The human side of business

Small Business

The Process Is The Answer.

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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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  • A good day to celebrate 48! #hbdtome🎉 #aliveandwell
  • 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. (Cont. in comments)
  • A very happy 10th birthday to this lil stinker. Have a feeling we’ll remember this one. #hbd #noparty #morecake
  • 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. #covid_19
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About

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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