“Productivity is not peace. You’re never going to do enough for the doing to bring you peace.”
Ashley C. Ford said this in an interview with The Creative Independent a few years ago. She goes on to say that despite society telling us this is how we work, it really isn’t. Furthermore, it’s a mode that’s damn hard to break out of.
I’m reminded of this on a Sunday evening as I start to wind down… by first asking myself if I did enough to deserve it. And, I mean, here I am typing away at my computer so apparently the answer to that question was no.
One thing that helps me break out of not-enough-ness is asking different questions. Instead of asking, “Did I do enough?”, which is centered on doing, ask, “What can I enjoy?”, which is centered on being.
And with that, I’m off to my knitting.
My second pair of Hazelfern socks that I started in the park today! I’m using an Island Fibers merino and nylon blend that a friend sent me for my birthday.
We like to talk about the notion of better. Of doing better and being better and making better things.
We also like to talk about change. About making change and being the change.
What we forget is that both of these things are relational. Better than what. Change from what.
We are so enthralled by the notion of progress that we avoid stopping to name what we are progressing from.
But how can we fix an unnamed problem? How can we measure progress from an unidentified beginning?
We have to know where we’re starting. We have to know what we’re working with, right now.
If we want to forgive, we have to name what we are forgiving.
If we want to heal from something, we have to name what that something is.
If we want justice, we have to name all the ways in which the current systems are unjust.
It sounds simple. Obvious, even. But it’s amazing the ways in which we’ll contort ourselves to avoid the truth. The ways we’ll soften our language or omit parts of the story that our discomfort has deemed unrelated.
If we want change… we have to get clear on what we’re changing. We have to open the doors and pull everything out onto the floor before us. We have to name what we find. What we like and don’t like. What excites and what scares us. What we understand and what we don’t. And we have to be uncompromising about it.
We need to sit with what this brings up for us and realize that this, here, is also the work.
Then, with all the parts and our relationship to them before us, we act. All the while remembering that change isn’t a beauty contest. Change isn’t content to be made or a box to be checked or a prize to be won.
Change means having the humility to sit with what is.
Change means having the courage to name what you find.
Change means seeing things as they are, not as you hoped them to be.
“Everyone gets 24 hours of fresh attention, refilled daily.”
Seth Godin shared this in his blog post this morning and it was a welcome reminder. A reminder that each day we have the opportunity—the responsibility—to manage our bandwidth. A reminder that when we mess up (and wewill) we have a chance to begin again.
That said, what will you do with this day?
What will you say yes to? And, perhaps more importantly, what are you willing to say no to?
When we’re building something new we often get stuck on what to do next. In trying to find the next “right” action we’re paralyzed with inaction.
Here’s the thing. Often, at the beginning stages of a project, it doesn’t actually matter what you do next. Your job is to play and celebrate movement of any kind. One step forward, two steps back. Perhaps a side step or two. It’s all movement, and movement creates momentum.
So, if you’re stuck, focus less on figuring out what your next steps are and more on taking them.
Follow your curiosity. Make your best guess. And move.
How do you define work? What about rest? Are these activities, states of being? And how do you know when to move between them?
I’m not sure if you’ve hit the quarantine phase where you’re questioning, well, literally everything, but I sure have. In particular, I’m paying attention to my own personal rhythms and how I measure productivity.
Which is how I got on this work vs rest debate.
Here’s what I’ve got so far:
Work is… output, motion, acting on the known, and in service of others. It has some narrow, focused quality to it. It’s new creation.
Rest is…. input, stillness, surrender to the unknown, and in service of self. It is boundless and how we open ourselves up to what could be. It’s mindful consumption.
Work asks, “What can I do?”
Rest asks, “What can I enjoy?”
Both demand presence, compassion, and acceptance. Presence in this moment, compassion for where you find yourself, and acceptance of what is.
And both are needed, however you define them.
We live on a sine wave. We are not exempt from the rhythms of nature just because we’ve found ways to modify them.
It’s easier to show up when it’s off the record. When it’s just you talking to a friend or chatting over the fence with your neighbour. Most of our conversations aren’t recorded and stored forever (well, at least we don’t think they are), and our communication style reflects that.
If we think we’re being recorded, we act accordingly. Our posture shifts. We start to edit ourselves.
Evan Spiegel, the founder of Snapchat (one of the few social platforms built on ephemerality), gave a great interview on this. He talks about creating a social network where it doesn’t feel like we’re performing, because when we think we’re on stage we actually narrow the range of emotion that we communicate with.
Something to think about for those of us who lead online communities. How does the tech you use modify your audience’s behaviour? How does it modify yours? How does this impact the values and interests of the collective?
Metrics direct behaviour. If you remove the metrics of success that don’t serve your mission (such as likes or views) perhaps people would show up more like you want them to—more like themselves.
You know how they say more money won’t solve your problems, it’ll just make you more of who you already are?
It’s the same with advertising. Before you throw money behind your business or product, ask yourself what you’re paying to amplify.
Getting more eyeballs isn’t going to improve your customer’s experience. It’s not going to make your service easier to use or your onboarding any less painful. It’s not going to make people like your product more, it’s going to make it extremely obvious what people don’t like.
Attention doesn’t equal customers, and it certainly doesn’t equal retention.
Before you pay for visibility, ask yourself if more eyeballs will measurably solve your problem. Ask yourself if you’re proud of what you’re calling people over to look at.