By abby mohaupt (2014 Fellow, 2018 Returning Fellow Mentor)
When I came back to Byron in August 2018 as a returning fellow mentor, I came back because of Andy.
In May 2014, I was part of the last cohort of Byron Fellows that gathered at Turkey Run State Park in Indiana. We practiced powerful introductions and worked out with whom we needed to have difficult conversations.
I knew immediately who I needed to invite into conversation. At the time, I was working at a job in Northern California that required me to be onsite at in an affluent community part time and offsite in an economically challenged community part time. I was experiencing profound cultural whiplash, without much institutional support at my job. In fact, my boss didn’t trust me, and I didn’t trust him. I was unhappy and afraid. I didn’t know how to take responsibility for what was mine to own. I did not know how to be my whole self, unafraid.
I worked out my difficult conversation with my cohort, in between building radical community and learning to trust myself. I wish I had space to tell you about Adrian and Megan and Ana Maria and Garrett and many more people I met at Byron. They are all important. They each taught me to choose grace and to aim that grace at myself.
However, I spent every day in conversation with one person in our cohort, Andy. Andy is from Indiana and I’m from Illinois. We share similar midwestern upbringings, and one night he let me practice driving his stick shift car. (Only later did I admit that it had been years since I’d tried!) I somehow convinced him that together we should lead our cohort in making a thunderstorm with our hands and feet, in honor of the rain and lightening we all got caught in during a painting session.
The point is that being at Byron called me into my most playful and hopeful self in a community that would hold me.
The day we left Byron, Andy dropped me off at the airport. I flew home, knowing that I trusted myself. I prepared myself to go into a difficult conversation with that trust. When I sat down with my boss, I said the hard things, choosing to be in the space with courage and clarity and grace.
When it became clear months later that my job was ending, Andy assembled #teamabby, reminding me that the loss of a job was not my whole life. He flew across the country and helped me pack up my office and put together new bookshelves in the apartment I shared with my partner. As I got used to my new job, we wrote every day. In fact, we’ve talked every day since May 2014—except one day when I went into the woods just after I lost my job. We even wrote when I was at Standing Rock and in Nicaragua and Tanzania. I officiated at Andy’s wedding when he married his tremendous wife. I texted with his mom when she had surgery. We write every day—on big and little days of our lives, about how we slept or what frustrations we face. We never talk about the weather—Byron taught us that we never need to. We have each forgotten each other’s birthdays, but it doesn’t matter because we remember each other, every day.
My friendship with Andy has changed my life. Our friendship—one of radical listening and support, difficult conversations and unconditional presence—is a gift from Byron. It is a gift I wish everyone could receive.
In August 2018, I returned to Bryon with gratitude, and with the hope that I could be part of connecting other people to their own selves, supported by their own teams.
As a returning fellow mentor, I got to sit in some of the planning meetings, and I also got to listen to the new fellows. I had the privilege of sitting with and alongside joyful and tearful moments. I learned to sing without words and to hone the skills of capturing a discussion in crayon drawing. My ways of being in the world—one of courage, grace, love, clarity, and adventure—were strengthened as I prepared for two difficult conversations.
Returning to Byron meant reconnecting with the skills and ways of being that opened me up to radical friendship. Together, the 2018 cohort created guidelines for being together and held each other accountable when we didn’t follow through. We learned about our selves and our communities through movement and discussion. We leaned into the hard moments and played when we could. We listened to music and made our own. We cultivated bravery in ourselves and learned more about navigating vulnerability.
And every day, I wrote to Andy to tell him about it.
*A note: Andy told me I could write about our friendship for this post.