What are you trying to prove?
How we overdo it in life, love and creativity before death reshapes it again
The words are in a hurry. The little scamps chased me all the way down the beach. They dropped opening lines, arguably my favourite lines of all, like a series of temptress’ handkerchiefs. They are taking over the other hand now as I shovel yoghurt and coffee in with the right.
They were witty, they were short. They enjoyed the odd retort as they turned around in front of me and said, “catch me if you can…” before whirling off, gaily, into the sea.
Desperate, I picked up some of those words and shoved them out my mouth and into an Instagram video. I talked as I walked down a roaring beach about how, when we feel the inky stain of Imposter Syndrome or the niggling nip of doubt, we dig in. We gather words and hours in their thousands. We dump them into projects and ideas. We research and draft and then draft again.
All with something to prove.
Why though, when we know what we know (and we know we know), do we cycle through this need? Why must we fortify what we do with overdoing it, over-committing, on a mission to prove, prove, prove?
Now, it is this newsletter that threatens to be a multi-part disjointed harmony. All because there is so much to say.
Today, I serve you:
· Why we are so tempted to over-prove ourselves
· Coffee with death
· Plumbed depths
· An overthinking antidote
· Lashings of education
It is a stitched up, hot mess, tenderised. A smashing of ideas and ideals on rocks in the same way the last few weeks have smashed me.
I am well aware it sounds as appealing as taking all the meals and snacks of a single day, placing them inside a mixing bowl. Before running them through with a large spoon and trying not to gag as dinner meets pudding.
But I will try to make it palatable for you.
Coffee with death (a short story in three cups)
There is a reason why I am stained and messy.
Somewhere in the last few weeks at the intersection of Indirect and Death, Fate sat waiting. In his gnarled hand decorated to distraction with rings and jewelled, he sat.
With him were three eye-watering short black jolts with my name on them.
As I sashayed past, Fate pulled back their head in that “come over here” half nod that has become so popular with the indefinably cool-but-bitchy crowd.
“This one is for you,” he sputtered tapping with the knotted knuckle, gems glinting in sunlight.
It was a grungy little cup with a faded picture of Hole - worn, almost indetectable.
“From Aaron,” he explained.
I drank with that numbness you find in an unreal world. The white, bright monitor light of the Facebook world. The vicious delivery system that tells you an old work colleague and friend, the one who beat cancer during Covid, has died anyway.
The liquid rasps down my barely able to digest throat. It is bitter with awfulness.
“This one is for your partner,” creaked the bony finger like an ancient sprinkler arm juddering into the side of the next tiny cup.
I am resentful but still compliant. I carry it to my lips. Underestimating the taste, I anticipate a less direct hit but find it bitter with painful melancholy rise like vomit in a different way.
“From James,” says the voice I am beginning to loathe. Swallowing, I am streamed and beamed to a the funeral. From the unfeeling, impartial eye of a web cam, I see a three-year-old girl in the front row.
She does what children do. She plays, unaware. Unbelievably cute, with her little black bob and inquisitive eyes, she faces the crowd to dance her floppy bunny on the backs of the chairs.
A pause as she smiles, unsure why the adults don’t smile back. She leans harder into her rabbit-driven pantomime, increasing her efforts to perform their sadness away.
She continues, perplexed, until an adult says it is time to be sensible.
To be good and pay attention, as they wheel in her Dad in a coffin not two feet away.
In my hand, something cracks. The tiny cup is a heart transformed. My heart, brutalised and aching, breaking in my palm with another fifty-eight minutes to go.
“And this one,” says that loathsome voice and the tink, tink, tink of those ghastly decorated hands.
I falter as I reach. I knock and watch it tilt, lilt and tumble. Out spills the liquid, it’s grief – my grief - covering everything on the table.
Not enough to say it’s substantial. But enough to cause a stain.
A small vessel falling into the absence of ritual that remains.
Unashamedly plumbing these depths
I couldn’t think of any other way to say Jess Harkins and I have been working on something of an agency. It’s a weird way to introduce it, I know.
But there is some (within the hazy malaise) method here.
Our first campaign aims to change the nature of death and grief. Or at least, how we talk about it.
It has been a slow burn. One filled with icebergs of unexpected pain and pressure.
But essentially, we are looking at the things that get in the way. Of a proper end-of-life. Of death. Of grief itself.
We’re trying to stop the swallowing of the bitter brew while bringing it somewhere closer to the truth. Innocent, useful and designed – built in another way.
So, we’re going back to a time where we were unashamedly six to play and plumb the depths as an agency to play through campaigns in a different way.
Our first project is to build a great last impression. A reverse of the first, you see. Yet unlike the first, one we don’t get to append to.
You can see that begin to build (agency and campaign wise) on Instagram and LinkedIn if you are curious.
It’s so early, you can see the concrete floors. But we are determined to make a change. And poke a few things while we do so. Even if they are ourselves.
“Well, do that” (Vale James)
At James’ funeral, we heard about a guy who had an amazing life, even though it was brutal and cruel in its shortness. He was 40 and a whip smart fellow, talented musician, beloved father to a cherub of a three-year-old and a much-missed husband and friend. We have lost one of the good ones.
But I ask you to indulge me and perhaps flirt with or even adopt one of his most successful traits.
And that James had a very no-nonsense way of cutting through.
“What do you want to do?” he’d ask friends with a quandary.
They’d answer, flopping about with excuses and caveats. He’d cut the crap, tighten it back up again and respond, “well, do that”.
I believe the world needs to keep hold of that attitude, even more now.
We mistrust simplicity. We don’t believe it if we don’t think we’ve sweated, laboured or worked for it enough. Maybe on some level, we’ve decided that it is only worthwhile if it is difficult. Or that complex proves we’ve done more, that we’ve passed some test.
Yet, in clouding up our lives with complexity, second-guessing and FOBO, we’re making things needlessly complicated.
Consider some of the ways we adults overthink things unnecessarily:
· We come up with an idea – and then we think it to death. We roll it around in our heads until the initial excitement wanes and the dreadful doubt seeps in
· We question if we deserve the chance to play, experiment and mess about. So much so, many ideas, projects, campaigns, marketing activities and creative works gather dust instead of momentum because we put the energy into questioning whether they are worthwhile instead of experiencing their value firsthand
· We work so hard on projects and ideas that once we launch them, we have no petrol left to market and promote them
Now, consider this:
· No amount of overthinking it will prove an idea worthwhile. Only doing it will prove or disprove your hypothesis
· The art of play and experimentation exist for a valid reason. We need to do things to see if they make sense off the page and out in the wild
· There’s a certain amount of arrogance attached to thinking the only role you should play when introducing your ideas is to deliver it. Or that you are so brilliant, you get it right first time, every time.
Ask yourself the following questions:
· What emotion is behind your decision to do too much or overthink things before you begin?
· In what ways could you take the ideas you are torturing with your overthinking ways and give them life?
· How can you break the process into smaller, more manageable pieces?
· How can you avoid the temptation pre-empt reactions and get on with the job?
· What are you really trying to prove – to yourself, your audience, and the world at large?
Hot mess of learning on the loose
Learn with me- you know I am good for it.
Improv to improve your client management kicks off on May 5th for four weeks (Patreon only- details on Patreon)
We’re getting accountable to our work with a virtual ‘you better werk it’ session on Zoom on May 13th (Patreon only- details on Patreon).
For brave souls are revealing the fruits of their Deadline Party journey on May 12th o come and cheer them on!
I dissect the anatomy of a good newsletter before your very eyes on May 26th (Patreon only).
Paul Gordon is dropping by to talk about making great freelance contracts on May 19th (FREE).
Emma McMillan gave me airtime to meander over words, the Freelance Jungle history and more on her podcast, Not just about copy. I believe it comes out at the end of May (FREE).
Learn how to avoid late payments on Crowdcast as a Death by PowerPoint session on June 16th (FREE).
Love and other ways we define this shambolic existence,
Rebekah