When I have a headache, I take aspirin.

Thirty minutes later, the pain usually goes away.
But when my mind starts going to dark places, conjuring up horrible thoughts that are far too ugly and desperate and destructive to be okay with me, I snap out of myself like a werewolf turning back into a man and wonder, jesus christ, did I really just think that?
Yes, yes I did.
In these moments, I try to suspend judgment. I try to have compassion for the bewildering mental lows I am capable of. And I try to tolerate and survive my difficult thoughts, as opposed quarantining them out of existence.
It’s okay.
Whatever happens solely inside my mind is not cause for moral alarm.
These thoughts don’t make me a bad person, they just make me a person.

Dogs can teach us a lot about motivation.

I’m reminded of my favorite commercial of all time:

Bacon! Bacon! Where’s the bacon? I smell bacon. It’s gotta be bacon. There’s only one thing in the world that smells like bacon and that’s bacon! There it is! It’s in the bag! Chewy, yummy smokey bacon! Oh boy oh boy oh boy, num num num num num, it’s bacoooooooon!

That’s motivation.

And what’s interesting is, human beings have their own version of this moment. Each one of us has a collection of currencies that, when sniffed out, override our excuses, tap into our natural motivations and drive us to do things we don’t want to do.

I have a client who’s obsessed with personal improvement. As a recovering academic and a higher education advocate, learning isn’t just what she does, it’s who she is. She even warns the people she works with, if you want to get me to do anything, I better be learning something new.

Learning is her bacon.

If you want to uncover yours, plug yourself into the following statements:

I can rationalize anything, as long as it has something to do with blank.
I can feel like I’ve achieved a return on investment, as long as blank.I can trick myself executing something, but only if I get the chance to blank.I can accomplish anything, as long as the organizing principle of blank is installed.I can do things that I don’t want to do, providing blankcan be a part of it.I can stick with a new behavior, as long as I can find a way to incorporate blank.

That’s your bacon.

The one thing that freezes time and makes your left eyelid twitch and taps into your deepest cravings and human hungers.

Find that, and you’ll unlock your ability to motivate yourself.

Being prolific doesn’t mean doing everything fast.
In fact, when it comes to the principal act of writing, that is, physically putting words on a blank page, I actually work quite slowly. Which seems unlikely, considering I’ve published two books per year, every year, for the last decade.

But you have to understand, writing is only one step of the creative process.

Before showing up at the page, there’s a mountain of journaling and researching and ritualizing and gathering inspiration and taking notes and organizing material to be done. And after showing up at the page, there’s a second mountain of editing and formatting and architecting and managing and publishing and marketing to be done.

Now, those activities, I do execute quickly. Because they’re peripheral steps in the creative process, where it’s more about speed and less about skill. Where velocity doesn’t degrade value.
Photographers know all about this distinction.
According to the landmark study by the International Society of Professional Wedding Photographers, after editing, designing, bookkeeping, going to meetings, communicating with clients, marketing, networking, equipment setup, technical maintenance and working in photo labs, only about twelve percent of the photographer’s time is actually spent taking pictures.
Twelve percent.
No wonder they take their time.
Shooting is their principal work unit.
And that’s something that should never be rushed.
But as for everything else in the creative process, if you want to achieve artistic prolificacy, put the pedal to the medal. 

I’m an identity junkie.
Few things fascinate me more than the formation, nuance, complexity and absurdity of why people are the way they are.
But something I’ve recently realized is, identity is a luxury item.
Not everyone is lucky enough to become who they are.
There are several variables, most of which are based on pure chance, that keep people’s true identities from being known to the world:
There’s the issue of history. You have to be born at a point in time where your natural talents match the available opportunities. Otherwise, the person you are won’t get a chance to blossom to its full capacity.
There’s the issue of environment. You have to be surrounded by people who encourage you to trust yourself and carve your own path. Otherwise, you’ll end up wearing a false self that hides you true nature.
There’s the issue of resources. You have to possess the means that enable the experiences that expose you to your core self. Otherwise, you’ll never plug in where you’ve been gifted to fit.
There’s the issue of exploration. You have to actively seek out what is your own, beyond what you’ve been taught. Otherwise, you’ll never find new, meaningful facets to add to your identity.
There’s the issue of introspection. You have value paying attention to the voices and forces within you. Otherwise, you’ll conform to the tastes of others, slowly losing parts of yourself that you can never get back.
It breaks my heart.
Everyone deserves to become who they are.

Who knew identity was such a blessing?

I have a confusing relationship with talent.
As a romantic, when I encounter someone so haunted by talent that I can barely look away from her, a once in a lifetime artist who makes me think, whoa, the world cannot be deprived of this person’s magic, I just want to run up and hug her until every drop of talent comes oozing out of her nose for all the world to see.
And that warms my heart.
As a realist, I know that millions of talented people will never become as successful and happy as they could be, because they literally won’t have the time to take their talents on the ride they deserve. Somebody could be the most brilliant illustrator on the planet, but if they spend the majority of their waking life waiting tables just to pay the bills, there simply won’t be enough hours in the day for them to develop, market and leverage their talents.
And that breaks my heart.
As researcher, I know there are always exceptions. We’ve all heard the mythologyabout the single mother on welfare who had a full time job and still managed to write the greatest fantasy novel series of all time. We’ve all heard about the systems for buildingportable creative environments, foldingtime and threadingour talents together. And we’ve all heard the puristsproclaim that talent is finally king because distribution is free.
And that inspires my heart.
But ultimately, I’m still confused when it comes to talent.
Which part of ourselves are we supposed to listen to?

In times of misery, our tendency is to try and outrun the pain.
To do some emotional jujitsu on ourselves, sidestepping whatever inner conflict bubbles up so we can move on before any of the punches land.

On the other hand, it’s also worthwhile to let everything register.
To sit with the mental waves as they come crashing in, trusting that we’re at the threshold of something important, and we should pay attention and keep going and run the extra mile just to find out how the story ends.
Because the benefit of misery is, it gives us window into our values.

And we all need help remembering who we are.

I don’t do moderation.
Commitment is my sword.
And I wield it on a daily basis to slay whatever dragons cross my path.
Recently, my clients and readers have been asking me a lot of questions about the relationship between commitment and creativity. And although I’ve already written extensively on topics like stick-to-itiveness and playing for keeps and treating commitment as a technique, there’s still another facet of this philosophy that’s worth exploring.
I’m reminded of one of my favorite books, The Art of Looking Sideways. Famed visual designer Alan Fletcher stated, “The first move in any creative process is to introduce constraints.”
For me, that constraint is commitment. And it sets me free creatively.
Here’s how:
Commitment is freedom from quality. When you’ve committed to doing something everyday, there’s no stress about being perfect or right or even good. Because you’re just going to be back tomorrow. Today, it’s about focusing on quantity and continuity, trusting that everything else will take care of itself.
Commitment is freedom from choice. When you’ve committed to doing something everyday, there’s no wasting brain cells trying to figure out what to do. Because you’ve already made your own decision and met your own standards. Today, it’s about getting on with your life and getting to work.
Commitment is freedom from results. When you’ve committed to doing something everyday, there’s no finish line in sight. Because you’re not playing to win, you’re playing to keep the game going. Today, it’s about the journey, not the destination, which allows you to be fully present with the activity at hand.
Commitment is freedom from inhibition. When you’ve committed to doing something everyday, there’s no limitations on taking shots and missing. Because you’re just going zero out your board when you play tomorrow anyway. Today, it’s about suiting up, hanging your balls out there and hitting it with all you’ve got.
Commitment is freedom from pressure. When you’ve committed to doing something everyday, there’s no need to put all your eggs in one basket. Because you’re distributing your effort into small, consistent, doable increments. Today, it’s about the daily practice, not the big game at the end of the season.
Commitment is freedom from focus. When you’ve committed to doing something everyday, the daily measure of time and consistency builds compounding interest. Because you’ve established a gentle flow that obfuscates procrastination. Today, it’s about cadence and rhythm and momentum.
That’s my sword. The constraint that sets me free.
What’s yours?

The element of surprise is an asset.
Regardless of what kind of work you do, becoming a master of the unexpected will take you far in life.
I’m reminded of my favorite scene in The Devil’s Advocate, when Al Pacino reveals his litigation philosophy to apprentice lawyer, Keanu Reeves:
“I’m a surprise, Kevin. The jury, the witnesses, and opposing council, they don’t see me coming. And that’s why I win. I’m the hand up Mona Lisa’s skirt.”
The question is, why does the unexpected work so well?
Because the human brain loves surprises.
When something breaks our patterns, violates our expectations or upsets our schemas, there’s a biological response. Surprise sets off a chemical reaction that triggers alertness, snaps our brain to attention and sears the moment into our memories.
“No way. Get outta here! Are you serious? He didn’t.”
Did you know there’s actually a name for these exclamations?
They’re called reaction tokens. The American Sociological Association ran a study that defined the expression of surprise as “an eruption or leakage of internal, individual, physiological or psychological states.”
Which makes total sense, considering the word surprise derives from the verb surprendre, or, “overcome with emotion.”
And what’s interesting is, the brain isn’t the only body part involved.
Our mouths and fingers have a reaction to surprise as well.
Because of our native programming, once the surprising moment comes and goes, there’s an innate human urge to pass along the story about what surprised us. We can’t help ourselves. Humans are hardwired as social creatures. Storytelling is the glue that holds our communities together. And to share is to belong.
Ultimately, if we want to become known for a unique way of interacting with the world, being unexpected is a great place to start.
Because surprise isn’t just an interesting story, it’s an interactional achievement.

Sentences are my spiritual currency. 

Throughout my week, I’m constantly scouring and learning and reading and inhaling and annotating from any number of newspapers, blogs, online publications, books, articles, songs, art pieces, podcasts, eavesdroppings, random conversations and other sources of inspiration.
Turns out, most of these sentences can be organized into about eleven different categories, aka, compartments of life that are meaningful to me. And since I enjoy being a signal tower of things that are interesting, I figured, why not share them on a regular basis?
In the spirit of “learning in public,” I’ve decided to publish a weekly digest of my top findings, along with their respective links or reference points. Sentence junkies of the world unite!
Creativity, Innovation & Art 
“They might not agree with you, but they like how you got there,” from an interview with George Carlin.

Culture, Humanity & Society “No one goes there imagining how they can contribute to the city, people go to there to get their picture taken with the city in the background,” from Moby.
Identity, Self & Soul “You, less than, is a lie,” from Pam Slim’s new book.

Lyrics, Poetry & Passages 
“Everybody who is honest is interesting,” from Stefan Sagmeister.

Meaning, Mystery & Being 
“Happiness spreads up to three degrees of separation from us,” from Emma Seppala.

Media, Technology & Design 
“Is there a new behavior here that you can see one hundred million people doing?” from Business Insider.

Nature, Health & Science 
“Nature does not depend on us, we are not the only experiment.,” from Trimtab.

People, Relationships & Love 
“People are looking for proof that you can be amazing so that they can be amazing, too,” from The Flinch.

Psychology, Thinking & Feeling
“A relentless willingness to root out the ways we limit or deceive ourselves from seeing what is,” from The Fifth Discipline.

Success, Life & Career“All the bullshit that pulls us away from what we’re trying to do, that’s the villain,” from Steven Pressfield.

Work, Business & Organizations
“No business model remains intact past the first customer interaction,” from Hugh’s new book.

See you next week!

You’re not here to be helpful addition.
The goal is to get woven into the organization fabric.
To be a stand for other people’s greatness. To be a fixture they can build something around. To be a solid foundation with deep roots, from which dozen of other branches can sprout and flourish and seed the rest of the landscape.
And if that’s going to happen, you have to bring something brand new to life. You have to create something from whole cloth and deliver in a way that the organization would be happy to have repeated.
When I worked at a digital marketing agency, I created and operationalized an accelerated strategic framework called thinkmapping. The process combined research, storytelling and visual design and turned it into a platform for sharing ideas and observations and insights with clients.
But over time, thinkmapping evolved into more than just a whiteboard experience, it became part of our brand click for more. Something we were known for. Not just a social object, but a communication ritual. A winning presentation style that expanded our ability to engage our audience. And a key deliverable in our client strategy process.
I was now woven into the organizational fabric.
Mission accomplished.
Are you someone we can build something around?