• There’s an idea I’ve been fascinated for years now. It’s one of those things that has endured through different businesses and phases of my life.

    It is the idea that there is a new kind of professional role being formed in society at large – a kind of entrepreneur who is soul driven in some sense. A role where one’s professional work, is not seen as distinct from their spiritual path of awakening. It’s why I called my previous brand The Realized Entrepreneur.

    At the end of last year, I started writing about an archetypal way of modelling this character. I suggested that this new professional could be seen as the integration of three intrinsic archetypes – the artist, the merchant and the seeker.

    I then suggested the intersection of these was the hero.

    Honestly? I’m not convinced I’ve got the mapping quite right. But after a few months exploring some different writing avenues, I’m returning to this map in search of answers. Specifically, a topic that’s gnawed at me for years, that is, how on earth do art and marketing fit together?

    Temperamentally, I usually love creating new stuff, and desperately resist marketing it. And I know I’m not the only one that is like this.

    Is that because marketing is for shallow schmucks who can’t create interesting enough stuff that people naturally pay attention to?  Or is this my precious pretensions restricting me from actually publishing myself?

    Can the artist and the merchant work together?

    The Artist

    The artist is principally concerned with creativity. His objective is to create something original, something that provokes a deeper experience of the world, or elegantly solves the most complex of problems.

    Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and so the artist creates things that they themselves find beautiful. They create to meet their own taste.

    They are driven by the creative impulse. And creativity, as Seth Godin so eloquently defines it, is the tension between “this might work” and “this might not work”. If you know it will work, or you know it will not, it’s not creative. If it’s pre-determined it’s not art.

    Art is not painting, it is not poetry, it is not design. It is what is created when we venture beyond the border of what we know, and allow the mysterious forces there to guide our hand as we create something that intrigues us. The artist knows that he does not truly control this creative process. 

    And so the artist is one who is furthest away from the mainstream. They are by definition at the fringe, for it is only at the fringe that you will find the boundary between the known and the unknown.

    The Merchant

    The merchant is principally concerned with trade. Her objective is to relationally connect with other people and swap what they each possess, and improve the lives of everyone involved.

    The merchant operates in a relational space, connecting those who need something, with those who can supply it.

    The marketplace is a full and bustling arena that determines what is good and needed. And so the merchant seeks to understand what is in short supply, what is in high demand, and how to best make trades that fill people’s needs.

    The merchant trades in value. She seeks out objects or goods, that she believes will be of value to those she can reach.

    The merchant believes that what they have to offer is valuable – that it would help others – and so they feel no shame in promoting their wares to others. For in fact, to withhold their wares would be to violate their chief objective and belief: that consensual trade is good.

    And so the merchant is one who connects people, allowing them to relationally exchange for their mutual benefit. They are by definition in the midst of things, for it is from the middle that the different sides can be connected in mutual exchange.

    A philosophical clash of values

    From the perspective of the artist, the work of the merchant is ugly.

    The artist looks at the trading that makes up the merchant’s nature and sees only presumption, and manipulation. The merchant seems to increases the shallowness of life which the artist seeks to deepen.

    The artist never presumes to know the needs or will of another. This is the antithesis of their work. To presume the mind of another and to create something for them – to meet their need – is not art. This would be to prostitute their creative talents for money or mutual exchange. In other words, to “sell out”, which to the artist is an aesthetic crime. And the merchant has made an entire career from selling out!

    Thus the artist condemns the merchant as ugly, shallow and greedy.

    The merchant is equally distaining of the artist. She looks at the artist as a narcissist. How does it help anyone to make such weird and odd things to satisfy one’s own personal whims? It seems to the merchant like a naïve and wasteful use of time.

    The merchant thus judges the artist as useless. For art does not help people with their needs, it is an indulgent luxury. What people need, are things they want to come back to day after day, things they will consistently trade for.

    The creation of art is unpredictable. The productive output of an artist is unpredictable, and the value of the art produced is unpredictable. The merchant is concerned with mutual benefit, about meeting the needs of others, and so from her perspective this creative unpredictability looks unproductive and selfish.

    Separation is no longer adequate

    While it has historically possible – perhaps even necessary – for these two archetypes to stay separate and pure, today’s world cannot sustain their separation.

    The artist needs the merchant. Because it is only the merchant who can be impartial as to the value of what the artist creates. The artist is so caught up in his creations that he finds it hard to step out of himself and effectively offer his art to those that would benefit.

    The merchant is guided by value exchange, and value is determined not by her own subjective opinions, but by the intersubjective consensus of the marketplace. If her customers thank her for a particular offering and return wanting more, then she trusts it is valuable. Her judgement of worth is intersubjective. Whereas the artist judges subjectively – whether he himself is impressed or moved by his creations.

    The merchant also needs the artist. Because left to her own devices, the merchant will simply rely on offering what the marketplace asks for. She will have no motivation to look deeper under the surface at what new innovation is required. As Henry Ford famously said (actually he didn’t, but he should have done because it’s a wonderful quote) “If I’d have asked people what they wanted, they would have said ‘faster horses’.”

    The needs of the market change. Things move on. And without the innovation of the artist, the merchant will continue to peddle popular and proven goods, being increasingly left behind, as evolution pushes the edges of what people need.

    These two opponents need one another.

    Without the merchant, the artist becomes increasingly obsessed with his own creative explorations, becoming out of touch with society at large, and not providing things that help and move people.

    Without the artist, the merchant becomes increasingly shallow, providing value that is popular, losing touch with the leading edge, and not risking new things that will change society.

    The necessity for integration

    The challenge for many of us, is that we must play both roles ourselves. Or at the very least, I would suggest we need to integrate these archetypal orientations in such a way that they are not at odds in our own psyche.

    The larger and more idealistic hypothesis is that it is the integration of these archetypes that will lead to the resolution of so many philosophical conflicts in our world.

    I’ll leave that grand idea for another day, and simply say that I believe it is imperative that we at least understand the intrinsic perspectives of these archetypes.

    As a native artist, my unconscious tendency is to fall into snobby distain for merchant activities.  If I’m not careful, marketing begins to  look rather ugly and uncouth, and I instinctively begin to distance myself from it.

    But unshared art is useless. Literally.

    The unconscious biases may be different for you (although I suspect many of you who read my work tend toward the creative and artistic). Nevertheless, the principle is the same – to progressively understand and embody these archetypes, allowing them to integrate and create a new kind of professionalism, a new kind of work.

    I would even suggest that bringing one’s art to the marketplace is one of the great evolutionary requests of this new world. It is a least one that burns brightly in my heart.

    For never before has art been so accepted in the marketplace, or more needed. But to bring our creative work to market means resolving philosophical conflicts that have deep roots.

    Playing favourites is not adequate any longer.

    Integrating these historically opposed worlds is what will contribute the creation of a new one.

    Ewan Townhead

    , , , , ,

  • I’m writing an ebook. I thought it was finished, then I discovered it wasn’t.

    It will be out later this year, and it’s called How to Market Your Art. So, as a little teaser, here’s a very practical description of some of the main ways I market my own art.

    First though, a quick word about ‘art’. When I say market your art, I don’t just mean paintings, or songs (although it could be those things). I mean your Creative Work – the expression of who you are through artefacts that move and provoke people.

    Everyone has their own art. It may be more or less visible. It may be more or less skilfully expressed. But your art is your art.

    And then there’s sharing it – marketing it. This is where ‘artists’ traditionally possess less skill, or more resistance. But it’s crucial. Because art doesn’t count if you don’t share it.

    So, here are the 3 main ways I share my art.

    I’m only going to write about three, because they’re the only ones I can speak to with lived authority. They are not the best. They’re simply the ones I find most aligned with my work (so far).

    1. I write on this blog

    As a writer, this is my most important platform. It’s where I put my most in-depth and rigorous work. I’ve written very long articles, and shorter pieces. I’ve written practical business articles and I’ve written poetry. If anyone asks about my work, this is where I always point them.

    I don’t have a strict publishing schedule. Normally every couple of weeks or so I publish a new piece. I’ve experimented with weekly. At the moment, I’m incredibly sporadic with publishing here due to the writing of the ebook, and various other excuses!

    I only write about the things I want to write about. I have an ongoing list of article ideas. Sometimes I pull one out and sit down to write. Sometimes I just journal and something comes out of it. Sometimes I plan something out heavily in advance. Sometimes something pops up and I have to sit down and write it out.

    Most of my writing will never be read in public, because most of it isn’t very good.

    I write for me first, and my audience second. Which doesn’t mean I don’t constantly think about what would help my tribe. But I’m an artist first, and unless I’m writing something because I want to, because I feel called, it normally falls flat.

    Sometimes writing for me first means the first draft, and then I reframe it during the re-edit. Sometimes it means writing the piece I really want to, and then writing a second one that addresses something I know folks are coming up against.

    Both aspects are crucial. Writing for me. And writing for others.

    Titles are important. I try to write article titles that do two things. Firstly, a title must represent the piece accurately. Otherwise, I’m being misleading or vague. Secondly, a title must be written to draw people in. Attention is at a premium. Write titles that really elicit curiosity for your tribe. Sometimes it’s hard, don’t sweat.

    These were some of the titles that really worked for me.

    The Most Powerful Question I Know

    Speaking Your Truth can be a Trap

    6 Stories that Stop Us Creating our True Work

    It’s a loud market place out there, and you do have to interrupt people. Here’s no way around that. Good titles interrupt people’s newsfeed scrolling…

    “Oh, that sounds intriguing…” *click*

    2. I email my tribe

    When I work with my clients on their marketing, this is the platform I almost always say is a non-negotiable. If you want to grow your tribe in today’s marketplace, a mailing list of the people in your tribe is basic necessity.

    It’s important because this is the place I get to speak directly to my core tribe. These are the folks that have given their explicit permission to speak to them. They want to hear from me, they want to be led deeper into the ideas that I write about.

    If you have an engaged list of several thousand people (which is no small tasks these days) that like what you offer, then you probably have a sustainable business (at least for you the artist).

    An email list is like your tribal meeting hall. Every time you have something you want to share with your followers, you can simply drop your words into an email, and suddenly, they all get it, direct to their inbox.

    I use Aweber for my email list, I’ve used it for years. Mailchimp is also good, and is free for the first 1,000 subscribers.

    When I email my list, I try to be very personal, very direct, and ‘un-markety’.

    You know those lists you’re on and every time their email arrives in your inbox, a voice inside your head says “Oh nice! I love their emails, let me go read it” – that’s what you want with your own list.

    Don’t write newsletters, write letters, like you would write to your friends. Don’t try and ‘sound professional’ just be your post-conventional self.

    “Hey Horatio, I wrote a thing about un-markety marketing. I’ve wrestled with doing good marketing without being an ass for a long time. And I had some interesting thoughts about it this week. I think it might help you. Here’s the link, I hope you like it.”

    There’s no formula for email. Everyone has to find their own groove. Here’s what I would advocate though.

    • Show yourself, write in the first person, don’t be ‘professional’
    • Tell people what you have for them and why you think it will be useful or interesting
    • Tell them what you want them to do. Be direct. “If you’re curious, click this link.”
    • Write to them consistently. It doesn’t have to be on a schedule, but these are your peeps, be in relationship with them.
    • Train them to expect good stuff when they open your email, or click a link

    Email lists are secure, private and powerful. The rules can’t be changed on you suddenly, like on Facebook or other centrally controlled platforms.

    Whatever your art, whatever you create and share, allow people to easily stay in close relationship with you. Have sign-up boxes on your website. Invite them in warmly. Tell them what they’re signing up for, explicitly

    “I’ll email you every couple of weeks with my new stuff. I hope it serves the shit out of you. Unsubscribe any time.”

    And then welcome them when they sign up. Maybe you want to give them a gift for signing up. Maybe you don’t. But welcome them. These are your people.

    3. I write on Facebook

    Facebook is a powerful and unique platform, if you use it the way it’s designed to be used. Facebook is not a marketing platform. What I mean by that, is…you can’t directly promote stuff on Facebook. Well, you can, but it will probably bomb.

    “Do you struggle to be productive when it comes to phalange making? Sign up for my free webinar: “Phoebe’s 7 secrets to powerful phalanges.” It’s free, but places are limited.”

    You might get a couple of ‘likes’ but mostly, people really dislike this stuff on Facebook. It’s like walking into a party and trying to flog your latest thing. People are there to socialize and share connection, not listen to your pitch.

    Here’s how I use Facebook. I learned this from Michael Ellsberg who is a fabulous writer and has a wonderful course on the art of writing for Facebook.

    1. Learn to notice when interesting ideas float past in your mind. Get used to grabbing them with a butterfly net. They happen naturally, practice seeing them.
    2. If an idea has a somatic feeling with it – a fizz in your chest, gurgles in your chest, excitement, fear – then stop what you’re doing and open up Facebook.
    3. Type right into the status update box (don’t copy and paste from Word), and share your thoughts. Reveal yourself, don’t self-edit. Don’t try and sound clever. Get vulnerable. Share what you’ve learned, or how you see something. Share your process or your story.

    Because people are bored of pitches, and inspirational quotes, and cat pictures, and political choir-preaching.

    They’re also tired of what Michael calls bliss fronting – showing only the good shit, in a dis-proportionate way, or an attention seeking way.

    “OMG. I just had the most amazing meeting. I’m blown away.”

    “I just love myself so much. Life is awesome. I’m awesome. Wow.”

    It’s the bliss front. What about the shitty backside? Show us. Why did the meeting impact you? Why do you want to share it? When do you also not love yourself? Tell me vulnerably how awesome you are. Or tell me what’s been really hard for you, and how you navigate it.

    I’ve used Facebook to push my edge with my writing. I write about anything that interests me. I’ve shared very tender personal things about feeling like a little boy who just wants everyone’s attention. I’ve written about politics and stirred dissent among many old friends.

    And that’s the thing about Facebook. It normally contains a pretty diverse range of people from your life. And it can feel almost unbearable to write things on there that you would really rather certain people didn’t know about you.

    Your edge is yours to find and flirt with.

    What I will say is that Facebook is an amazing space to practice self-revealing. If you can tell people on Facebook that you’re actually into BDSM, or Astrological therapy, or Libertarianism, or you’ve just divorced your partner, or your father died, then you can tell anyone.

    Some people may unfollow you. Let them. And new people will friend request you. Let them. You have no obligation to please your Facebook friends. It’s your party. If they don’t like your toasts, then encourage them to leave, with love.

    And then share your art there too. I post all my blogs on Facebook, along with a short message. I’ve had an awful of people find my work through Facebook. An awful lot.

    Just remember, it’s a social-network, not a marketing-channel.

     

    Ewan Townhead

    , , , , , ,

  • Because if you do, you will gift to the world expressions and stories that only you can give. And we want them. Need them even.

    You see beauty that no one else sees. You hear truth that no one else listens to. You have a belief in the goodness of the world that is completely unique to you.

    And your mission, if you cease to refuse it, is to make it. And give it. And move people.

    That’s what art does. It moves people.

    It moves them into something deeper in themselves – a place of ungrasped potential, or dishonoured tears.

    They are moved into a different vision. They see life’s landscape through your eyes, and something touches them. And their world changes.

    What is your art?

    Your art is your expression of your inner world, in outer form.

    The medium is less important. Writing. Song. Public speaking. Film. Facebook posts. Sex. Massage. Carpentry. Whatever feels good. Whatever allows your expression to be woven into something potent.

    What’s important is that you practice channelling your expression. No one can teach you what your expression is. They can teach you technique. They impart principles of practice. They can give you maps for the journey. But the expression is yours. It follows no rules. Except the rule of authenticity, which is not really a rule at all.

    The practice of expression is very simple.

    1. Express yourself through art
    2. Repeat

    The greatest teacher is your own experience.

    No one can teach you your expression, because your expression is simply what happens when you sink into yourself, and make stuff.

    Just as no one could teach John Lennon to be John Lennon, no one can teach you to be more you. Except you.

    Making it

    Making it is very simple.

    You carve out time, and you make it.

    If you’re a writer, you sit down and write. If you’re a tantrica, you feel your desire and fuck. If you’re a dolphin whisper, you get in the water and talk to dolphins.

    The goal is not to make good stuff; the goal is to make stuff. Good is not in your realm of control. Making is. And more you make, the more goodness you will craft.

    If you paint a hundred paintings, some of them will suck ass, half of them will be below average, and a handful will catch something beautiful in a way you couldn’t have predicted.

    Doing it every day is best.

    Doing is whether you feel like it or not, is crucial.

    It doesn’t count if no one sees it

    Art is something that moves people. If you don’t share it, then no one can be moved, and so it is not art. It’s a thing you made, and then hid.

    Once you’ve made it, give it away.

    Then it’s not yours anymore. It never really was to begin with. You were its parent. And the time comes, when you must let that child go its own way in the world. You cannot choose its impact.

    You don’t have to share all of your art. It’s better to not share all of it. Because a lot of it is junk. But you probably need to share more than you think you should.

    Risk over exposure.

    Do not try to repeat your success

    Listen for the impact your art has. What struck a beautiful chord? What hit a bum note? Notice how it permeates the people that engage it.

    But do not try to ‘repeat your success’.

    Art is the expression of novelty. You cannot repeat novelty. If you try to replicate novelty, you will simply mimic the past, and that is not art.

    So listen, very carefully, and let your impact on others impact you. Ruminate on its lessons. Let it work you.

    And then when you sit down the next day to make your art, forget all of it.

    Your excuses mean something

    They mean it’s something important that your resisting making.

    “I don’t have enough time, I’m too busy.”

    “I’m not good enough, it won’t work.”

    “It’s not appropriate, people will judge me for it.”

    These are the voices of resistance. Resistance is the density you feel when you try to push through into an explored place, like cutting your way through a virgin jungle.

    Following the advice of your resistance is choosing the wrong guide. Resistance wants you to turn around and return to safety. So go deeper into the exact place resistance is telling you to avoid. That’s where your art is.

    The closer your art is to your soul, that bigger the resistance you will feel.

    Choose your art and make it

    Today, I’m going to carve out 45 minutes.

    I’m going to sit down, and write about things that want to be written about.

    Then I’m going to do the same thing tomorrow.

    I’m going to share more of my art than seems sensible.

    I’m going to listen for the feedback, and then I’m going to dismiss it.

    I’m not going to be lulled into believing my resistance.

    I’m going to touch people.

    In the way only I can.

     

    Now it’s your turn.

    Go.

     

    Ewan Townhead

    , , , ,

  • I was reading Brené Brown again the other morning as I was eating scrambled eggs with avocado.

    Brené (I don’t actually know her so as to be on a first name basis, but like to pretend I do) was talking about barriers to vulnerability.

    She was talking about masks. The masks we wear.

    The things that we put on, so that we look like the personality we think we need to be. So people like us. So we don’t rock the boat. So we fit in. So we’re not alone.

    I’m an expert, and you should listen to me

    I was trying to write something on marketing. And it wasn’t really working. I noticed an unpleasant feeling. It was familiar.

    I’d always assumed it was the effect of not finding my flow. I can’t write, so I feel contracted,

    But I realized it wasn’t. I realized it was the cause. I wasn’t in flow, because I wasn’t writing. A mask was.

    So, I put the mask centre stage and let it write. This is what it said.

    “I’m an expert. And you’re not. Listen to me, because I know. Be quiet and you may actually learn something.”

    And it’s said in this slightly bored voiced, like really you should know better, but since you don’t, I’ll grace you with my superior wisdom. Though I’m making it clear it’s begrudging. But not clear enough that you could comment on it.

    I’ve christened him Bartholomew Snooty III.

    I remember being on a personal development course years ago. The leaders had offered me a free place because I’d started an audacious business that professed to be a hub for the kind of work they were teaching.

    I thought I was better than them.

    I’d silently critique their teaching from the back of the room.

    And I ended up pissing some people off. Because I wasn’t committed, and I dropped out, and broke some promises I made. And even though I felt ashamed underneath, I covered it by looking down my nose at them, and dismissing their quaint complaints.

    And that’s how he works. He covers my insecurity with indifferent arrogance.

    Meanwhile, I’m still lonely.

    Oh! Look how vulnerable I am!

    I have another one. It’s the “I’m vulnerable” mask.

    The one where I pretend to be vulnerable. Because it’s a deep value of mine (the vulnerability not the pretending). And I think I need to be like that all the time.

    “I did this thing. It was really vulnerable. But look at me, I’m so brave to be sharing it like this with you. How good am I?”

    I remember a couple of years ago. I was having a fight with my girlfriend, and my best friend Joel was there too. And I got really upset, and started crying uncontrollably.

    Joel didn’t buy it.

    He said he understood I was upset, but it seemed like I was making a show of it.

    I froze.

    “This is a matrix moment Ewan.” He said.

    And he was right.

    It felt so real. And I was hurt, but even more, I was trying to get seen.

    And maybe that’s why I do it more often.

    Don’t see me

    Don’t look at me. Because if I show you the real me, you’ll reject me. Like you did when I was innocent, and didn’t know about masks.

    I never fitted in at school. Maybe none of us do.

    I had the wrong shoes. And no Nintendo. And brown bread sandwiches with cucumber and vegetarian pate.

    I stood out, like a weird thumb. And the other kids, with their Nike trainers wouldn’t let me join in.

    So I started fashioning some masks. So I wasn’t so lonely.

    Maybe you did too.

    And none of us realized that we were all wearing masks, and participating in an invented stage play. All secretly wanting to fit in.

    And I’m still doing it.

    “Like me! I’m really good at writing! Can I play with you?”

    I wrote that on facebook the other day. That I still felt like I was 5-years old trying to get people to be my friend.

    And lots of people said they would be my friend.

    And it was lovely. But it didn’t really change anything.

    The naked truth

    Because it’s not about winning friends. It’s about saying what I have to say. The real one, who nakedly says the things that he can’t help but care about.

    And it would be really shitty if that meant no-one likes me anymore. But even that I’d endure. If that was what my art demanded.

    Walt Whitman was like that. Most people hated what he wrote. And he didn’t get huge thanks or success. And then he died. And then everyone realized how brilliant he was, and how beautiful his writing was. And how revolutionary.

    I hope that doesn’t happen to me. That would suck.

    But I’m realizing how it’s really not about getting friends. That little 5 year old has lost his chance.

    It’s about speaking the truth.

    I can feel the masks start to melt. And as more of the naked truth starts to reverberate around my world, I realize I’m no longer in control of the plot.

    So I cross my fingers, and hope it all has a happy ending.

    And I’m stacking all my chips on this. The belief that if I keep speaking what wants to be spoken, then something will happen. And that ending will be the happiest one.

     

    Ewan Townhead

    , , ,

  • When people ask me what I do, I say “I’m a writer.”

    Though that declaration is relatively recent, my history of writing is not.

    I wrote my first poem at age 7. I posted it on facebook recently – it got more likes than my contemporary writing.

    I wrote songs for many years, though I didn’t share them with as many people as I wish I had.

    During my final year at university I discovered that I was really good at academic writing. I’d realized that essays could be a fun way to explore my new ideas around philosophy, rather than simply exhausting the word count as quickly as possible the night before the deadline.

    Four years ago I had a brief stint with my own blog. The tagline was “Living life’s big questions.” Though, looking back, I was probably better with the big questions than I was with the living.

    A few people really liked what I had to say. Then I had a massive confidence crumble over a rejection episode, and quietly took the thing down.

    I wrote a number of blogs for Waking Up the Workplace. My favorite being this one about business plans.

    I channeled most of my ability into copywriting (which is a whole different ball game). I spent years practicing it. When I coupled it with my strategic mind, I discovered I was good at marketing. It helped me build three small businesses.

    I would write for ‘real’ in private though. And occasionally, I’d read things to people, and they’d be really impressed. And I would be relieved, because I was scared of people not liking my precious creations.

    Then last year I decided to create what became this website – The Realized Entrepreneur. I didn’t know it was going to become a blog. I thought it would mainly be a podcast.

    And today marks 1 year since I published the first article on this site.

    So much has changed. So fucking much. I feel deeply grateful for the journey I’ve been on.

    So to celebrate, I decided to write honestly about my experiences. My wins, my stumbles, my hard-won wisdom.

    I hope firstly that it’s an entertaining read. I also hope it helps you. Especially if you’re a writer.

    These are my 5 lessons, from a year of writing.

    1.     Sentencing the Inner-Judge

    Before I launched this site, or told anyone I was launching it, I was writing for it.

    I was busily trying to script out the first podcast episode which would be just me talking about the project.

    I spent weeks and weeks on it.

    Writing, re-writing. Editing, re-editing. Doubting. Writing again. Throwing it away. Pulling it out of the trash. Editing some more.

    I would do extensive journaling while writing, exploring the struggles I was having with myself.

    Some days I would only get two sentences in before the inner dialogue would start up.

    “You need to sound like you know what you’re talking about Ewan. You need to sound authoritative, strong, and deeply wise, otherwise no-one will listen to you. Don’t put that vulnerable shit in there. That won’t work. Be impressive.”

    I’d try, but the clench in my gut would twist my words into empty shells of pretence.

    I tried going ultra-philosophical, the 40,000 foot view – the map of business as it could be in the coming decades.

    “Dude. You haven’t lived what you’re writing. You’re so out of integrity. You’re hiding behind big ideas aren’t you? Be real man, this isn’t working at all.”

    And then sometimes it would descend into self-abuse.

    “You piece of shit. This fucking sucks man. And you know it don’t you? Because you suck. What are you even doing here? Go home and cry like a little bitch.”

    I was so very hard on myself when I didn’t get it right.

    But really, I was afraid. Deeply afraid. I was afraid to start. I was afraid to put that ‘first thing’ out there.

    I’d launched a whole bunch of businesses and products before. But this time it was just me, and the things I really cared about.

    And I was afraid I’d be rejected.

    This is Lesson One. Starting is really hard, so do it before you’re ready.

    I was trying so hard to get it right before I launched. I really, really wanted to look competent, worthy and wise, like someone people would hire, or tell their friends about.

    I thought I needed to get it right before I shared it.

    I now know this is impossible.

    It’s never ‘right’. It’s art.

    Art is something that comes through you, from deep inside, or way high up. It’s your unique expression, it’s no more right than one person’s heart is more correct than another’s.

    It may not be right, but it is important. It matters. Deeply.

    And so, you never feel ready.

    I never felt ready. Because starting is like leaping into the unknown. And so far, I’ve never fully prepared for that.

    I ditched the script in the end, and started more simply, and after a few more false starts, I did release it into the world.

    And it was incredibly scary.

    And my hand shook as I pressed send on the email.

    And it was beautiful.

    And I’m so grateful I found the courage to do it.

    2.  The most powerful question I know

    Fast forward. It’s now December. I’ve got 2 months of writing and publishing under my belt (all four articles!). And I wanted to publish one last piece before the Christmas holidays.

    I had a title: ‘The most powerful question I know’. It was a question I’d spontaneously started asking myself the previous year during a very tough period.

    I’d been back at my parent’s house as a 30-something, my relationship on the rocks, wanting to get out of the work I was doing, not knowing how to make any money. I was in real crisis.

    Then during a cigarette smoking sessions in the garden shed this question emerged…

    “What is being asked of me?”

    I’d used it repeatedly, and it had helped me through some hugely challenging and anxiety inducing moments.

    I finished drafting the article at 3pm on Christmas Eve. I was short on time, so just read it through once, and then posted it.

    I shared it on facebook, closed my laptop and left the café.

    An hour of Christmas present shopping later and I pull out my phone to see if anyone has ‘liked’ my facebook status.

    I’m fully expecting my usual 3 likes (my mum, my girlfriend, and me), but today it’s different. People are really impacted by it.

    This is Lesson 2. Success is neither predictable nor controllable

    The article went ‘viral’. As in, it spread out well beyond my normal circle of friends and followers.

    Up until that point my most read article had about 300 hits. This post was read by 1,500 people in the first 2 days.

    It felt like it came from nowhere.

    This is what I learned: it’s almost impossible to predict what will be ‘successful’. Because if you’re committed to genuine art, you’re creating from the unknown.

    If you try and aim for success, you’ll just replicate what you think is successful.

    The next article I wrote after ‘The Most Powerful Question I Know’ was one where I tried to replicate its success.

    It duly bombed. It’s still my least popular article.

    In other words, the less sure we are about the quality of what we create, the more likely it is that we’re in the unknown. And that’s where creativity resides.

    If you’ve done it before, it’s not creative. If you’ve heard it before, it’s not creative. If it’s safe, it’s not creative.

    Some stuff works. Some doesn’t.

    And I’m not sure I’ll ever be done learning this lesson.

    3.  A commitment to regular inspiration

    I can’t remember exactly how it came about. I think I’d been reading a lot of Seth Godin and Steven Pressfield at the time.

    But a realization came to me. And somewhere towards the end of winter I decided to write every single morning.

    It changed the game for me.

    Radically.

    The power of that practice is now so obvious to me, but at the time it was a pretty scary commitment.

    Someone once asked the writer Somerset Maugham whether he wrote on a strict schedule.

    “I write only when inspiration strikes. Fortunately it strikes every morning at nine o’clock sharp.” ― W. Somerset Maugham

    I’d had this idea that inspiration and creativity were wild natural forces that could and should not be controlled.

    If I didn’t feel like writing? If I didn’t feel inspired? If the mojo wasn’t flowing? I wouldn’t write. And I continued to believe that I was a slave to the muse.

    Until I started to write every morning.

    I’d wake up, shower and meditate. I’d make a green smoothie and bike over to my favorite coffee house.

    I’d order a latte, and set my timer for an hour. And I’d write.

    And a lot of it sucked. And I allowed myself to journal sometimes instead. And it was hard, and I felt insecure a lot, and frustrated, and hopeless.

    And I’d still write.

    Every morning.

    And it changed everything for me.

    This is lesson 3. Make love to your muse, every day.

    Inspiration isn’t a finite and fickle resource, it’s what happens when you make love to your muse.

    Your muse is not a master that has enslaved you. And neither are you its master.

    Your muse is your lover. The creative spark that’s always already in you, and that ushers you toward new ideas, new moments.

    Make love with that place inside you every day.

    And you will grow to know one another ever more deeply.

    And your challenges will grow too.

    And so will the level of beauty you can tolerate, and the level of truth that you can speak.

    4.   Someone steals my work

    It was a new kind of article for me. I’d actually researched the topic (albeit spontaneously), that I had written about. Because it was a big topic.

    It was called Money Is Not What You Think It Is.

    I’d grown up with some pretty strong narratives around the nature of money, and I knew they were having a big effect on my work and business.

    I spent several thousand words exploring the whole topic, and the article got a really great response. Many people sent me messages about it.

    One was from a guy on LinekdIn – he said the article had really spoken to him in a time of struggle, and given him a sense of hope.

    The next day I was checking my messages again on LinkedIn and saw an alert about a new blog having been published earlier that day. It was called ‘Money Is Not What You Think It Is.’

    “That’s weird. That’s the name of my article.”

    Perplexed, I clicked through and discovered my own article, copied and pasted, word for word, under his own name.

    An interesting message exchange ensued, one that I decided to post on facebook, where my friends rallied around like the generous motherfuckers they are.

    The whole thing got a lot of attention.

    Lesson 4. I’m afraid of being seen.

    I really want me and my work to be recognized.

    The irony of the plagiarism episode was that my work got a lot of exposure. And while I was deeply touched, proud and grateful. I also got to feel how uncomfortable it was for me to be so exposed.

    Underneath all my adult strength, there’s still this really shy little boy who feels overwhelmed by big groups of people, and would rather sit inside on his own, following his curiosity.

    Writing is one half solitude and one half exposure.

    It doesn’t count if I don’t show anyone what I’ve written. And it doesn’t count if I only show the safe stuff.

    The truer I am to the work that wants to come through me, the more visible I’m going to become, and the deeper I’m going to have to face all the things I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding.

    5.  Turning up the publishing volume

    It’s the start of the summer. I’m in New York, and I’m on the phone with my men’s group. I’m about to make a commitment.

    I’d been putting a new piece out once or twice a month. But I’d decided I wanted to do it more regularly. As an experiment.

    I could think of two possible solutions. Either I upped the amount of time I was writing, in order to produce more articles to share.

    Or I dropped my standards, and published stuff that I didn’t think was good enough.

    I opted for the second one.

    “I’m going to publish a new article every week for the next 3 months.”

    The first week went by without a hitch. The second week got interesting.

    By this time I was in Texas spending some time with my mentor. I had an article half drafted, one on marketing. And I sat down to finish it.

    I read over it and something inside me said…

    “This is not good. It’s too markety, too superficial. I think I should be writing bigger philosophical pieces. People won’t like it.”

    I wanted to scrap it. That’s what I would have done before – bin it and write something new. But I didn’t have time, I had to publish today.

    So I finished it. And mailed it out to my list.

    Lesson 5. Don’t trust your own opinions.

    People really liked the article.

    I know a lot about marketing. And I also have a love-hate relationship with it. It doesn’t always fit my ‘creative writer’ persona very well.

    Which was why people’s reactions were an important lesson for me.

    If I’d have listened to my own ‘wisdom’ I wouldn’t have published anything at all on marketing, perhaps indefinitely.

    But by throwing it out I realized just how wrong I was. As a consequence, I also then got over of my marketing-snobbery and wrote some more marketing articles, and really enjoyed them.

    Travelling the courageous path

    These were 5 of my lessons. There are more lessons I’m in the midst of. Perhaps I’ll write about them another time.

    But for now I want to say this to you (and to myself, as perhaps all good writing is actually intended).

    You’re unique.

    Your voice is unique.

    Your writing is unique.

    But it’s probably buried under conventions, other people’s opinions and old stories. And the deeper you cut toward that core of your own authentic expression, the greater your discomfort will be.

    If something pours out, and you don’t know where it came from. Or you feel like you can’t possibly show it to anyone. Or you feel massively uncomfortable, and don’t like it. Or you’re really scared people will reject you. Or whatever it is that specifically tells you “YOU MUST NOT SHARE THIS!”

    That’s the one.

    That’s the moment of courage.

    That’s the decision to show your heart to the world, and become vulnerable to its response.

    That’s the moment that things will change. And it will be out of your hands.

    Because writing changes you.

    It changes me, every day I do it.

     

    Ewan Townhead

    , ,

  • You’re here for a reason. It’s not a mistake.

    You have to work to do. You have things to create, wisdom to convey, gifts to offer. Your work is just that. It is your Work. It is unique. And if you don’t create it, the world will never have it.

    Your work is something you did not ultimately choose. But it is something that if you commit to uncover and give it, will transform reality in ways you can’t imagine.

    Your work is to create the Work you were made for.

    And yet as we follow the path of living our work, reality tests us. God challenges us. We doubt it. We doubt ourselves. It’s inevitable.

    There are stories we so often tell ourselves, that stop us from offering our true work to the world. They’re stories I’ve told myself, they’re stories my clients tell themselves, they’re stories my friends have told themselves.

    The stories will always spin. But when you mistake them for the truth, the world is robbed of your genius, and you are robbed of your destiny.

    Here are 6 such stories. And how to re-frame them.

    1. Who am I to…

    Who am I to write about the spiritual nature of business? Who am I to coach people on business success? Who the fuck am I to call my brand The Realized Entrepreneur!?

    I doubted it all. I was terrified of arrogance. Of pretending a level of authority that I neither felt nor deserved.

    There’s a myth that we need to have mastered something in order to teach it. You train to become qualified, and then you teach.

    I train for 5 years to become an engineer, then I start engineering. I spend $12,000 on coach training, then I start being a coach.

    This myth relies on the notion of expertise; that I need a certain amount of knowledge to qualify as someone who can then practice. It’s a two-step process. Novice, expert. Student, teacher.

    On the deepest level however, we are each asked to teach that which we most need to learn. The very thing that we are afraid of, yet are attracted to, is our teaching. The very thing that we struggle with, yet are captivated by is our lesson.

    Do not wait until you feel qualified to teach it. Do not wait until it feels safe to give it.

    The journey into the unknown is anything but safe. The winding cosmic pathway toward expressing your God-given essence is littered with discomfort.

    But it is also imbued with light. Follow the light. It’s in you.

    It is you.

    2. I’ll be Judged

    They’ll say I’m arrogant, or delusional. They’ll condemn me, as worthless, or worse. They’ll dismiss me as a naïve narcissist. I’ll be judged.

    Yes. You will.

    People will judge you. They’ll judge you for sticking your head up above the safety line. They’ll dismiss you. They’ll attack you. They’ll ignore you. They’ll bad-mouth you.

    You can’t escape it.

    As Seth Godin says: “You can’t both fit in, and stand out.”

    If you offer your true work, you’ll stand out. And you’ll indirectly illuminate the fact that there are people who are scared, and who are hiding, and not giving their work, and they know it.

    When you shine, they’ll squirm. And the more they squirm, the more they’ll look for a source of the pain and discomfort. And if they don’t look at themselves, they might look at you.

    Your enlightened offerings, have illuminated their shadowed ambitions. Your piercing brilliance, has highlighted their dark desires.

    And if they aren’t vulnerable enough to burn in that discomfort, they’ll disperse the energy.

    The more you offer your true work, the more those who aren’t, will assess and judge you. It’s not a sign that you’re getting it wrong, it’s a sign that you’re getting it right.

    It’s nothing to do with you, or even them. It’s just God inviting us all deeper.

    3. This will ruin my reputation

    My family will never look at me the same way. I have a carefully created reputation with my community and customers, I don’t want to risk that by putting out this risky stuff. No-one will take me seriously if I say what I really think.

    When a relatively little known researcher on vulnerability decided to see what would happen if she presented her study findings while actually showing her own vulnerability, she was terrified it would ruin her professional reputation. 20 million video views later, and Brene Brown’s reputation as a global leader in vulnerability is well established.

    A reputation that is not based on your true work, is a reputation that insulates you from what you’re called to create.

    Something old needs to be broken down, before something new can be created.

    What is the box you have created for yourself? What is the label you’ve carefully applied to you and your work? Is it truly you? Truly you?

    Maybe not.

    4. I don’t know if it’s good enough

    I don’t know if it works. I don’t know if I like it, or if anyone else will like it. I don’t know if it’s good enough.

    Doubting quality means you’re in true creativity. Creativity comes from the frothy space of tension between success and failure. If it’s sure to work, it’s not creative.

    It is not your role to judge the value of what you create. That privilege lies with your tribe, those you’re serving.

    It’s not about perfecting it, then giving it. It’s about experimenting and then experimenting. It’s about the never ending dance, at the edges of your lived expression, as you offer what seems to be in your soul, and the world around you responds with peculiar originality.

    It’s about never knowing if it’s good enough. Because it’s not about good enough anymore, it’s about brave enough, or surrendered enough.

    I wrote a piece recently. I didn’t like it. I wanted to bin it and write something else, but I didn’t have time. So I threw it out, and people loved it. They wouldn’t have, if I’d have listened to my own judgement.

    Are you brave enough to share the work that you literally don’t know the quality of?

    Are you surrendered enough to discover who you are, and what your work is, as you continually give it, and the world continually responds, and you continually pivot and weave, and the world continues in its immeasurably beautiful dance?

    5. I don’t want to be seen

    A couple of months ago someone plagiarized one of my articles. And I don’t mean ripping off a few lines here and there, I mean the whole 1800 word thing, copied and pasted, under his own name.

    I swapped emails with the guy. I assumed good intent. He gave me some pseudo-spiritual justification for the deception. I asked him to attribute it to me. He refused. I decided to share about the episode on Facebook, as it was happening.

    The thread went crazy. My website traffic sky-rocketed. I felt delighted. I felt uncomfortable.

    The next morning, I sat down to journal about the experience. And I realized that the uncomfortable feeling was one of not wanting to be seen.

    I felt exposed. I felt illuminated. I felt witnessed. I wanted crawl back under the cover of obscurity.

    I knew this wouldn’t be the last time. It felt like a watershed moment. I knew I couldn’t go back. People were starting to see me. I was scared. And it was exactly what I wanted.

    I do want to be seen. I want my work to be seen. By thousands of people. Maybe millions. And I’m scared. And so are you.

    6. What if it’s not my true work?

    I’m just not sure this is my true calling. I’m just not sure that this is what I’m here to do. What if this isn’t my purpose? What if I’ve got the wrong thing?

    Your true work is not a thing. It’s an ever evolving expression. It’s not something you discover once, and then spend your life making. It’s something you continually deepen into, finding new edges, new delights and new expressions.

    Your true work is discovered by continually creating what you believe your true work to be, and weaving as you go, reflecting, adjusting, pivoting, embracing.

    To try and clarify and define it before you start creating it, is futile at best.

    If you don’t know what your true work is, then you have a huge open space within which to go and explore. Don’t deliberate. Create.

    A wonderful man taught me something recently. He said: “Ewan, just jam a stake in the ground and then fucking go at it. And if things change? Move the stake, and then fucking go at it.”

    It’s not about getting it right. It’s about going at it, and getting it wrong. It’s about the going, not the getting.

    Go create your work.

    Releasing yourself  from story

    Stories are like old soundtracks that you used to like listening to, but forgot to turn off. Can you hear them? They’re humming along in the background, drowning out the voice of your creative expression.

    Don’t shout louder. Get quieter. And when you really hear them, you can find the off switch.

    The world wants your work. And I know you want to give it.

    It begins with the smallest step imaginable.

    A whisper.

    “Yes. I want to create my true work.”

    Ewan Townhead

    , , , , , , ,

  • “I can’t write today, I’m not feeling inspired.”

    “There’s no way I can launch this new thing without the logo being finished.”

    “One day, I’ll be ready to create that thing I’ve been dreaming about. One day.”

    Resistance.

    The albatross around the neck of every creative entrepreneur. The bane of every artist. The greatest foe of anyone bringing something new into the world.

    Whatever you make – a book, a business, a design or dance-show – the process is the same. It is the mysterious, chaotic process of birthing something new. It is the practice of creativity.

    When you create, you meet the inevitable counter-force: resistance. Resistance is the evil twin of creativity. It is inseparable, unescapable.

    If you create stuff, you will feel resistance.

    The Naivety of the Common Artist

    “Man, I don’t think I’m capable of creating this thing yet. I need to go do some more x, y, z. Then, maybe I’ll be ready to start work on it.”

    I need more healing.

    I need to be more recognized first.

    I haven’t learned enough about this topic to create something about it yet.

    I’m not experienced enough to create this thing.

    I’m not ready.

    I’m not capable.

    I’m not worthy.

    And so goes the never-ending naivety of the common artist.

    It is not the fact that the artist feels resistance that makes him naive. No, the naivety lies in the belief that resistance can be overcome.

    The mistake that I have continually made, my clients have continually made, and my friends have continually made is this: to attempt to resolve resistance, before proceeding to the creation of whatever it is we are called to create.

    The mistake is thinking resistance is personal. The mistake is thinking resistance says anything about the state or worthiness of your own being. The mistake is thinking that the cause of the resistance must be integrated, healed or resolved.

    Resistance cannot be resolved. Ever.

    Resistance is Part of the Physics of Creativity

    I like watching Formula One motor racing. It’s the pinnacle of motor sport where some of the finest engineers in the world seek to push the edge of technology, and build cars that go ever faster.

    When a car drives at high speed, the thing that compromises that velocity is the air around it. The faster you go, the more the car has to punch through the air.

    In other words, the counter force to a car’s acceleration is air-resistance.

    This is simple physics.

    When racing-car drivers hit air-resistance they don’t slow down, wondering what went wrong.

    They don’t reason that it must be a mechanical problem that the engineers must repair before continuing. They don’t see it as a problem with their own technique that must be rectified back in the simulator.

    But this is exactly what most creative entrepreneurs do.

    Trying to resolve your doubts, and insecurities before creating your work, is like trying to drive a car without experiencing air resistance. It’s like trying to change the nature of physics.

    It’s naive at best.

    It is the physics of creativity.

    I Disregarded All My Own Wisdom

    Launch fast. Minimum viable product. Beta version. Lean approach. Try it out. Don’t be perfect.

    I knew all the theory. I knew the practice. I’d taught it to our students in the conscious business academy. I’d read the books. Watched the videos. Extolled its wisdom.

    It’s sound wisdom. The faster you launch, the faster you can get real feedback from your real community. Don’t get too deep before you test your assumptions in the marketplace. Don’t think you’re smarter than the tribe you’re here to serve. Perfectionism will crush your entrepreneurial creativity.

    The sooner you get out there, the sooner you start doing the real work. It’s not real until it’s launched. It’s not art until it’s released.

    I knew it all. And I disregarded it.

    “It’s not ready. I’m not clear enough. The copy isn’t right yet. The design needs to be more polished. The podcast doesn’t work without its intro music.”

    When I launched this website in October last year, it was a single page.

    200 words. A single picture. A small logo. A place for folks to put an email address in. There wasn’t even anything for offered for signing up, just a vague promise of impending wisdom.

    It had taken me 8 months.

    For that is how resistance works. The more you care about your creation, the more you will be tested. The deeper the place it comes from, the further resistance will leap to meet you.

    Resistance is a Dishonourable Foe

    He knows your weak spots, and he’s not afraid to go for them. He’ll play dirty. Honour isn’t part of his make-up. He’s here to shut down your creativity, and he’ll use whatever strategy he can find to do so.

    He’s clever, very clever. He knows exactly what guise to assume. He has perfect timing. And he has no scruples.

    Resistance had me by the balls as I was creating The Realized Entrepreneur.

    “This isn’t good Ewan. It’s too vague. It’s too pompous. It’s not practical enough. It doesn’t have enough depth. It’s an ugly design. You’re being too perfectionistic”

    If I’d have been wiser to his game, I would have noticed that his advice had no consistency. He just said whatever it was that would plant the seed of doubt, and then he’d water it relentlessly.

    “Yes, you don’t feel ready do you? That’s because you don’t understand your target customer yet, you can’t launch until you do. You haven’t nailed your core message yet, make sure that’s clear before you go public.”

    It sounded like good advice. It sounded like the advice that a very experienced marketer would give himself. So I listened. Thinking it was my own higher guidance.

    He even spoke to me during meditation.

    “Maybe you should re-write the front page copy? Yes? You knew there was something that didn’t feel right with that copy didn’t you? It’s all written in the 2nd person. That doesn’t fit with your principle of personal transparency. Better re-write it. Your integrity is important.”

    My god he was clever.

    What is Resistance?

    Resistance is not really a he or a she. And he’s definitely not you, nor even a real part of you. He’s not a real voice of wisdom, and he’s not to be trusted.

    He’s just air-resistance with a microphone.

    He’s just the desperate status-quo hijacking your inner dialogue.

    There’s no inner-guidance to hear. There’s no grain of truth to be uncovered. There’s no valid perspective to integrate. He’s just out to keep you stuck exactly where you are.

    Don’t listen to him. And for god’s sake don’t try to reason with him. Learn to see him. His power is based on non-detection. He’s like a spy behind enemy lines. You beat him as soon as his cover is blown.

    If he can’t move stealthily in and out of your sub-conscious mind, he will lose his control over you. Learn to spot him.

    6 Disguises that Resistance Wears

    1. You haven’t done enough work on yourself. You need more healing. You need to meditate more. You need to resolve a childhood trauma, because it’s really stopping the real you from coming forth. If you transform that part of you, then it will be real, and authentic.
    2. Waiting for creativity to flow. Not flowing today? Wait till tomorrow. Not flowing tomorrow? Wait till after your weekend break. You tell yourself you mustn’t force it. You don’t want to distort the purity of creativity. You must wait for true inspiration.
    3. You’re afraid people won’t like what you make. I want to create. But it’s scary. It’s exposing. It’s dangerous. What if they don’t like it? What if it’s not good? What if it’s not valuable? You tell yourself these are rational possibilities. You tell yourself that you must resolve your fear first.
    4. I’m not in a rush, I still have plenty of time. I don’t want to force it, rush it. I know it’s tough, and I’m probably experiencing some of this ‘resistance’ thing, but I have time left. It will come at its own pace. I don’t want to be all disciplinarian with myself. I have years left.
    5. You keep shifting focus. You’re working on one thing, then something happens, and you decide to work on something else. You’re writing an ebook, but before you finish, you switch to brainstorming about a new idea. You tell yourself you’re just ‘following the natural flow’.
    6. Resistance doesn’t apply to me. Nice theory. Nice idea. I don’t really think it applies to me though. I don’t have resistance like you’re describing it. I have genuine reasons I’m not creating my thing. It’s not resistance, it’s something else.

    Resistance is anything that stops you from creating the work you’re called to create. He is a ruthless foe.

    Go Forth and Create

    Creativity does not belong to me or you. The things we create do not belong to us. They are the possessions of God. The great spirit of evolution.

    Our gift is to create. To get out of the way. To make the unmakable. To speak the unspeakable.

    It is not our right to determine worthiness. That is the purview of history.

    Make it. Share it.

    And if the thing you make is not good? If it stinks?

    Let it hang. Like a fart in an elevator. Feel the shame. Smell the toxicity. Feel like an ass. Suck it up.

    Then go create more stuff.

    That’s how you beat resistance.

     

    Note: If resistance is the dragon that we all must face as creative entrepreneurs, then the original St. George is a man called Steven Pressfield. If you’re an artist – someone who makes stuff – and you’ve never read his work. Correct it. Now.

    Ewan Townhead

    , , , ,

  • There is a new kind of product on the market. The demand is immense. The competition non-existent.

    It is not a product that can be held in your hands. It is not manufactured in factory, or assembled from components.

    It is not a product that gives you the answer, or instructs you how to. It is not based on scientific proof, or the secret that makes a million dollars.

    It is a product that is irreplaceable. It is a product that has untold power.

    It is the product of your own wisdom.

    When the Merchant meets the Artist

    This new product is the child of very different parents – the merchant and the artist.

    The merchant is concerned with offering something that solves a problem.

    She is concerned with the needs of her customers and clients, and she works hard to satisfy them so she can profit from their mutual exchange. She is concerned ultimately with improvement, and by providing something that her customers want.

    She could be selling incense, software, smart phones, tarot readings or business coaching, the economics are the same. She can produce her product for less than she receives from her buyer.

    Her and her customers both profit from the trade. She makes an honest living. They receive things they need at a fair price.

    The artist has a completely different concern. He is not concerned with improvement, he is concerned with expression.

    He seeks to express an aspect of his experience, of the human experience, of the mystical experience, through some kind of medium. He creates.

    The artifact he creates could be a painting, a song, a book, a play or a show. While the form varies, the intent is the same – to express the inexpressible without conclusion.

    He creates beauty through ambiguity and imperfection. And his audience is able to deepen their own appreciation of life through his representations.

    Historically, these two vocations were separate. Merchants were concerned with meeting existing needs. Artists were concerned with creating new realities.

    Merchants were about consolidating society. Artists were about changing society.

    These two things are no longer separate.

    When the merchant and the artist are combined, and create something, it is a new thing.

    It is a wisdom product.

    A wisdom product is an artifact that contains the service of the merchant, and the expression of the artist.

    It is a business product, something designed to be of service to another human being in a particular circumstance, with a particular type of suffering. It meets the needs of both beings, in an enhance of mutual value.

    And it is a piece of art – a provocation of the audience’s experience, not an answer to a problem. It is a story, not a manual. A painting of ideas and experiences, not a blueprint of correct and incorrect.

    A Revolution in Product Development

    A business that creates wisdom products is a different kind of business.

    The supply chain for this business does not involve the shipping of goods. The research and development for this business does not involve scientists in laboratories, or marketers with clipboards.

    The greatest asset of this business is consciousness.

    It’s you, living life, failing, succeeding, and telling your story to other brave souls suffering at the hands of the same challenges that you yourself have faced.

    It asks you to be you, to discover who you are, not as a hobby, but as the product development of your business.

    When you offer your wisdom, as product, it calls forth a deeper relationship between you and your client. A wisdom product does not tell your customer how they should do something, or the correct way to achieve an outcome. It is art.

    It transmits your consciousness and your experience, and helps them walk their own unique path, inspired by your footsteps.

    The wisdom product enables your clients to transform in your light. It enables you to make a business from consciousness. It enables the world to create an economy from awakening.

    Take your Wisdom and Create

    Make it.

    A wisdom product is always imperfect. It is not meant to be perfected. It cannot be perfected.

    If a braking system for a new car is imperfect it creates damage. It damages life, people die.

    If a wisdom product is imperfect it cannot create damage. It can create change.

    A wisdom product is simply a single step on a longer and undefined journey.

    A wisdom product is the step you take along the path to becoming a more awake human being, and a more powerful servant to your clients.

    A wisdom product is the intermediate step before you create the next wisdom product. Because in this sense it is art. And art is never finished.

    And yet, a wisdom product is created to serve, to improve lives. And so it’s ultimate success is not judged by the artist, but by the results it achieves for its purchasers.

    In this sense, it is business.

    The creation cycle of a wisdom product is much faster than the cycle of a physical product. Because it’s not about perfection, it’s about iteration.

    Apple brings out a new phone once a year.

    Seth Godin writes a new blog post every day.

    That’s the difference.

    Here’s the production protocol for a wisdom product…

    1. Make it.
    2. Give it.
    3. Receive the feedback.
    4. Let it go.
    5. Repeat.

    You do not need to awaken your wisdom before creating your product. Your wisdom is awakened as you make your product. Give it. People need you.

    Ewan Townhead

    , ,