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SMARTY.

The human side of business

Archives for 2018

Big Life

Magic.

December 11, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Auspicious synchronicities. #magic

What happens to our belief in the fantastical… once we know better?

This year, I found myself at a high-stakes pivot with my kids, smack dab in the crosshairs of a zero-gray area dilemma. Do I reveal or do I conceal? As a parent, you get used to the daily toggle between what you disclose (about life and death, headlines, anxieties,) and what you spin. These re-messaging strategies are a fundamental dimension of parenting, on most days.

But there is this one particular chapter of childhood that feels especially weighty. It’s that precarious transition from a world where fairies trade teeth for dollars and Santa Claus shimmies down 6-inch chimney pipes, to one where a steady stream of Amazon Prime deliveries trigger a Pavlovian response. Which is to say that for many, the first big secret of adulthood is: it was your mom and dad all along. 

This is that year for us.

After four failed mornings of Elf on the Shelf (which is to say the Elf failed to move from his previous location…#problematic), I had to come clean about who was actually moving him. Not totally unexpected, as the Santa and Easter Bunny conversations had also transpired this year, I thought it would be a slightly heartbreaking conversation. But it turned out to be a fairly practical one. They kind of already knew.

Still, it gave me pause, and not just because I tend to be our household’s chief magic maker, nor because of the mixed emotions stirred by a crossed threshold. What arose in me was a deep need to explain to my kids that while this theatrical version of magic was changing for them, the magic of another sort was just beginning.

Just yesterday it seems they were racing around the house searching high and low for Freddy the Elf, consumed by which crevice he’d chosen that day. Now, while only 8 and 10, our parental dramas around Freddy and “Santa” were met with eye rolls and finger quotation marks.

While I hope a pre-teen attitude isn’t settling in early, what I really hope is that they don’t lose touch with their belief in the good things they can’t see or touch – with magic as a spontaneous possibility. 

It got me thinking – what is it that makes magic possible? What are the conditions under which magic can make an unscheduled appearance? What is it that exists in kids naturally, that we lose, or give up, in exchange for adulthood?

The answer is naïveté; Unseen dimensions. Belief in things we can’t explain; Manifestations that have seemingly nothing to do with what we’ve achieved, but are simply the result of who we are.

But how often do we see smart, successful adults cultivating the qualities of gullibility and guilelessness?

A lot of us unknowingly (and preemptively) forfeit the ties to our dreams and hopes as a way to avoid disappointment. The desire to be all-knowing, un-flappable – the kind of person who won’t get fooled, manipulated or tricked – becomes paramount to our security. We adopt an unspoken attitude of defensiveness as a shield to life’s right hooks, a way to curtail lingering grief about our un-realized destinies, or what may just not be possible for us. But in striking this pose, I suspect we sacrifice something along the way, which is neither intellectual, nor analytical, nor even spiritual, actually – it’s belief.

Magic can’t find a seat at a table filled with doubt. By definition, one has to live as though she doesn’t know everything, can’t explain it all, and doesn’t want to be privy to what’s around every corner. For as much beef as we have with uncertainty and all its sharp elbows, when it comes to wishing for more magic, there’s no alternative. It has to come out of left field to even qualify as magic.

Not to be confused with the magical, which might be a sunset on the drive home, a song that moves emotion – a bite of something sublime – these sensory high notes are legitimately magical and should be labeled as such – as any conscious person with an ounce of gratitude for life can appreciate.

But magic as a concept seems like something you can’t plan or force…a gift that by definition has to be unbeknownst to you to be certified as magic. Which might call for us to adopt a mindset that encourages surrendering to the unknown in order to experience it. Maybe we could go against all our mature instincts and assume a position much like sleeping with our mouths open, vulnerable to anyone watching, so that by removing our layers, a surprising, maybe even forgotten dream – finds its way in.

This year’s Elf fail marked the end of certain childhood myths, which comes with some melancholy for me. On one hand, I feel relieved to stop setting alarms before bed to move the beanbag man, throwing up roadblocks to delay entrance into a room with dead giveaways. On the other, I’m inspired to discover new magical threads in the fabric of life and make magic a priority, to be noticed – and not exclusive to a season.

I explained to my girls that although they now knew the truth about some imaginary characters they thought were real, I also reassured them that there were plenty of wonderful surprises that would still mystify them throughout their lives. In fact, I said that the really mind blowing magic is all the good things that will seem to come out of nowhere – yet seem totally right, as familiar as their own fingerprint.

With surprise and awe, I said, you’ll marvel at these surprises, and wonder what you had to do with having them. You’ll discover answers to some, but find no explanation for others. Just being who you are set a butterfly effect into motion – which resulted in a much-needed presence… whatever “it” is.

The trick is not to doubt the goodness – not to become too smart to believe in what isn’t obvious or reasonable. Just because it’s no longer manufactured, does not mean it can be explained.

Trading pragmatism for fairy dust wasn’t the parenting moment I thought I’d have, but turns out – it’s what I want to teach them most.

Big Life

Fearless.

October 2, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Do the weight of certain words change according to the times? In 2018, might we need to reset our relationship to ideas that at one time, might have seemed empowering?

I recently came across a lecture series, created and hosted by a major fashion retailer in New York City, designed to get the attention of someone exactly like me.

The series was called “Fearless Women.”

F E A R L E S S.

Is this what times like these call for? Having no fear?

This past week, as Dr. Christine Blasey Ford began her congressional testimony, the word she used to describe her reluctant recounting of traumatic personal events was “terrified.” She’s not the first to use that word. But what marketers choose pluck from #metoo and movements giving voice to previously silenced audiences, though earnest, feels tone def. The impulse to package fearlessness doesn’t actually make fear go away.

Even before last week’s stunning news cycle, I found myself questioning the thinking behind a message like “Fearless Women.” The word is featured prominently next to entrepreneurs on the cover of People, in GOOP and throughout likeable memes on Instagram. I’m wondering if the teams who voted for “fearless” have ever started something from scratch, pressed send on a piece of art, spoke up when it was easier to be quiet, or stepped into the ring when the sitting on the bleachers was more comfortable? If they had, they might not have imposed the idea of fearlessness on anyone.

Unspoken traumas aside, the intended audience is presumed to be creative, entrepreneurial, autonomous, powerful, self-made women who, as risk-takers, already have a close and consistent relationship with fear. Is this (seemingly blatant) truth lost on those who’d like to get credit for supporting a movement? Here’s where what sounds good in copy is in danger of overshadowing the real meaning of the call to action.

It’s no secret that messaging and campaigns organized around a cultural zeitgeist are tactic #1 for raising visibility for brands. It’s a strategy that creates a halo effect around companies that want to be viewed as relevant and empathetic – more human. Women, and our ancillary interests and concerns, are predictable breadcrumbs for a fashion retailer. So at first glance, women and fearlessness may seem like a match made in marketing heaven. But is “no fear” really what the speakers at this event – visionary, pioneering, bold women – have in common? Do they identify with fearlessness, or are they being asked to organize their stories around a narrative of fearlessness because the retailer has decided that fearless is this season’s must-have accessory?

On many an occasion, when interviewing people who have achieved some degree of fame or public recognition, I have noted a consistent sentiment. It was rarely, if ever, fearlessness, but rather resilience, in spite of fear, that pushed them to put one foot in front of the other. To layer fearlessness over an already unrealistic blueprint of what it takes to be great feels like a misunderstanding at the highest levels of an organization.

When decision makers forget their humanity, they miss the most obvious truths. We actually don’t want to buy fearlessness, even when we’re terrified.

But here’s what we do want.

We want to know she almost didn’t do it.
We want to know she doubted and cringed and stopped and started – had awful, uncomfortable conversations, and got up again the next day to do it again.
More than stoicism or fearlessness, we want to know how she faltered and won, then lost and then tried again.
This is the version that speaks to us.
But it’s a less tidy marketing package.

Since this retailer is known for its exceptional shoe collection, might I suggest a series called, “A walk in my shoes: Blisters, Bunions and Finish Lines.” It would accomplish the same thing – but is a promise that can be kept. It gives everyone the space in which to tell her story – as she really sees it – which hopefully was the company’s original intent.

We don’t slay our dragons as much as learn to tame them. Let’s not hold up “fearless” as a necessary prerequisite to success, or an ingredient for achievement or worth. Few of us steps outside her comfort zone fearlessly. Propagating a narrative that says she should is yet another box we’ll ultimately have to crawl out of.

Small Business

Replication.

September 18, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

There’s nothing quite like a winning streak to cast doubts on one’s ability to perform the same trick again and again.

Ironic as it may seem, especially from someone with such strong opinions about being thoughtful in messaging, it’s surprising to find myself in an almost constant dialogue about the detriment of too much communication.

But over-writing, as anyone who has written and re-written an important email or text can attest, can be a self-sabotaging sinkhole. I discovered this recently when tasked with replicating memorable work.

Maybe something similar has happened to you.

After a series of successful collaborations (Blue Chip, portfolio projects) with a relatively new agency partner, I found myself in cerebral overdrive when they asked me back for another high-profile campaign. The gig was to write multiple scripts for a prominent tech company in Silicon Valley. The stakes were high, but no higher than other similarly positioned products or brands – which is to say – it wasn’t new territory. But on this day, on this job, I found myself listening to an inner whisper: “those others were so good… but can I really do it again?”

This is a particularly universal theme that many performers, athletes and creative’s have encountered – either after solid gold hits, sell-out shows, wow-factor work product or best-selling anything.

I remember the writer Elizabeth Gilbert doing an entire TedTalk about the burden of expectation following her internationally beloved Eat, Pray, Love memoir. Sports fans refer to it as Steve Blass syndrome because of the infamous all-star pitcher who, one day, couldn’t do the one thing he was famous for doing; pitching. He never got it back, and it ended his field career. His case is living proof of the ultimate fear.

Success Replication Pressure (my term) is a thing, and it was happening to me. I started the project with low-grade anxiety but looking back was in complete denial, reassuring myself how not stressed about it I was. But the work couldn’t hide behind anything, and it presented in a painful first draft over-write.

While the ideas themselves were viable, the totality was closer to something I might have submitted in my 20’s. I over-explained, over-justified and over-defended the concepts to the point of incomprehension. Remember Jon Favreau leaving 18 voicemails for his love interest in Swingers?

I wish I could have told myself to JUST STOP. But of course, it’s nearly impossible to have that perspective when you’re deep in the weeds. The clock was ticking…people were waiting… expectations remained high. I was failing – and fast.

This story has an unexpectedly happy ending because a principal partner in the agency, whose confidence I’d won (thanks to our other successful jobs together) swooped in to save me…which is to say he did what few others would do, and said what few others would say.

“Come to New York. This work is a mess – but come to New York anyway. Let’s figure it out in person.”

He could see I was anxious, and because of this, had lost the plot. But I hadn’t lost his vote – which was the booster I needed to call in my copywriting superpowers and get the job done. Together, we slashed and burned until the voice and narrative found its way out of my mental maze.

And it taught me a valuable lesson.
It’s easy to feel like we’re falling into quicksand when we think our previous successes were flukes.

The biggest hurdle in the aforementioned disaster was my ego. I wanted to prove that I could keep “being great,” that they wouldn’t regret giving this sizable project to me, a girl from Eugene, Oregon who accidentally impressed a few people and somehow found her way into the big leagues of advertising. Everyone has his or her own dumb story, that’s just mine.

In the end, I had the answer, and so do you. The fans that loved it/you/your last great work… may think they want to see it again, but they don’t really know what they want. They just want you to be the one doing it.

Replication is a fool’s errand. What you did before is over. Whether you teach an epic class, post something funny/relevant/beautiful, deliver a mic-dropping pitch or hand in bulls-eye copy…experience sets the stage, but I think we each start over every time.

Big Life

September.

September 5, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Summer, for many of us, impacts productivity, disrupts established processes and changes the pace we strive to hit the rest of the months of the year. More than any of the other seasons, it forces us to make tradeoffs, to negotiate for the summer pleasures that can only be done during these magical months. For me, there’s always something that ‘has to give’ to make room for everything else I want to savor.

Hot days are the reason to power down early, to cancel meetings; days off are legitimate needs more than they are guilty pleasures. Deadlines are accommodated, whereas new initiatives – and the requisite heavy lifting – those, we wave off to fall.

In July and August, we forgive erratic, work-disrupting kids’ schedules and colleagues’ inconvenient vacation notices because, for this fleeting period, work can wait. There’s an unspoken, collective agreement that because summer is a rare window of time, all is forgiven. It provides the ultimate “hard out,” a season that demands we milk every minute, without judgment.

But the transitional days between the end of August and early September feel less clear. Cues that point to more prescribed rhythms compete with our lingering desires to be spontaneous and open-ended. These weeks have us in a collective no-man’s land of bumpy starts, even for those of us ready and wanting of more structure. It’s easy to feel (temporarily) unmoored as expectations shift.

This was especially true for me as I sat down to write one recent morning, the first uninterrupted personal work day in (many) weeks. In spite of the numerous messaging projects I’ve completed for others this summer (it’s not as though I didn’t work), I found myself undone. I’d even go as far as to say panicked – by a palpable sense of incongruence. Was it my unusually quiet house, with kids now back in school? Was it an over-stuffed in-box, full of unanswered emails? Maybe.

But if I’m honest, the unexpected strangeness hit me as I began this blog entry. Sentences that usually come so easily felt rusty and punishing. After a six-week hiatus from personal writing – a self-imposed pause intended to uncover new perspectives and be present to other areas of my life – the exercise of unearthing clear dialogue, in this format, was sharply awkward.

I can’t tell you that a flash of regret didn’t seize me, because it did.

Please tell me you’re having a similarly clumsy transition.

Should I have been here, at my keyboard, so as not to lose all the momentum that suddenly appears to have evaporated? 

Is the consequence of enjoying more summer –time, people, experiences – the loss of something else – art, progress, life’s work?

(This is long, but if this sensation is at all familiar, stay with me.)

As I thought back to why I chose to break the status quo, I was reminded of how fatigued I’d felt last spring, bored by the inescapable expressions of my own stirrings. Have you ever tired of your own output? I remember craving a new way to relate to the observations that have defined my work, a desire to evolve in some way. Maybe this acute, uninspired slump was the toll to be paid on the road to creative rehab. 

But that narrative feels too punitive. Why is the nature of internal dialogue so sacrificial? Why is enjoying our lives – themselves works of art – often characterized as hedonistic? Could the real price of mental rest – especially because what was gained was both novel and meaningful – be thought of as walking down a path without footprints? Could we gently remind ourselves that we have not undone hard fought achievements but are simply in the realm of the unfamiliar?

Transitions don’t always appear productive, on the outside.
Nor are they very comfortable, on the inside.
But they are, quite often, the precursor to the new story we’ve asked for.

I’m not sure any of us have any clue to what we’ve released or acquired until we get back into relationship with it. It’s in the doing that we see what percolated and grew while we stepped away from it, particularly for those of us who create something…from nothing.

Sometimes the world invites us to a conversation we can’t refuse, and the roar of a wonderful, important, or worthwhile force takes over. But it doesn’t mean whatever has gone quiet, set aside for rest or recalibration, isn’t making its own magic while you’re not watching.

I get the sense that a new path is waiting, once my feet hit the ground. It may be overgrown, thorny and even a little formidable, looking at it right now. But trusting that there’s a way through it, that the part of me that churns and moves isn’t so much dormant but unexplored, is one reassurance that helped me take this first step.

How are you, friend?

Big Life

Restoration.

June 12, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Sometimes I go to bed at night with a deep sense of reward. Finally, I think to no one but myself, a nice, long stretch of rest before I face all of the decisions, demands, and solutions to be required of me tomorrow.

But then… the next morning comes – about 5:15 am usually (thank you enthusiastic birds of New England) and I wake up thinking: Already? Seriously? Is it time to do this again?

For me, it’s not about dreading my day or resisting the phase of life or work I’m in. Of course, some weeks feel mentally heavier, while others more light/productive. Yet others create the sensation of bailing water out of a sinking boat. But this life… especially when you bite off a big chunk of it – whether creative, financial, managerial, analytical, intellectual, operational, emotional, parental – or any other role that shoulders the wellness or future of something or someone important, is demanding as fudge.

It’s so interesting to me to observe that as we grow in our vocations and are able to take on more risk or responsibility, we must also grow internal capacity to bear more uncertainty. But being metaphorically out of breath and in an almost constant state of whiplash… ain’t no way to live.

For me, this past month proved to be opaque. What I thought would happen, develop, grow, become real…showed up as something completely different…and with many a curveball. Because the reverse pattern seemed to repeat itself, I decided to start looking at things like the flow of a river; “where the water flows, so shall we go.” Corny, yes – but I needed it.

If the meeting seemed difficult to nail down, I released my need to have it.
If the person didn’t seem sure, I prepared to let them go.
If the idea didn’t resonate, I put it away for later.

Sometimes the world/ universe/ spirit/friends are throwing up roadblocks to steer you in a different direction or help you see an alternate route. I’m trying to watch for those now, instead of muscling through with an unyielding force. Which isn’t to say I’m not persistent and determined, but there’s something to be said for observing the flow. While you know clichés give me hives (but here goes), “meant to be” usually presents as the right time, place, words, opportunity – a sign of some kind, or ease, that reassures.

Exhaustion comes from thinking you have to deal with it all.

Restoration comes when you realize a lot of “dealing with it” may have nothing to do with you.

Big Life

Tenancy.

June 5, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Who’s taking up space? Are they paying rent, or squatting?

Forgive the self-focused angle this week – but it does the best job of explaining what you could easily apply to your own life if it resonates.

Sometimes (but not often enough) I have the forethought to take inventory of the “tenants” residing in my thoughts. These are threads of a conversation I might only be having with myself, that have become semi-permanent without my realizing it. Recognizing them is a contemplative exercise that requires some wherewithal and practice. Why? Because it requires a thought looking inside a thought, as they tend to camouflage themselves as “normal.” In reality, they’re depleting, diminishing and distracting. But I don’t tend to challenge them because I get slowly used to co-habitation.

I wouldn’t call them a belief system as much as a more contained grievance, regret or worry.

Having participated in my share of brand-related hospitality and real estate projects, I tend to think of it in exactly those terms.

A (good) real estate developer considers a property (like a mixed-use office campus or a retail lifestyle center) in a host of ways. The questions contemplated are often:

What is the optimal ecosystem? Will big, established brands balance smaller, riskier concepts and together will they create something authentic? Compelling? Is there a juicy anchor tenant paying a lion’s share of the rent, but who can attract complementary businesses?
Will the addition of one tenant turn off a series of others? And, at what cost?

As anyone who reads this blog knows, there’s not a lot of daylight between my musings and a (good) metaphor; I love them. But the reason I like this one is because life doesn’t always feel intentional in the way that decisions made by real estate professionals are. We’re “in” properties of our own making, yet not always of our own design.

So I’ve started to distinguish my literal tenants from my invisible but nevertheless vocal ones. Realizing there was a difference was a victory in and of itself.

There are the tenants that see the light of day – professional commitments, family time, hobbies, personal work, cultivating curiosity and interests – even common stressors around deadlines, finances, and relationships qualify. You could say that these are the tenants of our days. This stuff is obvious and makes for the ingredients for a full and meaningful life (managing this is its own mission.)

But there are other tenants that are unseen, that can’t be spotted on a schedule, but who, like a squatter, are uninvited occupants in our minds. They tend to be demanding, entitled, and perpetually unsatisfied. Some are old scripts. Others are punishing messages about what we haven’t yet started, completed, or might never get to, despite deep and sincere desires. Fleeting bouts of this can be expected; but when a stray idea sets up shop, a good property manager notices – and investigates.

We all want good tenants – which is to say inspired, benevolent streams of consciousness. But there’s a certain amount of rigor required to spot the sneaky ones taking up space, not just for days or weeks, but months…who have no storefront.

Some hidden occupants are great – like an idea percolating that hasn’t taken shape. But when they feel more like anxieties, chronic frustrations or mounting crises, they affect the whole “property” in ways seen and unseen.

I like to know who and what I’m hosting, so I can evict them if necessary. Giving them notice is a matter of seeing them, as a first step. They may not leave, and a resolution may not be clear to me, but they can’t be there without permission from the landlord (me), either.

Even when I can’t give them the boot entirely – because they’re thoughts, after all – the conversation often reveals something I need to see.

What to do with them depends on what they tell me.

Small Business

Narrow.

May 22, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Credit: @sanddiary

Here is a case of being willing to help, if only the “ask” considered how much the process informs the outcome.

Like you, I am sometimes on the receiving end of a résumé emailed from a recent college grad, usually following an introduction by the sender’s parent. Along comes the résumé with a closing line that says, “let me know if you hear of anything!”

Let the eye roll begin (I’ve tried to control it with no success.)

This kind of open-ended request leaves me wondering if I should be honest, and tell them how fruitless this approach really is, or just smile and respond, “Will do!”

Asking favors of friends, or even strangers for that matter, is best met by being as specific as possible about what is needed, wanted or required. We’ll forgive our youth for not yet knowing this, but I have a hard time extending this same slack toward legit grown-ups.

Recently, an email was forwarded to me that kindly requested “design and messaging feedback” on a handful of packaging layouts. In this instance, the final sentence asked recipients to vote for their favorites. While I understand the desire to assemble an impromptu focus group, what surprised me was how willing the creator of the product was to hand over her creative offspring to the collective whim of a disparate, and clueless (I’m referring to myself) group. So rather than enlisting qualified help from someone with specific experience or any understanding of the product/audience, this author chose to outsource these essential skills to her “list” – of how many, I don’t know, but it’s safe to say – a whole lotta opinions.

The point of having expert eyes slash and burn your work is to bring a specific perspective you can’t see to a mission that unites message with the end user, and product with the customer. I say “slash and burn” because that’s sort of how it feels (as a creative) to have something redlined. But it’s essential. The best editors rely on discipline and objectivity (not personal preference) and are able to spot and remove anything that dilutes the narrative. To ask dozens of people to do this simultaneously, and without sufficient context, misunderstands both the task and endgame. Why generate a variety of different opinions that do nothing to move the needle closer to a more refined, focused end product? What does one even do with all of the ‘feedback’ that comes from an indiscriminate inquiry?

The term “email blast” really rings true in situations like these. We can no more connect a graduate with the appropriate gig based on a few data points than help a new author get more clarity on her target audience and message by casting such wide, unqualified nets.

This is true in so many cases; from circulating possible brand names or logo design to friends, to running new business ideas by strangers on airplanes, or my favorite, posting taglines to chat groups for votes. Without context, feedback loses its value.

If you really want to kill your darlings, enlist a qualified assassin. Most people are happy to help if you give them a target.

Big Life

WOTO.

May 1, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Everyone's vision is limited. Bring the view when you can.

Wife. Of. The Owner.

Isn’t it interesting that in 2018, the woman in a partnership could still be considered a plus-one to the boss?

I actually don’t think anyone using this title means any harm, but when I was on the receiving end of it the other day, I was reminded of how ubiquitous these unintended slights really are.

As the co-owner of a new business, I was in a delightful conversation with a new employee who, at the end of the conversation, gave me a compliment that included her excitement at talking to “the wife of the owner.” I offered an alternate title for myself to her which was, “I think you mean the co-owner.”

While I wasn’t upset, something changed in me. In that moment, I became personally invested in stopping the marginalization of anyone – from the subtle gestures to the more glaring ones. If a 23-year old, financially independent, highly educated, engaged citizen-of-the-world can make this mistake, it can happen to anyone.

I know our antennae are all rather “up” lately on this – but I don’t think there is any stance that is too vigilant on this topic. As someone who works behind the scenes for brands, I’ve gotten very used to seeing my work out in the public, on Instagram, in the communal zeitgeist – with zero attribution. Such is a life in brand strategy and advertising- -often invisible to the majority of the world. And that’s okay. But when I see that same standard applied to the woman behind the work in a myriad of other situations, it strikes a nerve. Maybe it even lights a fire.

If anyone has ever wondered why women (or anyone who feels unseen) “seem so angry,” it’s because we are so ducking tired of holding 15 balls in the air and still delivering high caliber work, only to be treated as a side dish to the main one. This comes in too many formats and contexts to list, from domestic and family contributions to vocational and professional ones – but I can assume that anyone reading this has been that person at least once, if not dozens of times. Feeling invisible, when you’re hauling a load, is one of the worst kinds of slights.

To those who find themselves in positions to change this, course correct or otherwise give credit where it is due, please do it. This is not a directive to men or women but to all of us – to acknowledge work (and workload) and to celebrate where it’s earned.

In a different situation that swirls at the center of my orbit lately, someone did that for me. And I won’t soon forget it. Thanks, Doug.

Big Life

Rattled.

April 17, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

When someone shakes your cage, it can be hard to shake it off. A lingering psychic residue is often the by-product of an aggressive, insensitive or otherwise unexpected email, phone call or confrontation.

Thick skin, as some are quick to suggest, must be nice. But thick skin can’t be grown overnight. And even if it could, I’m not sure I’d like to insulate myself from everything it keeps out.

Being in the eye of anyone’s storm is unsettling at the very least. The chest tightens. There’s a destabilization that undermines even the most anchored human being.

Most people remember being yelled at as a child, usually by a parent who had lost cool, patience or wits. If it was a rare event, you learned that all people, even the best of them, have limitations. But if it was a common one, you learned something else.

You might have learned you were stupid.
Or worthless.
Or, that even where there’s love, there’s great unpredictability.
Maybe that early loss evolves into fear of losing control, lack of trust, a trigger for anger. It may sow deep, unresolved rage.

We have no idea who is walking around with what.
Until we get punched.

When I am on the receiving end of an explosive or otherwise unconscionable communication, I’m undone by the circumstances so much that the genesis of the other person’s unraveling rarely enters my consciousness. I don’t much care about why they are the way they are, and quickly move to a change of scenery or decompression as a means of recovery.

But that strategy doesn’t always deliver the emotional cleansing I’d hoped for. Instead, imagining what it must be like to be the person living with the kind of turmoil that causes them to lose it; of actually caring about why someone overreacted, rather than dismissing it, is a relatively accessible way to get out from under it.

While distress doesn’t typically have an expiration date, doing nothing to understand the source of the wound in others leaves it too free to wander in our own beings. Unchecked, it can show up later as something we may not like.

Practicing empathy is what allows us to see beyond what was done to us, to get a different view of the other. At a minimum, it wrangles and contains trauma. But better yet, it cultivates a quality worth having.

Big Brands

Lego.

April 4, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Superfans / employees / customer service hero’s.

Wouldn’t you know it that just days after posting about uninspired environments (see Malls), I had a rather wonderful experience inside of just such a place.

My youngest daughter is healthily obsessed with Lego, especially their collection designed for the younger (seemingly female) set, called Lego Friends. I mean healthy because she wakes up early to do Lego, she goes to bed thinking about Lego, she asks for sets by name for every occasion or holiday – and when she’s in the middle of a build – nothing can get in her way.

On a recent Saturday, we found ourselves sans schedule – and she asked if we could super pretty please go to the Lego store…at the mall. Normally, I might invent any excuse to avoid this excursion, but the day was unusually open – I could make her really happy – and she wanted to buy herself a birthday present with money saved from her allowance. So, game on.

The last thing I expected to encounter on this excursion was a dynamic duo of super fan sales associates who’d landed the ultimate gig in their mind; selling Lego. Unlike the catatonic attitude that plagues many mall-based retail employees, these two grown men were eager to explain scenes, sets, and models, suggesting ideas from other collections for unique “builds.” Not only did they know everything there was to know about the Friends collection (definitely not their demo), they exchanged stories of their own Lego projects at home, even down to which characters loved what and what pattern was on whose bunk bed.

This may come off as slightly odd (I had a thought or two), as most adults see Lego as a children’s activity that is ultimately outgrown. But these gentlemen took great pride in their roles, even in educating us about the lifespan of Lego interest. Apparently, it stops around 12 or 13 but then picks up again approximately 15 years later. (Considering how many of these things we have in our playroom, what I really wanted to know was how long it takes for Lego to accrue enough value to become a vintage collector’s item.)

It is refreshing to see people who, even at an hourly wage, totally and completely love the products they sell. They won me over, so much so, that I will no longer be buying Lego at the much-more-convenient online superstore with a free shipping membership, but instead, will actually seek out ….the mall. Why? Because it’s more fun!

And, in case you were wondering…Lego – even when it’s plural – is always Lego. And if you really consider yourself a fan, it’s LEGO. #themoreyouknow.

Big Brands

CNN.

March 27, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Dear CNN,

As I watched your recent interview with Mark Zuckerburg, I found myself shaking my head in disbelief. Not because the tech titan now finds himself in the middle of a data sh$t storm, but because your reporter conducting the interview, Laurie Segall, appeared to be flirting the Facebook CEO into answering questions. In this age of #metoo and equal pay, are you serious?

Did CNN intentionally enlist a beautiful female reporter – and then instruct her to bat her eyelashes, cock head suggestively and use a modulated voice to intentionally coax sound bites out of the normally private Zuckerberg?

Here’s the message you sent viewers.

We need to be seductive to get information.
We need to employ mating signals to make men trust us.
We can’t be forthright when asking for appropriate information.
Our voices have to be soothing and gentle to be persuasive.

I wonder if it ever crosses the minds of Anderson Cooper or Don Lemon to modify their behaviors in these ways. Erin Burnett certainly does not appear to.

CNN, you may have a lot on your plate in the age of fake news and perpetual fact checking, but I’m pretty sure Ms. Segall could have gotten the same information by just being the grounded, legitimate journalist she already is.

These kinds of shenanigans really date you as a news organization.

Please don’t encourage them.

Regards,

Every woman you know

Small Business

Just.

March 13, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

@smnyc

This typography took about 6 minutes. And 23 years.

Funny thing about this word…

We use it to imply “merely” when what we really mean is just the opposite.

“Can you just tweak this design?”
“Can you just re-write this page?”
“Can you just tell us what’s missing?”

Here’s how I see it. If you are the one doing the asking, then it’s not “just” something. It’s actually “the” something that is most important to you; it’s the one thing you want me/us/them to do fix/consult/improve… because it matters and because you want it done by someone who knows how best.

If you are the one being asked, you may recognize the dynamic and share this perspective. To “just” offer digital strategy, or “just” eyeball the numbers or “just” whip up the design is only possible because of hard-earned experience. In our world, “just” ignores the hours in the trenches it took to get here. This word also may also trigger the alarm bells of someone who wants to justify asking for lower fees or who expects a quicker turnaround. This could be true for an artist, instructor, writer, creative director, contractor, service provider- -or anyone who does something you can’t do, and who makes it look easy because it’s their 1,000th rodeo.

I’m not saying I don’t make this mistake on the regular – I forget or overlook the minimizing effects this can produce, too. But I try to stop myself from using “just” in front of a favor or project I need someone to do for me knowing the effect it can have on me. Assuming to know how long something really takes relies on guesswork. And even if I’m right and it takes them less than 10 minutes, the only reason that’s true is because they’re really good and very experienced at doing what they do.

Not trying to nitpick. But a little awareness to an oft-misguided presumption that shows up in what are otherwise earnest communications will hopefully allow more good deeds to be done. Language that implies appreciation for the importance of a service goes a lot farther than unwittingly minimizing (and thus diminishing) another person’s talent at it.

I have found that the best requests express the assumption that we actually have no idea what goes into making “it” happen for someone else…and our best shot and getting what we need is acknowledging that.

Just sayin’.

Big Life

Unfollow.

March 6, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

There's discipline in intentional limitations.

Might we glean something from this dreaded word, and might I possibly be the last person to come to this seemingly obvious conclusion? Forgive me in advance if you’re miles ahead.

In a conversation with one of my favorite clients recently, when I shared my own (common/clichéd/sadly normal) conflict around certain feeds on Instagram, he told me this:

“You’re not alone. I just unfollowed everyone I know so that I can exclusively follow the people who truly inspire me.”

What a novel idea! (first thought.)
What if I offend them? (second thought.)
What if they don’t even notice? (third / but not final thought.)

And later, in the post-conversation-mental-marinade, the justification cycle went something like this:

But I follow them to know what they’re doing, because it’s part of my job to be aware and connected to the marketplace, to observe influencers, and because my peer group follows them, and because they like my stuff so I should like their stuff, and because 40k other people follow them so…maybe I should too…and so on.

Really?
Really.

Lately, I’ve found myself flattened more than inspired, after looking at Instagram. And, the data says there are a lot of us. While I love posting and sharing with my own followers, because it feels warm and cozy, I feel unprepared with what sometimes reaches out from the screen and slaps me around a little – messages that annoy and provoke and then linger like a low-grade fever. Certainly not a crisis or even a curveball, they are much more a commentary about what provokes feelings I don’t deem worthy than of any wrongdoing by anyone else.

Logic would have it that if something feels bad, it is bad. But that ain’t Insta. With inspiration, connection and beauty can sometimes come addiction, bitterness, and envy. It is a platform that shines at presenting one (gorgeous) version of everyday reality. While it doesn’t take much time relative to the course of a day or week, the focus that it does pull seems out of whack with my priorities. It beckons me to questionable places – unproductive lines of dialogue that would otherwise never start.

So why do I/we persist?
Because the world does it?
Because the dopamine outweighs the depression?

We’ve become a little bit enamored with knowing what’s up with other people. It’s fun. It’s voyeuristic. It can be awesome sometimes.

One route is to unfollow, assuming you have the willpower to do it. But even if you can check that box, this platform remains a fixture for most of us because the good outweighs the bad. It calls for resolution, one way or the other.

As for me, I’ve reframed the Insta visual playground and am #following the Marie Kondo approach to social media in general:

Edit feed.
Limit time.
Ask myself…

Is there joy? If not = “unfollow.”

Big Life

Zerrissenheit.

February 27, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

When how it is says everything about how it isn’t.
When clarity obscures, and you can’t see the way.
When even the angst… has angst.

Zerrissenheit (German): Disunity, inner turmoil. Strife.

Whether a feeling is founded or not, useful or not, inner turmoil wreaks havoc. In the moment, the feeling is real, even if it conflicts with our sense of our highest selves, or even with the facts of a situation. It can be hard to rescue yourself.

When deeper worries come up in my own life, and so many of us are plagued with them lately, I’m surprised at how quickly and efficiently fear moves in to take over. The “what if’s” are catastrophic; the possibilities, dark and foreboding. While my exterior remains calm, inside I wonder where all these years of meditation, contemplation, belief…have gone. Shouldn’t I know how to not fall apart like this…by now?! (Read with all the judgment that question intends.)

But what I’ve noticed in myself (and others) is that while a kernel of faith or a regular practice of some type is the long game, it’s not usually what pulls me out of the dark in those moments riddled with acute anxiety. More often, the lifeline that appears in the most immediate sense is a wise being in my midst.

She says something like…

“Yes.
Same here.
I know.
And…”

From here, the path tends to open up – a little light comes in. It’s usually just enough to start to see daylight in what can feel like a narrow hallway with walls closing in.

It isn’t a sign of failure that a long-held faith or other innate wisdom has failed. I can sometimes have a punishing view of this – as in – these are the moments where resilience should appear! Where is that ‘knowing’ when I need it most?

Rather, the embodiment of just the right voice at just the right time can be a living reminder of the potency of genuine human intervention – and a messenger from the very energetic force you’d hoped to tap within. Just because it isn’t coming from you, doesn’t mean it isn’t present.

We’ve all been there.
And will be there again.
Sometimes you’re the wise one; others the lost.

Being one… does not preclude being the other.
Most of us are both.

 

Small Towns

Malls.

February 20, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

By Hors Limites Architecture and interior designers Francesca Errico and Olivier Delannoy.

Daroco Restaurant, Paris.

My brother-in-law recently came clean at a family gathering that despite his otherwise frugal sensibilities, he is no longer willing to settle for random hotels when he travels (which is often). He finally acknowledged how important a role the room and vibe of a place play in his overall mood and ability to feel sane, happy, inspired – or in other words, himself. 

It’s so true. I feel the same way when I travel, but what disturbs me more are the character-free experiences that I regularly encounter in my backyard. Arguably, in some molecular way, they’re part of the fabric of my life – not something I can swipe past on my HotelTonight app.

It got me thinking. How much does environment affect our mental health – even for short exposures? What about productivity? And, how do we overcome places and spaces that depress us…particularly if you’re in the habit (and business) of enhancing experience/making places and things better/more beautiful/thoughtful/engaging?

I was always taught that it’s not where you are but how you are. I still believe this. But sterile, cookie cutter or otherwise drab spaces make this downright challenging. The nondescript is also a reality. Not every coffee shop can be transformational. Not every conference room can inspire big thinking. Not every errand can be done at an architecturally significant indoor/outdoor retail utopia.

In my own life, I find that when I go to a particular mall, indoor sports facility or big box store – all located on an especially sad stretch of commerce about 10 miles from my house – it creates an acute (but thankfully temporary) mental hiccup. From the moment natural light disappears, I start to panic. I don’t know what it is about those fluorescent lights, industrial carpets and endless gray-beige palettes that seize me, but there’s almost a fear of getting trapped, lost, or worse, that it somehow defines me. It ignites an unfortunate interior dialogue that goes something like this:

Is this (really) my life? What have I done with myself? Am I a suburban shopper? Is this my punishment for leaving the city? Who are these people? What does anything mean? Is that mirror accurate? Should I trade my jeans for more forgiving softpants? Should I buy a beanbag chair? (Answer – no).

Why does being held (voluntarily) hostage inside certain walls scream intervention? I’m guessing it has something to do with the environment being an extension of personal values – and circumstances playing into our idea of ourselves and who we most want to be. This is one thought, but a place can impact people in less obvious ways, too.

My daughter shared that a certain friends’ house makes her anxious and sad (it’s dark, cluttered and often chaotic). Her comment was “I don’t feel like they want me there.” 

Isn’t it interesting how the environment has the ability to create and perpetuate a narrative. Sometimes it’s hard to say why the “ick” feeling appears. I always want to think I’m stronger than any “place” – I mean look at Mandela! But if I’m honest, I’ve been happier in a remote village in India sleeping on a prison cot than at a Footlocker in a strip mall. It doesn’t always make sense.

Is there a place that gets to you? Where you don’t recognize yourself? Where your compass points anywhere but here? And is there a way you could turn it around – and take it back in some useful way?

I think design is the antidote to depression, fatigue, sadness and lots of other maladies. But life doesn’t happen inside a Zaha Hadid ecosystem operated by Soho House.

I’m learning to design those spaces inside myself, as a result of living in a bucolic seaside village that occasionally renders me mall-bound. Having a good sense of humor about what other people consider “designed” is also helpful.

I’ll count this operation as a success once I can swap Chipotle for my favorite spot in Paris, above. Thurs far, it’s still just #goals.

Big Life

Eggshells.

February 13, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Fragile: delicate, vulnerable. Not strong or sturdy.

It’s hard to fully be yourself in any meaningful relationship when you have to be too careful – when there is even the slightest sensation of eggshells underfoot. Filtering oneself, whatever the degree, is not without cost. What I have noticed though is that eggshells are hard to spot in certain relationships. Crisis has a way of pointing out what couldn’t be seen before.

I once had a friend, a good friend, and business colleague, who played a huge role in my professional development. She brought me into opportunities that would shape my career and life, and over time became a big part of my day-to-day. But as much as I appreciated her support and promotion of my work, she was also unpredictable, emotionally erratic and had a fierce temper.

I learned to live with those edges because I cared about her, felt I owed her, and, logistically speaking, she was enmeshed in multiple aspects of my life. I chose my words carefully and handled myself with caution around her, and it became a dance I perfected. It was only years later that I began to see how much work all the tip-toeing and mind reading took. It’s hard to see the web you’re in when you’re in it. Now I know I was in a constant state of encouraging, soothing, reassuring or dodging bullets –  and it was exhausting.

One day she lobbed a ‘grenade’ over the fence…not only landing on me but on a lot of people in her orbit. It was the direct offensive that finally put the relationship into clear focus for me. Her outburst caused hurt feelings, professional setbacks and general bewilderment all around.

Her extreme actions allowed me to get “out” of a toxic situation, one that had long felt suffocating and fragile, without having to have a conversation. But I had no idea how deeply the dynamic impacted me until one day it was no longer there. I felt lighter and relieved.

I could have had the conversation, drawn the boundary or taken some proactive steps to address the issues more honestly, of course, but it really wasn’t until it was gone that I realized how much I was holding back. I’m not asserting that my approach is in any way evolved, but I do recognize the (very) human need to overlook behavior to save feelings.

Eggshells can cause a version of ourselves to emerge that we don’t much like, that could even feel tense/fake/compromised. I couldn’t see how much I adapted around her until I didn’t have to.

They also exist to signal landmines, even when we don’t know where those explosives are located. We fear stepping on them, at any time, anywhere, and as a result, move toward what feels like a safer trajectory. But in survival mode, we also lose something. Is it genuine expression? Is it truthfulness? Is it an ability to just be ourselves? Is it the opposite of intimacy – in the form of distance and protection?

There’s a difference between being sensitive, considerate and compassionate, and constantly worrying that you’ve ignited or wounded a person in some way. Worse is living in constant anticipation of it.

Knowing that difference can be a guide to the relationships we both cultivate and avoid. And to what we can no longer stand.

Funny thing about an eggshell – you can only remove one – with one.

If this metaphor is lost on you, what I mean is this… difficult relationships often require equally difficult conversations to effectuate change. And challenging dynamics are often only disrupted vis a vis a challenging incident that seems unwanted at first glance, but may be the straw that breaks the camel’s back…or pattern, in this case.

Empathy doesn’t feel exhausting.
Perpetual restraint…does.

Big Life

Hold.

February 6, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Franklin Park Theater, "Rashomon" 1950, Boston, 2015A, Hiroshi Sugimoto.

Great ideas are tempted by empty stages.

When we hear the popularized term “holding space,” more often than not, it relates to something in the metaphysical sphere. But lately, when I apply the principle more literally, it offers interesting relevance in the real world. It’s especially true when conditions need to change, or the shape of something seems to be asking to evolve into its next incarnation, but I don’t know what to “do” about it.

On most Tuesday mornings, I take part in a morning dance rave at a nearby studio. It’s not a popular offering (yet) and, truth be told, at times I’ve been one of only two people in attendance.

I love the freedom, the darkness, the fact that despite the low headcount, the studio owner still gets up early to host it. Through this weekly event, she and I are both holding space, but in different ways:

She, by opening the doors, putting it on the schedule, turning on the music and turning down the lights; Me, by planning for it, and then showing up.

Taking it one step further, we’re both betting that something good will come from an open-ended question of sorts. With no agenda, only intention, it allows for answers, downloads and insights; about what, we don’t know ‘till we do it.  But it does require some trust and an adjustment of traditional expectations.
If I expected a crowded, mind-bending Burning Man experience that opened the door on a new quantum universe, I might be disappointed. If she expected a packed house and commensurate fees, she’d be equally bummed.

Because we’ve all been there.

You plan, you craft –  roll up your sleeves on a project, service, piece of work – and the applause is light at best, or at worst, inaudible.  Maybe you can point to a variety of reasons why, or not, but the takeaway is the same; zero bodies, dollars, likes, ROI…and seemingly little progress.

But…that’s what’s great about holding space for a thing; It’s an approach that takes time and practice, more than strategy and tactics. It’s adjacent to uncovering the answer, and less direct. But it’s surprisingly effective when you have that luxury to do it.

Taken further, I’m thinking of the people or circumstances you want to enter your life, the new energy, the answer, the opportunity – the right dynamic. Sometimes, all you can do is make room in your mind and schedule for those things to make an entrance – because nothing else seems right / clear / possible. You can take all the proscribed steps as well, and should. But just as meditation is often an exercise in not doing something, holding space is being there with intention and attention to see…what unfolds.

When we “hold”, we invite potential.
There’s stillness in it – that ironically, instigates movement.
It’s not proscriptive or instructed. It requires getting body and mind in one place – off-device, on-alert.

I don’t go into my dance rave asking for ideas, but the very act of free movement, with no teacher, no program or method, invites a certain cascade of thoughts that can form something worthwhile. I can’t predict it nor do I look for it.

It’s a parenthesis – with nothing inside (yet.)

Small Business

Demonstrate.

January 30, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Market Restaurant, Annesquam, MA

The details do the talking.

One of the most powerful things one can do to sell anything, or even to persuade anyone about anything, is to demonstrate. It’s an easily overlooked attribute to marketing because it requires thought, sincerity and is (almost) always more work than slapping a logo on a promotion, or adding exclamation points for emphasis.

It can actually mean less – not more.
It could mean asking the right questions (and listening to the answers.)
Or even sharing best practices as a means of building trust.

None of us likes to be sold to.
Yet, we all enjoy buying into things that speak to us.

Rather than plaster her image on bus stops, a savvy real estate agent differentiates herself with memorable touch points… a thoughtful business card, a tasteful open house sign, and something other than stale supermarket cookies.

A facialist sells by teaching technique, recommending beautification strategies or sharing how to choose a qualified technician. We want her because she doesn’t seem to want anything from us in a business where everyone’s chasing you with a needle.

Taken further, the person who really wants everyone to meditate or take the self-help course, will get everyone interested by being different, not telling us how much we should do it.

In my world, either as a hired creative or as part of a larger agency, we ‘tell’ future clients who we are by the questions we ask and the conversations we start. It is rarely about showing them what we do or how we do it – they can see that with a quick Google search. We need to demonstrate what it might be like to work with us. And how better to do that than to get to know who they are and what they care about? And while it’s not an intentional marketing tactic, it also isn’t pitching in the traditional sense. It is sincere and the right clients remember (and subscribe to it.)

Sure, there are countless outlets for you to pontificate, elaborate, articulate and otherwise proliferate your marketing efforts (thanks for letting me do that.)

But, none will be as effective in attracting the right audience as demonstrating – embodying your message in ways that are seen and felt.

It comes down to this… no one ever wants to be convinced to enroll themselves into anything – products, people, ideas – benevolent cults included.

Be the thing you want us to know. Make choices that reflect rather than project. It’s more of a whisper than a shout.

Big Life

Brrr.

January 23, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

January can often usher in a commitment to do it different or better, even to take on more, but with this drive often comes a dash of existential angst. And, if you happen to experience the winter months in extra cold weather, it can further deepen the crevasse between what you want and what you have, causing you (I mean me) to take a kind of personal inventory.

If you’re reading this, you’ve lived long enough to know that life can be shorter than we might have thought and different than we could have predicted.

The time is now…is a recurring theme.

So it was at about mid-December, amid all the holiday décor, toast-making and reassuring traditions that I started to ask myself…

Am I taking enough risk, or settled and complacent?
Are things vibrant and fierce or muted and dull?
Do I need a cold splash of water over my entire being?

In other words, am I too comfortable?

It occurred to me that I have done the stuff I’m most proud of when I’ve been pretty uncomfortable.

Giving birth.
Climbing mountains.
Facing illness.
Telling the truth.

With sub zero temps outside my window, I don’t have to look far for a little discomfort. Which got me thinking…

Most of us dwell in lives where we’re warm when we want to be, cold when we need to be, fed when we feel like it and distracted…on demand. Assuming chronic pain or crisis isn’t part of your immediate reality, comfort is mostly within arm’s reach.

Which is why any discomfort – physical, emotional – is almost always a shock to our systems, a place we flee rather than seek. Yet, being out of comfort is often precisely what provokes good work that we wouldn’t produce otherwise. I’m starting to think that for as much as I’ve tended to my personal care rituals, there may be equal mileage in finding or embracing some discomfort; withstanding what I don’t think I can stand.

If you follow Wim Hof (whose disciples include Tim Ferris, Tony Robbins and Dean Karnazes) you probably know about ice baths – or at the very least – cold showers. The wisdom behind cold exposure is that our “evolution” has made us less tolerant of the elements, and therefore more susceptible to disease and depression. Our wild, ancient human has been lost. Technically, cold-water submersion is one of a handful of practices that reconditions the hypothalamus to be more adaptive and resilient. The ability to tolerate healthy but difficult environments sharpens the senses and grows capacity, radically changing how we regard our own strengths. All of this, of course, tends to create higher performance. And toughness.

But this isn’t about ice baths or becoming harder. It’s about the dozens of opportunities that already exist in life that have us contracting or flinching, that we discard or escape – thinking they’re bad (at worst) or not useful (at best.) But what if we’re missing an opportunity? What if we could stay in the moment, feel the feelings, witness the unease, hunger, pain, and restlessness – whatever sensation descends – instead of getting out? Why not instead, go in?

Pushing physical (or other) limits to build emotional resiliency is not a new idea, but I like it as a mission, for this year especially, as I take on a fresh set of projects and some realignment on personal goals.

But how do we make the uncomfortable more of a natural habitat?

I’m taking cold showers. And I sat in the snow and took 30 breaths in a tank top the other day. I’m resisting the urge to look at my device when an answer eludes me, because I see that it’s an avoidance technique for discomfort. I’m breathing when I feel like clenching. I’m staying in the pose.

Because…

With discomfort comes expansion.
With expansion comes space; it widens the margins, makes more room.

I want that even if my bare feet have to touch the ice to find it. And yes, there are many other ways! But cold has a hold on me. Confronting and embracing it is right outside my door.

Let’s not avoid the things that grip us.
Maybe their existence is the invitation we need to be most awake.

Big Brands

Stella.

January 16, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

I don’t often use this platform to criticize brands. I come from the school of thought that it’s more powerful praise the ones who are getting it right.

But having just come off the season of celebrations, I feel moved to comment on a campaign I’ve noticed.

I can’t seem to shake the irritation that bubbles up when I hear the current ad campaign from the beer brand Stella Artois. It touched a nerve. While it’s true that I am not the target audience, I can’t ignore the fact that it so blatantly misses the mark in its message. The copy goes like this:

“These days, rare moments are hard to come by…so host one to remember (with Stella Artois.)”

I don’t take issue with the campaign theme – hosting, and the celebratory themes around holding a meaningful gathering, are relevant and effective. But to posit that rare moments are harder than ever to find seems dead counter to what is actually going on in our world in 2018.
Culturally, politically, socially – and even spiritually – we’re living in a world that many are deeming “apocalyptic” at worst, and falling apart at best, with environmental, geo-political, genocidal and constitutional issues at the front of every headline.

From the conversations I’m hearing, I’d argue that we aren’t actually feeling that “special moments” are rare. I think it’s just the opposite. The way I see it, all moments of life – of being alive, of being okay, of survival, of any good fortune in the way of house, home, loved ones, job security, physical wellness, etc. – feel pretty special. In fact, it’s the daily, seemingly banal aspects of our lives, once taken for granted (perhaps), that so many of us have learned to appreciate.

I think the campaign was earnestly trying to say this same thing, ironically, but instead, said the opposite. It’s a question of paying off the theme, “Host one to remember,” with language that resonates with how people are feeling – but not articulating.

That’s the magic of good messaging. It’s usually a sentiment you couldn’t put your finger on, had not identified, or didn’t realize was true, that creates an “OMG, yes!” moment when a brand nails it.

Stella missed this opportunity.

Great campaign idea. Strong creative. Misguided payoff.

It happens to the best of us, but if I could take a crack at rewriting the copy, what I would say instead is this:

“Everyday moments are everywhere, and worth celebrating. Share them with the people who matter by hosting one to remember.”

Just a suggestion, Stella.

Big Life

Hello 2018.

January 9, 2018 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Hello Friends,

So here we are, nine days into 2018.

I wonder how each of you cross this annual threshold. Do you have a ritual? A way to close one year…or open the next?

I like to look back on the past year and see where I can connect the dots. Were there any patterns? Was there a set point? An overall feeling … or a series of independent messages that, only in hindsight, form a greater picture?

In my own life, 2017 was a year about boundaries. What can I live with…what can’t I? How can I help make something better, without giving too much? Where am I called to action? When do I give myself permission to devote my energy elsewhere? While these are questions (as they appear on paper), in my mind’s eye, I think of them more as statements. They function as an internal GPS. The moment they are presented…the answer reveals itself. The course, suddenly clearer.

Related to this was staying in the discomfort, acknowledging how it is and (just as much) how it isn’t. Being able to exist with multiple realities, various extremes, conflicting stories, opposing views; disappointments and victories, within the same minute.

I go into this year knowing that these themes may continue, but despite them or because of them, I will commit to putting one foot in front of the other, with full presence, integrity and service. I can’t really promise more than that. I do this knowing that there are questions I can’t answer, grief’s I can’t solve, aspirations that hold a future hope – but as of yet – little evidence. There is light and joy right here, under my feet, within reach, and also the things that remain unresolved – but not unseen.

How can I answer my own calling – when sometimes I can’t even hear it?
How can I watch for signs – but still do the work – whether they show up or not?

I’m not waiting for answers. That’s not the point of the asking. But if I had a resolution, being brave enough to ask the questions would be it.

This is my work.
What is yours?

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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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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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