Things I Like About People

I didn't always like people. When I was a kid, I thought people were mostly sources of confusing advice and judgmental scowling, sowing confusion and guilt upon my understanding of the Universe. It's not so surprising that I went into computers; I found computers were a source of needed predictability (so long as you understood a few simple rules), and mastery of computational machinery offered that locus of control I wanted to have over the world of causal relationships. Eventually this mental discipline helped me to understand people. Most people, I came to see, were just as confused as I, though perhaps they were better at managing it. Assured that I wasn't alone in my cluelessness, I came to enjoy the company of people---tentatively at first, but now with a growing sense of wonder. The sheer diversity of people's experiences is mind-boggling.

These days, what's important to me are the connections I can make between my work and the lives of other individuals. Projects that benefit people only in the abstract don't feel real to me. I find that I need to see the faces of people reacting to my words and my creations to feel a sense of accomplishment. One of my working theories, which I'm starting to actively test, is that I need to be around people who have that same emphasis on making personal connections, finding meaning in the making of a personal impact on a daily basis. In the past, I'd just assumed that talent was the critical ingredient in partnership, but what I really seek is the creation of empowering culture in the context of creating meaning.

While I was at the gym today, I was looking at the strangers around me and it occurred to me that while I'd finally admitted that I like people, I didn't exactly know what that meant. And I know that I don't like everybody. In the past I'd qualified this by just saying I liked positive-minded, self-empowered, conscientious and kind people, but I am starting to think that this is an inadequate definition.

I thought I'd try to make a list of things I like about people to see where that goes.

People who Deal Well with Perplexing Moments

There are times when a person becomes momentary perplexed. Suddenly thrust outside the realm of the everyday, the moment of perplexity is forced on a person, who must confront new aspects of reality on-the-spot. This is one of those moments when character becomes most visible, and in that moment I can extrapolate a sample history of a person's character development from the age of 6 to the present day. Of course I'm probably wildly wrong, but it makes for an entertaining distraction. And over time, the impressions can build to a fairly accurate impression.

When faced with the unexpected, some people get mad. Some people freeze up. Some just try to deal with the anomaly as if it hadn't occurred, using the same patterns that have served them in the past. Others are conditioned to look to another authority for guidance, and many just let the moment slip by unchallenged. My favorite reactions, though, are from the people who dare to test their skill against the unknown with the best of humor, seizing the opportunity to have a little fun, learn something, or break the monotony. That's awesome.

The practice of Design can be seen as a methodical manufacturing of perplexing moments. First, the perplexing moment is defined as the design challenge. Next, as designers we attempt to rise above the confusion that the unexpected has brought upon us. We force ourselves to engage with the perplexing moment with the totality of our character and life experience, in search for that response that transcends the ordinary. What we create is powerful and new. I love being in that moment, especially when it's shared with people who practice a complementary form of mental jujitsu.

People With Routines

On the opposite end of the unexpected is the observance of daily routines, each with a predictable call and response to action. There's a restaurant in Fort Point Channel near the Financial District in Boston, the A-Street Diner, where I occasionally had lunch when I was working in the city. What amazed me about the place was the efficiency of the lunch-rush ordering line. The employees expected you to know what you wanted to order at what counter, and there was a kind of thrill I got from learning how to play my part in keeping the line moving. Conversely, I get a little nervous when I don't know what's supposed to happen in a procedure. Taking a bus in a new city, for example...do you need to have exact change? Is there a ticket? Do you pay first, or after? I don't know why this makes me nervous, or why I find such things so fascinating. Probably it's because I have a desire to just fit in.

There's a comfort in walking into my local Starbucks every day. It's not that I like the coffee or the food, which is unexceptional. However, I love the routine of interacting with the people behind the counter. They're familiar faces to me now, and the ritual of ordering something every day helps establish a bond that, bizarrely, is the foundation of my local community. I'm like an actor in a production of Small Town Commerce, and we each have our lines to deliver. It's a show. For example, my best friend Erin orders a drink every morning, the 5-Pump Non-Fat No-Whip Mocha Grande 2-Splenda-Stirred. It took a few months for me to master this order without blowing my lines and sounding like a noob. Sometimes we'd get a new person behind the counter, and the momentary look of panic would often lead to one of the veterans coming by the register for some quick on-the-job training in drink customization. Erin's drink is part of the history of this place now, in the minds of maybe two dozen people, and it makes this Starbucks feel like home.

People with a Past and Future

I like to find out where people come from, and where people are going. Not everyone has both a past and a future. Some people just are in the place that they are, for no reason in particular other than this is where they ended up. It's interesting still to ask them about the events that lead up to our shared geographic location, but such people sometimes have a sad marooned-at-sea look about their eyes that is a bit depressing. Their futures are nebulous. Conversely, some people only have a future, having not learned anything from their past. Their futures are a little scary to me, because they're not anchored. The futures these people describe are sometimes fantastical and sometimes pragmatic, but because they have no past it's hard to imagine how they'll get to the place they're describing. It's perhaps a sign of an imagination that was allowed to grow in an unruly and undisciplined fashion.

My favorite people are the ones who've made some sense of their past, and have set their eye on some distant landmark. They can tell you where they've been and what they thought of the experience; they're happy to save you some trouble if you happen to be headed in that direction. They can also tell you something about the place they think they're going, as best as they can reckon. They're excited and optimistic, and they're pleased as punch to tell you about it. I can spend hours with people like that.

I'm starting to think it isn't so much "people" that I like, but certain attitudes. Extrapolating from the three things I've listed about, apparently I like to face challenges together, participate in shared communities, and be on a journey that's going to go somewhere interesting.

There are at least two more elements--authenticity and heart--that I believe are underlying characteristics, but I'll reflect on that another day.

The Need for Nooks

I'm in Silicon Valley for work again, putting the finishing touches on a year-long museum interactive with my buddies at Inquirium. This is the 10th trip I've made out here for the project, and the monthly disruption of my routine has given me some insight into what I need to maintain my own peculiar sense of work-life balance.

First, there's focus. When I'm traveling I'm generally more focused on getting things done; the same applies when I'm away from home. The three aspects I've noticed on this trip have been:

1. REDUCTION IN OPPORTUNITY TO GOOF OFF

One reason I'm remarkably focused is that there's not that much to do. I didn't rent a car, and this time I haven't made an effort to contact other people in the area. The first few times I was out here I was meeting new people and getting acquainted with the San Jose / Campbell area, but by the 10th visit even the novelty of Fry's Electronics has worn off. I'm not feeling the same pull to get away that I do at home.

I found this very curious because once the novelty of a place has worn off, you'd think that I'd be looking for more opportunities to create something interesting. However, one critical difference is that I'm away from my local squad of friends, disconnected from the people that make my ocial context meaningful. Here in California, the readily-available context is work and hanging out with my cousin. Since I'm also working with my cousin, the context is entirely self-contained. We get along well and have similar but differently-grounded foundations in creativity, so it's a satisfying context to be part of. However, it's a context that I'm not in control of to the same extent that I am back home.

2. SELF-LIMITING SENSE OF ADVENTURE

Of course, If I were more adventurous I'd be getting on the BART and exploring the Bay Area. However, I've found that I really don't like exploring places by myself just to see what's there. Instead, I like knowing there's a clue or puzzle piece waiting out there for me; in other words, I tend to emphasize doing fieldwork over pure exploration. I want to solve mysteries and collect evidence first hand, connected the dots in ways that are non-obvious. I'm thinking I have to come back to California and spend a month here to do it right.

I think the reason that I feel on-hold out here is because I know I shouldn't be starting new mysteries. It's way too easy, way too fun, and way too distracting. I need to maintain the bleak programming mindset necessary for the type of work I'm doing, piling brick after logical brick on top of each other in a methodical and robustly-architected manner. So the limitations I'm putting on myself are not a sign of lameness, but are due to my need to limit new distractions. This is easier to do because I am also lacking the seasoned co-adventurers with whom I'd go exploring. If I were settling in the area the latter would be a priority, but I'm here for work. When I come back for that month of exploration, it will be an entirely different story.

3. BREAK IN CONTINUITY

Back home, I have several ongoing projects that all are based, in one way or another, on interests shared with my friends. Because friends are usually nearby--and I naturally like to spend time with them--I'm pulled toward shared adventures nearly every day. These are all going somewhere, and being able to tend to these projects is one of the great advantage of freelancing. When I'm on the road, however, these opportunities are no longer available, so there isn't as much of a reason for me to want to switch out of work mode. Work is, after all, rather interesting and represents its own continuity. So, when I'm on the road, work becomes the most accessible continuity train to develop. Admittedly, I spend a lot of time emailing people back home the first few days I'm on a trip, but they tend to dwindle off after the 3rd or 4th day as I readjust my focus to what's nearby, away from what I left at home.

...

Everything I've listed up to this point can be grouped under shared context and continuity of purpose and community. This is my number one priority. However, the number two priority is building up my resources so I can afford to spend more time creating that sense of purpose and community. In sundry terms, that means working on my website, clarifying and reorganizing what I've already written into more useful forms, and producing objects of utility for a market that shares my values.

Strictly speaking, this kind of work is largely independent production and doesn't require interaction with other people. In fact, it's work that is best done by myself, so I can adopt the "editor's mindset", the "designer mindset", and so on. There should be nothing stopping me from doing that, and yet I've found that being out here in California is very hard on me when it comes to following through with these activities. Instead, I sit and feel unsettled, not sure what to do. It just hit me that what I was missing was just a good place to sit, some corner where I can gather my thoughts and draw the right energies:

4. FINDING A CONVENIENT NOOK

A QUIET NOOK affords me the right blend of solitude and energy for whatever task I have at hand. This was not a problem for the programming work, as interaction with my cousin is the nook; he and I can talk face-to-face about what we're trying to do and it creates the necessary environment to be productive. For blogging, however, I realized that there just wasn't anywhere to sit in the house that wasn't subject to the whirlwind energies of his young children, with comfortable seating and lighting and spaces to put things. I had subconsciously been compensating for this by spending time at nearby coffee shops, an environment that provides abstract people energy with a measure of solitude. However, it just isn't quite the same as being truly comfortable; the quality of the thoughts I have at coffee shops tend to be more social than productive in the way I need. There is probably a special nook for every kind of activity I do, and I'm looking forward to finding those secret places that are lurking in plain sight.

Having identified this desire to have a nook, I have now escaped to a wooden bench in the front of the house, which is comfortingly close to humans I care about but still away from everyone. It is the right nook for writing this blog post. I can see the cars on the street outside drive by and feel that I'm part of the world, but I'm in a place that kind of feels like my own, just for an hour or so. I'm feeling more comfortable than I have in quite a few days, being able to sit here and type into my laptop.

Groundhog Day Resolutions 2008: Closing Out With Charlie Brown

Today is Veteran's Day, November 11, which also happens to be the last "official" day of Groundhog Day Resolutions Reviews 2008. At this point, the American High Holidays--Thanksgiving through New Years Day--loom over me. so I rest my side ambitions until February 2nd. The original idea behind Ground Hog Day resolutions is that on January 1st, the traditional time of making resolutions, I'm so tired from the holidays that I'm still catching up with everything I didn't finish last year; I need some time to chill and reflect. Besides, Ground Hog Day is my favorite holiday, and it is under-celebrated.

Fractal Patterns of Perceived Failure and Recovery

2008 was the second year I launched GHDRs, and I maintained the follow up review days for March, April, May, June, and July. It was a mixed run, largely one of disappointment masked by the power of positive thinking ;-)

After July, I decided to go on blogging hiatus due to an increased project load (largely mental, in retrospect), and suspended my GHDR Review Days at the same time. When I review the wistfully-optimistic first months of 2008, I find the following themes appearing:

• March: The acute need to focus, to attain mobility, and to battle the forces of loneliness.
• April: The recognition that I needed to be more specific to achieve goals. Also, the decision to reduce my material needs (a necessary aspect of mobility), and to commit to writing as a vocation, whatever that means.
• May: Why oh why do I lack motivation? Theorizing on internal and external sources of said motivation. Gah!
• June: Acceptance that there are certain "go-getter" attributes I lack, a decision to find alternate routes other than the "just do it" approach.
• July: Ground down, I rediscover part of my core, and am surprised to find what's there.

If this sounds familiar, it's probably because last week's Productivity Reboot repeats the entire cycle of fevered commitment - perceived failure - diagnosis - acceptance - return to core - re-dedication. If I were to look back at the 1200+ blog posts I've written over the past three years, I am pretty sure that I'd see the same cycle repeated, fractal-like, in everything I do. This I find fascinating, and at the same time it's kind of alarming because at first glance it seems that I'm not going anywhere. Yikes! Have I discovered my predestined pattern of doom?

Sparky to the Rescue

I flew to California last Sunday for a week of on-site work with Inquirium, which I look forward to for the shared working environment. While waiting for a change of plane at Chicago Midway, I happened upon Schulz and Peanuts: A Biography by David Michaelis. Although I had enjoyed Peanuts as a child, I had never known much about the cartoonist Schulz himself and had mentally categorized him as "too popular to be interesting, coasting on past success". However, seeing the book reminded me of my buddy Brad, who in the early days of our acquaintance had been working hard to get into a cartoon syndicate, and I decided to pick up the book to gain some insight. What I gleaned from my reading was profound insight into my own nature, by gaining a reference point of understanding about the nature of ambition and self-doubt.

Charles M. Schulz, for all his success in life, was a man who seemingly kept himself from feeling actual happiness. He was a shy boy raised by emotionally-distant parents who demonstrated their love through duty, hiding their own insecurities behind thick walls of silent denial. Highly intelligent, talented but surrounded by people who couldn't imagine--and therefore couldn't emotionally support--the notion of cartooning for a living, he nevertheless was lucky enough to find himself in employ of a company that allowed him to mature his drawing as an unwitting means to express his own pantheon of insecurities; the book is liberally illustrated with strips that echo the goings-on of his life. Throughout his life, he insisted on thinking of himself as a regular guy from Minnesota who had done OK with a modicum of talent, though underneath the surface he was highly ambitious and competitive to the point of meanness. He held grudges against the people who he perceived to have bullied, slighted, or belittled him. When he was a child, his own doubts and insecurities were fed by people who he later realized were limited in their life perspective and experience, and despite his rise to massive success he just could not accept that he'd made it and was adored by millions. Although a gracious and generous person in spirit, he had a constant need for affirmation; without his cartoon, he said, "he would be dead." He died in 2000, and one of his last interviews regarding how he viewed his life achievements produced a statement that struck me rather well. Paraphrased: "I took the talent I had and did not waste it." Producing his comic strip was an intensely personal affair; he did not seek help or advice on his work, because in his mind it was the one thing that he did himself that provided affirmation that he was doing something right.

I can see a lot of parallels between myself and Schulz's conflicts about his desire for understanding, for affirmation, and being the best while being in conflict with his Midwestern values of being humble and unassuming. Instead of rationalizing them away, as I've been trying to do, Schulz actively appeared to embrace them, using his unhappiness to drive his muse. What's interesting too is that the biography makes a point of distinguishing unhappiness from depression. I still can't quite wrap my head around the distinction, but to be depressed I gather is to not be able to muster the energy to do anything, while unhappiness is something less debilitating. In my own case, I am feeling similar doubts about my direction, and I am also beset by desires to be the best at what I do for recognition by the world. I want a calling, and I don't want to fail. At the same time, I wonder if I am being immodest and prideful in a way that will damage my soul or, at the very least, bite me in my hypocritical ass: I want to be a good person, but I also want to be the best. And like Schulz, I want to the be the sole author of my creations, because this provides me with affirmation that I am capable of doing something right as well.

After reading the biography, I was struck by a few thoughts:

• Schulz, for all his insecurities, persevered through his unhappiness and consistently produced work day-in, and day-out. What drove him was an ideal of customer service he had absorbed from his father, a barber who meticulously found comfort in the daily routine of giving his customers individual attention. In time, Schulz worked it out and found success. My own belief that producing tangible things as a means to create opportunities and connections with people is similar; consistent production of items of value, as appraised by other people, is very important to me. Otherwise, how do people know what you're capable of?

• Schulz belated matured, growing out of his boyish ways as he took on responsibilities in WWII. He became a well-liked squad leader because of his intelligence, competence with weapons, and ability to listen to people who learned they could come to him. This is a model of leadership that I like, and it mirrors the sentiments I've been reading about in Seth Godin's Tribes (I have 3 copies of that book now, one for me, and two for loaning to people).

• If someone as massively successful as Charles Schulz could be deeply unhappy and beset by numerous demons, at least I was in good company. I lack the ability to hold a grudge for very long, and I'm not really that unhappy or depressed at all. But I am at times lonely and isolated, and seek affirmation and understanding. It would be great if I could find that affirmation in myself and be done with it, but there's something else missing. However, I don't want to be soooo dependent on external affirmation that I am a slave to it; reading Schulz's biography has put that scenario into perspective, and I want nothing to do with it. That is itself a self-strengthening realization.

• There is a commitment to excellence in Schulz's work, both artistically and in the pursuit of deeper truths. When he first started attempting syndication in the early 1950s, people tried to get him to steer his creations in more "popular" directions; his own mother suggested that he needed to draw sexier girls. But Sparky stuck to his guns, and when Peanuts (nee "Li'l Folks") debuted in the 1950s, his work was regarded as a kind of anomaly in comics of the time. His audience grew steadily, then explosively, over the next 25 years, and it is (I imagine) because his work wasn't made to appease the surface desires of a large audience, but because he constantly pursued personal truths in himself and in his observations of the times. His art was the means through which he strove to portray these truths as clearly as possible. For myself as a blogger and writer, I've struggled with the ideas of writing shorter, easier-to-digest, more digg-able, top-ten list style posts for the purpose of growing audience, but I don't. I'm well aware that I could write shorter and more concise articles, but there is something about the way that I write now that is truthful to myself; creating shorter articles that jump right to the point is a different product entirely, one that will come later. I am still very much in my formative years as a writer, deciding what truths matter to me, and learning to express them to unknown people far away. My best days are yet to come; this is the lesson I've learned from Schulz's biography. Artistically, I now have the sense of purpose that I need to keep doing what I'm doing.

What does this have to do with Ground Hog Resolutions? I think they've evolved into something else. I mentioned that Ground Hog's Day is one of my favorite holidays, and this is partly because of the movie Groundhog Day, which is a fantastical movie about self-realization and improvement. In the movie, Bill Murray's self-centered character moves from surface cynicism to something deeply truthful about himself and his needs. It's the continual pursuit of these personal truths that, I suspect, drive me. I am compelled to follow them. I have no idea what kind of "business case" I can make for this, but I am making a bet that if I continue to express these truths through my writing, design, and personal interactions, I'll be OK. And so, I can distill all my future Ground Hog Day Resolutions into a single Master Resolution that goes something like this:

Seek the truthful essence, and make it artfully visible so others can see it too.

So long as I do that every day, in some form, I'll be doing what I'm supposed to be doing, the equivalent of Sparky Schulz getting up every morning and producing his strip for 50 years.

Groundhogs, The Future, and Tanabata Too

It's 07/07, which is Groundhog Day Resolutions Review Day 5. This is one of the 10 days during the year when I review the progress of my resolutions. In 2007 , I did a fair job of keeping to task, but my zeal for process faltered this year. I've been all over the place, as you can see from my past posts on the subject. Last month's update was really just an admission that I didn't really like tracking my goals because I lacked real passion for it.

Today is the day when I reset my expectations.

From Goals to Business Outline

Here are the general goals I'd set this year. I've crossed out the ones that I've either achieved or no longer need:

• Work based on my vocation, so it's work that sustains me in spirit, mind and body.
• Figuring out how to be a full-time writer and content creator, because I like it.
• Commit to Deriving Income from Writing and Making Stuff
• Sell a Product
• Build Sustainable Social Networks ... done!
• Reduce my needs. If I can live cheaper, then I need less money, and can work less ... maybe I should focus on making MORE money instead :-)

On review, the first three items on this list are really the same thing: how to make a living doing something I love. My challenge for the past two years has been to figure out exactly what that means. The criteria for making that living is, functionally speaking:

• It's gotta be energizing, not draining.
• It's gotta be something that people can use in their daily life, and therefore be worth paying for.
• It's gotta be easy for me to do, yet relatively unique in the marketplace to maintain a leading position.
• It's gotta be appealing to people that I find appealing.

Then I have some additional criteria for satisfying work:

• It's gotta be functional and high-quality.
• It's gotta have my voice; in other words, I represent myself in plain english.
• It's gotta include your voice. If I don't hear your story, I will not be motivated to help you build you dream.
• It's gotta be bullshit-free. I reserve the right to define this in any way I see fit, within reason of course.

The rudiments of a business model came to me as I was visiting the studio of Sid Ceasar, a local photographer that is starting a local scooter club. I was quite enchanted with his studio, filled as it was with toys, posters, and other cultural artifacts that suggested an eclectic mind. Sid's studio told me the story of who he was and where he was going, and when it came time to describe what I did for a living this came out:

A the heart of everything I do, I like to share stories and experiences. All my media skills are employed in service to that.

Now, I've written about this thought before, but in the environmental context of a friend's working studio the words helped evoke a different shape. The follow-up epiphany was that my design business really aspires to the following:

I help people create stories they can live by.

This captures a lot of different impulses I have: design, storytelling, sharing experiences, and productivity. And most importantly, I realized that there was a tiny voice inside of me that was trying to say something.

Shedding the Armor

So what do I mean by "tiny voice"? Last year I posted about acting coach Susan Barton's approach to creating a "walking, talking human being" for her Oscar-award winning clients. There are three parts:

• The first is the need that is deeply planted in you by the time you're around 5 years old.
• The second is the persona you create to cover-up or protect that need.
• The third is the tragic flaw, which arises when there is conflict between the need and the persona. That's when things get interesting.

The little voice is that need, trying to express itself. As a little boy, I was pretty happy but tended toward feeling like an outsider. I spoke English and only English, and going to the Taiwanese Church where EVERYBODY EXCEPT ME spoke Taiwanese made me feel worse than stupid. It got worse when our family moved to Taiwan; again, although I went to an American/International school and could speak English every day, culturally and socially the rest of the island was a mysterious and frightening place. My need for understanding had a second dimension as well: I craved reliable and definitive references for my interests, and was often let down or put down by people who had "mastered" the subjects through some means I didn't follow. I came to the conclusion that I was probably just dumb.

To cope with the feeling of dumbness, I focused on things I liked doing: writing essays, drawing spaceships, and debugging computer programs. It was upon these competencies that I built my persona. Writing I could always do, so I went into Computer Engineering and generally did well. I went on to Art School for computer graphics design, got into the video game industry, burned out, and ended up doing Internet stuff before discovering blogging. Over this period of time, I developed a pretty sophisticated and comprehensive set of methodologies that I have come to rely on, both professionally and personally. It is my suit of armor, girded when the going gets tough.

Recently, I came to wonder if that suit of armor had become a substitute for interaction, masking something else very deep inside of me. I realized that it was "the need" again, making sad noises and emanating mild terror. These feelings had been there for so long that I no longer heard them; they were just part of my automatic reaction to the world. The armor, effective as it was with dealing with the nastiness of the world, had muffled it.

I was scared to look, visions of The Tell-Tale Heart coming to mind. What if I didn't like what I saw. But I had to look. Defining and facing your fears is just one of those things that you have to do.

I lay down on my bed, looking up at the ceiling. Then I closed my eyes and quieted every rational and analytical thought that was going through my mind. After a few minutes of this, I felt the desire to bounce around in the world without fear. The manifestation of this desire wasn't myself as a little boy. Instead, I envisioned a little bird, like the sparrows I see every morning at Starbucks. These birds had made an impression on me because they are aggressive, bold, and industrious in a cute sort of way. Now I was seeing them wrapped up and muffled by my persona, and they're clambering to get out to start talking to people without apology.

"Whoa", I breathed to myself, "I am going freakin' nuts. I should keep this to myself."

I came to the conclusion that these little birds actually were tough enough to face the world despite their small size. In other words, I didn't need to protect these innermost desires from the nasty world. They can face it. If the world gets REALLY nasty, I can strap on my armor of rational objectivity then. The armor, however, is not me. I have to lead with the little birds, which means I have to lead with what is important to me in my heart. I suspect this is one of the keys to following my bliss.

In the days following this epiphany, I've found that I've relaxed a lot more when dealing with people, and for the first time don't have trouble making eye contact. I don't even think about it anymore, as the little birds bustling inside of me will do what they want. Before, I would rationalize my behavior: "What am I saying when I look at someone? What will they think? Will I offend them?" These are old behavioral patterns that are obsolete. Now, I know when I look that I'm just looking and taking in those people in the environment that I find interesting, no big deal.

Next Month's Concrete Goals

For the coming month, I really want to work on the whole idea of a story-based design business that employs my particular powers of observation and analysis. I could write this up as a brief, but I think the form it will take is similar to my Make Your Own Museum approach on my public wiki. I think it will feel more "live". It will be fun to define what this "agency" would be like in my wildest dreams. Hint: there would be a professional kitchen :-)

Secondly, I want to start blogging more regularly. I've been letting my other project sap the energy out of me in this regard, and it's important to me to maintain momentum here because this is my main business. Shorter posts, with one idea per post, might do the trick. I'm thinking a 3-day a week schedule; we'll check on this on August 8.

Thirdly, I want to complete my online dating profile by incorporating some of the suggestions I'd received. Yes, it will be shorter, and I will keep in mind that you really just need 3 or so intriguing things listed. I'm not out to sell my entire being on the first read (which is what I was doing). I'm just trying to be interesting enough for a date...thanks for that tip, everyone :-)

Making Wishes

July 7 happens to be a Japanese holiday called Tanabata, a day when you write down your wishes on paper streamers and hang them from bamboo trees. I'm planning on deploying these wishes as goals for the rest of the year.

• Let the world directly touch my inner self (i.e. those birds) instead of impacting on the armor. And vice versa: let the inner self lead, not follow, the armor.
• Let my community grow and flourish.
• Have the guts to approach some women and ask them out.
• Stay real.
• Stay in motion.

Writers Block? Me?

I've never really had a problem sitting down and spewing out a bunch of words. My process is pretty simple:

• Start somewhere, see where it goes, then try to make some sense of it in a closing paragraph or statement.
• If I have the energy, proof read and tweak the text. Otherwise, let 'er loose!
• Hope no one notices that I'm a hack ;-)

I think think the process works for me because I tend to present in terms of conversational narrative. I write as if I'm talking to my friends, and I am constantly thinking of the best way to sequence a bit of information so it can be comprehended correctly. This actually doesn't play as well in real-life; in the process of establishing the context, iterating the supporting facts, and drawing my brilliant conclusion, attention spans tend to wander. This is good, because it forces me to try to be more visceral and succinct.

But I digress.

CONTINUE READING ...