I n the English countryside there is a mock-Tudor manor with a room containing eight strangers and ten chairs and a big clock on the wall. I walk in and take the ninth chair. When the second hand hits the hour, a staff consultant enters and sits. We wait, but she stares at the blue carpet and says nothing. As the minutes pass, it becomes clear that she has no intention of calling this session to order. One of us will have to talk. The air in the room feels like gelatin: no one wants to make the first move. After a few minutes of painful silence, one of us suggests introductions. We are a psychoanalyst, a bank manager, three organizational consultants, an artist, a pediatric oncologist, a prison executive, and me, a freelancer who has cobbled together several grants to cover the staggering cost of sitting in this circle. I am the second-youngest in attendance and a rare novice.…