Group Dynamics and the Art of Making Soap

I watched two young women standing, heads bent, over a steaming pot. One woman slowly stirred the bubbling liquid with a spoon while the other carefully dropped an ever-so-tiny amount of oil into it. No, I was not at the movies watching the latest release of a Harry Potter film. I was at a local herb and essential oil shop taking part in a soap and bath-salt making workshop. I had received an announcement of the class the day before and on a whim I decided to take it.

When I arrived, the shopkeeper and the teacher were rushing around setting up the work area. The teacher had been delayed and had only just arrived minutes before the start of the class. The teacher, a spritely woman dressed in patch-work yoga pants and tee shirt and wearing long peacock feather earrings, was struggling to plug in several hotplates. When she saw me, she picked up two saucepans, thrust them at me, and said in a thick German accent, “Go fill these with water -- not too much.”

“Uh, sure.” I set down my purse and headed to the restroom with the pans. When I came back with the water, I saw that she had pressed two other women into service. One held a long butcher knife and was dicing up a large brick of glycerin soap, while the other was arranging some small containers on the table. The instructor took the pans of water from me and said “Good, now start opening up the other bricks of soap.” Before long the other students and I were chatting and joking and in short time the work area was ready.

This spirit of cooperation spilled over to the class. Rather than lecturing and demonstrating alone, the instructor had us all working together as she explained the process. I was put in charge of managing the hotplates, making sure that nothing boiled over. While we worked, the teacher regaled us with funny stories. (Did you know that deodorant made of sandlewood oil has aphrodisiac properties?)

As I looked around at us, I was struck by how a group of women, all of us strangers, could suddenly find ourselves working together so well. I have found that this often happens when women come together. I have seen this with a study group I belong to, with women at my church, and with a book group I attend.

I have seen the flip-side too. I have seen women savagely tear each other apart in small groups, threatening the work they came together to accomplish. I have seen large movements fail because they could not overcome internal dysfunctions.

There are three components necessary for a group of women (and men too) to work in productive harmony.

First, the goal or focus of the group needs to be clear and singular. I have seen groups of energetic and hard-working people fall apart because no one could provide a clear direction. They bumble along losing workers and credibility until they disappear. In the case of our class, we had the simple goal of learning to make soap and it took the instructor to keep us headed in that direction.

Secondly, individual humility is key to making a properly functioning group. Big egos, either through feelings too easily hurt or by inflicting an excessive personality on the rest, can throw a group into turmoil. The group goal is usually forgotten because the members get too caught up in emotional drama. The worst is the convergence of big egos and separate group goals. There is the potential for disaster when two or more “Queen Bees” try to push separate agendas and goals on the group. However, in the functional group there is a true attempt by every individual to put aside personal feelings and agendas on behalf of the others. True humility puts the group before the individual. For example, those of us conscripted to set up for the teacher could have gotten upset because she was late to class, got stressed out, and started barking orders at us. Instead, we all rolled with it for the sake of the others and it ended up being a fun and productive afternoon.

Finally, a group can have clear goals and no disruptive personalities but still have be unsuccessful if there is no sense of humor in play. When group plans go awry and the achievement of the goal is in jeopardy, sometimes a sense of humor can do much to overcome obstacles and get the group back on track. Humor goes hand-in-hand with humility. Laughing at ourselves is sometimes the best way to move the group forward. Our small soap-making group saved the afternoon by infusing our activities with a sense of fun. Sometimes you just have to lighten up.

You may think these insights on group dynamics are a lot to derive from a small group of woman taking a craft class on a Saturday afternoon. I don’t think so. All groups, small to large, from the group of women around a table to the highest halls of our legislative bodies, operate fairly much the same. I need to ask myself some questions when I am working in a group: is there a clear goal? If not, I need to ask and seek clarification for myself and the others. Do I care about putting the interests of the others before mine? How am I going to react around the Queen Bees? Am I being the Queen Bee? (Let’s hope not). Do I have a sense of humor and able to roll with the punches?

Maybe, if we have a little more insight into how we work together, we can get more accomplished in our lives and in our world.

Now I’m off to make some soap.

ljgloyd © 2011

A Moment Last Saturday

Last weekend I drove to a “Trendy-and-Affluent-City-by-the-Sea” (I’m not going to name names here). I had not been there for a while, and I wanted to shop at its farmers' market as well as visit a culinary store and the only big bookstore left in the area. As I pulled up to the entrance of one of the municipal parking structures, I saw a big sign that said “No Cashier. Take your Ticket and Pay at the Pay Machine before Returning to Your Car.”

One of my little quirks is that I hate when parking a car becomes complicated. I don’t like parking structures and particularly those wretched parking payment machines. I have had trouble with them in the past and being that each structures' machines are slightly different, my having to use one of them would have put more of a learning curve on my morning’s outing than I cared to deal with. So I drove on and found a metered parking spot on the street. It was just easier.

After feeding a few quarters into the meter, I started thinking about this new parking situation as I walked towards the farmers' market. So what happened to all the cashiers that used to work in this and the other city structures? Were they assisted in finding new jobs when they were replaced by these machines? Or were they just added to the already overflowing pool of unemployed labor? Did the Trendy City’s management even think of them at all before they laid them off? And where is the money going that is saved by not having to pay cashiers? Did the parking rates go down? I don’t think so.

I walked through the farmers' market and browsed its expensive eco-farmed produce and artisan crafted gourmet foods. I found myself less interested in buying than I had been when when I first arrived. Who can afford any of this? Certainly not the numbers of homeless folks I saw squatting on the edge of the market grounds and rattling their begging cups at the other market patrons. I have nothing against the food producers making a living and people enjoying locally grown and sustainable foods. After all, that’s why I made the trek. This time, though, I could see a drama of the haves and have-nots being played out over the brussels sprouts and pomegranates -- something I had seen many times before but had never really noticed.

As I wandered around, I stopped in a parking structure to study the instructions on one of the new pay machines. I wanted to figure out how it worked and how much it cost for the next time I visited. The machine was fairly straight forward to use, but one thing struck me: there was no place to make a payment with cash. It only took cards.

I do have plastic, but I don’t like to use cards any more than necessary. Using cash and not using plastic (even a debit card) is my way of living within my means. When my weekly allowance of paper and coins runs out, then I stop spending.

Then another thought occurred to me: those folks of even lesser means who do not have the luxury of credit lines or even checking accounts -- how do they come here and pay?

Then I glanced at the high-end luxury car parked near the pay machine. Ah. They don’t.

The awareness that had germinated a few minutes earlier at the farmers' market suddenly bloomed into a full epiphanal moment: I did not belong there, either physically and morally. I cannot, in good conscience, be a part of a world that flaunts the MORE and bars access to it at the expense of the world that must endure the LESS.

So I walked back to my fifteen-year-old rattle-trap car and high-tailed it back to the neighborhood where I grew up, a blue-collar enclave on the edge of the Trendy City. I drove to a small neighborhood grocery market just two blocks from the Projects to buy my vegetables. At the market the parking is free and uncomplicated and transactions can still be made with cash.

And I even spoke to a real-live cashier.

ljgloyd (c) 2011