A Simple Plan

I’ve been writing for about 15 years. I do it because I love to create. I completely dig the process. Whether I blog, write a letter, or create an ad campaign, I go through the same steps.

1. I get an idea (preferably a good one).
2. I feel a sensation like an energy boost.
3. I decisively and passoinately bring that idea to life.
4. Satisfied, I move on.

I would bet that anytime any of us create something, we go through these steps. When we’ve finished our work, we realize we’ve grown a little in the process; we’ve evolved. And then we are compelled to create something else.

What if everybody approached every waking moment with the same kind of passion and energy to create? No hangups about the past. No bitterness. No worries about the present. No fear of the future.

You Look Like Tim Robbins

Harmless as they may seem, those words have sent my poor, fragile ego into a wicked tailspin yesterday. My self-esteem was disemboweled, feasted on by all the heartbroken women I casually walked away from as a teen. My self image has been shredded, my bubble burst.

5 words is all it took.

I never thought of myself as a visual stunner, but then again I never really had any significant trouble with the ladies. So I thought I had something going on. This, apparently, over-inflated opinion of myself was reinforced with the occasional comparison to George Clooney on my tan days, Mel Gibson on my angry days, even the occasional Antonio Banderas on my long-hair days.

Understandably, I liked those comparisons. They gave my ego the gentle coddling it craved to get through the day, purring the whole way. I ran around thinking my chin could protect our precious borders. All I needed was a cape and a sexually ambiguous sidekick.

But, someone had to mention Tim. And it all crubled away. Do I resemble a dough-faced, beady eyed fifty year old? C’mon. Nothing against big Tim. He’s not a terrible-looking guy. He’s just not a good looking one. Where does that leave me?

Doubled over in pain, whincing as I type.

Or worse—the agony—maybe I’ve been living a sweet lie. What was I doing all those years thinking I was such a catch? Walking around winking, finger snapping and grinning? Saying “Hey Baby.” Exposing the chest hair. Productizing the do.

Could I not back up my game?

Is there a lesson here? Of course there is, my friends. If you take too much stock in your own image, it will eventually crash. I don’t want you to experience Black Monday like I did.

You’re welcome.

What to Wear

Just got finished spilling my tea down the front of my shirt. Thankfully, it was just tea. Chamomile mint to be precise. A cup of hot tea is a nice way to ease into the day, highly- recommended. Spilling it down the front of your shirt like a spaz, not highly-recommended.

6 months ago, it woulda been coffee and my shirt would have looked like I vomited down the front. Every client would notice. Their impressions of my competence, tainted. I could be wearing freshly-pressed Armani, but with a coffee stain down the front, I might as well be wearing toughskins and a wife beater.

I like to present myself as reasonably put-together. My rationale: If I look like I know what I’m doing, it will help clients accept what I have to say about their advertising and marketing. The truth is, I’d give them the same advice if I were wearing a speedo and an Indian headdress.

“The clothes make the man.” I have to agree, but I don’t like to. We are a judgmental species. We have to be. How else would we make decisions?

I’m kind of caught between two worlds. Part of my job is being creative, coming up with new, interesting ideas. The other part of my job is selling, helping people feel comfortable with our service.

If I show up looking like a “creative” at a “sales” meeting, that’s not going to go over too well, and may be a bit disrespectful. If I show up as the “sales” guy, then how many good ideas are you going to get from a conformist? So, I have many different ways to dress depending on the kind of meeting I’m having.

Today, for example, I’m meeting a potential new client through some friends of mine who are brand strategists. They are doing an interactive session with this company to help them create an elevator pitch. They want me to join in. This is no job for a suit, it’s creative, improvisational, and fun. But there is a possibility of this going further into more business for my company—a sales opportunity, where a suit might be considered.

Partly creative. Partly sales. Partly Vans. Partly Florsheim.

So where does that leave the wardrobe today.

A pair of faded brown jeans, an ironed, striped button-down shirt, black leather belt, black Blundstone boots. Creative, without being too laid back. Business, without a stick up my arse.

Getting Over Me

Lots on the agenda today, none of which I want to do. It’s a classic struggle I come against more often than not. I constantly battle the forces of inertia. I procrastinate, I dream up excuses, and with a hint of irony, I dedicate a lot of time, energy, and creativity to not doing.

I have a pretty good work ethic thanks to my father’s persistent brainwashing: “Successful people do what failures seek to avoid.” The part of that aphorism that I like most is the “seek to avoid.” Unsuccessful people don’t just avoid, they look for ways to avoid.

It takes work to not work. I can relate.

If we’re all working so hard at not doing, then why don’t we just do? I’ll tell you what goes through my head: Fear. I don’t want to put myself out there for one reason or another. It’s so much easier to do nothing and protect myself. I don’t like to leave myself vulnerable.

I remember trying out for soccer teams as a kid and being completely paralyzed by fear of not making the team. I didn’t want to go put myself out there, and possibly embarrass myself in front of my friends and family. It was a real struggle just to show up. Thankfully, I had supportive friends and family—I never would have gone otherwise. I’m quite sure of that.

The hardest part of the tryout wasn’t the tryout. It was getting over myself.

Nothing's a Problem

Just finished up with a short lesson on evolutionary enlightenment presented by Jeff Carreira. I encourage everybody to spend a couple of hours in a classroom with this guy. He continues to pop open my perspective on life. His latest tune was about deepening awareness through meditation. I won’t get into it because I won’t do the lesson justice, but he said something that not only got through to me, it also greased a few gears.

When you’re meditating you are usually bombarded by thoughts and feelings. It’s an annoying and frustrating experience at times. But you have the capacity to choose to engage with those thoughts, or not. Sounds easy, but no, it’s definitely hard. I struggle with them; the moment they invade my space, I sense a problem.

Jeff simply said, “Nothing’s a problem. It’s part of it all. Just continue on.”

I understood what he said in the context of meditation, but then I realized that simple statement carries over into everything.

What are problems?

I’m mostly thinking about the day to day problems we encounter. The ones that bind us up. The ulcer-inducers. The fret and worry kind. When does something become a problem?

Problems exist because we look at situations from a particular point of view.

That’s not what I was expecting.
I shouldn’t have eaten that.
I backed my car into a ditch.

Problems? Only if we look at them that way.

We create problems. And they’re based on ideals, comparitives, pre-conceived notions. What if I said that problems don’t exist? What if you accepted every situation that came to you.

Jeff said, "It isn’t a problem, it’s part of it all, just continue on.”

It doesn’t change the situation, but it certainly changes how you handle the situation.

Nobody likes problems. We resist them. They’re uncomfortable. We’re afraid of them. But if we accept everything, we are in a more positive relationship to the situation, and we’re in a better position to act fearlessly.

Just as easily as we can create problems, we can un-create them.

Not sure if that’s where Jeff was going. But that’s where I went.

Lufthansa Is the Best Because They Said So

We were graced with a gorgeous, sunny, warm day yesterday. Thank you. Now I hear snow is coming. F-you.

I’m in a cantankerous, restless mood today. Not in a bad one, just anxious to make things happen. It all started when I glanced up from my resin-coated naugahyde commuter seat at a terrible Lufthansa ad.

It’s unimagineably bad work.

This airline spends who-knows-how-much buying space to display a message for the public—but they invest nothing in what they say. Too many companies make this mistake—polluting the media with braggadocious meaninglessness.

Advertising is an opportunity to be special. To wake people up. To raise consciousness. To contribute to the world. To offer a new perspective.

But how can that be done in one ad? It can. It has.

Volkswagen, Absolut, Apple, Nike, even freakin milk farmers have done it. You’ve seen em all. You were charmed, delighted, inspired by em—as was the world.

Let me describe for you every crappy Lufthansa ad ever made in 8 words: Photo of contented passenger paired with meaningless headline.

The one I’m reading says “Comfort that carries you to faraway places. All for this one moment.” Let’s take the first half of the headline. Do you believe that the airline is comfortable just because they say the are?

My skepticism kicks right in and I actually believe it less, just because they are saying it. It’s like someone bragging that they’re a tough guy. I’d much rather fight with a self-proclaimed “tough guy,” than one who doesn’t have to say a word.

“All for this one moment.” It’s so dumb, I don’t even know what to say. What is “all” referring to? All what? What “moment?” All I ask is for an ad to tell me something. Anything. This work pure unsubstantiated emptiness. Everything’s signed by the boring, bloated, egotistical tagline, “There’s no better way to fly.”

I’m amazed at how people forgive advertisers like this.

Please rip these ads down when you see them.

Now I’m all fired up.

Must Be the Shoe Buckles

My good friend Douglas and I are writing a new book on the little known subject of Pilgrim cliches. Dig deep enough into the archives of American history, you might find a few. Oft-derived from regions of coastal Massachusetts like Plymouth and Barnstable counties circa 1620-1684.

Time hasn't been kind to these colorful quips, idioms, and phrasings. They've morphed into the ho hum cliches we use today.

Here's one Doug found that originated somewhere near Boonville, Mass:
"Ye musket in the conjugal bed dampens ones gunpowder."
Modern translation: Guns and sex don't mix.

I happened to remember another one while speaking with James Whitmore VII, renowned Pilgrim historian. He still drops these lines into conversation, hoping to preserve what little Pilgrim heritage we have left. And, yes, he buckles his shoes.

He claims this one originated in Marstons Mills, Mass:
"You can always dry ye brytches on yonder washline."
Modern translation: There are plenty more fish in the sea.

If you have any thoughts or ideas on this subject, we would certainly welcome them. You will, of course, be credited with your contribution.