Six months ago, I walked into a cafe in Oxford, to talk to my friend Nick. Nick is interesting because he runs a bookshop inside that cafe, which you have to go all the way into, to find a staircase leading down to a former bank vault, in which he has set up a number of bookshelves - and a book shop.
I was pitching to him the idea of an event where we would invite people on the basis of curiosity.
I was calling it a new social experience for the curious. In essence, it involved carefully curating a number of conditions prior to the event and then letting the event happen.
People arrived at the event with very little idea of what would happen. An intentional decision was made that the way in which we would invite people to the event and the way in which all marketing materials would present the event would be ambiguous.
Importantly, we would stress the importance of curiosity, and that if you weren't curious then you'd probably have no reason to come.
In the first seven-weeks of marketing through posters and a couple social media posts, as well as approaching people in the street and engaging them in enough conversation to gauge a general curiosity level, before handing them an invitation in the form of a card - I sold 5 tickets.
In the last 4 days before the event I started inviting more people via in-person invitations. And at least six people bought tickets on the day of the event after a conversation. Overall, 20+ people found their way to the event.
I spent a lot of time thinking about what the experience of entering the event should be. Speaking to another friend Chris, a DJ who also works in the Cafe at his own Record Shop, I invited him (almost two months prior to the event) to play some music. I was clear that I didn't want him to mix with two turntables, and that I'd prefer there to be a break between the sides of a record and between each one. The little spaces became a consideration for how conversations might end, begin, and unfold. Chris understood and then also suggested that we play mostly ambient and down-tempo music. He described the reasoning for this choice and explained that this was the kind of music that could be both foreground and background, depending on where your attention was. Perfect.
On the actual day, an Israeli tourist who was visiting the UK to go to a spiritual conference, Sasha, was approached by me after I had bought a coffee for a homeless man. This is significant because whilst I was waiting for the coffee to be made, I saw Sasha outside the cafe, and he seemed to be unsure which direction to head in next. I myself had stopped walking to talk to the man and find out that he could do with a coffee, at which point I turned back in the direction from which I had been walking to get to the cafe(not the one with the bookshop and record shop). I forgot about Sasha until I found myself walking behind him almost 10 minutes later, much after I had given the coffee to the man on the road. Sasha had a cool satchel, with some interesting patterning on it, and so I said to him "I like your bag."
The resultant conversation led to him being one of the first to arrive at the event. I offered him a cup of tea when he got there and he was soon in conversation with a friend who is currently pursuing a degree in Economics. Later on in the evening I found him sitting alone and he told me how that sitting on his own could actually be one of his favourite parts of the event, allowing conversations to find him rather than looking to find them. I respected this very much.
1 hour before the event started, in the pouring rain, I stopped a guy named Hugo to let him know that the event would be happening soon, that he was invited if he was curious, and that I liked his headphones.
A woman who had seen me preparing for the event in the Cafe earlier in the day came over to ask what I was cutting up booklets for. The booklets were what I was referring to as 'Field Notes': a collection of 8 quotes, 3 of which were from women, and 5 of which were from musicians, with space for writing on every other page, a small description of the event at the beginning, and to be made available at the event alongside lots of pens.
That woman was intrigued enough to come along and invite two friends with her. On arrival, she carried in with her a handbag that looked like a pug.
People arrived at different times, most brought a friend or two, and lots of tea and conversations were had, alongside beers and an eclectic but fitting playlist of energy conducting tunes.
People at the event asked when the next one would be.
At the events end, I thought, I could do that again, but it'd have to be different.
Nearly three months ago, I started to post about something I am calling Beings Club, on the social media platform Warpcast.
This is the next evolution of the initial experiment.
We are now 6 weeks into Beings Club and it has been very enjoyable. The first month was an open-month, where anyone could join either for the full 3-month first season or just for the month. Just over a week ago, we closed our doors to new members for the season, transitioning from an open door policy to a limited-access experience. The same transition would still have come into effect even if we had reached total capacity - the total number of available memberships was 200 for only January, and 100 that included January and continued through to February and March. The only selection criteria for February and March beyond being able to invest in the whole season membership was: commitment.
Looking forward, next week there is the Perspective Session with Hanuman Das, the founder of a charity called GoDharmic that has provided disaster relief in countries all over the world, and operates on the principles of 'Love All. Feed All. Serve All.' as well as another Beings Club Salon (8 out of 12).
We are well over the half-way point now, and perhaps where the most interesting things might happen.
All thanks to experimentation-mode, which is still on right now. A way of being that wonders, takes action, and effects, that is learning and appreciating and acknowledging hiccups. Errors do happen and they're part of the curve. The terrain isn't boring when it's more than just traversed. Letting the path reveal itself, I can stay open to changes.
In the future, I think this experience may be more expensive.
It'll be an experiment to find an economic model that works. At the moment we're operating at a slight loss.
Perhaps there are other ways to provide and exchange value too.
But it has to be sustainable.
Thankfully experiments can be pretty small. They can grow bigger overtime. You can abandon ship and start something new. You can make a small change that makes all the difference. You can commit to finding out or decide to let it go.
Fancy a 1:1 chat? Organise a curiosity call.
