A room full of people I love
it's not "networking" but corresponding
You’d think I would spend less time hopping between states in Australia given I now live ~3,400km away from the east coast, but old habits die hard. The attractor well that I have dug in the city of Melbourne is so deep that it does not take much to convince me to go. Couple that with a symposium dedicated to Ecological Dynamics and honestly, it would have been impossible to stop me.
There is little doubt that Monday 5th February will remain as a highlight of my 2024, but the days leading up to it were just as fulfilling, almost more so. The symposium represented a gathering of people that I could only describe as “a room full of people I love” to anyone who asked - people who resonate with the same world view as I do, some having spent far more time refining our understanding of it than I have had the pleasure of living in it.
I love that we can co-exist in a space so freely together. I had this delusional view of the academic world when I started, and I think it still foolishly echoes in my mind somewhat, but I’m much better at rationalising it now. I remember sitting on the floor of my living room, trying to explain that I’m the little fish down here 🐠, and then there’s all the people I draw inspiration from, in a linear, upward-stretching ladder, all the way to the top where the coveted name of Keith Davids belonged.
(I know I’m going to be in trouble for saying that, but it’s worth it to highlight my growth - the “ladder” was the length of my living room)
The residue of this idea, the reason it was so sticky, is because it was so easy to imagine. And I think in some instances, it may be true. But I don’t think it is here, and that is due to the amazing quality of people that I have had the absolute joy of meeting over the years. I have no doubt that there are some heroes that you are better off not meeting, but I have been absolutely spoilt with mine.
There is something special about walking into a room and knowing you don’t have enough time before the keynote starts to hug all the people you’re over the moon to see again, and meet all the people you’ve been looking forward to seeing for the first time. I am in the incredibly privileged position of being surrounded by some of the most incredible thinkers and doers in the world, not just the world of skill acquisition I fell head over heels into.
In the lead up to the event, I mentioned to a friend that it is the perfect opportunity to network, and in turn, they responded that networking isn’t really their thing. Well, to be honest, it’s not mine either. I have definitely needed to wait an extra year to connect with someone because I ran out of courage and had to wait with my fingers crossed that they appeared at the next event. I never really considered that they might actually want to meet me too, and that’s probably robbed me of a number of rich correspondences that will hopefully still emerge someday.
I think I’ve never seen it as networking because that seems so final - a connection, like a node in a network, that extends once to meet in a place and that’s it. End of story. And maybe that connection gets stronger when you reconnect with that person, just as we’re taught that neural connections in the brain strengthen as we use them, but again, it just seemed too final and binary to me.
Alternatively, correspondence resonated so deeply with me when I first stumbled upon the line “knots in a meshwork”. That’s exactly what it felt like to meet someone, to share an experience, to sit in a bar or a cafe, in a deck chair along the Yarra River or a Japanese restaurant for hours on hours chatting about anything and everything (but usually coaching). It felt like something in-becoming each time, and I knew I was not leaving as exactly the same person I arrived as.
It was actually a line in this paper that made me realise that I wasn’t the little fish 🐠 anymore:
This perspective appreciates that we, sport scientists, are also lines in-becoming that form parts of the knots in which we seek to know.
So not only are these knots forever forming, and then extending into threads that may only emerge as a result of those correspondences, but I am no longer ‘other’ to the knowledge and conversation. I am actually a part of it. I am contributing not only to my own knowing, but that of others as well. How can I be separate from the knowledge growth if each time we correspond, a knot in the meshwork forms - one that could not be predicted when we started.
And I’m not just talking about sitting down to start a conversation.. my journey perhaps started with this moment below.
I was a very nervous PhD student at my first ever conference, the Australasian Skill Acquisition Network (ASAN) meeting in Sydney, November 2018. I had just started in February that year, but I felt further behind than that because I didn’t complete an honours or a masters degree to get in. I didn’t really know anyone besides my old undergraduate lecturers, whom I saw as too far up the ladder rungs to possibly remember me. Thankfully, the ladder doesn’t actually exist.
I created this one slide for the 3 Minute Thesis competition, where you have 3 minutes to pitch your thesis to the room. This is not really a technical talk, although you still need to show that you’re doing good science. I was lucky enough to have some incredible training for this event and instead, went for the heartstrings. Everyone deserves to feel like they have a talent, and the opportunity to find it.
I feel we have robbed that opportunity from so many people. We have told them that too much of the world is not for them, therefore it’s a waste of time trying. “Maybe sports just isn’t for you”. Well, what if you’re just really not the coach for them? Or, maybe you’re just not that good of a coach at all. Those latter narratives always played in my mind - an over-emphasis on blaming myself, yes, but I think the aversion of blaming the person for being a function of their environment is the lesser evil here.
I was recently told that some people still (vaguely) remember that talk I gave in 2018, how I used a Harry Potter quote at a sport science conference, and it fit right in. I was sooo intimidated by just about every person in that room, and now they are the first people I run to and wrap up in my arms to say hello. I don’t think I would have survived my phd journey without them, so being thoroughly uncomfortable in that room low-key saved my life - or at the very least, redirected it in a way that has, and continues to bring me so much joy.
So now I’m back in my increasingly homely corner of the world, carving out my niche and letting myself adapt to the new system parameters, but I’m softly assembled at best. As much as a deep, comfortable groove is welcoming and certain, I want to spend more of my time in safe uncertainty beyond just my sporting experiences.
One way I hope to pursue this is by going back to coaching again.
During the symposium, I hosted a practical session. I didn’t realise it, but I slipped from bubbly academic to enthusiastic coach in a heartbeat, and I think I scared a few people in the process. I’m not sure why, but coach me is a little different - more self-assured, welcoming but firm, open but not overwhelming, ready to catch you when you fall but also the reason you fell (by setting the right level of challenge).
I was worried everyone would avoid working up a sweat during the afternoon tea break but 50+ adults diligently pretended to be 5-10 year old cricket blast participants, actively engaging in a modified game of cricket while I wandered the space, curiously observing to see if I could use the activity to help adjust the challenge point of the next activity.
I realised immediately that I absolutely adore my giggle meter. Let me explain. We often talk about “looking” for the right things when we’re coaching and vision is important, but it already dominates what we perceive, so I wanted to draw attention to the other senses. I wouldn’t recommend attuning to smell in an enclosed gymnasium with many people running around, but we can’t underestimate the power of sound.
When working with young children especially, and adult learners as it turns out, you can tell the vibe of a session by the amount of noise, and the kind. I have this working theory that you can tell how hard someone is pushing themselves, how challenging they find an activity, by the way they laugh. There is this hearty, “I told you so” kinda laugh when we do something we know we can do, and just show off a little bit. There’s a breathless, “oh shit I’ve overestimated my abilities here” when you swing and miss because you decided to bat with a singular cricket stump instead of an actual cricket bat and completely miss the ball. There’s the triumphant laugh when you decide, “it can’t get any worse”, so you swap to your non-dominant hand and hit the ball with said stump, and surprise yourself!
I think we miss so much by just looking, and not wholly perceiving. I love that I could explore this a little more with some resounding experts in the room while they played along, and someday I might be able to use these ideas to make actual 5-10 year olds fall in love with cricket for the first time.
I guess it’s fitting that this post will go live on the 14th February, because I still feel like my heart is full thanks to the wonderful people I’ve corresponded with in the last few days, weeks, months, and years. This is my heartfelt expression of gratitude, and I can’t wait to see how the threads continue to knot in future 💛
For those following along at home, it’s now 22,882 days ⏳