Amy Swift Crosby

In work and life, when we think of limitations, we tend to think of them as a bad thing. At the same time, constraints also serve a purpose — and can be the impetus for actually getting something done.

More often than not, creative types appreciate knowing what’s not possible, so they can create within known parameters. Just as kids don’t ask for boundaries, but thrive within them, projects – in my experience – succeed when the walls, whether they be budget, audience or format, are known at the outset.

I recently attended a talk and book signing by the amusing, fantastic, handsome and eternally witty John Hodgman (Vacationland). During the Q&A, someone in the audience asked for advice on how to keep writing now that he was out of college and working in a bank (adorable). All the writers in the room of course knew the answer before he finished his sentence, but John said what we were all thinking:

“Create an artificial deadline. And then keep it.”

I find my own writing to be best served by a deadline because I know what I’m pushing up against. Even this blog has a self-imposed hard stop. My fantasy is that readers will be up in arms if it doesn’t show up in their inbox with regularity. But riot aside, I know that if I don’t publish once a week, I feel adrift. Writing helps me know what I think. So without it, I feel a loss. The fake deadline benefits from knowing how these stakes affect you.

The open road — as you may have discovered if you’ve ever tried to create/write/build something from scratch –  can be a paralyzing place. While I think it’s worth exploring, even a few decisions about what that thing is not going to be is immeasurably helpful in shaping what it is going to be.

It may come as a surprise, but I actually love responding to a creative brief; writing someone else’s speech, taking over a brand’s Instagram feed, channeling a founder’s voice, or even helping to craft an application to kindergarten as a favor to a nervous, non-writer parent. Why? Because it’s responsive. I know the job ahead of me. Copy writers are pro’s at becoming other people and in some ways, are professional channeler’s.

But there’s a sweet spot.

When the writing assignment looms too large, I do nothing.
When it seems too small, it feels transactional, constricting, and less sexy.

The perfect (personal) project has a wide enough berth for me to be expressive and brave, but enough of a guard rail to keep me from going off the road.

Manufacturing this magical highway, when it’s not mandated, is the work.

A long one today, friends.
Stay with me.

I’m worried about…
“The future is female.”

We saw this on handmade signs, bumper stickers and in many of the optics surrounding the women’s march and post-election speech. Now, it’s grown into an active hashtag across social media, whenever anyone wants to promote a women’s issue/business/perspective or vibe. It has become shorthand for “this is a woman thing.”

It gave me pause then… and still does.

I remember the moment I saw it on the t-shirt worn by a little boy. His mom was holding him and I wondered if and how she explained that message to him, and…what might he think when he’s old enough to know what it means?

I’m pretty sure I know what we/they are trying to say, which is, “the future includes more womens’ voices – at the top — and everywhere.” Yes! But words are a big part of my world, and the world, and a slogan such as this isn’t actually saying what it needs to say.

It reminds me of a typical advertising device. Marketers will often go with a tagline or message because its alliterative, more than it is effective, because it sounds good. It might seem like it works, but upon closer examination…it doesn’t actually say much.

Sure “The future is female” has a good ring to it.

But do any of us want to live in a world dominated by one gender? Isn’t that what we have now?

Ironically, I think this future female rallying cry reflects a relevant blind spot.

For movements to create impact and change, they often have to swing much further into one direction, only to be able to land somewhere in the middle. I would never diminish the bravery and hard work of the activists who led us to where we are in 2017. But I wonder, with all that is in the news cycle right now, if the narrative is inadvertently creating a similarly binary conversation — and vilifying men — while ceremoniously vindicating (all) women.

The future is (hopefully) a safe place for everyone — a girl who wants to be a boy, a boy who doesn’t identify with either male or female, a girl who has to summon the courage to say “stop, this isn’t right” and a boy who wants to tell his dad that something happened — but he’s too ashamed to say it.

Could it be that what we really mean is that the future is a place where all voices are represented?

As long as we continue to create dynamics that pit one group over another, where one matters more, gets more air time, dominates an industry… we will have the oppressed and the oppressors.

Historically, we’ve accepted two options, which is why it’s hard to see past this right now:

Black / white.
Republican / democrat.
Up / down.
Male / female.
Rich / poor.

If we discount men, we undermine our ability to build a better future with men (and anyone who doesn’t identify with female). Men (news flash) are an essential part of our world.

Some men have created great pain and suffering.

Some women have been the victims, and will be forever changed by their experience.

And even more people have been silenced for their inconvenient truths.

When we talk about empowerment, and bringing more women into positions of leadership, across every industry and governmental branch, let’s also remember that most men (who were once someone’s little boy) can hear us — and must hear us. So let’s say something that shows them what our experience and leadership looks like.

It’s not binary.
It’s inclusive.
It’s not me over you.
It’s us.

Maybe a better slogan would be “the future is equal.”

As a copywriter, I can’t say it’s as viral.

But as a person, I think it says more about our shared vision.

To see Jodie Patterson’s TedX Talk about raising her transgender child Penelope, click here.

A very dear friend recently revealed an inappropriate encounter she had with a well-known Hollywood agent in a New York Times article. In the piece, she recounted that after the “incident” itself, she attended a party at the offender’s home the next day. This fact alone, the agent’s lawyer argued, implied that the encounter was “consensual.”

This conclusion misses The. Entire. Point (conveniently.)

What our culture has yet to understand is the length that women go to, to make others feel at ease, to reassure… to convince ourselves (as much as the other) that there’s “no problem here.” We sacrifice our own integrity, our voices and even our safety to avoid confrontation or cause upset. We protect the reputations or feelings of those who may have a lot to lose by hearing our truth.

These revelations of predatory, offensive behavior and work environments that condoned it are just the beginning. And my prediction is that we will soon hear from many women in many industries with similar experiences of sexual harassment. But there is something else I hope this consciousness shift will accomplish, even beyond the current (and much needed), sexual nature of the conversation.

It’s time to stop worrying that we’ll make someone uncomfortable.

We accommodate, so often, because it too disruptive or embarrassing to do or say the thing that needs to be said. We take one for the team, because maybe that’s just easier. We’re strong. We can live with it. It’s not that bad. “I’ll go to his party/return the call/nod and smile… so they don’t think I’m upset. I’ll just make it okay.” Or with other women, “She has it worse than I do. I won’t rock the boat. If she does it again, I’ll say something.”

But at what cost? It does cost something.

The truth is disruptive. It’s not cozy, safe or comforting.

The author Liz Gilbert recently told me (and 200 other women), to “start knowing.” It was in the context of asking permission, and resisting what we know we already know — but refuse to own.

It’s a big ask, because knowing can also mean taking on more responsibility, having to take action, or exposing what scares us.

A few days ago, standing in line for ice cream, a very large man stepped in front of three of us – my young daughter, a teenage girl who was in front of us, and me. As he stood there for a few minutes, I realized that he had cut the line — perhaps without realizing — although it couldn’t have been more obvious. The teenager looked uncomfortable, and my daughter questioned how he could do that.

“Excuse me, sir. The line starts back there,” I said.

He shuffled behind us, mumbling something under his breath, but the teenage girl looked at me and said, “thank you for saying something.”  It was at that moment that I experienced a shift. The smallest acts of knowing, of using our voices, of encouraging others to speak up over even the smallest, most transactional infraction is worthwhile. What so many of us might think of  as inconsequential — just an everyday exchange — is actually the practice it takes for those watching to prepare for what lies ahead.

We have to show ourselves, and our children, what it looks like…to know.

There’s a big difference between…
Writing a book and publishing a blog post.
Running a 5k and finishing a marathon.
Climbing Kilimanjaro and taking a day trip up Mt. Washington.
 
Our world has become ever more crowded with ambitions of every sort, with social feeds detailing the enviable evidence of our friends’ (and their friends’) milestone feats — that it can sometimes have a defeating effect. “I’d have to train for months…to have a big idea…to quit my job…I’ll do it next year…I’d need a partner.”
 
In an evolutionary world, it only makes sense that people are doing more and bigger stuff all the time, right? The minute one person does anything — much less better, faster, or longer – 20 more succeed in breaking those barriers.
 
But big accomplishments are few and far between. They’re promises worth keeping to ourselves, without question — but to overlook smaller dreams — or dismiss them as a distraction, unimportant or trivial –  is to miss accessible opportunities to make meaningful dreams come true.
 
Indulge me on this one.

I recently set my sights on learning Michael Jackson’s Thriller dance in two weeks. This was not without sacrifice. Over the course of my 14-day mission, I set aside some important work, made less interesting dinners, commuted in rush hour traffic, and dropped one ball in the form of a missed meeting. But…it was a short-term goal that felt semi-realistic, and that meant I finally (kind of) felt like a legendary pop star who I must have watched on MTV 100-plus times as a kid. Looking at my life, which admittedly doesn’t have a lot of room for “more”, this actually seemed do-able.
 
And it was… So. Much. Fun.
The learning.
The practice.
The performance.
All of it.
 
Grand finish lines are wonderful, but they aren’t the only goals worth having.
Of course you should write a book, renovate a house, get a degree, pitch the show,  launch the podcast and sell the business. But you could also take the class, do the gig, submit the work or enter a smaller, local race.
 
More frequent finish lines are everywhere.

They aren’t without effort, intention, and logistics. But they’re within reach.
 
And what they might deliver is a reunion with the kid inside who still wants to feel giddy, nervous and beside herself with excitement. This kind of glee can’t be manufactured. But it can be cultivated.
 
Look around.
Decide on your “yes” thing.
Punctuate the finish with a date, a registration, an unveiling, or by pressing send…
 
And then…do it.
 
Mama-say-mama-sa-mama-coosa!