100 Days of Hell. 100 Days of Heaven.
We opened Tillage 100 days ago following the most intense 100 days of my life to get it ready for launch. As this subjectively magical mark of 100 days approached, I’ve been reflecting on what we’ve built — what Tillage is vs what we imagined it would be and where we go from here.
But first, I like numbers, so here are a few….
- 69 — total current members (it was 67, or six-seven yesterday and I asked you all to help me escape that awful number. This is somehow worse. Please help).
- 2,616 — total check-ins by members.
- 1st — day of the week that is most popular.
- 0800 — most popular check-in time.
- 95 — the number of steps from Tillage to the nearest member's home (no, you cannot get their address).
- 383 — hours spent in phone booths. I don’t know how I feel about this one. I think a world where this number was zero would be a better world. But we still have to live in the world we have while working to build the one we want.
- 597 — cups of St. Frank’s Sister Moon coffee brewed.
- 247 — books in the library. Yes, we have a library. Yes, members can check books out. Yes, it’s an old school analog system. If it was good enough for grandma, it’s good enough for us.
- 75 — fresh-fired pizzas eaten. Each month, we host a members’ meals as an invitation to members to foster deeper connection with each other, their neighbors.
- Infinity — serendipitous moments delivered.
During the 100 days of hell, I worried and fretted a lot. That no one would come. That no one would care. That I was building something for an audience of one. Me.
Silly old bear. I see now how ridiculous that fear was. And I am also starting to understand why I felt that then and why it seems so ridiculous now.
As we began to build Tillage, it was growing out of years of preparation—decades really—of learning how to first survive and then thrive in a city like San Francisco. How to Place-make. How to cultivate affection for a wild place like this. How to move through the day-to-day of city life in a way that would neither be overwhelmed by the chaos nor blind to it; that could ride the energetic flow of work, but know when to step out of the rushing river so as to not miss the Anna’s Hummingbird hovering nearby, the gentle rustle of a California Poppy deftly growing through a crack in the sidewalk, or the last drips of a sunset over Ocean Beach.
Each of these movements matured from habits, to rituals, and then into wisdom. Living in The City, living well in The City, slowly, slowly becomes muscle memory. Automatic (but not rote). The Way.
So when we set out to build Tillage last year, Why it should exist, What it should offer, and How it should invite you to Be was obvious to me. Self-Evident.
Obviously, a big-ass farm table should be the focal point as you walk in.
Obviously, we should have a functioning library.
Obviously, we should reject digital in lieu of IRL whenever possible.
And yet, I fretted. In those early moments, I wasn’t pausing to reflect on the many years of error, scars, and wisdom that had already laid the foundation for Tillage. In those early moments, I forgot our WHY.
The last 100 days since opening our doors has reminded me. A couple of things members have said to me:
“I’ve been waiting for a place like this to exist, I just didn’t know it.”
“I feel at peace when I walk into Tillage.”
“This place feels like home.”
“Every time I step into Tillage, I take a deep breath and feel my body relax.”
“I love this place so much. I want to take care of it so it exists forever.
Feel. Did you notice that word? It stuck out to me as well as member after member said some variation of the above.
When writing the copy for our site (tlllage.place. Check it out), I came up with a pithy tagline: Coworking With a Soul. It’s marketing copy, I get it. I sweated over it for weeks: writing and rewriting and deleting it in favor of something…different. Something safer than Soul. It felt too esoteric. How does a company have soul? It felt too religious. Tillage isn’t a cathedral.
I think that the way members are describing Tillage is really them describing its soul. Something intangible yet deeply real. Powerful. Magnetic.
There is an affection in their words.
I think the strongest signal that we’ve built something special at Tillage are the notes that I get when a member has to end their membership. I know that sounds weird on the surface. They’re leaving; that’s a failure. No no. These notes are the sweetest breakup letters you’ll ever read. Sad. Apologetic. It’s 100% me, not you. They take time to describe what Tillage means to them. Mostly, they are cancelling because they are moving and they are processing the loss of something that has, in a very short time, become dear to them. Again, there is affection in their words.
I can’t wait for the day in the future (soon) when members choose to NOT move because Tillage is here but not there.
These notes of sadness from departing members communicate that community is present here. It’s not a B.S. veneer that exists primarily to sell sponsorships to founder mingles. It’s tangible. Functional. Connective tissue has formed and holds here, binding us together, and leaving feels like an act of amputation.
“A community is the mental and spiritual condition of knowing that the place is shared, and that the people who share the place define and limit the possibilities of each other’s lives. It is the knowledge that people have of each other, their concern for each other, their trust in each other, the freedom with which they come and go among themselves.” — Wendell Berry
So should it be. Everywhere. Always. If you move or leave some local community and the leaving is not as excruciating as chopping off your own arm, you might not have been living in community like you tricked yourself into thinking you were.
So where do we go from here?
It’s only been 100 days. We are just starting to scratch the surface in the Inner Sunset. So if you live within 10 blocks of 1410 Irving Street, work from home all or part of the time, and are looking for an intentional third space right where you live, join us. We’re not for everyone, but if you’re still reading this post, congrats, we’re probably for you.
Book a tour and stay for the day to get a feel for the vibe (you’ll love it, guaranteed).
