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SMARTY.

The human side of business

Big Life

Company.

April 6, 2020 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Photo: @sanddiary

In my house, we’ve been talking about how it is to be with… each other.
In my mind, I’ve been thinking about how it is to be with, period.

With two tween girls, and the fourth member of our family in another state, our togetherness – and even our apartness – has a quality    to it.

I’ve reminded everyone that we are who and what we have. And, that our togetherness colors our worlds. We can lift, annoy or deflate each other… in an instant.

To them, I’ve asked –

Am I being good company… for you?
Are you being good company…for us?

It got me thinking – what does it mean to be good company? And what does this moment help us see about each other – about “us” – that we might not face in the midst of life as we knew it?

We’re mostly in the business of evaluating how others push and pull us. We’ve become semi-professional articulators of how your habit/way/mood/view…impacts me and mine. But how often do we consider how it is to be them…around us? Or even, how is life      with me…
as me?

With proximities we haven’t had before, and for durations that transcend any past frames of reference, our togetherness (or aloneness) has created new sensations, perhaps even revelations – welcome or not.

Nothing is how it was.
Yet simultaneously…
Some things, how ever they were, have now become magnified.

A natural instinct would be to continue to manufacture distractions – as that is what we know how to do so well. But that would miss this unprecedented opportunity, where life has paused out there…where we could make eye contact with right here, right now and see
something important.

On a more superficial level, I see that for myself it’s easy to react with jagged edges to various triggers – be it my tiny roommate’s leftover dishes on the coffee table or a silent (but definitely judgmental) response to someone or something on social media. On a dark day, it can sound like my greatest hits of personal disappointment – the voices of every little or big way I’ve let myself (or others) down. The compare = despair machinery wakes up – even in these new conditions.

Under normal circumstances, I might quickly reset myself with – so what? To what end? And arrive, ultimately at … move on…no time (or energy) for that.

But that grounding exercise is easier to do when the proverbial “edge” is within sight.

When the world made sense (a month or two ago), we measured our reality – our overall OK-ness – through a dynamic lens, often comparing what is to what could be. Whether we’re aware of it or not, we are almost always self-regulating our relationship with good, getting better…bad, getting worse…stagnant, not going anywhere. We have end dates. Start dates. Calendars. Before we let a feeling submerge too deeply, it’s probably time to …make dinner, see friends, meet a work deadline…get on a plane. Diversion was our frequent companion.

And it’s not that we didn’t feel, or let ourselves feel – if you’re reading this – you’re a feeler, like I am. We feel.

But now, whether alone or with others, the feelings that might have stayed boxed away in storage have nowhere to go, but here.

For me, these mercurial tides take the form of reflections, questions and ruminations about my purpose, about my relationships. They can wash over me in huge waves or nip like tiny laps at my ankle. In these moments, I don’t know whether it’s harder to be with, or to be alone.

There are times when my own company is startlingly honest. I’ve been aware of a pattern emerging, noticing the distance between how I feel and what I want, and what I do about it.

I’m not always ready to face these emotional voicemails.
Yet, I don’t want to be afraid of them.

Are the answers to questions of being good company – for each other, for ourselves – more important to answer today? Are they more pressing than a month ago, or a year before that? Will they be as important six months from now? I don’t know.

What is pressing is this unusual opportunity, despite its dark catalyst. Our accepted constructs of time and space have been redefined, removing the usual barriers to eliciting authentic answers. Our emotional nerve centers, more porous these days, are letting more in…letting more out…with fewer filters. We’ve been invited to what could be a one-time conversation, if we’re willing to accept.

What an opening to take inventory of our impact; on each other, on our worlds – both literal and figurative.

How am I, for you?
How am I…for me?
How are we?

We are always keeping company.
This seems like a rare moment to inquire about how it is, to be us.

Big Life

Connected.

March 24, 2020 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Today, I got down on my knees and did something I’m slightly ashamed to say… I haven’t done in a very       long time.

I cleaned all the floors in my house.
I scrubbed the corners of the bathrooms, the places that no one sees until they look too closely.
I scoured the kitchen, edge to edge.

It is a privilege (under normal circumstances) to be able to outsource this work.
At the same time, it was on my knees that felt right on this day.

On one’s knees there is humility. It’s the way we pray; it’s where we play with our babies, and where we come to understand what vulnerability really means. It’s often where we cry.

There’s something about being close to the ground, the earth. The act of lowering our bodies also lowers our walls, our egos, our pride.

Once, when I was in India, I saw something that I still think of often.

I was sitting in the courtyard of a shrine, an open square surrounded by an ancient wall whose center housed a divine Hindi god. There are hundreds like them.

Thousands of people, of all socioeconomic groups, were making their way in and out. The very, very poor – shoeless, toothless, penniless – stood alongside the very rich, with expensive watches and waiting drivers. Some were moving slowly, others in a rush. Worship, in India is a daily devotional practice – a stop on the way to work as much as a holy family outing.

I watched as throngs of people poured out of every doorway, walking briskly past the others who had prostrated themselves in front of the structure itself – some, kneeling, noses down, others laid out on their bellies, arms outstretched in supplication. This chaotic scene plays out often there – to the curiosity of Westerners who can’t imagine ourselves face down in our own sacred venues – which might be church for some, or a concert for others.

A young man, maybe 20-years old, in his rush to leave, inadvertently stepped on the arm of an elder woman still in the process of worship. With her face down buried into the stone, she most certainly felt the injury – it was the full weight of his body on her frail wrist. But she didn’t move.

Realizing his miscalculation in space, he quickly turned back to her, and without registering a second of contemplation – he got down on his knees, and kissed both souls of her aged, bare, blackened feet. As quickly as he had knelt, I was no sooner looking at the back of his checked shirt, pushing the turn style to leave.

She never looked up.
And he never turned to see if she did.

What will it take for us…to get here?
To feel this sense of connectedness?

Something passed between them, yet no thanks was given, no validation sought. But humanity, nonetheless, was undeniably present. The act itself, of course, transcended all practical precaution for hygiene, a behavior that has become part of our daily consciousness at this moment – a practice that could (in fact) determine life or death.

But even at that moment, it wasn’t the act itself I hoped to replicate, but more that such instinctual reverence for a complete stranger could be second nature… that seemed worth emulating.

I chose my knees today because I think it was the only place that matched my emotional hillside.

It was devotion.
It was humility.
It was surrender.

Big Life

This.

March 19, 2020 · By Amy Swift Crosby

I can’t remember the last time…I had time.
When I wasn’t in a hurry.
When I wasn’t doing two, three, even four things – at once.

This is unprecedented. Perhaps even sacred.

Strangely, I’m now beginning to realize how upset I’ve been at never having enough…
Hours…..Space…..Width…..Depth.

We, as a culture, know so little about staying in one place. About settling in. About being quiet, within the quiet, in the soft corners of our interiors. We talk about it. But how much do we embody it?

Our footprints are on everything, even while we talk about stillness.
Our minds are everywhere, even as we preach about mindfulness.

Yet, there are some of us – many of us I’m learning – who see the gift in this (undoubtedly) finite moment.

We are doing things we haven’t had time to do in years. Our schedules are empty, and one thing doesn’t have to be sacrificed for another, because the day just got a lot longer. We aren’t checking the box, we’re climbing out of it – even as we’re confined to it. For the first time in a long while, we can hear ourselves think. Yes, the thoughts are scary, uncertain, confronting and even bleak at times. We see suffering, and fear.

But somewhere, deep inside, is that relief I also feel?

A regeneration is happening.

What can we learn?
What can be birthed – in all this space?
What closure – within us, around us – has been forced, that needs to
take hold?

I hope this time can and will mean something. Because unequivocally, we are getting a message, if we’re willing to hear it.

Could this be the beginning of everything that needs to be next?

I’m going to let it come.
And then, let it roar.
I want to be ready for something precious and bold.

I want this to be the time…
we didn’t go back to that.

We have some change to make.

PS in case you missed it, check out our last post, Uncertainty.

Big Life

TBH.

January 28, 2020 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Photo: Hiroshi Sugimoto

TBH.

Admittedly, language and the construction of messages fascinate me. I really really, love noticing how people use words. When I meet someone who strings just the right words together to communicate precisely what they intended, it gives me goosebumps. Or, when I hear something complicated expressed with only a few (usually exceptional) words, I want to give a tip of the proverbial hat.

Of course, language is my vocational currency, but it’s also in our shared interest to be conscientious (if not vigilant) about how words and their meanings get co-opted. When we become complacent, our shared meaning evaporates.

In this spirit, I want to acknowledge an increasingly common preamble I’m seeing all around me (a particular favorite of those born between 1980 – 2000.) 

TBH.

It goes like this. “TBH, that date and time doesn’t really work for me.”

(For those over 50, TBH is shorthand for “to be honest.”)

Why do these three words necessitate an anacronym, you might ask?

Because along with IMHO, “in my humble opinion” and AFAIC “As Far as I’m Concerned” and FWIW, “For What It’s Worth” they have become much too long and clunky (apparently) when written in full.

These are almost exclusively used in the digital realm. And all of them are curious attempts to truncate expressions that actually didn’t need a short cut to begin with.

At one time, “to be honest” was reserved for a particularly candid revelation that prepared the listener for what the speaker was about to (honestly) share. A linguistic pre-game with a specific purpose – to delay the delivery of a piece of information that might otherwise land abruptly, hurt feelings or cause a shock, even the good kind. “To be honest” (said in full) is a natural transition to something brave – opening the gate to a disarming truth. 

“To be honest, I never liked your husband.”

“To be honest, I never showed up to work that day.”

“To be honest, I’ve always loved you.”

But today, not only has it been shortened, which naturally dilutes its potency, but the information that follows TBH is– to be really honest – a sizable non-event.

“TBH, I prefer tuna to turkey.”

“TBH, I thought it was at 5pm, not 7pm.”

“TBH, I don’t follow her.”

Dear TBH users, you’re committing a crime of precedent; sending a clear signal to anyone reading to wonder what you weren’t TBH’ing before. It also runs the risk of sounding passive-aggressive, an assemblage that can’t help but be heard with a whine. It adds unnecessary seriousness to otherwise transactional language that consciously or unconsciously cues others to listen to your words with gravitas.

A hunch about these sentence-starters is that they provide an onramp to messages that sound banal, but actually hold feelings. I should say Feelings with a capital F, the kind which call for an extra “umph”– for emphasis. An exclamation point wouldn’t be right, nor would bolding (though both would be more straightforward.) TBH is actually a digital shortcut for “read into what I’m about to say because I’m not going to say what I really mean.” 

Going back to the TBH examples above, here are some riffs on how to lose TBH, and turn subtext into context.

“That time doesn’t work for me, and I’m feeling frustrated that you always forget I have dance class on Tuesdays.”

or

“I prefer tuna to turkey and why doesn’t anyone remember that I’m a pescatarian.”

Or whatever.

Who cares, you might ask? We all need to care.

Language is a primary tool for us. If we aren’t saying what we mean, we’re still saying something. We rely on each other, whether in close and intimate relationships, or in professional collegial settings, to be candid – as much as possible. When that isn’t the case, dialogue becomes a moving target – a guessing game. When we aren’t direct or clear, we force people to assume, or makeup stories, and we lose opportunities to deepen understanding and strengthen relationships. In the perfunctory sense, it wastes time. In the poetic, it skirts connection.

TBH erodes the credibility that candor naturally cultivates. In many office communications, TBH lands with defensiveness. Interpersonally, it has a boy-who-cried-wolf quality. TBH is a sidestep (and copout) in the communication path

Don’t get me wrong; efficiencies are nice.

BRB, “Be Right Back”

FYI, “For Your Information”

GTG, “Got To Go”

These and others like them are useful for a few reasons, but the most important one is that their intent doesn’t get diluted by becoming an anacronym. And this, to me, is the litmus test.

If you have a minute for one more…

A similar frustration exists for me with “in my opinion,” but in a different way. Of course, it’s your opinion. You’re the one sharing it. In addition to the obvious, IMO initiates a subtle move to disown the idea about to be presented and adds a touch of humble bragging. Because ownership is implied in whatever statement is about to be made by the speaker, IMO signals a lack of conviction, and unwillingness to fully own whatever is about to be said. IMO feels like “this is just from the humble, possibly uninformed position where I sit. I may know nothing. Or everything. It depends on the outcome.”

Example.

“If we hire this guy, we’ll be solving a problem, but we won’t be creating a solution.”

Add IMO to this sentence and suddenly it’s smaller, less impactful, and reduces the idea to a purely subjective expression tantamount to hand-raising for agreement or disagreement. It’s just another opinion… with a whisper of “take it or leave it. If I’m right I’ll get credit for saying it, but if I’m not, then it was just my opinion – nothing more.” 

My hope is that these hashtag-style crutches will lose their luster in 2020, and that those who hope to drop a mic by using TBH will realize that this word cocktail has the opposite effect. It’s like being invited to a party billed with suspense about an impossibly cool band, only to show up and find Pandora playing that band’s music (with commercials.)

When we use language consciously, we become closer, wiser and even more free. 

When we phone it in, even without mal intent, meaning is diluted, and we miss the chance to be heard, known and seen.

The consequence to this seemingly granular referendum is that we lose something much bigger than we think – which is the attention we earned to be in the conversation at all. 

PS if you liked this post, check out Replication.

Small Business

Portraits.

February 3, 2016 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Jen blurry (art). Jen clear (commerce).

If we took as many selfies of our businesses as we did of our faces, we might make more honest assessments of what needs to change. But we fear feedback – giving it, receiving it.  We’re sometimes even scared of the people who work for us, but don’t want to admit it. We shudder at the thought of auditing people and processes because that means disruption, potentially being wrong, hurting feelings, being criticized. Our small companies often function on rocket fuel – adrenalin from an exciting client, a pitch, an opportunity, the “what-if’s” that make every day as a creative or entrepreneur or talent so fun and full of hope. 

Pausing is hard. Forward motion is easier. But have you ever just stood and looked yourself in the eye – for an uncomfortable amount of time? Looking into your own eyes, you see things. Personal things. Memories. Curiosities. Tendencies. Truths. When I created SMARTY in 2008, I was running on the adrenalin of leaving another women’s network as the editor in chief, wild-eyed and sleep deprived from the rigors of childbirth and breastfeeding, and the excitement of corralling a small team of people who could help me launch a different kind of business network for women. But we moved with such speed (ahem, seat-of-our-pants-ness) that I rarely took the time to assess our state of the union. Looking at P&L’s is one part of a businesses story – but really the overall picture was hard to capture. I wanted to look smarty in the eye and ponder it – but that would take too long and I was fielding too many potential land mines that I just Kept. It. Moving. I didn’t take selfies when I should have (which is why the model is now changing!).
If we can effectively turn the camera on our businesses – we could get past the discomfort of the long gaze and transcend beyond survival into relevance.

Here’s to more starring at ourselves in the mirror (no filter). The entrepreneurial selfie requires a deeper look. And one that takes feedback.

Small Business

The Process Is The Answer.

January 26, 2016 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Sometimes you have to pull the wagon and know you're going somewhere good (despite the trailer park.). Image thanks to @denisebovee

Most of us view our days and processes as increments of time toward a finish line, an answer or at least a conclusion.
“If I do this, then X will happen, and I’ll get / feel / know / earn Y.”

That’s natural. I think great meditators and highly conscious people are some of the only ones who don’t do this – as they are wise enough to view the process as the answer, the time as the finish line, and the end of the day as the simple conclusion of the question. But it’s hard to argue that importing your MailChimp contacts or making images for the website or pitching work is as conclusive or exciting as getting funded for an internet show, landing Podcast sponsorship, getting a call from Maria Shriver about….well, anything. One is process toward an end goal, the other is a goal realized.

So how to stay equanimous – and as joyful in the process as in the fireworks? Know that it’s mostly process. And knowing that, make it part of your life’s work – part of a bigger contribution, part of an impact that can only be seen for about a mile, but that resonates for miles and miles. Because it does. That blog you wrote/product you made/speech you gave/video you made? It changed someone’s view. And her family benefited. And her child had a idea because of it. And she slept better that night. And woke up ready to tackle her own miracle. And so forth. You cannot know – it’s impossible – your ultimate, cascading, winding, surprising impact is infinite. But being “in” the process of impact at the very least is a brightening reminder of WHY you do what you do. Let the answer remain elusive. And do it anyway.
This isn’t to say profits don’t matter, strategy doesn’t matter – yes the fundamentals of business are the infrastructure for impact to prevail. Tighten those up! Make them resilient and smart.

Then, do your work.

Deep-ish thoughts on a Tuesday. Why not.

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About Me

photo of Amy Swift Crosby

Amy Swift Crosby is a brand strategist and copywriter who has positioned or voiced messaging across the commercial spectrum, from icons like Ford, BVLGARI, Pottery Barn, Pantene and Virgin, to boutique brands like The Wild Unknown, fitness franchise Barre3 and the rebrand of legendary metaphysical bookstore, Bodhi Tree. She has leveraged this expertise to help entrepreneurial women and small businesses owners hone their skills, mission and message, while uncovering their own “voice.” This blog explores “the human side of business,” and universal themes like uncertainty, anxiety, the tension between engagement and disconnection, personal value and most importantly, of finding - and hearing - our own voices in our everyday life.

Photo - Andrew Stiles

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SMARTY began as a thriving community in Los Angeles and Boston with weekly panel discussions and events designed to better understand the mindset and growth strategies behind successful entrepreneurs. Today, SMARTY is a weekly blog written by Amy Swift Crosby who chronicles her life as a creative, parent, entrepreneur and spiritual seeker. As an urban refugee living in a New England seaside village, she unpacks topics ranging from uncertainty and doubt to the built environment and advertising. More on Amy.

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