Others will tell you to rest.
Others will tell you to take time off.
Others will tell you it can wait.
Don’t listen.
If your heart tells you to persist, then keep going; your work is too important to delay.
Others don’t have to grapple with your passion.
Others don’t feel the urging of the creativity in your soul.
When others tell you to relax, they don’t understand that they’re telling the ocean to be a puddle.
Every so often, I play a little game. I look at an online satellite map (an aerial view without labels) and I see if — starting from a full view of the globe — I can zoom in to locate the roof of my own home.
At each zoom-level, I find landmarks to understand where I am.
The shape of North America
The mouth of the Chesapeake Bay
The Susquehanna River and its headwaters
The serpentine shape of Raystown Lake, and Sayers Reservoir to its northeast
After the waterways lead me, it’s on to the land formations, the rooftops of larger buildings, and then to the particular pattern of streets in my town. Finally, my home.
During this exercise, without fail, I’m compelled to consider my small place within the world. The disparity between our supernatural ability to connect through the Internet, and the tiny dot which represents our physical location on Earth.
And yet… despite our smallness, we have the power to affect great change.
In trying situations, what do you whisper to yourself?
Is it “Are you kidding me?” or “Just my luck…” or “Well that figures...”?
Or is it “I can do this,” and “I’ve got this,” and “I can solve this problem...”?
Why not choose a posture that gives us confidence and a sense of agency?
We can’t avoid every setback, but we can control our self-talk.
There are people who know very little about your group. Your tribe. Your category.
For them, you are the example. You are the representative. You are the ambassador.
Your words and actions are telling the story: “This is what we are like.”
You are the example, and people are learning from you.
Stop waiting to be asked. Stop looking for them to call you into service.
Raise your hand. Step forward. Speak up.
You have gifts and abilities. You can contribute. And for whatever reason, you haven’t been asked to help.
OK. Maybe they don’t know what you can do. Or how well you can do it.
But you know what you can do. You know what you bring to the table.
So get in there.
Show up, and be amazing.
You might not be on their radar yet, but you will be, and they’ll be grateful for your help.
It takes a lot of confidence to reveal our methods. Our strategies. Our productivity hacks. Our suppliers.
Part of this comes from the fear that if others knew what we know, they’d be able to do what we do, and then we’d become less relevant. Less special.
But today’s world is a world of connection. Of information. It’s all out there.
If you want to know how to do something, odds are, there’s a YouTube that will teach you.
We don’t become more valuable by hoarding secrets. Our status increases through generosity. Through sharing. Through educating.
It’s the small-minded and selfish who cling to their secret techniques.
The best of us share confidently, because it turns the ratchet for everyone.
Ten minutes. Go look for beauty. Walk somewhere you haven’t walked.
Leave your home. Leave your office. Leave the Internet.
Allow yourself to soak it in. Notice things. Observe. Breathe deeply.
That peace... that calm... that’s opportunity you sense. That’s empowerment you feel. That’s you, poised to do great things.
Go do those great things, but start with ten minutes.
“I want to get better.”
We hear this phrase often. Maybe we think it, too. Maybe we say it.
But what do we mean, specifically?
When we float the idea of wanting to get better, it has no efficacy on its own.
We need to be specific. We need a plan if we’re truly invested in leveling up in a certain area.
“I want to improve in _______, so I’m going to start by a, b, c...”
Without committing to specifics, we have little foundation from which to leap. Like trying to jump while treading water... we’d just kick our legs with little result.
When one dream doesn’t come true, it’s not a reason to stop dreaming.
If the life we have today is different than the life we once imagined, we don’t stop living.
No. We live our lives — our beautiful and nuanced lives — and we dream new dreams.
Just because we take detours doesn’t mean we’re deterred.
Our hopes, dreams, and ambitions carry us forward, and they’re in endless supply.
I’ve always had a thing for maps. Post Typography’s Bruce Willen and Nolen Strals speak of maps beautifully:
We've both been in love with maps since childhood. Maps represent exploration and possibility, but also depict specific (biased) ways of viewing the world. Geopolitical states are artificial constructs, but they define the literal limits of our opportunities and experiences. In our era of political, technological, and climate tumult boundaries and borders are increasingly symbolic and rapidly shifting.
When I learned about the limited-edition letterpress collaboration between Post Typography and the Aesthetic Union, I could hardly wait to place my order. These re-imagined maps of the United States and the world captivated me.
When the maps arrived at my home, however, I realized that I had only been enjoying a piece of these objects — the digitized, visual representation.
In holding the actual prints… the objects themselves… the work came to life in a new way. The physicality of the paper. The three-dimensional witness marks of the letterpress process. The scale of the work as it relates to the size of my hands and my body.
These things aren’t evident when looking at a screen. They’re not palpable on an Instagram feed.
As with many works of art, being in its physical presence makes a difference. Hearing a live performance. Standing in front of a sculpture. Standing within a sculpture. These are experiences that are not matched through documentation.
In a world where we can see everything through a browser window, it’s easy to forget that the map is not the territory, and as I’ve just been reminded… the image is not the map.
The easiest thing to do is to skim from the top. To take from what’s near the surface.
Food containers. Supply cabinets. Parts bins.
But we often do this with emotions, too, through banal conversation.
How have you been? How about this weather we're having?
We do this not just with strangers, but with friends and acquaintances we've known for years.
* * *
Our connections could be so much deeper and more meaningful if we had the courage to dip just below the surface. To discuss passions. Dreams. Ted talks and blog posts. Podcasts. Books and travels.
Conversation could turn to illumination and transformation, if we let it.
So, let it. But don't start by telling. Start by asking.
You could spend months... years planning your journey. Your transition to a new career. Your academic pursuits.
And yet, until you begin, you’re stuck.
Once you’re in motion, you can adjust your trajectory. You can stay the course, or change course. Based on new experiences, you can reevaluate your plans. Adapt. Make new plans. Go back, even.
But without beginning — without taking the first step, or an initial leap — you’re just looking at signposts; you haven’t yet experienced the road.
If you’re ready, put it in drive and take your foot off the break. That’s a start.
Why is gossip so often about people’s shortcomings, failures, and tragedies? Why is it about scandal? Someone getting his comeuppance?
Have you heard? Phil’s getting a divorce.
Did anyone tell you yet? Kelly’s brother got arrested.
Did you know? Melinda just got fired.
What would it be like if we gossiped about people’s strengths? Their talents?
Have you heard? John is amazing on guitar.
Did anyone tell you yet? Erin planned a phenomenal event.
Did you know? Jason builds chairs, and they're exquisite.
Let’s celebrate each other. Lift each other up. Recognize the talent in others, and share it around the water cooler.
Sometimes, we take careful aim. We do research. We make informed decisions. We identify a target, and we do our best to hit it.
Other times, we make quick, hasty choices. An arrow goes flying, and then we spend a lot of energy drawing a bull’s-eye around wherever it’s landed. Crafting a story to justify or rationalize our actions.
The first scenario is rooted in humility, curiosity, and diligence.
The second is about ego, pride, and the illusion of control.
Let’s try to spend more of our time being thoughtful and intentional, and less of our time painting targets around landed arrows.
We like to be the authors of our lives. To control the plot and the sequence of events.
The hard part comes when a chapter we didn’t write gets inserted into our book.
We want to work independently, but the world collaborates with us. And we don’t have a choice.
What do we do when that happens?
Well, like a serial novelist who cannot edit what’s been published, we’ll need to frame the future installments accordingly.
That unanticipated chapter might make sense within the story, or it might be an unexpected twist.
For all but the most catastrophic of unsolicited events, we get to decide whether they change the course of our narrative.
No, the world does not ask before it contributes. But we, we still have pen in hand. It’s still our story, and the future is ours to write.
We often spend a long time discussing problems. Laying out the issues. Explaining the struggles and the challenges.
One of the critical questions — and one that is sometimes overlooked — is, “What do we do?”
Knowing what we know now, what action do we take?
Understanding the problem is paramount. But if we fail to coordinate a solution, that just becomes another part of the problem.
Luck helps, but we can’t just wait for luck. We have to do the work.
If luck comes — and it always seems to come in some way or another — then we accept it with delight. But to wait for it is just laziness in disguise.
We’re better than that.
Perhaps you’re happy to give good advice. To provide counsel. To draw from years of experience, and to offer guidance to others.
But are you willing to take your own advice? Brave enough?
It’s easy to tell someone else, “Go ahead. Take that chance. This is an opportunity you don’t want to waste.”
Or, “I think you should _______. It would be really good for you.”
If we can be positive motivation for others, why do we sometimes stutter when we pilot our personal journey?
We have good ideas. Sound ideas. We just need the moxie to act upon our own good advice.
Often, I’ll do some goofy bit of acrobatics (sometimes at the expense of my aging body) in order to make toddlers laugh. To make their world seem a little more magical.
Feat complete, or slapstick accomplished, the phrase is inevitably — subject to language skills — “More!” or “Can you do that again?”
<sigh> Yes. Yes I can.
The anxiety doesn’t come when a child wants a repeat. The anxiety comes when our peers, our clients, our fans — our stakeholders above and below us on the food chain — when they say, “What you did was great. We’re thrilled. Do it again.”
That we can reach new levels which then become the standard. It can cause panic. Can I do it again? Is there more fuel in the tank?
And yet, we find a way.
We might not be able to do it every time, but sure enough, we’re making progress, and we’re not moving backwards.
Do it again?
You bet. Even better this next time.
What does it look like when you fix a mistake? Let’s consider erasers for a moment.
Hard, rubber erasers are good for removing tone. They can strike a clean, sharp line. They can be used aggressively. However, there’s a lot of mess afterwards. Eraser dust. Like tiny crescent rolls of rubber and graphite.
Kneeded erasers (putty rubber) are different. They’re gentler in the way they remove material, and they don’t create dust. Instead of degrading with use, kneeded erasers absorb the graphite or charcoal. Over time, they darken in color, but they tend to last longer than hard erasers.
* * *
So what happens when you make corrections? When you take care of an error? When you right a wrong? Do you create a mess that has to be blown away and cleaned up later?
Perhaps you barely leave a trace… fixing things so that they appear to have always been perfect. Making it seem effortless.
As with drawing, maybe the approach you take is quite situational.
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