Amy Swift Crosby

If I stop writing, will people forget about me? Or unsubscribe?
Will my ideas still be there when I return to them?
And (quietly), have I’ve wasted this opportunity by “taking a break”?
Or alternately, does is not matter…enough?

Isn’t it interesting to see what the mind does to sabotage an otherwise great idea.

These were a few of the fears swirling through me in late July as I contemplated ‘pressing pause’ on the blog – and work in general. As I pushed back clients to September in order to take an August hiatus, I also made space in my schedule by setting aside the blog for five weeks. But with that decision came much angst about the consequences of a pause.

So many of us are unknowingly enslaved by ‘the machine.’ Beyond just social media feeds, it’s the fear that if we pull back from our public identities, we may find ourselves adrift, unable to get back on course. It takes hard work to stay in the public conversation, whatever yours may be, and it takes an equal measure of confidence to step out of it now and then — and gaze upon the horizon ­— to go dark.

What I learned during this self-imposed break was that I didn’t suddenly lose my ability to have quality thoughts or publish meaningful words. Publishing a weekly blog forces me to take a point of view, and commit to ideas and questions that might otherwise slip through my fingers – unresolved. That’s it. Of course I love the endorphins that spark a domino effect of likes, forwards or replies. I’m as vulnerable as anyone to digital flattery. But just as it’s hard for a CEO to shut down email for two weeks, or for a pop star to give up Instagram for a month, or for a founder to get perspective via traveling sabbatical, so is it for each of us to pull back from what we do to make sure we know who we are — without those validations.

Is reinvention, or perspective, so daunting that we’d rather keep up the status quo — replying, submitting, authorizing and showing up — because stepping away may reveal a truth? And maybe that truth will involve change?

Intentional breaks have a purpose and a place, but so often when we don’t know what to do, it’s easier to be in action, than (what feels like) stillness. Maybe questioning the thing we think makes us “us” is the best way to disrupt what is at best an illusion, and at worst, a crutch that limits our real potential.

You are not your company.
You are not your book.
You are not your blog
You are not your feed.

Freedom = reclaiming the lever that has you believing that you are the sum of your marketing, persona, asset or deliverable.

Most of us fall into one of two camps: Upsellers or Downsellers.

Upsellers are always going to give you the bright side — the pitch on why you should do x, y, or z. They are perceived by many as positive.

Downsellers, on the other hand, are always going to offer up both the strengths and weaknesses of doing that same x, y, or z. They may or may not be invested in enrolling you in the experience. Still, they — or shall I say we – are often perceived as being critical.

Our “spiritually” over-saturated culture has done much to create an unwritten code of positivity. An allegiance to being “positive” throughout every interaction has become ubiquitous. Upsellers are rewarded for their limitless positivity, while Downsellers are thought to be “downers.”

Clearly, it triggers something in me because as a life long Downseller, I think it’s disingenuous to put a positive spin on experiences or products simply to avoid being thought of as “negative.“ When did critical thinking translate to bad mojo?  I see it less as a view on someone’s disposition and more a difference in filters.

But here’s the problem.

A Downseller can’t unsee what she sees (I’ve tried.) I can walk into a freshly cleaned kitchen and see tomato sauce on a floorboard before I acknowledge the sparkling counters. It also means I can open a design presentation or read a headline and identify why it doesn’t (yet) work. I don’t particularly like the burden of the ‘gift’ at times, but an engaged and critical mind serves me well at work and adds a lens to how I see the world that creates value for my clients.

The reason Downsellers make great consultants is that they have a very high “negativity bias,” which in simple terms means, they see what’s missing naturally and quickly. Whether creatively, operationally, or managerially, this ability acts like X-Ray vision, and is precisely what allows them to improve what others may think is finished – unearthing blind spots that can be game-changing for a business.

Downsellers may appear to see the glass half empty, but the reality is, we just see the glass for what it is; clean, dirty, soap spots, lipstick rims. The thoughts presented by a Downseller may be harder to swallow, but in certain circumstances, could prove to be more potent.

But if I’m being really honest, we sometimes come off as continuously unsatisfied, with standards that can’t be met. And that’s not really useful, for any reason.

So…

A challenge to Downsellers: We need to use our powers for good, and position whatever feedback we have with a solution in mind. We can present our ‘truth’ with enthusiasm, support and genuine intention. And there is no harm in turning off the filter when it no longer serves the mission.

And to Upsellers: Please know that we do what we do because we care. We may have an opinion about everything, which admittedly gets tiring, but know that because of us, there is probably less mediocrity in the world. #yourewelcome

For those of you who feel ambivalent about placing yourselves at the center of your brand’s marketing efforts, this commentary is for you.

Years ago, as the creator of monthly SMARTY events, I was moderating panels of extraordinary women helming press-worthy businesses. This visibility placed me on the receiving end of some considerable attention and unexpected brand opportunities. While it was all very positive, it forced me to think carefully about how to respond to it-and how to leverage it. You’ve probably had to consider similar choices.

The prevailing advice I heard at that time was to “Make it about me.” Smart, well-meaning people tried to convince me to lead by example, which would have required me to build a digital platform and take pictures of myself on vacation or enjoying the fruits of my labor, all while espousing tips on “how you, too, can become…bigger/better/richer.” Or basically, more like me.

Although this approach may be profitable, at the time, it gave me the moral stomach flu.

It makes me question where we want to live when it comes to self-promotion — and where do we start to get a little nauseated by it? Is there anything wrong with sharing talents, achievements and deluxe vistas as a brand strategy? Not inherently. After all, this is at the heart of social media.

Yet, as the chief promotional officers of our own brands, many of us feel simultaneously that we are the best hood ornament for what we sell while being keenly aware of the tension it produces.

One script does not fit all — and I think everyone has to answer this for herself. I moved 3,000 miles away from me-as-a-brand-opportunity due, in part, to ambition fatigue. Not because I was exhausting myself with my own, but because being around so much ambition, and the resulting self-promotion, was exhausting me. That’s my own tolerance showing, not a judgment against what anyone else’s may be.

But….in a world where professional narcissism is at an all time high, there should be some self-imposed guardrails. My own requirement is that I not embarrass myself (to myself). That, I cannot live with, no matter the applause that may be generated “out there.”

Here’s a thought that may be relevant for anyone — whether flexing abs in a bikini or doling out champagne dreams from Rome: Even if you are your own brand, and you are the thing you’re selling-whether it be expertise, wisdom or flip flops-consider that there’s a lot more longevity in standing for something bigger than yourself.

The spotlight may be required to stay on you, for whatever reason, but my advice (did I just contradict myself?) is to make yourself a representative of the mission. Not the mission itself.

To accept or decline.
To engage or pass.

It’s hard to predict when saying “yes” to something has the unintended consequence of disappointing people who hold you in high esteem. A recent situation had me questioning whether showing up at half-strength… was worse than canceling all together.

Like many of us, I’ve lived in different cities for meaningful periods of time. So when I find myself in my former stomping grounds, I often suffer from “never enough time to…” There’s rarely time to see everyone I want to see, do everything I want to do or be everywhere I want to be — because I’m there for work — which is the priority.

Recently, while on one such over-scheduled trip, I accepted an invitation to attend an intimate gathering organized by a friend; someone who, in kind, supports professional events/gatherings that I sponsor. But when the time came, my eyes were glazed over with fatigue, my voice was raw from talking all day, my brain was drained from problem-solving since 6am (to accommodate east coast time)…and all I wanted to do was turn off my phone and decompress. At the same time, I have always had an almost visceral reaction to flakiness, to a broken word — to disappointing anyone. I didn’t feel I could cancel, especially when I knew my presence was important to my friend.

In the end, I’m not sure that attending was the right decision because the version of me who did show up — kind of sucked. It was a “half me” — with energy more like a wilted flower than an additive contributor.

You have to wonder — who wins in that scenario? I kept a promise — but showed up on fumes. For those of you with an amazing game-face — you can pull this off far better than I can…. as I tend to wear my feelings, for better or worse, right on my face. At a big event, I can get away with it – but among just a few people — it doesn’t go unnoticed. Clearly (I mean I’m writing this, right?) it’s still pulling on my conscience in some way.

I find myself torn between wanting to apologize for lackluster presence — and – wanting a pat on the back for showing up at all.

Is the only option to prequalify a RSVP with, “Maybe, but I’ll be coming off a long day”?

This, and others like it, sound so (very) lame to me, as I judge them all as a half-yes — in other words — an insurance policy on a future copout.

But I can’t think of a better way to demonstrate support and make room for the possibility of yes, but insulate myself from the chagrin of canceling at the last hour and becoming one of “those” people.

This post requires suggestions.

What is your strategy for conundrums like these? Weigh in here. Inquiring minds need your wisdom.

You really remind me of…
This project is a lot like…
That situation is very similar to…

Metaphors help us make sense of things. When we compare ‘this’ to ‘that’ it gives us the ability to experience something new, as familiar. But the moment we look for sameness, might also be the moment we lose our ability to experience something new in its purest expression. It seems like the act of searching for relatedness — in a relationship, project or circumstance – might unknowingly steal its potential. As a person conditioned to finding a pattern and connecting dots, there may be real value in doing the opposite. Could a tabula rasa state-of-being be more conducive to creativity, growth or depth? Is that even possible?

When I traveled to India earlier this year, our teacher asked us to resist making comparisons when tasting a new food or making cultural observations. This doesn’t seem revolutionary, but it takes conscientious restraint. When goats meandered through a chaotic urban thoroughfare, we made an effort to see that juxtaposition through new eyes, rather than revisit past trips and locales in our minds. We resisted the urge to compare monastic Ashrams in India to their cushy American counterparts, even though instant comparisons would have been easy to draw. It would also be natural to compare daily staples like chapatti, chai or Kanda Poha to other cultures’ quotidian equivalents. It takes discipline not to do this, surprisingly, especially in every day (non-exotic) settings.

I brought home an important lesson in this teaching.

Our instinct is to make meaning when faced with something new or foreign — to tie it to something we do know and understand. In fact running a successful business depends on it and signals our level of experience. Practically speaking, it creates efficiencies for others who need to understand our vision more immediately — and there’s obviously a place for this.

But maybe there’s also room to abstain from it, too. Assigning something we know, to something we don’t yet know, may have the unintended effect of removing whatever may be idiosyncratic or defining or purest about the new experience. Knee-jerk ‘labeling’ may actually limit our potential to see/grow or feel something more fully for what it really is.

Lately, I’m trying to clear this particular cache, if you will.
When a circumstance arises that makes me uncomfortable, or that I don’t immediately understand, I’m resisting the urge to narrate it — to put the expected punctuation around it as a salve to comfort or soothe what unsettles me about it.

Sometimes our own certainty is the very barrier we need to break through. Expansion – or a different kind of knowledge – could be waiting on the other side.

A friend of mine, one of the most capable, talented, effective entrepreneurs I know, recently handed over his daily meal prep to a nutritionist. Twice a week, perfectly portioned, custom-created breakfasts, lunches and dinners are delivered to his apartment. Why? So that he doesn’t have to plan/chop/decide what to eat, or how much. Why else? To lose weight.

But here’s the twist: he’s a chef.

How often do we abdicate control over something we’re really good at, to someone else who (deep breath) might actually know better? Usually, it is only when we find ourselves powerless to make the changes we know, deep down, are imperative; When we see that what we do that works so well for others, doesn’t produce the same results for our own practices/habits/ambitions.

It’s hard…
…to be a relationships expert who needs a dating coach.
…to be a CEO in need of outside management and leadership counsel.
…to be chef who helps clients combine food for optimal health, hire someone to do this very same thing, for him.

When owners or founders lose (or forget) their ability to say, “maybe I don’t know best,” they silo themselves and prevent others with the right perspective and appropriate training, to do right by the business. But what if real strength and leadership means knowing how (and when) to ask for help? Not at delegating to those who fulfill deficits – that’s easier – but in areas where progress is slow despite your own experience and wisdom?

What I tell myself is that support – even when it may seem duplicative and in my own lane – doesn’t mean completely letting go of the reins. Experience has shown, though, that there’s some real benefit, and maybe even relief, in loosening them…trusting another source…when I’ve been standing in one spot for too long.