A few hours on foot, side by side, with somewhere to look besides each other. Most of what I do starts here.
We meet at a trailhead and we walk. Two or three hours, an easy pace, no distance to cover and nowhere we have to get to. You talk when you want to talk. The quiet stretches are part of it, not a lull in it.
A trail does something a room cannot. It puts two people shoulder to shoulder instead of across a desk, it keeps the body busy so the mind loosens, and it gives you somewhere else to look at the moment the hard sentence finally comes out. People say things on a trail in the second hour that they would not have said in a chair in the first ten minutes.
Who this tends to fit. Someone in the middle of a change they did not entirely choose, or one they did choose and now cannot see the far side of. You do not need to arrive with the thing already named. Not knowing what to call it is often the reason to come.
What happens after you write. I answer, we find a date, and I send you the trailhead and what to bring. There is nothing to fill in beforehand. One walk is a whole thing in itself — some people come once, some come every few weeks for a season, and we work that out as we go rather than deciding it up front.
That link opens a message to Jesse with this in the subject line. Nothing is booked or charged from it — he reads it and writes back.