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Value spotting is the practice of noticing and working with the value, possibility, or opportunity inside what someone offers — especially when our first instinct is to problem-solve, critique, correct, or dismiss.

In less fancy language, value spotting invites a different move.

Instead of first asking: “What is wrong with this?”
We ask: “What is worth noticing, understanding, or building on here?”

This does not mean we agree with every idea, ignore real constraints, or avoid hard questions. It means we look for the value inside a contribution before we evaluate, dismiss, debate, or solve it. Value spotting helps us find the usable piece: the concern that matters, the hope that is present, the insight that could inform the work, the possibility that could be developed, or the shared value that could open a new path forward.

At its heart, value spotting is both a listening skill and a meaning-making skill. It helps people stay open and curious. It supports us to find possibility even in disagreement and to notice where collaboration may be possible.

In difficult conversations, those things can be hard to see. Especially when people are tired, trust is thin, and the work starts to feel heavier than anyone expected.

So this month, I want to share a story about one of the biggest facilitation rocks I’ve ever pushed uphill.

The biggest rock I ever pushed uphill was not conflict. It was possibility.

I left the sixth meeting of the Ministerial Task Force knowing something had to change. Not the agenda. Not the worksheets. Not the facilitation design. Something deeper.

The group was still showing up. People were still sitting at the table, some in the room and some online, as so many groups were in those late-COVID days. We were still moving through the process. We still had recommendations to review, refine, and test for consensus.

But I could feel something slipping.

It was not a blow-up. It was not yelling. It was not the kind of high-emotion moment people often imagine when they think about difficult facilitation. In some ways, I know what to do with those moments. I know how to slow the room down, name what is happening, create structure, support de-escalation, and help people return to the conversation.

This was different. The room did not explode. It faded.

People were tired. Distrust had deepened. The recommendations were getting harder. The distance between perspectives felt wider. The possibility that had carried us through earlier meetings was starting to drain from the work.

And I remember thinking: we are so close to needing to start all over again.

A Table Full of Difference

Around the Task Force table participants supported many different communities, industries and issues - from oil and gas, energy, forestry, Indigenous and First Nations communities, municipalities, local community development, environmental organizations, wildlife advocacy, recreation, and other land users and interests.

This was not a group with slightly different opinions.

This was a group of people whose values, responsibilities, livelihoods, rights, and visions for the land were in very real tension with one another.

The mandate required the Task Force to consider caribou recovery priorities, including working toward naturally self-sustaining caribou populations over the long term. The vision for the sub-region was equally layered. The aspiration was for healthy ecosystems and responsible land management, biodiversity, protection of rights held by Indigenous peoples, environmentally responsible economic opportunities, and vibrant local communities.

In other words, this was not a simple problem looking for a simple answer.

It was a complex landscape, filled with people who cared deeply, differently, and often in competing ways.

Consensus Was the Method and the Mountain

The Task Force was using a consensus-based process.

That matters because consensus is not a majority rule. It is not about winning, persuading, overpowering, or trading one group’s interests against another’s. A consensus process asks something much harder of people.

Participants have the ability to “block” any recommendation AND then must offer solutions that meet everyone else’s interests as well as their own. A consensus agreement does not mean every person loves the decision. It does not even mean every person would have designed the recommendation the same way on their own. It means the group has found a course of action people can accept, live with, or stand aside from so the work can move forward.

That is a beautiful idea. It is also incredibly difficult in practice.

When the Work Started to Fade

These task forces typically meet over many months. The early work focuses on establishing a shared vision and success metrics. Then the group receives information, background, and technical context so Task Force members can make informed recommendations. From there, smaller working groups and subcommittees begin drafting the first set of recommendations.

Here comes the part where the rubber really hits the road.

The larger Task Force came back together to review and refine each recommendation. Each recommendation had to be tested through a consensus-based lens. Where consensus could not be achieved, that could be noted in the final recommendation report, along with an explanation.

The first meetings of recommendation review gave us a bit of momentum. The group found consensus in a few places. Even with deep distrust and wildly different views about how and where the land should be used, there were moments where something started to move.

Then the work got harder.

By the end of the fifth and sixth meeting, the process began to wear on people. Participants were checking out. Frustration was building. The hybrid environment made it harder. The divides felt larger.

And despite good process design, strong tools, careful agendas, and all the facilitation checklists we are taught to rely on, I could feel the group approaching a cliff.

The issue was not that people were too emotional. The issue was that people were losing hope.

The Facilitator’s Dilemma

I left that sixth meeting asking myself a question I have continued to carry:

“What is my role as a facilitator when process alone is not enough?”

It was my role to guide process. To hold the structure. To keep the group moving.

And I also know that after months of sitting with a group, listening carefully, watching relationships form and fray, hearing what people are protecting, and noticing what they are hoping for, the role can become bigger than process alone.

So I found myself asking:

Can a facilitator motivate without manipulating?

Can a facilitator inspire without steering content?

Can we help people remember what they committed to when fatigue, distrust, and frustration have buried it?

Can I be the “possibility spotter” AND hold the process?

These questions felt much harder than de-escalating a heated exchange. Because here’s the thing: it wasn’t about calming the room down. It was about helping the room come back to life.

Meeting Seven

Before the next meeting, I had a long conversation with the Task Force co-chair, who was an MLA.

We talked about what needed to be said. Not to force agreement. Not to pressure people into consensus. Not to gloss over the real differences in the room. But to help the group remember why it was there.

I remember thinking carefully about the words. It is one of the few times in my facilitation practice where I felt I needed to write something close to an inspirational speech.

Not a classic motivational speech. Not a rally cry. Not a performance.

More like a reset. A call back to the vision. A call back to the long-term future of the region.

Because by that point, the work was no longer only about the recommendations. It was about whether the Task Force could remember itself.

What I Learned About the Rock

I want to be careful not to overstate the story.

I do not believe one speech saves a process (this is NOT a romantic comedy from the 2000's 😁) . I do not believe facilitators should imagine themselves as the hero of a group’s work. And I do not believe inspiration should ever be used to push people toward a content outcome they do not support.

But I do believe there are moments when a facilitator’s responsibility is more than managing the agenda and it’s about spotting opportunity.

I was not there to tell the Task Force what to recommend. I was there to help them remember that recommendations were still possible.

The Lesson I Still Carry

When people ask about difficult facilitation, they often imagine big emotions, tense exchanges, anger, disruption, or conflict that needs to be de-escalated.

Those moments are real. They matter. They require skill.

But the biggest facilitation rock I have ever pushed uphill was quieter than that.

It was a room that had not given up entirely, but was getting close.

It was a group of people with real differences, real stakes, real responsibilities, and real reasons to distrust one another, trying to find recommendations they could live with.

Facilitators are not content advocates. But sometimes we are spotters of courage, clarity, purpose, and possibility.

P.S

YES - we DID find the motivation, we DID find the inspiration, and we DID get the job done.

Was it my most beautiful work? No. Did new long term respectful relationships form - Yes.

I’d call it a WIN.