Chapter 5: Friction
Lena laughed, loud, unguarded, and three people around her joined in.
Someone was mid-sentence, hands moving fast, when another person cut in, not rudely, but eagerly, building on the thought before it was even finished.
Across the room, Helen leaned forward, pen hovering.
“Wait,” she said. “Say that again.”
The person repeated it, slower this time. Helen nodded, writing.
Near the centre, Marcus stood with his arms crossed, listening to someone outline a plan. He interrupted once.
“That won’t work.”
A pause.
Then, softer:
“But this might.”
It felt… right.
For a while.
Small groups had formed without announcement or intent. No one had drawn lines. No one had claimed territory. It simply made sense to stay where the conversation felt alive.
Near the windows, ideas moved fast. Half-finished sentences overlapped. Someone sketched shapes in the air. Another built on them immediately, barely waiting for the first to finish.
Across the room, a quieter group sat closer together, voices lower, more deliberate. Questions were slower here, but sharper. When someone spoke, they were listened to fully, without interruption.
Elsewhere, a knot of people stood in a loose semicircle, feet planted, voices firm. They talked about what could actually be done, what might work in practice, what would fail the moment it met reality.
Each group felt regulated.
Each group felt right.
And for a while, that was enough.
It began with a glance.
Someone near the window looked across the room and rolled their eyes, just slightly, when a familiar phrase drifted over.
“Overthinking it again,” they muttered, not intending to be heard.
But someone did hear.
In the quieter group, a woman stiffened. She didn’t turn. Didn’t respond. But her jaw tightened. Her pen stopped mid-word.
A moment later, she leaned toward the person beside her.
“They’re not taking this seriously,” she said, voice low but sharp.
“I know.”
Neither of them looked back.
Near the window, someone gestured loosely toward the quieter group.
“What are they even doing over there?”
“Probably still trying to define the problem,” someone else said, shaking their head.
Across the room, a woman in the quieter group glanced up briefly.
“They’re just throwing ideas around,” she said. “Nothing’s landing.”
“Typical.”
Neither group checked.
Neither group asked.
The distance between them grew, not in space, but in story.
Energy that had been flowing outward now began to loop inward.
Groups leaned closer to their own. Someone shifted their chair back an inch, as if making room without actually moving away. Voices dropped when others passed by. Explanations shortened.
Assumptions filled the gaps where questions used to be.
Helen noticed first.
She paused mid-conversation, eyes flicking from one cluster to another. The room was still alive, but something had tightened.
Not tension exactly.
More like… separation.
She said nothing yet. Just observed.
Lena felt it differently.
Her group was still buzzing, still laughing, but the laughter carried an edge now. A need to be heard. To matter.
“Why are they all so serious over there?” someone whispered to her, nodding toward the quieter group.
Lena shrugged, smiling.
This time it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Sam stood where he had been for some time, watching patterns repeat themselves with quiet familiarity.
Regulation had emerged.
But only locally.
Within each group, people felt safe.
Between groups, something else was growing.
A few attempts were made.
Someone wandered over with a half-formed idea.
“What if we—”
“That’s not what we’re talking about.”
“That’s not practical.”
The words weren’t harsh.
But they closed doors.
The person nodded. Stepped back. Didn’t try again.
Phones came out again.
Not from boredom.
Thumbs moved. Screens glowed. Conversations continued, just slightly out of reach.
Marcus exhaled sharply.
“This is what always happens,” he said. “Everyone pulling in different directions.”
Helen looked at him, surprised.
“Or not enough listening,” she replied.
The moment passed.
Neither pushed it.
Around them, the room continued to function.
Groups talked.
Ideas moved.
Nothing looked broken.
But something subtle had shifted.
The room was no longer one system.
It was several.
Each coherent.
Each convinced.
Each increasingly unaware of how the others were experiencing the same moment.
The system wasn’t breaking.
It was separating.
Differentiation had occurred.
Integration would not be automatic.
Sam took a small step forward, then stopped.
Not yet.
Across the room, someone else didn’t stop.
Helen closed her notebook.
Not abruptly. Not decisively.
Just… enough.
She stood.
A few people glanced up, then returned to their conversations.
She walked toward the window group.
Not to correct.
Not to defend.
Not to prove a point.
Just to ask.
“Can I check something with you?”
The laughter near the windows faltered for half a second.
Not silenced.
Just… interrupted.
The room didn’t quiet.
But something shifted.
Reflections
When you're in a group that feels aligned, what happens to your view of people outside it?
Do they seem slower?
Less serious?
Less competent?
Or just… different?
When someone misunderstands you, what do you reach for first?
Explanation?
Withdrawal?
Judgment?
Or curiosity?
Think of a time when your team or group was locally optimised.
What did it cost the larger system?
What did you miss while you were focused inward?
What would it take for you to cross the room?
To check your assumptions?
To ask what the other group is actually trying to do?
To risk being misunderstood yourself?
And finally… What structures or practices help different perspectives stay connected without forcing agreement?
Not rules. Not authority. But something else.
In your own life or work, what helps you stay curious about people who see things differently?
What makes it safe to disagree without disconnecting?
And when that safety isn't there - what's missing?
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