leadership

burning questions with seth godin: faith, lizards, and your art

Seth Godin has one of the most highly respected and trafficked blogs on the world wide web; the most-viewed presentations on TED; the most charitable social and information systems in action, the best-selling series of books on marketing, culture, and idea-generation.

His new book, Linchpin: Are You Indispensable? goes on shelves and ships TODAY! It's a whole new kind of Seth fabulous that speaks to the heart (and primal encoding) of creativity in all pursuits. It is beautiful.

Seth's views on collaboration, endurance, and what it means to be an artist give me a deep sense of belonging and optimism. His definition of "art" contains three elements:

1. Art is made by a human being.
2. Art is created to have an impact, to change someone else.
3. Art is a gift. You can sell the souvenir, the canvas, the recording... but the idea itself is free, and the generosity is a critical part of making art.

Art is what we're doing when we do our best work.

Ladies and gentleman, it is a true honour to bring you, The Integrity Artist, The Amplifier of other people's goodness, and one of my biggest intellectual crushes, Mr. Seth Godin.

BURNING QUESTIONS WITH SETH GODIN

1. What do you know to be true, unquestionably beyond doubt, certain with every cell of your being, completely, passionately, righteously certain?

Somewhere, someone is going to have a spectacular day tomorrow, the best day they ever had. Maybe even more than one person. Maybe you.

2. How do we rise above the grip of resistance-addicted lizard brain into unleashed, energized, full tilt mojo and artistic moxy?

The lizard is the prehistoric brain stem, the amygdala, the part of our brain responsible for anger, revenge, sex and safety. It's what a chicken has, all that a chicken has.

The lizard is mistaken.

The lizard successfully believed, for a really long time, that safety was good. Avoid saber-tooth tigers. Duck your head. Don't raise your hand. That = survival.

Now, of course, that equals burger-flipping and Wal-Mart greeting. Safety is a recipe for food stamps.

What the lizard ought to be doing is pushing you to do art, pushing you to stand out, pushing you to do work that matters and to make a difference.

So, you rise above by seducing and quieting the lizard, and then, when it's snoozing, do exactly the opposite of what it wants you to do.

3. What was the dumbest thing that you used to believe in?

Deserved.

That some people got what they deserved. That someone deserved to be taught a lesson at my expense. That bad luck hurts people who deserve better.

What's true: Stuff happens. We dance with it. The better and happier you dance, the better you do. And every minute you spend teaching people a lesson is a minute wasted forever.

4. I think we crave originality and individuation as much as we crave belonging and the beautiful symmetry of being in tribe. How do we steer clear of, as you call it in Linchpin, the "Faustian bargains in which we trade our genius and artistry for stability"? How do we access our own originality? (This, by the way, could be the best question I've ever asked anyone. Ever.)

Join a tribe of artists. Lead a tribe of people intent on making a difference.

1984 is a scary book because belonging to a tribe of cogs is the most frightening thing of all. Better to be Neo or Trinity than to live in the Matrix, I think.

5. Dante and "all who entered", had to abandon hope at the gates of the inferno. I have my own theory on that (I'm not a fan of h-o-p-e.) Is hope a requirement for Linchpins and change agents? Or trust?

Mostly faith.

Faith in your art. Faith in your ability to matter. Faith in the future and opportunities that will present themselves. The reality is you need low overhead and an ability to get through the Dip and the reality is you must put in the hours and push yourself harder than you can imagine. Then the faith pays off.

6. What question are you currently living?

Whatcha talking about Willis?

oh

how about, "How can I leverage this opportunity to spread an idea that people really need to hear... and not waste my chance."

7. What’s your super hero name? (You have one. To discover it, stand with hands on your hips, chest up, and eyes to the sky. It’ll come to you. FYI, Mine is Agent Now, which in French translates to L’Agent Maintenent. Adorable n'est pas?)

The Amplifier.

Indeed.

. . . . . . .

FIND SETH

SethGodin.com
The Squidoo Linchpin Interviews
Linhpin: Are You Indispensable?
TED Lectures

 

love local: an extra-special message for anyone trying to save the world

Hello, my name is Danielle and I'm a recovering Savior of the World. I used to think that my self-worth depended on my vegetarianism, my activism, futurism, my pro-this and anti-that. Had halo, would preach. Had 'isms, would teach.

I still wrestle with issues of spheres of influence (like one might wrestle a greased boa constrictor while wearing in a bikini - with great difficulty), but my circle of devotion has gotten decidedly more focused, or at least more proportioned. My a-ha on this came like a bolt of lighting, at a swanky event, in which I cried an ugly cry that I'll never forget.

I was at a weekend retreat in the Catsklills for thinkers thinking global-size thoughts. We fancied ourselves as change agents. And we were. The group of us was made up of economists, UN officials, socially responsible CEOs, media personalities, and bonafide spiritual leaders. Conversations were deeply meaningful and our love for our individual and shared causes cohered into a whole lotta serious inspiration. One of the afternoons was allotted for individual silent time and we were encouraged to reflect in solitude and then reconvene.

I spent some of my time in a dilapidated tree house in the woods. I journaled. I laid on the grass and cloud-watched. I thought about my "causes" and how much I poured into saving the world from all the things I thought it needed to be saved from. And my thoughts brought me home. Literally.

A few weeks before, my man and I got engaged. I was deep into thought about what commitment to a life together meant. The enormity of it, the sweetness of it, the terror of it....I thought of all that was required to be poured into it. And something in me cracked open that overcast day: I realized that most of my love was being poured outward, not homeward. It felt more noble to help people in far off countries and in future generations than it did to - simply - love the one I was with and love him well - the way he deserved to be loved.

We reconvened, sat in our fancy chairs in a circle, preparing to discuss our world-enhancing thoughts that had surfaced in our silent solitude. I wasn't aware of it for a few moments, but I was crying.

(Now, before I go any further with this story, it's essential that I tell you that I'm not a public crier. I don't even really like groups. I've done too many group workshops and those moments when sister gets up and bawls her eyes out about family of origin stuff or mister breaks down about his mean mother... well, I appreciate it. I feel deep compassion. Sometimes I admire those group-shared collapses. But I don't do it. My snot-gobbing heaving cries are sacred and best had in my bathtub or day bed. Except on this day, in front of the dignitaries and laureates. On this day, I was about to lose my shit like no other.)

The facilitator noticed me quietly whimpering. "Danielle, clearly you're moved. Would you like to share?" People were looking concerned and then I started to feel concerned because I noticed that I was really crying, like, my body was crying for me and there was no stopping it. For some reason, I grabbed the mic and I let 'er rip: "I, I, I just realized..." I was sobbing now, "I've been so fixated on the global, that, that, that... I've missed the love in my own home. I've, you know... I've missed the...the center of my circle." People nodded. I don't know if they related or thought I was pathetic. The silence was deafening.

And then I blew my nose and whimpered, "We can move on now." It was gross. And so we did. We talked about the layers of service and devotion and where we chose to put our energies. It was awkward and then beautiful and then powerful.

Everyone was really uncomfortably nice to me after that. I felt like they'd all seen my underpants, and I wasn't wearing any.

Am I happy that I slobbered all over my white shirt and blew my cover as a cool cucumber in front of those agents of change? Nope, not really. I'm just not that ego-less and evolved. I could have done without the high-exposure blubber fest. But it happened. And it put the world crises into perspective for me. And I went home. And for probably the first time, I was really home when I got there.

 

wisdom + creativity

{If you're viewing this via email, click on the title above to watch the video clip.}

A great friend gave me the coffee table book, Wisdom for Christmas. And I actually read it. It's packed with layers of experience. Humbling. Argumentative. Informed. From Clint Eastwood and Frank Gehry to Jane Goodall and Vanessa Redgrave.

This video clip is great for two reasons: one, it highlights the immense power of the players, but it also shows how Andrew Zuckerman, the book's author/coordinator, just did it. He had a values-based vision, and zero experience as an interviewer. He aimed high. He didn't settle. He made himself "a servant to the pursuit of wisdom," and he made it happen. Gotta love that.

 

MLK on right action…