We can only closet off the unholy parts of ourselves for so long.
Whatever is inside of us, eventually, somewhere, is going to come out.
The exciting part is, once we give people a profile of our soul, once we start talking about what we’re afraid for them to know about us, our world changes. We experience the freedom that comes from refusing to hide. And those brave enough to listen, use our stories as mirrors that reflect their truest selves.
As of late, I’ve gone out of my way to share more of my dark side. From health problems to relationship blunders to creative burnouts to business mistakes to communication breakdowns to the trappings of meh, I’ve started sharing more and more about what happens in my life behind the scenes.
Not all the time. I’d hate be one of those people who lives his life like an open wound just to accumulate a few extra column inches.
But it certainly feels good to get that darkness off myself.
Closets are for shelves, not selves.
During a heated discussion on reward and recognition, my friend Julie, who works for a charitable art foundation, said something that captured my curiosity.
“I would rather get a holiday party than a holiday bonus.”
Her theory was, a check for a thousand bucks could buy a lot of cool stuff. But a night of celebration could deepen intimacy, create memories and build friendships that last forever. To Julie, that was worth a lot more.
Of course, that’s just one person’s opinion. She values belonging and connection over money, but I imagine all of her coworkers wouldn’t automatically agree with her.
And they shouldn’t, either. They’re human beings. Each person speaks a different love language. And if we want them to stick around, people ought to be paid in their preferred currency.
Me, I would have taken the holiday party.
Sometimes it’s easier to enter through the side door.
That’s what I told a friend of mine. That if we don’t enjoy the act of writing – yet have the urge to capture our experience and share it with the world – what we need is to expand our definition of writing.
Because once we expand the definition, we change the context. Once we change the context, we lower the threat level. And once we lower the threat level, there are fewer excuses to prevent us from getting started.
Originally, writing meant, “to carve.”
Later, writing meant, “to put ink on paper for others to read.”
But now that paper is going away, now that ink is has evolved into a digital medium, now that reading isn’t the only form of consumption, and now there are more methods of “putting” than ever before, the definition of writing has changed forever.
Now, sending a text is writing. Now, publishing a blog is writing. Now, recording a podcast is writing. Now, tweeting our thoughts is writing. Now, posting a status update is writing. Now, shooting a video message is writing. Now, instant messaging our friends is writing.
But we’re still carving. And that’s the key.
Because even if what we say sucks, even if nobody listens, even if we don’t think of what we’re doing as writing, end even if the world is too stubborn and close-minded to classify it as such, anytime we take a moment to render what’s in our hearts, we’re writing.
And once we grasp that concept, once we give ourselves permission to enter through the side door, the process become a lot less threatening and lot more fun.
HUSH is a design agency. They produce digital content and experiences that are unique in creating brand recognition for their clients.
I sat down with David Schwarz, one of the creative partners, and posed three crucial questions about belonging:
1. Good brands are bought, but great brands are joined. Why do you think your employees join yours?
Our team members are hand picked Renaissance thinkers and makers. They want to flex their brains in as many ways as possible. And it sounds cliché, but when people are able to affect a creative culture, this leads to great work. We’re over rock star talent. It’s more about who we want to trust our lives to. We’re interested in projects that we don’t know completely – where we’re learning something new. As a result, our clients trust us with the vision to do new things and take risks. This is where we work – on the fringes of new, places where everyone is always super excited but often super scared. 2. The great workplaces of the world have soul. What do you do to humanize your culture?
Workplaces can help a company’s soul, but only people can define it. At HUSH, employees operate in a place that already knows they’re smart and unique. When they walk in the door, they’re ready to work hard and move forward, even if they’re on their heels and in the midst of a steep learning curve. No machismo or bravado here, just the willingness to say, “I don’t know. Help me.”
3. Belonging is a basic human craving. How do you remind employees that they’ve found a home?
We let employees have their own aesthetic world, create, write, build and arrange the way they want. They make their own bed. They control their own music. And every week, we have meetings to show work from previous week – because sharing work across people and teams rounds out everyone’s perception of their own home. We don’t hand out gold stars, we just show great work – and we learn about each other as more than just a position or a project.
Thanks David!
Meet the HUSH team here.
Being young is no excuse for not delivering value.
What we lack in experience we make up in enthusiasm, by being the most energizing one around. What we lack in certainty we make up in curiosity, by asking the most disturbing questions around. What we lack in wisdom we make up in perspective, by making the best observations around. What we lack in velocity we make up in flexibility, by being the most patient one around. What we lack in knowledge we make up in savvyness, by being the most digitally proficient one around. And what we lack in history we make up in courage, by taking the most risks around.
This simple shift in posture is the smartest, easier and cheapest way to show the world we’re here to contribute, age notwithstanding.
Just because we’re young, doesn’t mean we’re useless.
We are defined by what we decline.
Especially in those moments when it would be easy to say yes to the quick buck, the quick win or the quick applause, the heroic response would be to respectfully and consciously reject anything that reeks of meh.
To decline the projects that involve uninspiring, unchallenging, unrisky and unrewarding work, no matter how many of our ego and financial needs they fulfill, because deep down, we know they’re only going to lead to more of the same meh work.
When we make this choice, we allow the door of opportunity to swing open.
That’s the sound of the world gasping.
We’ve exhausted entirely too much breath over vain pursuits like driving traffic, getting hits, gathering followers, increasing views, gaining exposure, accumulating likes and attaining celebrity.
And maybe I’m blessed with a broken sense of priorities, but doesn’t anybody want to change the world anymore? Are we so spellbound by the size of our own fire that we’ve forgotten to leave the campsite better than we found it?
It’s time to reunite our efforts with a higher order by asking bigger questions.
What are we mandated to cure? What are we on a mission to eradicate? What conversations are we going to restart? What cosmic injustices are we committed to fighting?
Sure beats going blind over blog analytics.
Opposites attract, but that doesn’t mean they stay together.
I spent several years with someone who, in many ways, was the mathematical opposite of me. Different attitude, different lifestyle, different goals, different everything. Which, admittedly, was kind of endearing at first. Our personalities seem to compliment each other nicely.
But as we got more serious, and as my friends started dropping more hints, I learned that what we lacked was a commonality of constitution. We might have listened to the same music, but there was still no overlap in value system. We might have enjoyed the same restaurants, but there was still no sublime connection.
When the time came to plan our future together, I knew there was something missing. I knew I couldn’t make her just like me, no matter how books I read. And I knew that if I didn’t make a move soon, cognitive dissonance would stick me into a corner that would be agonizing to escape.
So I ended it. Abruptly. As honestly, kindly and clearly as I could. And it wasn’t the smoothest breakup in the world, but it certainly wasn’t the bloodiest. I’ve seen worse.
About a year later, once the minefield had cleared, once I’d siphoned all the regret and pain and guilt out of my system, I made a decision.
Life’s too short to spend with someone who’s constitutionally incompatible.
Not everything needs to be understood.
That’s hard for a lot of us to understand.
Especially if we’re the kind of people who think, reflect, evaluate, replay and over analyze everything that happens to us, in an effort to make sense of our own existence.
But in the portfolio of life experience, whatever happens to us will always be a part of us.
The hard part is trusting that that alone is enough. Because even if we don’t comprehend certain experiences at the time – or at any time, for that matter – that doesn’t make them any less important to our lives. It all matters. It all changes us.
If we let it.
It’s okay to ask people to be there for us.
In those moments when the fury of the tempest leaves us tossed and tattered, we should never hesitate to call in the cavalry.
They love it. People want nothing more than the opportunity to show up for someone they care about. That’s why they became our friends in the first place. Not because we have the same shoe size, although that’s certainly a nice perk. Have you seen her fabulous red boots?
No, they’re our friends because they want us to call on them.
The human longing to be useful, to be asked, to be necessary to at least one other person in the world, runs deeper than anything. And when we rob people of the chance to hit their daily quota of usefulness, to validate their existence – if only for five minutes on the phone – we commit an act of selfishness.
But if we’re fortunate enough to have a savings account of human healing, we should never feel guilty about making a withdrawal request.
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