Outvestment versus investment

Diagram showing a self-reinforcing ambition loop between three stakeholders: Civic & Market Demand, Political Ambition & Policies, and Business & Finance Investment.

I was asked, Is regenerative design anti-investment?

No, but it does depend on the kind of investment.

In regenerative design we use living systems as a guide for how to create an economy that can thrive within ecological limits. 

Living systems create richness through the circulation of energy and materials within ecosystems.

Over time, ecosystems build complexity, resilience and abundance by cycling back in the majority of what is produced.

A regenerative economy should work in a similar way.

If investment yields returns in a place, and those returns are reinvested into that place — into its people, ecosystems, infrastructure and future capacity — then investment can become a mechanism for creating thriving.

But if investment primarily extracts value from one place to enrich somewhere else, the local system becomes depleted over time.

The clue is in the “in”.

If capital is genuinely investing into a place, then it can help build regenerative capacity.

But if it is mostly flowing out, perhaps what we are really looking at is outvestment.

Business, communities and government all have important roles to play in shaping these flows. Together they form an ambition loop (see diagram) that creates mutual benefit.

Because the deeper question is not simply:

‘Is investment happening?’

But:

‘Where does the bounty go?’

Change the book that is blocking the way

A five-shelf bookcase diagram labelled from bottom to top: Design, Operations, Mindsets, Goals, and Paradigm. Each shelf contains illustrated books or objects representing ideas or tools relevant to that level of a complex system.

Another frequently asked question at the talks I was involved with this week: what is the biggest factor blocking regenerative design.

I used the Systems Bookcase to help me answer this one.

In this model, the books on the bottom shelf represent the things we get to build.

But what we are and aren’t allowed to build is governed by the shelf above: operations.

  • Planning policy.
  • Supply chains.
  • Codes.
  • Assurance processes.
  • Risk models.

If the operating rules say no, the building never reaches the bottom shelf.

But those operational rules are themselves shaped by broader mindsets:

values, assumptions, ethics, beliefs about what matters and what is possible.

As we move up the bookcase, we encounter bigger and more influential forces shaping what design is permitted to become.

The point I made is that the key blocker will be different in every context.

In one place it may be insurance.

In another, procurement.

Elsewhere, culture, incentives, fear, or simply imagination.

The role of the regenerative designer is to identify the book that is blocking the change — and then work systematically to change it.

This work is guided by our collective hopes for the future, juxtaposed by the realities of the present. And it in this tension that we do our work. 

For every meaningful change we hope to make, there is usually a book in the way.

If there weren’t, the change would probably have happened already.

But books can be rewritten.

And how quickly that happens depends on the work we are collectively willing to do.

On the collective to-do list: hope

I gave three presentations this week at the Futurebuild and Footprint+ conferences in London.

The feedback I have been getting is striking: the idea that resonated most strongly across all three talks was the importance of reconnecting with hope.

Whether through a short visualisation exercise as part of a ten-minute talk, or a longer discussion about our shared visions for the built environment, the conversation seemed to change the atmosphere in the room.

It felt strangely radical.


A wave is not water.

It is an emergent phenomenon created when wind moves across the surface of water. The more aligned and sustained the movement of air, the larger the wave becomes.

Perhaps hope works in a similar way.

Most of us probably carry quiet desires for safety, for belonging, for beauty, for healing, for thriving.

But individually those desires can remain diffuse and disconnected.

When we share those desires, and discover our shared alignment, a wind of change begins to move through the group, and hope rises like a wave.

A sense of possibility emerges. 

Something that we can build with others.

But it only happens when we keep the shared conversations going about what we collectively aspire towards. 

Please leave this place as you found it

It wasn’t planned. It just sort of came out that way.

During the Q&A at a talk this week, someone asked:

“Isn’t regenerative design just the new name for sustainability?”

The goal of sustainability, I replied, is to meet our needs without compromising the needs of tomorrow.

And then this metaphor appeared:

“It’s a bit like those signs you get in bathrooms that say:

Please leave this place in the condition you found it.

Sustainability says: don’t mess it up.

But it doesn’t necessarily say anything about making things better.”

In fact, what we like to do is offset our mess in one place by tidying up somewhere else. 

As for toilets as for planet earth. 

Regenerative design is a fundamentally different proposition.

It’s not cleaning up after our actions.

Or merely reducing their impact.

It’s taking actions that in themselves make ecosystems, communities and places healthier and more capable of thriving.

Now imagine a bathroom that did that.

(Actually, it’s not such a daft question. Think of all those nutrients we flush away every day. But that’s material for another post.)

Newnham College Boathouse

Featured on the cover of this month’s Structural Engineer magazine is the new boathouse for Newnham College in Cambridge. 

The boathouse is a small timber structure designed to house rowing boats. Faced with conflicting constraints — a short-term lease, high design expectations and nearby tree roots — the team moved away from a more conventional steel solution and instead developed a locally sourced green timber structure designed for disassembly and reuse.

From a regenerative design perspective, what stood out to me was not simply the use of timber, but the wider system of relationships and decision-making around the building.

Here are a few headlines.

Constraints driving creativity

The idea that constraints drive creativity is not new.

What is striking here is how the constraints pushed the design team away from a Horizon One answer — resource-intensive materials, sourced from far away with little relationship to this place — towards a Horizon Two response that begins building local procurement, resource circulation and habitat sensitivity into the process itself.

So often constraints limit experimentation.

Here they helped create the conditions for it.

Sustainability high on the bookcase

Another striking aspect of the project is that sustainability appears to sit relatively high in the system.

The article notes that the idea of an eco-friendly boathouse “captured the imagination” of the college. That matters because once sustainability, experimentation and design quality become institutional goals — rather than bolt-on requirements — different decisions start to become possible lower down the Systems Bookcase.

Material possibilities grow. Procurement appetite shifts. Adaptability and local supply chains become easier to justify.

Change higher in the system changes what can emerge below.

Capacity to change

The building is designed for adaptability within a changing environment.

Screw pile foundations can be removed.

The timber frame can be dismantled and rebuilt elsewhere.

Connections can be adjusted as the timber seasons and matures.

This is not a building conceived as fixed until redundant.

It is designed to change over time.

Local capability and supply chains

The work also helped build local capability, including visual stress grading of timber at Rougham Estate.

The development of skills, confidence and supply-chain relationships becomes part of the design itself.

Recovering historical practices

Rather than inventing something entirely new, the project revives older forms of local timber construction, stewardship and repair culture that have largely been displaced by industrial standardisation.

Place-responsive design

The form responds to the surrounding boathouses, local materials, nearby trees and conservation setting. Inspiration even emerged from a walk in a local park. A partial move towards Continuous Place-Based Design.

Protective niche

Projects like this often emerge within protective niches in the wider construction system.

Institutions such as university colleges can sometimes sustain different priorities — legacy, experimentation and identity  — that allow alternative approaches to be tested before they become commercially normal elsewhere.

These niches matter. Like in ecosystems, protective niches create sheltered conditions in which new operational models, relationships and design approaches can develop enough confidence to spread more widely later on.

A useful H2 transition example

Overall, the project does not transform the wider construction system around it.

But it does prototype alternative ways of sourcing, building and thinking.

This is not simply a low-carbon building.

It is an example of Horizon Two transition-building: developing the operational capability, relationships and confidence needed to make different kinds of projects possible in future.

Book payments back online

Hello, it looks like we’ve been having some difficulty with purchases in our online store. Apologies if you have been trying to purchase the Pattern Book and have had no luck!

For now, you should be able to make payment using the Paypal button, and this will allow you to pay with a credit card or debit card even if you don’t want to set up a Paypal account.

We’ll hopefully be able to set up something more convenient soon.

In the meantime, thanks for your patience!

Into interconnection

Two people sit on a bench near a pond in a wood, to emphasise the importance of connecting with ecosystems

This week at the Regenerative Design Lab, we’ve been working with the Living Systems Blueprint — a model for connecting high-level regenerative thinking with more tangible design decisions.

The Blueprint identifies three qualities common to living systems. One of these is interconnection. 

Thriving living systems tend to have high levels of local connectivity:

contact between species, relationships of co-dependency, flows of information and energy.

A good example is the mycelial networks that connect trees in a woodland. These networks allow feedback to travel through the ecosystem, helping the system adapt and stay in balance.

One feature of the industrialised human economy is just how separated we have become from the living systems that support life on Earth.

So interconnection becomes a useful design prompt.

  • How might we design more feedback into systems?
  • How might we reconnect supply chains to ecosystems?
  • How might we strengthen relationships between people, place and the living world?

Interconnection as a topic comes up in so many ways: 

  • How do we connect with the systems that surround us?
  • How does information travel through supply chains?
  • How can we we pay attention to the signal when there is so much noise. 

It’s a common thread running through much of this blog.

If you are interested, you can explore the archive of posts tagged with interconnection.

Who you gonna call?

When you can’t remember why you are doing this work?
When the questions feel too large to answer?
When the wind has gone out of your sails?
When you don’t feel you are making any progress?

Any work of systems change requires work against the grain.
Friction.
Swimming against the flow.

And that’s the moment that you need friends, allies, colleagues in this work.

People who can see where you are at.
Recognise the pattern.
Remind you that you’re not doing it alone.

Systems change can be isolating.
Moments of doubt are part of the territory.

Which is why it’s worth figuring out in advance:
Who you’re gonna call.

They talk too much/ too little

This came up in a facilitation call today.

What do you do if the group talks too much?
Or the opposite — no one contributes?

The answer in both cases is the same:

Set up the conditions early.

With a group that talks too much, success usually comes from permission-setting near the start of the session.

I’ll often say something like:

“I’m sure this will be a very engaging conversation, and there may be moments where I need to move us on — is everyone ok with that?”

No one has yet said no.

But later, when you need to step in, you can simply say:

“I need to move us on.”

You’ve already established the ‘contract’ with them.

I’ll often also add that I may ask for contributions from different people so that we hear a range of voices. Again, this creates permission in advance for bringing quieter people into the conversation later on.

Quiet groups need a different approach.

It rarely works to begin by saying:

“I expect contributions from everyone.”

You have to create the conditions where it feels safe to contribute.

The first step is to avoid asking open questions to the whole room before the group has warmed up.

It is almost always better to get people talking in pairs or small groups first.

After that, you can move to a technique I learnt from Nick Francis while developing the Get it Right Initiative Train-the-trainer programme:

Pose. Pause. Pounce.

Pose an open question.
Pause to allow someone to answer.
And if nobody does, ‘pounce’ — ask someone specific by name.

This works best when used regularly enough that people come to expect it.

And as with any facilitation technique, remember:

These things often feel awkward before they become natural.