the story is in the telling

Just.

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@smnyc

This typography took about 6 minutes. And 23 years.

Funny thing about this word…

We use it to imply “merely” when what we really mean is just the opposite.

“Can you just tweak this design?”
“Can you just re-write this page?”
“Can you just tell us what’s missing?”

Here’s how I see it. If you are the one doing the asking, then it’s not “just” something. It’s actually “the” something that is most important to you; it’s the one thing you want me/us/them to do fix/consult/improve… because it matters and because you want it done by someone who knows how best.

If you are the one being asked, you may recognize the dynamic and share this perspective. To “just” offer digital strategy, or “just” eyeball the numbers or “just” whip up the design is only possible because of hard-earned experience. In our world, “just” ignores the hours in the trenches it took to get here. This word also may also trigger the alarm bells of someone who wants to justify asking for lower fees or who expects a quicker turnaround. This could be true for an artist, instructor, writer, creative director, contractor, service provider- -or anyone who does something you can’t do, and who makes it look easy because it’s their 1,000th rodeo.

I’m not saying I don’t make this mistake on the regular — I forget or overlook the minimizing effects this can produce, too. But I try to stop myself from using “just” in front of a favor or project I need someone to do for me knowing the effect it can have on me. Assuming to know how long something really takes relies on guesswork. And even if I’m right and it takes them less than 10 minutes, the only reason that’s true is because they’re really good and very experienced at doing what they do.

Not trying to nitpick. But a little awareness to an oft-misguided presumption that shows up in what are otherwise earnest communications will hopefully allow more good deeds to be done. Language that implies appreciation for the importance of a service goes a lot farther than unwittingly minimizing (and thus diminishing) another person’s talent at it.

I have found that the best requests express the assumption that we actually have no idea what goes into making “it” happen for someone else…and our best shot and getting what we need is acknowledging that.

Just sayin’.

Unfollow.

·

There's discipline in intentional limitations.

Might we glean something from this dreaded word, and might I possibly be the last person to come to this seemingly obvious conclusion? Forgive me in advance if you’re miles ahead.

In a conversation with one of my favorite clients recently, when I shared my own (common/clichéd/sadly normal) conflict around certain feeds on Instagram, he told me this:

“You’re not alone. I just unfollowed everyone I know so that I can exclusively follow the people who truly inspire me.”

What a novel idea! (first thought.)
What if I offend them? (second thought.)
What if they don’t even notice? (third / but not final thought.)

And later, in the post-conversation-mental-marinade, the justification cycle went something like this:

But I follow them to know what they’re doing, because it’s part of my job to be aware and connected to the marketplace, to observe influencers, and because my peer group follows them, and because they like my stuff so I should like their stuff, and because 40k other people follow them so…maybe I should too…and so on.

Really?
Really.

Lately, I’ve found myself flattened more than inspired, after looking at Instagram. And, the data says there are a lot of us. While I love posting and sharing with my own followers, because it feels warm and cozy, I feel unprepared with what sometimes reaches out from the screen and slaps me around a little — messages that annoy and provoke and then linger like a low-grade fever. Certainly not a crisis or even a curveball, they are much more a commentary about what provokes feelings I don’t deem worthy than of any wrongdoing by anyone else.

Logic would have it that if something feels bad, it is bad. But that ain’t Insta. With inspiration, connection and beauty can sometimes come addiction, bitterness, and envy. It is a platform that shines at presenting one (gorgeous) version of everyday reality. While it doesn’t take much time relative to the course of a day or week, the focus that it does pull seems out of whack with my priorities. It beckons me to questionable places — unproductive lines of dialogue that would otherwise never start.

So why do I/we persist?
Because the world does it?
Because the dopamine outweighs the depression?

We’ve become a little bit enamored with knowing what’s up with other people. It’s fun. It’s voyeuristic. It can be awesome sometimes.

One route is to unfollow, assuming you have the willpower to do it. But even if you can check that box, this platform remains a fixture for most of us because the good outweighs the bad. It calls for resolution, one way or the other.

As for me, I’ve reframed the Insta visual playground and am #following the Marie Kondo approach to social media in general:

Edit feed.
Limit time.
Ask myself…

Is there joy? If not = “unfollow.”

Zerrissenheit.

·

When how it is says everything about how it isn’t.
When clarity obscures, and you can’t see the way.
When even the angst… has angst.

Zerrissenheit (German): Disunity, inner turmoil. Strife.

Whether a feeling is founded or not, useful or not, inner turmoil wreaks havoc. In the moment, the feeling is real, even if it conflicts with our sense of our highest selves, or even with the facts of a situation. It can be hard to rescue yourself.

When deeper worries come up in my own life, and so many of us are plagued with them lately, I’m surprised at how quickly and efficiently fear moves in to take over. The “what if’s” are catastrophic; the possibilities, dark and foreboding. While my exterior remains calm, inside I wonder where all these years of meditation, contemplation, belief…have gone. Shouldn’t I know how to not fall apart like this…by now?! (Read with all the judgment that question intends.)

But what I’ve noticed in myself (and others) is that while a kernel of faith or a regular practice of some type is the long game, it’s not usually what pulls me out of the dark in those moments riddled with acute anxiety. More often, the lifeline that appears in the most immediate sense is a wise being in my midst.

She says something like…

“Yes.
Same here.
I know.
And…”

From here, the path tends to open up — a little light comes in. It’s usually just enough to start to see daylight in what can feel like a narrow hallway with walls closing in.

It isn’t a sign of failure that a long-held faith or other innate wisdom has failed. I can sometimes have a punishing view of this — as in — these are the moments where resilience should appear! Where is that ‘knowing’ when I need it most?

Rather, the embodiment of just the right voice at just the right time can be a living reminder of the potency of genuine human intervention — and a messenger from the very energetic force you’d hoped to tap within. Just because it isn’t coming from you, doesn’t mean it isn’t present.

We’ve all been there.
And will be there again.
Sometimes you’re the wise one; others the lost.

Being one… does not preclude being the other.
Most of us are both.

 

Malls.

·

By Hors Limites Architecture and interior designers Francesca Errico and Olivier Delannoy.

Daroco Restaurant, Paris.

My brother-in-law recently came clean at a family gathering that despite his otherwise frugal sensibilities, he is no longer willing to settle for random hotels when he travels (which is often). He finally acknowledged how important a role the room and vibe of a place play in his overall mood and ability to feel sane, happy, inspired — or in other words, himself. 

It’s so true. I feel the same way when I travel, but what disturbs me more are the character-free experiences that I regularly encounter in my backyard. Arguably, in some molecular way, they’re part of the fabric of my life — not something I can swipe past on my HotelTonight app.

It got me thinking. How much does environment affect our mental health — even for short exposures? What about productivity? And, how do we overcome places and spaces that depress us…particularly if you’re in the habit (and business) of enhancing experience/making places and things better/more beautiful/thoughtful/engaging?

I was always taught that it’s not where you are but how you are. I still believe this. But sterile, cookie cutter or otherwise drab spaces make this downright challenging. The nondescript is also a reality. Not every coffee shop can be transformational. Not every conference room can inspire big thinking. Not every errand can be done at an architecturally significant indoor/outdoor retail utopia.

In my own life, I find that when I go to a particular mall, indoor sports facility or big box store – all located on an especially sad stretch of commerce about 10 miles from my house – it creates an acute (but thankfully temporary) mental hiccup. From the moment natural light disappears, I start to panic. I don’t know what it is about those fluorescent lights, industrial carpets and endless gray-beige palettes that seize me, but there’s almost a fear of getting trapped, lost, or worse, that it somehow defines me. It ignites an unfortunate interior dialogue that goes something like this:

Is this (really) my life? What have I done with myself? Am I a suburban shopper? Is this my punishment for leaving the city? Who are these people? What does anything mean? Is that mirror accurate? Should I trade my jeans for more forgiving softpants? Should I buy a beanbag chair? (Answer — no).

Why does being held (voluntarily) hostage inside certain walls scream intervention? I’m guessing it has something to do with the environment being an extension of personal values — and circumstances playing into our idea of ourselves and who we most want to be. This is one thought, but a place can impact people in less obvious ways, too.

My daughter shared that a certain friends’ house makes her anxious and sad (it’s dark, cluttered and often chaotic). Her comment was “I don’t feel like they want me there.” 

Isn’t it interesting how the environment has the ability to create and perpetuate a narrative. Sometimes it’s hard to say why the “ick” feeling appears. I always want to think I’m stronger than any “place” — I mean look at Mandela! But if I’m honest, I’ve been happier in a remote village in India sleeping on a prison cot than at a Footlocker in a strip mall. It doesn’t always make sense.

Is there a place that gets to you? Where you don’t recognize yourself? Where your compass points anywhere but here? And is there a way you could turn it around — and take it back in some useful way?

I think design is the antidote to depression, fatigue, sadness and lots of other maladies. But life doesn’t happen inside a Zaha Hadid ecosystem operated by Soho House.

I’m learning to design those spaces inside myself, as a result of living in a bucolic seaside village that occasionally renders me mall-bound. Having a good sense of humor about what other people consider “designed” is also helpful.

I’ll count this operation as a success once I can swap Chipotle for my favorite spot in Paris, above. Thurs far, it’s still just #goals.

Eggshells.

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Fragile: delicate, vulnerable. Not strong or sturdy.

It’s hard to fully be yourself in any meaningful relationship when you have to be too careful – when there is even the slightest sensation of eggshells underfoot. Filtering oneself, whatever the degree, is not without cost. What I have noticed though is that eggshells are hard to spot in certain relationships. Crisis has a way of pointing out what couldn’t be seen before.

I once had a friend, a good friend, and business colleague, who played a huge role in my professional development. She brought me into opportunities that would shape my career and life, and over time became a big part of my day-to-day. But as much as I appreciated her support and promotion of my work, she was also unpredictable, emotionally erratic and had a fierce temper.

I learned to live with those edges because I cared about her, felt I owed her, and, logistically speaking, she was enmeshed in multiple aspects of my life. I chose my words carefully and handled myself with caution around her, and it became a dance I perfected. It was only years later that I began to see how much work all the tip-toeing and mind reading took. It’s hard to see the web you’re in when you’re in it. Now I know I was in a constant state of encouraging, soothing, reassuring or dodging bullets –  and it was exhausting.

One day she lobbed a ‘grenade’ over the fence…not only landing on me but on a lot of people in her orbit. It was the direct offensive that finally put the relationship into clear focus for me. Her outburst caused hurt feelings, professional setbacks and general bewilderment all around.

Her extreme actions allowed me to get “out” of a toxic situation, one that had long felt suffocating and fragile, without having to have a conversation. But I had no idea how deeply the dynamic impacted me until one day it was no longer there. I felt lighter and relieved.

I could have had the conversation, drawn the boundary or taken some proactive steps to address the issues more honestly, of course, but it really wasn’t until it was gone that I realized how much I was holding back. I’m not asserting that my approach is in any way evolved, but I do recognize the (very) human need to overlook behavior to save feelings.

Eggshells can cause a version of ourselves to emerge that we don’t much like, that could even feel tense/fake/compromised. I couldn’t see how much I adapted around her until I didn’t have to.

They also exist to signal landmines, even when we don’t know where those explosives are located. We fear stepping on them, at any time, anywhere, and as a result, move toward what feels like a safer trajectory. But in survival mode, we also lose something. Is it genuine expression? Is it truthfulness? Is it an ability to just be ourselves? Is it the opposite of intimacy — in the form of distance and protection?

There’s a difference between being sensitive, considerate and compassionate, and constantly worrying that you’ve ignited or wounded a person in some way. Worse is living in constant anticipation of it.

Knowing that difference can be a guide to the relationships we both cultivate and avoid. And to what we can no longer stand.

Funny thing about an eggshell — you can only remove one — with one.

If this metaphor is lost on you, what I mean is this… difficult relationships often require equally difficult conversations to effectuate change. And challenging dynamics are often only disrupted vis a vis a challenging incident that seems unwanted at first glance, but may be the straw that breaks the camel’s back…or pattern, in this case.

Empathy doesn’t feel exhausting.
Perpetual restraint…does.

Hold.

·

Franklin Park Theater, "Rashomon" 1950, Boston, 2015A, Hiroshi Sugimoto.

Great ideas are tempted by empty stages.

When we hear the popularized term “holding space,” more often than not, it relates to something in the metaphysical sphere. But lately, when I apply the principle more literally, it offers interesting relevance in the real world. It’s especially true when conditions need to change, or the shape of something seems to be asking to evolve into its next incarnation, but I don’t know what to “do” about it.

On most Tuesday mornings, I take part in a morning dance rave at a nearby studio. It’s not a popular offering (yet) and, truth be told, at times I’ve been one of only two people in attendance.

I love the freedom, the darkness, the fact that despite the low headcount, the studio owner still gets up early to host it. Through this weekly event, she and I are both holding space, but in different ways:

She, by opening the doors, putting it on the schedule, turning on the music and turning down the lights; Me, by planning for it, and then showing up.

Taking it one step further, we’re both betting that something good will come from an open-ended question of sorts. With no agenda, only intention, it allows for answers, downloads and insights; about what, we don’t know ‘till we do it.  But it does require some trust and an adjustment of traditional expectations.
If I expected a crowded, mind-bending Burning Man experience that opened the door on a new quantum universe, I might be disappointed. If she expected a packed house and commensurate fees, she’d be equally bummed.

Because we’ve all been there.

You plan, you craft –  roll up your sleeves on a project, service, piece of work — and the applause is light at best, or at worst, inaudible.  Maybe you can point to a variety of reasons why, or not, but the takeaway is the same; zero bodies, dollars, likes, ROI…and seemingly little progress.

But…that’s what’s great about holding space for a thing; It’s an approach that takes time and practice, more than strategy and tactics. It’s adjacent to uncovering the answer, and less direct. But it’s surprisingly effective when you have that luxury to do it.

Taken further, I’m thinking of the people or circumstances you want to enter your life, the new energy, the answer, the opportunity — the right dynamic. Sometimes, all you can do is make room in your mind and schedule for those things to make an entrance – because nothing else seems right / clear / possible. You can take all the proscribed steps as well, and should. But just as meditation is often an exercise in not doing something, holding space is being there with intention and attention to see…what unfolds.

When we “hold”, we invite potential.
There’s stillness in it — that ironically, instigates movement.
It’s not proscriptive or instructed. It requires getting body and mind in one place – off-device, on-alert.

I don’t go into my dance rave asking for ideas, but the very act of free movement, with no teacher, no program or method, invites a certain cascade of thoughts that can form something worthwhile. I can’t predict it nor do I look for it.

It’s a parenthesis — with nothing inside (yet.)

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About Me

photo of Amy Swift Crosby

I’m a brand strategist and copy writer. I mostly work with partner agencies or directly with the leadership or founding team at a brand. My primary mission is to connect design and messaging solutions to business missions. I work with start-ups and Fortune 500 companies, across beauty, hospitality, wellness/fitness, CPG and retail. This blog reflects my personal writing and explores our humanity – often as it relates to work, space, time and language. You can review my portfolio here or connect with me here.

Photo - Andrew Stiles

The Brandsmiths Podcast



Brand Strategists Hilary Laffer and Amy Swift Crosby tackle business questions with candid, (mostly) serious and definitely unscripted workshopping sessions. Guests – from small business owners to CEOs, executive directors and founders – bring their head-scratchers, hunches and conundrums to Hilary, the owner of a boutique creative agency in Los Angeles, and Amy, a copy writer.

 

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