Fear can save your life.

When what I’m up against deserves a legit fight or flight, I’m glad fear exists. The adrenalin it produces is a quick-burn fuel that can get me going.

But, what if fighting and flighting weren’t our only options when fear came to the party?

What if that feeling of fear existed for a higher calling… like a clue to a hidden treasure?

When I take time to pause and consider, I am amazed at how much more resource I have available to me in the face of fear. Add some humility, a willingness to work hard, and better still, a willingness to fail – or as Sun Tzu says… a willingness to die before you go into battle – fear will lose its hold.

What if fear was a sign that opportunity was knocking?

If I’m scared of my “not being as creative as that person over there” or “my business failing” or “the economy can’t support me“, I can attack the disabling part (fear) and embrace the objects in creative ways (the colleague, the prospects, the real opportunities in the existing economy).

When Emerson suggested to “… always do what you are afraid to do” I don’t think he was kidding. I think he was giving you and me our marching orders to unprecedented possibility.

“Imitation is Suicide. Insist on yourself; never imitate.” – Emerson

Be you at any cost.

It’s a mantra I hold pretty close. I pretend it’s a voice from above or within reminding me that my best hope at flourishing is to embrace the lot that is me.

But what do I do on days when I don’t like me very much?

If I’m smart, I lean in to the parts I don’t like.

Wait! But what if I’m in the midst of external criticism while others are producing stuff that blows me away – or worse… I think their stuff is lame and everyone else is celebrating it – what then? What if this is all happening and deep down, I’m just tired and disappointed with what is showing up in my life?

If I’m committed to being a creative, I go again.

Better yet, I double down on me. Any alternative is a sucker bet. In fact, I’m not even sure there’s an alternative. It may be the most sure wager I know. Of course if there’s truth here, I suspect I’m not the only game in town. It might be time to reclaim your chips too and put ‘em back to work on you.

“Our arts, our occupations, our marriages, our religion, we have not chosen, but society has chosen for us. We are parlour soldiers. We shun the rugged battle of fate, where strength is born.” – Emerson

A lot of life is preloaded.

My family, my socio-economic start, my race, my geography… I had no control over any of them and yet I live under them. When circumstances are favorable, I feel like I’ve won the lottery. When my back hurts or my internet goes out, I curse the gods.

The question I’m interested in is where do I take a stand regardless of my circumstances?

What do I care so much about that no thing will stop my commitment to it?

In the chatter about the “problems in our industry”, I’m believing that there are none. If there are problems, they are with me, they are with you or they are with us. “The industry” doesn’t exist apart from those three realities.

Problems live in that cowardly place where I expect all return and no investment.

Where must I go all-in? Where must you?

“There will be an agreement in whatever variety of actions, so they be each honest and natural in their hour.” – Emerson

How do you feel when you’re around confident people?

When folks are authentically themselves, without pretense or veneer, I’m not sure I could be more drawn in. Proximity to “the real” is like being close to a fountain of life. It invites me to be more truly myself.

From a distance however, I can be deceived into thinking I’m experiencing the real when I’m not. Kind of like seeing someone on television and then bumping into them in person. There’s a qualitative difference when I see them in the flesh and not through the screen.

It’s not that what I’m experience is bad or good. I’m making a quality of experience observation here and not a moral assessment.

It’s just not accurate to think that the proxy is the same thing as the real. What I’m experiencing is more of an appearance or replica than the actual.

Kind of reminds me of Rene Magritte’s famous painting of a pipe.

He was making the metaphysical distinction that a representation of a pipe is not the same thing as an actual pipe. Not only is the observation clever, it is resourceful.

As I got to thinking about that painting, I was reminded of the “representations” I make up in my head about the cool things other people create – pictures, businesses, presentations, words on paper. Even the best versions in my mind of what I think they are creating is not the same as the experience they enjoy when they actually create the thing.

Turns out the only way to experience that first hand is to create it on my own.

Seems to me it has to be more satisfying to experience the real act of creating first hand than to try and get a proxy experience of what I see others create, even if my admiration for their creation is greater than my own.

Turns out that the only road to discover a vision that is authentically mine – that is aligned with what I am made to deliver – is to get on the road I’m made to travel and make it so.

“Our arts, our occupations, our marriages, our religion, we have not chosen, but society has chosen for us. We are parlour soldiers. We shun the rugged battle of fate, where strength is born.” – Emerson

Most every successful professional photographer I know is a part-timer.

… and if they aren’t, I say they might want to rethink their strategy.

Let me go one step further:
I don’t think the “part-timer” category is a meaningful distinction anymore. It feels more like the residue from a bygone era meant to cajole people into responsibilities they no longer need to keep.

We need a new way to understand the people (part-time or not) who are flourishing so more can find their way.

Mapping a path to success by logging more time doing the same old thing, however, is no longer helpful. To create something new requires at least as much attention as emulating what everyone else is doing. We need to either dump the pejorative label or embrace those who are doing it well.

Of course, the part-timer can come in many forms. Some of you have day jobs in other industries and care so much about your craft of choice that you wake up early and stay up late doing it. Others are committed to the industry but do multiple tasks within it. Regardless, very few are doing nothing but shooting.

It’s time we call part-timing what it is. Anything otherwise is out-of-line with our times and the nature of what we do as creative professionals. How often we click one particular tool (our camera) is no longer sufficient to define one’s commitment.

I wonder if a better category for pro’s would be to note who are creatively committed and who are not.

One thing we can all agree on, even if you disagree with my claim, is that committing to do “it” more creatively is required of all of us (regardless of what “it” is). If more of us did, I’m confident we’d get a more satisfying result relative to our efforts.

Let me explain…

The new-school creatives who do photography part-time aren’t lazy. Far from it! They also don’t get to give up their commitment to the craft of photography. If you want to join them, you will have a LOT of work to do. But, taking pictures turns out to take a relatively small percentage of their time.

Case in point: I did a little informal survey of some of the most successful studios in the US and discovered that the principal photographer was only behind the lens between 10-12 hours per week. The resourceful question then has to be what are these success stories doing with the rest of their week?

Consider the heroes in the field we admire: We know who they are because of their body of work, right? But that’s not all they do. So, what else are they up to? With rare exception, most diversify their offerings.

Witness the sea of successful photographers creating overtly outside their photo genre (commercial shooters doing fine art), creating with tools unrelated to the camera (i.e., writing, illustration, inventions, start-ups), not to mention those expanding into the educational field.

On close inspection, these contributions are just the beginning of how these stand outs spend their time.

Because the act of creating doesn’t scale, entrepreneurial creatives find ways to embed their creativity in products that scale on their behalf. It’s why biz partners like our labs (manufacturing facilities really) are so important to us. It’s also why writers, musicians and film makers leverage Amazon and iTunes and Netflix.

Photographers aren’t alone.

Notice any actors planning weddings? Any athletes you know become coaches? How about musicians selling Harajuku perfume or making surf movies?

Even if you don’t like their hybrid-creations, you at least have to acknowledge that what they’re coming up with helps each to stand out from their usual crowd.

When people feel threatened by the idea that the part-timer now rules the world, I interpret that they’ve unfortunately bought into the belief that their identity is been placed in the wrong spot. Identity was never meant to be centered what we do: no one gets to “be” a professional photographer. Those who claim it exclusively are selling themselves short.

We aren’t what we do.

A functional view of identity breaks down pretty quick. What we do is meant to be an expression of who we are, not the source of who we are. Identity is bigger than that.

That said, I do understand why the suggestion that we take part-time photography seriously will seem offensive to some. How can someone be a pro and only do it part-time? Plus, if I’m spending 60 hours a week on my photo business right now, how is that not a full-time gig?

What I’m noticing is too many in our industry are adopting full time responsibilities that are decided for them… in what Emerson would call their parlour. The rugged battle – where your true and unique strength can be discovered – needs some time to be developed too.

Wouldn’t it be more resourceful then to reallocate our investment of time to include creating outside of the norm? I dare you to give it at least a part-time effort.

“Life wastes itself while we are preparing to live.” – Emerson

I’m an idea guy.

I have a lot of them. And they all feel like big deals. From better ways to do my work, to people I should call, to personal projects I should take on, to clients I need to follow up with, to new companies I want to launch…

But deciding which should get my attention and which should be put aside is a serious dilemma.

It’s what Malcolm Gladwell calls his “weight problem”. Despite having a slight physique, the Outliers author says he struggles with prioritizing the critical things over the mundane… sometimes he acts as though meeting a New Yorker deadline should carry the same weight as taking out the trash… everything feels equi-urgent. The thing is, they aren’t.

So, if all priorities are not created equal, how does one decide what should go next?

You put ‘em in a furnace.

Stand above what you’re actually prioritizing in your life and ask yourself some temperature raising questions. Not, 69 degrees to 71 degrees questions… go with molten lava questions instead. As in going from out here in the comfortable to in there where only the purest of gold remains.

An experiment in perspective: Let’s say you have a complaint that you don’t have enough clients and you just can’t figure out what to do to get more? Let’s also pretend that I have $5 million dollars in a suitcase and am committed to giving that cash away to the first photographer who sends me valid proof that they’ve booked 30 new clients in 5 days or less?

If that were true, do you think you’d find a way – as in right now – to do what’s required to put yourself in a new position? What would you do? Perhaps even more interesting, what would you stop doing to make space for this new effort?

Still stuck? Turn the heat up even higher. Raise your own stakes. Go through the mental exercise of asking what truly would matter most to you if the conditions of your life were radically altered.

What if you discovered you had 7 days left to live? Would that change anything for you? What would you start doing? What would just not matter anymore? If what you’re currently busy doing doesn’t seem as compelling in light of a life and death scenario (whether it’s your life or your business), are you sure what you’re busy doing is really worth your time?

What’s amazing is you & I have the option to live like this, without getting a call from the Oncologist.

But… maybe this all feels way too quick for you. Maybe I’m naive. Maybe I don’t get how complex your life is. Perhaps this kind of consideration just isn’t reasonable given how busy you feel…

If that’s what you’re saying to yourself, I suggest it might be time to find a way to interrupt “busy”.

When Emerson dared people to get a life, he meant one full of active intention, not endless empty tasks.

A mentor once told me that busy-ness is little more than well-camouflaged laziness. Authentic leaders aren’t busy he said. They trade busy in for clarity… for focus… for commitment. They are careful with what promises they make so they have the best chance of keeping them.

And when they mess things up and get in over their heads or realize they’re out of alignment with what matters most, they have the courage to interrupt their lives and get after it again.

“If we live truly, we shall see truly.” – Emerson

A few weeks ago I was in a conversation with Harry West from Business Innovation Factory. Even if you don’t know Harry, I have a hunch you know one of his creations: The Swiffer. Before the product was introduced in 1999, the mop and broom business accounted for about $300 million. A dozen years later, the Swiffer business is worth $1 billion (by itself).

How did Harry and company come up with this brilliant breakthrough product?

They slowed down & paid attention.

Before landing on the Swiffer invention, Harry and his team videotaped housewives cleaning their kitchen floors. After months of collecting footage they began to notice a few pain points:

(a) It was a hassle… Before cleaning the ladies would change into grubby clothes.
(b) There were redundancies… They would sweep first and mop second.
(c) It was inefficient… It took more time to clean the mop afterward then it did to clean the actual floor.

The real clincher though came when they noticed something deeper…

That’s when Harry smelled the opportunity.

After staring at the behavior for half a year, he wondered what values these floor cleaning customers were actually after, whether they knew it consciously or not.

He began to look at the pain points relative to the customer’s deeply felt desires: turns out they weren’t interested in cleaning floors… they just wanted their floor cleaned swiftly (think wiping your kitchen counter down before friends comes over for dinner) but there was no solution that could do that… yet.

Enter the Swiffer.

In one fell swoop, the Swiffer connected the dots: You could clean in a tuxedo if you wanted; it is a single task (not two); and when you’re done you throw out the dusters (before going out and buying more). The “Razor and Blades” business model also meant repeat buyers while solving their felt needs.

Now, I don’t think Emerson cared much about cleaning products when he wrote what he did 200 years ago. I do think he cared about the individuals like Harry who were brazen enough to step forward and make thoughtful invention a way of life. Imagine what the implications for this habit might be for entrepreneurs like us if we had this same designers discipline.

So, practically, when you think of your business – not to mention your life – what are you leaving on your proverbial table? What if there were resources right in front of you, if only you were to slow down and pay attention like Harry? Would you take the time to develop eyes that can actually see the “new”? Are you curious enough to notice your customer’s pain points and connect those to their real values?

How committed are you (and I) to bringing THOSE products & services to market – the ones that eradicate that pain and meet those desires – before your competitors do?

Opportunity is knocking.

“That which each can do best, none but his Maker can teach him. Where is the master who could have taught Shakespeare? Where is the master who could have instructed Franklin, or Washington, or Bacon, or Newton? . . . Shakespeare will never be made by the study of Shakespeare. Do that which is assigned you, and you cannot hope too much or dare too much.” – Emerson

Who do you listen to?

I was in a conversation with Tim Sanders recently who was warning me (and those listening in) to be very thoughtful about the socialstream I choose.

Like kids in the junior high school yard, I’m tempted to think I’m un-effected by those I let in my consciousness. But those voices – good and bad – do effect me & I’d be wise to be intentional with who I grant access.

That said, when it comes to creativity, there’s a deeper voice I can neglect even more that has even greater ramifications. It’s my genie.

That voice in my soul that I need a lot of quiet to hear from. The greeks actually called her genius. We all have one. Very few of us, however, are brave enough to do what’s required to woo her out into the light.

I get it. It’s scary.

One thing I’m clear on though is those who do dare, accomplish the remarkable.

Emerson was right, Shakespeare will never be made by the study of Shakespeare. Same thing with Jeremy & Altf & Parker & Marcus. These crazy people are listening to something internal even while they’re inspired by a world external. I’m tempted to call them geniuses. But they’re not. They’re just regular joes courageous enough to listen their genie inside and do something about it.

I caught a lot of flack for putting the phrase “Fast Track” in the titles of my last two books mainly because critics were concerned that I was suggesting I had some short cut solution to becoming a competent professional creative. There isn’t and I wasn’t.

If you want results – to hear from your genie – you need to work harder at listening than you knew was possible. It’s a daily engagement… a habit, a discipline. The fruit of which can take you on a crazy road & make you feel crazy. But if you really want to find the fastest track to your authentic creative self, I’m convinced that making some dates with your genie is where it begins.

PS… For more insight on nurturing your genius, check out Elizabeth Gilbert’s legendary TED Talk.

It happens all the time…

I experience something jaw-dropping, awe-inducing… maybe even life-interrupting. An epiphany ensues. I’m challenged to reconsider all I’ve done up until now… to perhaps even go a new way with my craft and my life.

And then it happens.

I’m tempted to ask the inevitable and creativity-crippling question… How could I do that?

On the surface this seems benign. Like it’s no big deal. In fact, if anything, it seems resourceful.

What could be wrong with getting inspired and then wanting to inspire?

Like a venus flytrap luring its prey, a premature “how” is an inevitable death to creativity.

Asking “how” in response to greatness sends me down the wrong road. It short circuits innovation.

It is perhaps the least resourceful question I could ask in that moment.

I say all this to emphasize that I understand just how hard it is to not ask how. In fact, I published a post yesterday that spawned a rich conversation. After making the case for the need & opportunity to iterate, the first few comments from some friends were “how” do “I” do that.

When I read the responses I felt both care (the questions were sincere) and concern (the questions revealed a cancer in our industry ecosystem).

What is that cancer you ask? Entitlement.

One of the reasons I believe I can see it pretty clearly is I’ve had a chronic bout with entitlement myself.

For me at least, it’s flowed from having been handed a pretty amazing set of circumstances show up in my life and witnessed others who’ve had pretty amazing circumstances show up in their lives.

Over time, I’ve unconsciously been tempted to believe that “amazing circumstances” is normal… that I “should” have that kind of life handed to me… that I deserve it. In many ways this is the American dilemma. But that’s perhaps a bit out of scope for this conversation.

For our purposes, I want to talk about a more resourceful way to respond when inspired – and to punch entitlement in the mouth at the same time.

What if instead of leading with “tell me how you did it” we led with “what“… as in “what does that inspire within me?”

Could a minor shift in a pronoun choice make that much of a difference?

Perhaps so… at least if what shifts with that pronoun is also the subject. I must also adjust who I’m addressing.

But who cares what I think. You tell me…

Ask yourself the “what does that inspire in me?” question when you consider the following…

• Trey Ratcliff‘s HDR
• Joey L‘s fine art work
• Jerry Ghionis‘ wedding images

Then… with a l o n g p a u s e (and a grain of vision from within), introduce a better timed “how”.

In the process, watch a massive new resource that was previously out of reach show up.

Why? Because now the relative pronoun is asking it of the new creative… from within rather than pilfered from without… it’s asking it of you and it’s asking it of me.

It seems to be in vogue these days to suggest that the photo industry has a problem that needs fixing. It doesn’t.

“If only we could limit access…”
“If only we could slow down talent acquisition…”
“If only we could go back to the good ol’ days…”

I don’t hear many people say things this overtly, but I do hear it underneath industry complaints. What I hear even more is that, somehow, it’s the new photographers fault that things have shifted. It isn’t.

Although it might feel good to try and find a scapegoat for challenging circumstances, I don’t think it’s very constructive… or creative.

In a recent conversation, Seth Godin noted that all you used to need to succeed as a pro photographer were (a) access to tools and (b) access to talent. He believed this was so because of his belief that where there is scarcity, there is value. Since neither tools nor talent are scarce any longer, success can feel elusive.

Let’s back up for a second and get some perspective…

Not too long ago, if you aspired to be a pro photographer, you’d have to invest a chunk of money on inconvenient and heavy camera gear (tools), not to mention a lifetime of commitment to the craft to become something special (talent).

Like the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker before him, the photographer had the chance to create value because he could do things with his camera that others couldn’t. That is, what he had to offer (tools and talent) was in short supply and high demand.

Over time, a sort of ecosystem evolved around photography. You and I call that ecosystem “the photo industry” and it is part of a larger ecosystem called “commerce”.

What’s interesting about this ecosystem is how it evolves, with or without anyone’s participation. In that way, the changes we are all experiencing aren’t in any way personal. The tectonic shifts happen in every industry once in a while regardless of how any of us feel about it.

Notice how the evolutionary pattern of successful iterations is always the same:
• from film to digital
• from negatives to JPG to RAW
• from dark rooms to labs to manufacturing facilities
• from Paint to Photoshop to CS5.5
• from large format to medium format to 35mm to DSLR
• from self-taught to art school to worldwide online broadcasts offered for free

Why wouldn’t this also be true for the photographers themselves?

Ecosystems need to grow to live. Participants in that ecosystem need to iterate to survive.

Yet, so many photographers take the evolutionary process of the ecosystem personally. Like there’s a conspiracy “out there” trying to steal what “should” be ours. We think too highly of ourselves if we believe (unconscious or not) that we deserve to get paid for what we do with a camera. We don’t.

Evolutionary forces are always at work. Those who creatively adapt, win. Those who don’t, disappear.

As a business person within any trade (e.g., cake-baking, candle-making, photo-taking), I take it as my job to respond to the system resourcefully and not the other way around.

The most recent and obvious shift in the photo industry hit about a decade ago when everything went digital. The naysayers fought it for a bit but besides a small band of endangered analog enthusiasts, it has become clear that if one didn’t adapt to digital on a professional level, you ran the risk of extinction.

Where professional photographers have felt the implications of this reset the most has been with the influx of photographers. From the perspective of the ecosystem, this is of course great news: more people are being infected with the desire to take pictures!

From the perspective of the participant in the eco-system though, it could feel personal if it affects my ability to feed my kids. But, getting mad at evolution or trying to hold back the tide or hating on the new wave misses the mark. Why not try something new? Why not leverage our times and the direction of the ecosystem instead? I wonder if that might be even more resourceful.

The photo industry isn’t a problem that needs fixing. It’s an evolving resource that needs leveraging.