often fascinated when I tell them that I often incorporate walks and place in my futures work. I do this because some futures can’t be accessed sitting still, and because “places” matter to us.

Used futures are seductive because they feel inevitable. The term “used futures” refers to the backward-looking insights and ideas of possible futures loaded down with the baggage of past experiences.

A little while ago, I wrote about the problems that arise when futures work becomes theatre. When I tell people that a great deal of my work in futures (and elsewhere) is about storytelling, many often assume that there must be some theatrical aspect to this. But they’re wrong.