The Do Lectures

By the stove Inside the tiny pub at the Do Lectures

I recently attended the Do Lectures – an annual event held in a stunning location in West Wales, often referred to as a conference, although I don’t think that word describes the experience very well at all. Since then, I’ve been asked numerous times what it was like, and haven’t been able to explain it – there’s a lot to say, and a lot that can’t be said. So, in an attempt to tidy up my thoughts, I’ve written them down here.

Intensity

One of the things that makes Do special is the intensity of the whole experience. Attendees, speakers and staff all sleep in tents. They drink local brews together in an exceptionally small pub. They gather around the campfire into the early hours, listening to the music of talented local musicians. They get little sleep, yet they enthusiastically attend ten lectures a day, and eagerly launch into conversations with complete strangers – the kind of conversations that many would only dare to have with old friends.

All of this quickly dismantles barriers. We had increasingly muddy shoes, dishevelled hair, wrinkled clothing, and tired eyes. Self-conciousness fell away, leaving us all open to honest reactions and conversations. There were several occasions on which I found myself welling up with emotion upon hearing the story of someone who, entirely of their own volition, has changed the world in some small way – this isn’t a reaction I have very often.

People

Another factor – the most important, I think – is the mix of people. Speakers from all corners of the globe, talking about subjects ranging from child-birth to robots, attracted attendees from an equally broad range of backgrounds, all of whom were excited to listen and learn about things they may have never otherwise considered. The out-of-the-way setting and camping accommodation no doubt cause a certain amount of self-selection too. It isn’t just the attendees and speakers though – the staff, volunteers and organisers are an equally important part of the mix.

The bar is high at Do, and everyone in attendance rises to the occasion. It is a wonderful lesson in humanity: creative thinking, connectedness, the cross-pollination of ideas, a desire to improve things, and bold action, all rolled into one.

Bringing together 150 or so interesting, interested people, with such varied experiences and perceptions of the world, is a brilliant idea – one of those ideas that seems so obvious once you’ve seen it happen.

Talk

It isn’t just this mix of people, however, that makes the Do Lectures such an effective event, and the experience that it is. Everyone eats together in a small, cramped, converted farm building (the food, by the way, is excellent). They drink together in an even smaller one. They huddle around fires long into the night, and they share limited seating space on hay bales whilst listening to music they’ve never heard before. These aren’t just opportunities to start talking, they’re opportunities to have long, in-depth conversations – to talk with the same person for long enough to discover where you connect, and how your combined ideas can breed new, better ones.

Inspiration

It’s impossible to sum up what I brought away from The Do Lectures but the most memorable and encouraging thing is the knowledge that there are so many individual people doing things to improve our situation. These people aren’t sitting around talking about what needs to change; they’re not even campaigning for high-level changes from the top-down. They simply set about making the change that they see as necessary.

A great example of this was speaker, Michael Kelly, who upon realising that the garlic at his local supermarket in Ireland had come from China, decided to learn how to grow his own. After figuring this out, he went on to learn how to grow other food, then began to teach others how to do it, and eventually started the not-for-profit Grow It Yourself.

The really inspiring thing about this is the effect that it has on the people who are learning to grow food in their own homes and gardens. Michael talked about how, once someone has grown food for the first time, their relationship with it changes. They now have a greater understanding of where food comes from, when it’s in season, and how really fresh food tastes. When they shop in a supermarket for the food that they still buy there, they now have knowledge about, and a connection with, what they’re buying, and this changes how they shop.

Then there’s Tom Farrand, another attendee I met over dinner one night. Along with his colleagues from The Pipeline Project, Tom runs a project called Good for Nothing, which brings together talented creative volunteers for short intensive sessions during which they work on briefs for people and organisations that aim to make positive change.

Again, the effects are further reaching than you might first imagine. Just the other night I went along to a social meet-up, organised by the guys at The Pipeline Project, which brought together Good for Nothing volunteers and Do Lectures attendees. Ideas were exchanged, new projects were lined up, and although it’s too early to see the real-world effect of this get-together, I’m absolutely certain that it will be significant.

Expectation

At Do, it isn’t possible for attendees to passively consume, and that’s important, but that isn’t the point. The point is that nobody expects to. Each and every person I met was interested in changing something, and in contributing in some way to making things better. As the days passed, people became visibly more excited about the ideas that were being discussed.

These ideas weren’t just passed down from the speakers’ podium; they appeared spontaneously during dinner, around the campfire, and in the pub over a local single malt. As nights became mornings the ideas grew, quickly and organically. They were tossed around, spliced with other ideas, and bent to breaking point by small groups of new friends. These are the situations in which ideas are born. And new ideas are exciting – they make you feel like you’re a part of something; that you’re taking something valuable away, and contributing even more. That alone is worth a lot more than the cost of my ticket.