| For quite a few years now, I've considered
myself the poster child for a little known disease that I call groupaphobia, a fear of
groups. I know that there must be a medical term for it - something official and technical
sounding. If I really wanted to know the correct term I would cross the room and look it
up in the dictionary. But for now, I like to think of it as my personal, favorite word,
not to be shared with Mr. Oxford Unabridged. If I really wanted to amuse myself, I would
fly to Los Angeles, con my way into a swanky Hollywood party, and interject the word into
conversation. By the next morning, groupaphobics would be coming out of the closet. Three
specialists on Good Morning America would vehemently debate the benefits of treating this
"new but widespread disease;" and Margie, from Omaha Nebraska, would give us a
tearful version of the hell her life has been since she realized that she couldn't work
with other people. In this age of enlightenment when the words
"collaboration," "togetherness," and "team" are gracing the
covers of magazines and books in droves, I feel almost guilty about not wanting to work
with anyone. It seems a huge contradiction to consider myself a painter or a writer while
harboring a fear of working with others. By practicing one or more of these artistic
mediums, I am able to bring people together. And more importantly, to bring pleasure to
them. With that in mind, I decided that now was the time to really get to the bottom of
this fear; to do as much psychological and emotional exploration of it as I could. In
other words, to get over it. The challenge, of course, was how. How does a person place
herself in a position so that she can learn to overcome her fear? My memories of the last
time made me cringe.
I had just begun working for a large corporation and my department was beginning to
participate in team-building exercises. I was asked to sit in a room with a group of
people who I didn't know, and learn to become a better "team player." Little did
they know, but Margie was sitting in my chair. She would have preferred it if someone had
asked her to swim through shark-infested waters. Our team-building facilitators, two perky
and over caffeinated people who couldn't possibly enjoy their work, wanted to teach us how
to communicate better with each other so that we could be more productive. After a month
of acknowledging our personality traits and work habits, we were to attend a weekend
retreat together where we were each scheduled for our own bungee jump. Needless to say, I
left that job before the "bonding retreat." Margie gave a sly wink on her way
out the door.
I vowed to do better this time. Realizing that the only times I had tried to collaborate
with anyone was in a work environment, I decided to try something completely different.
Instead of trying to work with a group of people to produce something tangible, I decided
to join a group where we were going to learn something together and I wanted all of us to
be novices. I could not safely place myself in an environment where I felt that my skill
level was lacking. It would only undermine my self-esteem and increase my anxiety. At a
friend's suggestion, I decided to try rowing.
I put myself in a boat with eight other people: seven students and a coxswain. I told
you I was serious about this! Except for the coxswain, who was also our instructor, none
of us had any previous rowing experience. Not only was I going to learn to work with eight
people to keep the boat afloat, but I was going to learn an even larger lesson about
trust. By the first time I set my foot in the boat, I realized that it was impossible to
be a loner in this sport. I had always enjoyed water sports, particularly solitary ones. I
was a competitive swimmer for years who enjoyed being alone with my own thoughts. Being
submerged in water eliminates your ability to speak or to be interrupted by extraneous
noise. When you're underwater, you can't hear. You are alone. Solitude becomes your
friend.
Rowing, as I quickly found out, is a completely different sport. It takes the
collaboration of nine people to put the boat in the water, to keep it afloat, and to move
it through the water. Everyone has to work together, and if you have the urge to invite
Margie along, she will quickly be asked to leave. Not only do you have to communicate with
each other, but you have to follow the coxswain's directions, no questions asked. Would it
surprise you to find out that I don't like to take direction from others?
The first time the coxswain told me to change the position of my oar in the water, I
looked at her skeptically. The second time she told me to follow the pace of the person in
front of me, I could feel Margie scooting in beside me. By the third time she commanded us
to row, I almost had my mouth open to tell her exactly in what part of her anatomy she
could place my oar, when I realized that her abrupt and direct command was for a good
reason. Had we not turned the boat quickly and in tandem, we would have rowed directly
into a large wave that would have blown us into another boat. With our backs turned to the
wave, none of us saw it coming towards us. We would surely have capsized, or worse,
injured ourselves and the people in the other boat. I learned at that moment to respect
her and to trust that the other people in the boat would follow her directions as quickly
as I would follow them. After all these years, I asked my old friend Margie to return to
Nebraska for good.
There are a few things that I learned from this experience. The first is that, for me,
collaborating with people in a work environment is completely different from collaborating
with them in an artistic or an athletic environment. Desire plays a big part. I've never
been one of those people who derives pleasure from their work. Any pleasure. It's no
wonder, then, that when I'm asked to work with others, I cringe. It's like making the
worst part of my life worse. Right now, during the times when I do work with someone, he
is sensitive enough to respect my space. It logically follows, then, that once I rid
myself of my fear of working with others, I would try to collaborate on an artistic
project first.
The second, and somewhat obvious lesson, is that letting go of my fear of collaborating
has opened up more creative opportunities for me. My options are limitless. I also
realized that my fear was linked to a lack of confidence in myself. I thought that somehow
collaborating with other people would place me in a position where my art or my athletic
abilities (things that are important to me) were being judged and potentially found to be
lacking. Rowing reminded me that constructive criticism is just another way of ensuring
that the boat, and everyone in it, doesn't capsize.
Shortly after my big revelation, I was asked to collaborate on this newsletter. Time to
put what I had learned into practice. "Why not give it a chance?," I said.
"Maybe it will be fun." After all, the person who asked me to participate is
imaginative, smart, kind, and someone who I respect. Even so, I found myself breaking out
into a cold sweat. She suggested that I work with just a few people that she hand-picked.
I started to shiver. She said that I would have plenty of time to finish. I couldn't
believe that there was possibly enough. She offered me money. I regained my composure. The
combination of these two things - money and words - is my life's desire. My stomach began
to convulse and I considered putting her on hold to make an emergency phone call to
Margie. Once again, I lost confidence in myself and allowed fear to overwhelm me.
This time I decided to do something different. I made space for fear to exist in my
body, but not to dominate it. I took small steps, and relinquished a little control of my
work. I trusted in the person who coordinated the project. I drove around town tearing
down all of the posters that listed me as the contact for groupaphobics anonymous. But
most importantly, I didn't run away. I allowed myself to be criticized and edited. Twice
now, I've successfully worked with a group of people and enjoyed it. Now I know that it is
this success and this new-found confidence in my abilities that will keep me rowing safely
to shore. |
