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Should we pander?

In a race to go faster, cheaper and wider, it's tempting to strip away elegance, ornamentation or subtlety. If you want to reach more people, aim for average.

The market, given a choice, often picks something that's short-term, shoddy, inane, obvious, cheap, a quick thrill. Given the choice, the market almost never votes for the building, the monument or the civic development it ends up being so proud of a generation later. Think about it: the best way to write an instant bestseller is to aim low.

The race to popular belies the fact that our beloved classics were yesterday's elitist/obscure follies.

Bob Dylan, Star Trek and the Twilight Zone vs. The Monkees, The Beverly Hillbillies and Gilligan's Island.

Zaha Hadid and Maya Lin vs. Robert Moses. 

A Confederacy of Dunces vs. Valley of the Dolls.

No one watches Ed Sullivan reruns (except for one, the exception that proves that rule).

It's our choice. The ones who create, the ones who instigate, the ones who respond to what's been built. It's up to us to raise the bar—pandering is a waste of what's possible.

Sometimes it seems like winner-take-all capitalism is pushing us ever harder to play it dumb. That makes it even more important that we resist.

Some people hate change

They don't hate you.

If you get confused about that, it's going to be difficult to make (needed, positive, important) change in the future.

Who is this for?

Is it for people who are interested, or those just driving by?

For the informed, intelligent, educated part of your audience? For those with an urgent need?

Is it designed to please the lowest common denominator?

If you're trying to delight the people who are standing on one foot, reading their email and about to buy from a competitor because he's cheaper than you, what compromises will you need to make? Are they worth it?

Election day

Every day, people vote.

They vote for brands, for habits, for the people they trust. They vote for where they will place their attention, their money and their time.

The big difference is that you can do just fine in today's election without winning a majority of votes. Most elections aren't winner-take-all.

The people at the edges, the special interest groups and the weird ones matter a lot when you don't need a landslide to make a difference.

The magic is this: As soon as you stop acting like you need every single vote, you can earn the votes of the people you seek to serve.

It’s not your fault

… but it might be your responsibility.

That's a fork in the road on the way to becoming a professional.

Witch hunts make no sense

They are based on a fallacy: "I am irrationally afraid and persecuting this innocent person will make me feel better."

Which is expressed by those in power as: "There's a good reason I'm afraid and punishing this person will make that reason go away."

Hunting witches never makes things better. Partly because there are no witches.

But mostly because it's really unlikely that we're afraid for a good reason (our fear is just about always irrational). And of course, our irrational fear has nothing to do with the person or the group we're using a scapegoat.

So much more useful and productive to say, "I'm afraid," and leave it at that.

Symbolic logic

I was so transformed by the symbolic logic course I took in college that I took another one in grad school.

Can you learn to organize five true statements into a sixth one?

More important than just about any course that's based on facts, symbolic logic is an elegant way to build facts into arguments and arguments into change that lasts.

There are several good free courses online. Here's one.

Entitlement vs. worthiness

Entitlement is the joy killer.

Halloween is hardly what it could be. Any other day of the year, hand a kid a chocolate bar and he'll be thrilled. Do it on Halloween and it's worth almost nothing.

When you receive something you feel entitled to, something expected, that you believe you've earned, it's not worth much. And when you don't receive it, you're furious. After all, it's yours. Already yours. And you didn't get it. Whether you're wearing a hobo costume or showing up as a surgeon after years of medical school, entitlement guarantees that you won't get what you need.

Worthiness, on the other hand, is an essential part of receiving anything.

When you feel unworthy, any kind response, positive feedback or reward feels like a trick, a scam, the luck of the draw. It's hardly worth anything, because you decided in advance, before you got the feedback, that you weren't worthy.

It's possible to feel worthy without feeling entitled. Humility and worthiness have nothing at all to do with defending our territory. We don't have to feel like a fraud to also be gracious, open or humble.

Both entitlement and unworthiness are the work of the resistance. The twin narratives make us bitter, encourage us to be ungenerous, keep us stuck. Divas are divas because they've tricked themselves into believing both narratives–that they're not getting what they're entitled to, and, perversely, that they're not worth what they're getting.

The entitled yet frightened voice says, "What's the point of contributing if those people aren't going to appreciate it sufficiently?" And the defensive unworthy voice says, "What's the point of shipping the work if I don't think I'm worthy of being paid attention to…"

The universe, it turns out, owes each of us very little indeed. Hard work and the dangerous commitment to doing something that matters doesn't get us a guaranteed wheelbarrow of prizes… but what it does do is help us understand our worth. That worth, over time, can become an obligation, the chance to do our best work and to contribute to communities we care about.

When the work is worth it, make more of it, because you can, and because you're generous enough to share it.

"I'm not worthy," isn't a useful way to respond to success. And neither is, "that's it?"

It might be better if we were just a bit better at saying, "thank you."

The other element of guerilla marketing

The first element is the guts to do things without money or bureaucratic approval.

The guerrilla marketer doesn't wait for a policy, or a developed industry or a line to form. She steps up and speaks up.

But, as Jay Levinson said from the start, more than thirty years ago, the other half is at least as important, and easy to overlook:

The core element of guerilla marketing is generosity.

You don't market at people, or even to people. We market for them and with them.

Guerrillas have long understood that it's possible to attract someone's attention. What makes it a viable approach, though, is that people are delighted once they find out what you've got going on. Effective guerrilla marketing always begins with a product or service that's worth the marketing you're going to put into it.

Hence the two tensions:

  1. Big company industrial marketers don't believe enough in what they sell to become guerilla marketers. Guerrilla marketing flies in the face of bureaucratic indifference.
  2. Many would-be guerrilla marketers spend so much time seeking attention that sometimes they forget to re-focus on the promises being made. 

Next Monday is World Guerrilla Marketing Day, a holiday I just made up, guerrilla-style. What will you ship?

Bravery is for other people

Bravery is for the people who have no choice, people like Chesley Sullenberger and Audie Murphy.

Bravery is for the people who are gifted, people like Ralph Abernathy, Sarah Kay and Miles Davis.

Bravery is for the people who are called, people like Abraham Lincoln,  Rosa Parks and Mother Theresa.

Bravery is for other people.

When you see it that way, it's so clearly and patently absurd that it's pretty clear that bravery is merely a choice.

At least once in your life (maybe this week, maybe today) you did something that was brave and generous and important. The only question is one of degree… when will we care enough to be brave again?