As humanity slouches ever onward toward a future filled with perfect AI slop, our humanity will (and already is) craving imperfection. Why? Because imperfection is inherently human. Imperfection is resilience and endurance on display. Imperfection is better than perfection.

At Tillage, our gatherings are designed, not to fill your calendar with one more appointment, adding to the burn out and the chronic fatigue, but to offer our community opportunities to step away from the daily grind and engage in activities that are restful, restorative, and rejuvenating. In other words, Tillage Gatherings are purpose-built to cultivate flourishing.

Tillage—the preparation of the soil for growth—was the first and essential step to building a thriving ecosystem, where every plant and animal has a role and fulfills its purpose.

This was my immediate, gut reaction after first reading Jayber Crow, a novel by Wendell Berry about a small, dying, fictional farming town called Port William in rural Kentucky.

I’ve run past naked people (not nearly as many as you might think), unhoused and drug addicts, through parades (accidentally), protests (again, accidentally)—up, over, and around the many hills of San Francisco.

So much of what is considered unreasonable in "unreasonable hospitality" is because it doesn't scale or because it's not an efficient use of capital, human or otherwise.

Stillness is not simply the lack of movement. It is an active force. Progress doesn’t always progress. Stability is costly. Rootedness to a place requires intentional effort over a long time.

As we fit the pieces back together with care and attention, we graciously hold these parts of our story. As we rebuild the pottery, we recognize that our story is still unfolding and that we are invited to actively participate in the creative process. And as we notice the beauty that emerges from the repair, we look for the beauty that is emerging from our own stories.

The soul behaves like those wild brush rabbits, knowing its vulnerability in the presence of others, hiding instinctively in its homely bramble. Patience and gentleness can begin to call it out, teaching it through experience that it can safely reveal itself.

People come across our paths and walk with us for a time. Some stay til the end and others diverge onto other paths. But every accompaniment of another carries significance, propelling us onward, bringing us hope and delight in the present moment.

It’s our dreams that most often die. The new and exciting job that we worked so hard for turns out to be hugely disappointing. The marriage we entered into with such hopeful expectation dies slowly or suddenly. The dream of having children. Finding a partner. Good health. Mobility. Financial security. Like a tree falling over, we feel the painful thud as it hits the forest floor.

“I’m done. I’m giving up.” No “Hello.” No “Thanks for asking.” Just raw, honest emotion. The journey had beat her up and she had nothing left to give.

Stop and go. Rest and work. Inhale and exhale. Celebrate and lament. These were the natural rhythms that led to flourishing on this pilgrimage.