Thursday, August 7, 2014

Deep-dish Thursday.

The problem so many us in the advertising industry face—no matter what our age or position—is one of mankind’s great issues.

Wherever we are, we wish we were someplace else.

I suppose this goes back to pre-historic times. We were happy when we worked in a group and killed a mammoth for sustenance. But chances are, the minute the job was done, or while the job was being done, we wished for something else.

A bigger mammoth, or maybe a wildebeest, or maybe a different cave to drag said mammoth back to.

This outlook infests the advertising industry.

For decades it’s plagued me.

No matter what you’re working on, you wish you were working on something else.

No matter who you’re working for, you wish you were working for someone else.

No matter what your salary, you wish you were getting paid more.

If your hours are short, you wish you had more challenges. If they’re long, you wish you could take things a little easier.

You can call this “a lean and hungry look.”

You can call this ambition.

You can call this drive.

Or you can call it foolish.

The ever-striving, ever-conniving pursuit of wherever, whatever, whoever you’re not.

You see this most virulently in the comments section of Agency Spy.

The hatred for what our industry produces and most of the people in it. The dirty, spiteful, petty mean-spiritedness is as virulent as ebola. Miserable wormy wretches trying to make others miserable and wormy.

Grow up.

Get over it.

Be bigger.

Today while you’re at work do yourself a psychological favor.

Take a second, or ten, and shut down your computer. Find a quiet place if you can. Shut out all the distractions around you, even if you’re ensconced in an ugly meeting room.

Take a moment.

Be thankful.
Be generous.
Be reflective.
Be surprising.
Be quiet.
Be thoughtful.
Be happy.

Most of all, be where you are.

The Artist by William Carlos Williams
Mr T.
in a soiled undershirt
his hair standing out
on all sides
stood on his toes
heels together
arms gracefully
for the moment

curled above his head.
Then he whirled about
into the air
and with an entrechat
perfectly achieved
completed the figure.
My mother
taken by surprise
where she sat
in her invalid's chair
was left speechless.
Bravo! she cried at last
and clapped her hands.
The man's wife
came from the kitchen:
What goes on here? she said.
But the show was over. 

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