Let’s start with a quick definition since this is post is about an unusual word. Mycelial is an adjective describing something that’s like mycelium—the “root system” of mushrooms—a mass of tiny filaments that spreads underground, digesting decay, and absorbing nutrients. In the forest, mycelia (plural for mycelium) form a mutually beneficial network with tree roots and play a role in how trees share resources, care for, and communicate with each other.
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One constant companion on my desk is an index card with two questions.
*What's happening at the structural level?
*What's happening at the mycelial level?
I don’t remember when or how I adopted these questions, but I can tell you what they mean to me and why I keep them around.
Noticing the structural level helps me see how the elements of a situation are arranged and how they relate to, effect, or interact with each other. This is also called systems thinking. It pushes me to ask better questions about what is really going on. How are things set up to function? What are the pressure points? Who profits? Who loses? What are the unintended effects of this set-up? What role does time play? Where are the leverage points for change?
Even when I don’t have all the answers, remembering to ask the questions shifts the story. It slows down my quickness to judge individuals and makes me wonder what needs changed in the system or challenged at an administrative or policy level. So very much is structural.
Noticing the mycelial level makes me more aware of the underground web of connection and reciprocity, especially between living things. This is also called interconnectedness.
I’m thinking about the mycelial level more and more these days. So very much is structural, AND so many of our major structures—economy, education, society, democracy—are simply rotting. I often work on cross-sector collaborations, which is when business (the private sector), government (the public sector), and nonprofits (this one has many names) work together on common goals. These collaborations are important because each sector has different strengths and abilities to make the world better for people. Sitting at this intersection, I'm seeing a lot that has me concerned.
In the United States where I live, we’ve historically relied on our nonprofit/voluntary sector for a lot. A whole lot! When French historian Alexis de Tocqueville wrote Democracy in America in the early 1830’s, he was struck by how vital associations (precursors to modern nonprofits) were for Americans, writing, “Everywhere that, at the head of a new undertaking, you see the government in France and a great lord in England, count on it that you will perceive an association in the United States.” I’ve often held this as a point of pride, something I like about my country. When we care about something we come together and make it happen instead of waiting for the markets or government to do it for us. We’ve fed and housed people this way, built schools and hospitals this way, and nourished our souls with art this way. And I’m worried this way is dying.
I can’t tell you how many nonprofits I know are on the brink of closing their doors. The slow IV drip of funding, the spread-thin peanut butter funding, the jump through hoops game of funding has pushed us closer to the cliff’s edge than I’ve seen yet in nearly two decades working in this area. I have a lot of thoughts on why, which mainly come down to money accumulating where it should instead be flowing. Money accumulating where it should flow isn’t just in philanthropy. It’s in every sector. It’s structural. And I’m not sure we have the will to fix it.
Total side note, but assets under management (wealth) can also be called the corpus, a word related to corpse. In my most dystopian imaginings I see wealth as a bloated corpse, locked in a vault waiting for a day when the world is so empty and damaged, no one is left to need it.
That's depressing, but there's hope in the mycelial level. Mycelium can handle decay.
Shortly after the 2024 election, I read a speech by the late science fiction writer, Ursula K. Le Guin, in which she says, “And when you fail, and are defeated, and in pain, and in the dark, then I hope you will remember that darkness is your country, where you live, where no wars are fought and no wars are won, but where the future is. Our roots are in the dark; the earth is our country. Why did we look up for blessing — instead of around, and down? What hope we have lies there.”
“Why did we look up for blessing — instead of around, and down? What hope we have lies there.” That line has been with me for weeks now. That line is about the mycelial level. It’s about the underground web of connection and reciprocity, especially between living things. It’s about solidarity. It’s about interconnectedness. The closer our structures come to collapse, the more we’re going to need each other at the mycelial level. That’s where we build collective resilience. That’s local farmers, neighborhood tool shares, little libraries, land trusts, being the village for all our children, caring for our elders. That’s sharing skills, sharing knowledge. That’s building alternative structures.
What is happening at the mycelial level? That is my winter solstice reflection and my new year’s reflection as I head into 2025. The mycelial level is strained too. It’s not separate from the structural level with all its toxicity and strain. Connections and relationships fray too. So if that level is the one that’s going to catch us when other structures collapse, it needs our care and attention now, our protection, our nourishing. In the weeks and months ahead, I’ll be seeking my role in that alongside my own underground web of relationships. If this resonates with you, please reach out. I'd love to hear what you're thinking, where you're connecting, and what you're nourishing at this mycelial level where we're all connected.