*Typing*

It’s okay if some people hate you. I’m so tired of brands trying to appeal to everyone. It’s unoriginal. It’s cowardly. It’s uninspiring.

Imagine if tomorrow Coca-Cola decided to water down their product because 97% of the world finds it too sweet. Coca-Cola would not only lose the 3% of customers who love their product exactly as it is, the remaining 97% would still complain that it’s too sweet (or no longer sweet enough).

Stop trying to appeal to everyone. Your desire to be well-liked is watering down your brand to the point that it will appeal to absolutely nobody.

Some people hate Harley Davidson. Other people get the logo tattooed to their face. Some people hate Hermès. Other people drop $40,000 on their handbags. Some people hate Taylor Swift. Other people fly across the world to attend her shows. Some people hate Coca-Cola. Other people consider it the best moment of their day.

You should not value the worth of your brand by its mass appeal but instead its raving fans and mortal enemies.

When you find that you are stuck, move. It doesn’t need to be anything monumental. In fact, it’s better if it is small.

I was reading once that to escape quicksand, you must neither sit still nor thrash about. Instead, you are supposed to make slow, tiny movements which loosens the sand and allow water to seep in. Eventually, the earth will release its grip and you will be let free—life and work function in much the same way.

It’s rarely idleness nor dramatic actions that get us unstuck, but deliberate movement that compounds into momentum over time.

Some people argue for patience. Others, intensity. But, this life requires both.

You need the patience to wait for the opportunity to appear. Then, you need the itensity to seize it.

Think of the heron with its arrowed beak fishing the banks of some long, winding river. Embody that creature.

At an instinctual level she knows the easiest way to catch something that doesn’t want to be caught is to remain still.

She does not chase. She does not rush. She does not thrash. She is patient. She is patient until the very moment patience no longer serves her.

Then, she strikes. All at once, she strikes. She crashes through the water’s surface like a bolt of lightning; like a guillotine.

And, it is done.

You slowly realize all that old-fashioned advice your mother and father gave you growing up has a bit of merit.

Dress the part. If you’re wondering if you should wear a suit, just wear the damn suit.

Try and show up a few minutes early. If you’re going to be late that’s okay but let the respective parties know ahead of time.

Look people in the eyes when you talk to them. Listen more than you speak. Shake their hands firmly but not arrogantly.

Give people the benefit of the doubt. Assume good intentions until proven otherwise. Forgive.

At the very least, say thank you. But, if you’ve got the time and the genuine interest, send a thank you note.

Get physical. Show up in person. Zoom might be convenient but it’s uninspiring.

Compliment more than your criticize. Keep the bulk of your opinions to yourself. Not everything you think needs to be said. When you do share, share with care.

As dated as it may sound, be chivalrous. Believe women should earn every bit as much as men. But, open doors, pull out chairs and, Christ almighty, pick up the tab. I’m tired of all these split bills.

None of this is new nor novel. It’s all simple shit we know we should do but don’t.

However, what it signals to both ourselves and those around us, is that we respect this world and the people in it.

When I catch myself complaining about my job, I think about my grandfather who worked on a submarine.

He said the beds were so tight, he had to sleep on his back with his nose just two inches from the bunk above him.

A couple months into one of his voyages, the eggs went bad. They still had to eat them. But, nobody was allowed to order their eggs runny. In fact, they all had to be scrambled. If you didn’t like scrambled eggs, well, tough titties.

One time they had an issue with their oxygen supply. And so for 2-3 days, nobody was permitted to get out of their beds for fear the excess movement would cause them to use up too much air.

They weren’t able to take any showers, either. My grandfather said that when they finally docked in Japan and he bathed for the first time, the dead skin fell off in sheets. I think this might have been hogwash but who knows.

Anyway, I try and think about my grandfather when I’m throwing a pity party after a “hard” day’s work.

Call me old-fashioned, but our society—myself included—needs to toughen up. We don’t know what hard is.

Working 8 hour days in an air-conditioned space isn’t hard. Taking Zoom calls in pajama bottoms isn’t hard. Getting 4 weeks of paid vacation isn’t hard.

If I worked in coal mines, drove garbage trucks, roofed houses or fought forest fires, then I’d allow myself a pass. I would let myself complain all I want about my work being hard.

But, creative work isn’t hard. It’s like getting paid to go to recess. You get a scraped knee every now and again but, for the most part, it’s a hell of a lot of fun.

I don’t mean to preach. But, I think most folks complaining about their work being hard, just need to get back to work.