Net Cotton Content

Drowning in Survival

On the Death of SpeakerSite
I long thought that the best thing to happen in business was big growth and profit. I still do.

I long thought that the second best thing to happen in business was survival — and the worst thing was going out of business. I have re-ordered those for many occasions.

Survival Can Be Toxic
Survival — not thrival, just survival — can lull the business owner into complacency. The thought starts arising: "Oh, it's easier to continue rather than shut it down. After all, it pays the bills."

But paying the bills is not our goal. That's a minimum expectation. It is not why we are here. It is not the meaning of life.

And continuing on? For how long? A week? Fine. A month? O.K. A year? That's a high cost to pay. 

A Mentor Calls
My lifelong friend and mentor, Jon York, called me five years ago. He sensed some restlessness in me. I was still at my advertising desk at Young Isaac, an agency I owned.

"What do you want to do next?" asked Jon.

"Oh, I figure that I'd like to teach full-time," I said. "In about five or ten years."

Jon paused. Then: "Five or ten years? Huh. I don't know about you, Artie, but when I want to do something, I kind of want to do it now."

These words were very helpful. They fished me out of the water. I was drowning in survival.

The End of SpeakerSite
This is newly posted over at speakersite.com. 

Dear SpeakerSite Members,

As you may have seen on SpeakerSite Marketplace yesterday, we have decided to shut down SpeakerSite. This means everything: both the Community (SpeakerSite 1.0) and the Marketplace (SpeakerSite 2.0) are going away.

Both the social network and marketplace profiles will remain as-is until February 29th, 2012, so you can access your information during that time before disable existing features and remove the data. If you have used our tools to book speaking engagements (or to book speakers), any agreement that you made is solely between speaker and event planner and will not be affected.

Thank you for being a part of the worldwide SpeakerSite community. We were — and, who knows, still are the world's largest social network of public speakers. So, what happened? It's that old story in the new world: while we made a lot of friends, SpeakerSite did not generate enough revenue. All the same, we are very grateful for your kindness and collaboration along the way. Truly: it has been a delightful, heart-warming, life affirming experience. We're proud that we were, with you, a force for good: supporting the emergence of many new and seasoned speakers, providing entertainment and enlightenment for audiences, and helping to democratize public speaking.

If you have any questions or feedback, please don't hesitate to reach out. We wish you every success in public speaking. Don't let our disappearance dissuade you. SpeakerSite gone? Piffle. You still have a message. And every message has an audience.

With affection and admiration,

Artie and Rob

What happened?
I don't know every reason why we didn't secure enough revenue, but here's my favorite. a lack of demand from the side of the market with cash.

The buyers (meeting and event planners) do not perceive a need for a solution. Buyers with few transactions each year can muddle through by asking around. Buyers with many transactions each year already have a pipeline of alternatives. We speakers (a broad group with very little in common) swamp the marketplace. As a result, the buyers do not seek efficiency.

I don't know of any direct substitute. While our implementation could have been smarter, better, faster, I don't think that's what put us out. 

There are other reasons. When time weighs heavy on my hands, I'll make a list of them. But that sounds like a dreary way to spend the day today.

Admiration
I am filled with admiration and affection for all the people with whom I worked. 

At the top of that list, of course, is Rob Emrich, in whom I would never hesitate to invest. He's a role model.

One Bud, Well Bit

In the fall of 1978, I arrived at Yale to a class welcome by the then new president of Yale, A. Bartlett Giamatti.

Bart talked funny.
He couldn't help it. He'd read too much Dante.

During his Welcome Address To The Incoming Class of 1982, he compared his own summer of 1978 to ours, filled with uncertainty about arriving at Yale: for us, as freshman; for him, as the new president, a freshman of sorts.

But he didn't say it that way. He said, during the summer,

"The worm
of apprehension
bit deep
in the bud
of anticipation."

I recall we applauded the line. It was perfect. The phrase washed over us with delight, the intellectual joy of realizing that, yes, in fact, we had arrived at a special place, where words are discretely chosen, arguments are deeper, authenticity is pursued.

And we all knew — we felt it in our bones — how the worm would not let that bud alone.

Bart and Me
Bart eventually advanced his career toward his true love. More than Yale, baseball. He left Yale to become president of the National League and eventually Commissioner of Baseball.

As President of the National League, Bart courageously banned Pete Rose from baseball. It's a long story that many might remember: the popular player, called "Charlie Hustle" for his grit and determination, was destined for the Hall of Fame, but gambled on baseball. So Bart banned him. I don't think Mr. Rose was even allowed to come watch a game, except at home on his television.

Still now, decades later, Pete Rose remains the only living human who is ineligible for induction into the Hall of Fame. I think he needs to die first. And even then?

At the All-Star Break that summer, 1988, The New York Times asked sports fans, "Who are the league M.V.P.'s at this stage?" I responded briefly with this published letter. (When I didn't hear from Mr. Giamatti, I sent him the clipping from the newspaper. He responded with this keepsake.)

Bart was soon elevated to Commissioner of Baseball. Back then The Commissioner was a position of courage, an independent power, staring down both players and owners, as an advocate for neither, rather as a single-minded defender of the Integrity Of The Game Of Baseball. After Bart died, his lawyer and long-time friend Fay Vincent (and chief investigator of Pete Rose) became the eighth Commission of Baseball. Mr. Vincent expelled George Steinbrenner, who was later reinstated.

Unless the current Commissioner — coincidentally known as "Bud," as in "the bud of anticipation" — wishes to write me a letter and set me straight, I believe the Commissioner now serves the owners.

Great Reading
One of the best essays ever written is about baseball, by Bart Giamatti. You don't have to love baseball to love this essay, this writer — and his son, the actor Paul Giamatti. (Here is "The Green Fields of the Mind.")

But This Isn't About Baseball.
This is about the worm of apprehension, biting deep into the bud of anticipation. 

New Bud, Same Worm
Tomorrow morning, we drive our elder child to college in New York City.

We were supposed to leave this morning.

But the Hurricane Irene rages toward Manhattan, expected to arrive at the original college drop-off time.

Our family is already worm-bit. Now, we hope for the best for all in the path of Irene.

And we wait for a chance to leave apprehension behind, shake off the worm, and get to the future.

All my life, I have thought of his immortal phrase: "The worm of apprehension bit deep in the bud of anticipation."

Now, I see it from another perspective.

A Dream Comes True

I have tried to be merciful with you, my friend. 

Merciful — and not mercenary.

There is no advertising on Net Cotton Content. I write for free. (Sometimes I request donations to charities.)

I have only very rarely spoken of SpeakerSite, the business suggested by Rob Emrich, which we co-founded in 2008. It quickly became the world's largest social network of public speakers. Imagine that!

SpeakerSite is mission-driven to democratize public speaking — opening doors and turning on microphones so all of us can share what we know.

Because everyone has a message. And every message has an audience.

Today, Will You Permit Me An Update?
Well, after years of toil, Rob and I — with the smart folks at QStartLabs — have launched the 2.0 of SpeakerSite.

It's the SpeakerSite Marketplace. 

Would you please take a look and let me know what you think of it? It's at speakersite.com.

I'd sure appreciate that. 

Why did we do it?
Because the 5,000+ members of SpeakerSite Social Network have long asked for the functionality of a marketplace, where meeting planners can find, assess, and contact speakers. And our social network technology platform wasn't flexible enough to do it.

So we bit the bullet.
And we've chewed on the bullet for nearly 30 months. We've spent a lot of money and time developing SpeakerSite 2.0 Marketplace. 

Would you please take a look and let me know what you think?

Oh, and feel free to list yourself. (That's free.)

Oh, and feel free to upgrade to a Professional Listing. (That's not free, but valuable.)

Here's To The Graduates

It's been one of the most emotional weeks of my life, as I described here.

An anchoring moment, the chance to catch my breath in service to others, came at Village Academy, a lovely gem of a independent school. They were nice enough to invite me to deliver this year's commencement address and being there was a chance for me to relax and recenter myself.

This might sound odd to you.
Many people would be made more anxious to have to write and deliver a speech. 

For me, especially during an emotional week, is was a welcome moment of flow. Surfers surf — and that looks scary to me, but they are focused and reinvigorated. Speaking is my surfing.

Here's what I said to the graduates.
A disclaimer, first: it borrows heavily from and expands on a commencement address I gave two years ago to Laurel School.  I did what I could to improve the presentation. I customized it for this wonderful school. But I couldn't imagine a better topic for the day. 

Perhaps it is the right topic for you, too, today?

Here it is...

In Praise of Speed Bumps
(or "A Summer Breath") 

Presented to Village Academy
At the Fifteenth Commencement Exercises
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Powell, Ohio 

Thank you, Board President Dymerski, Head of School Lasley (Miss Susie), Mr. Fitchko, Miss Hohe, members of the board of trustees, esteemed faculty, proud parents, loving siblings, grandparents, aunts and uncles. 

And to the class of 2011, thank you.

You have been mutually supportive in a real community of genuine people, indulging each other with encouragement, using your power for good. You are a model for other classes to follow. And they will. 

I don't know how your tradition describes heaven.
Perhaps it is white robes, halos and carpeting made of clouds.  

My tradition is vague on the notion. I kind of think that it is a place of learning, where fabulous people encourage each other. Village Academy might be heaven. I hope you're happy.  

The Cost of Being Human

In observance of today's national holiday, here The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s most famous speech.

If you have not listened to the entire speech recently, you might be surprised to see how rich it is beyond "I have a dream." His metaphor of the "default on the promissory note" and the "bad check" is particularly striking.

As I wrote my students this morning, "It is undignified to enjoy this day off without listening to this speech or otherwise studying Dr. King's legacy. Watching this video might not be required for this class, but it is an ethical obligation, a minimum cost of being human."

 

Let freedom ring.

Toward A Creative New Year, part 1

Yesterday, the Kiwanis Club of Columbus was kind enough to have me as their lunchtime speaker. The topic: three ideas for making 2011 the most creative year possible. Here's what I said.

Before reading on, you may help yourself to a two-page worksheet I've just developed to help you approach new creative challenges. I keep this worksheet for your free use at CarryForth.com. 

Now, the first idea for making 2011 the most creative year possible...

1. Define a creative goal for the year.
To do this, you might consider what would you do if you had no fear.

Living with fear — or at least some fear — is healthy, because it helps us avoid getting hit by a car when we cross the street. But many of our fears are simply residue from the instructions our loving parents gave us when they feared that our childlike carelessness would prove fatal.

Now we're grown-ups. We can tolerate thoughtful risk.

So, what would you do if you had no fear?
Would you paint a painting? Would you write a poem? Would you fall deeply into the study of some beautifully extravagant topic? Like growing orchids or memorizing a beautiful poem by Robert Browning?

Another way to find a creative goal for 2011 is to daydream about your final, mortal moments. As you envision your deathbed, look back on what I hope was your long life. What — at that final reckoning — might you then wish you had not left undone? What might then cause you to pause and wonder, “Why didn't I do that? What stopped me? What did I fear? And why did I let that fear stop me?”

Some popular creativity-crushing fears:

• "Oh, I fear what others might think of my initial lack of competence."
• "Oh, I fear that I will appear to be hypocritical or silly."

Are these fears worth stopping you? Do you really care that much about what others think of you? (This just in: others don't think that much about you. If they have anything going, they're busy thinking about themselves.)

Assessing Fears
Still, once you have a creative goal in mind, give further thought to the relevant fears. Are those fears still true and valid? Or can you now ignore them?

Most of our fears helped ensure that we would become responsible citizens, but now we are responsible citizens — and we will still be responsible citizens even if we start ignoring old fears.

Seriously, take a look in the mirror. Most people I know (including you) could decide to bust loose and really be crazy — and would still be model citizens. Perhaps even more so.

What old fears are holding you back? Can they be ignored? And would ignoring these old fears make you even more functional, leading to a more creative new year?

Next, the second step: making time.

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A Guide To High Holy Day Prayer

[Here's tonight's sermon at Temple Israel.]

Shalom.

By now the members of the congregation have received the listing of High Holiday services.

The usuals — the big two — are there, of course. And there are the other opportunities to walk, talk and pray among the community. It's nice.

I'm frankly always glad to see the High Holidays coming.

Kids these days are better educated that I was, so many of them have a richer understanding of the Holy Days than I did. I imagine that my classmates in the Confirmation class of 1976 were also better educated that I was and probably got more out of services than I did.

Every so often, I go in the side hallway and find the photo of that Confirmation class. I can look at my face and see right through my eyes into my soul. My soul is pure. But my soul seems to be focused on growing hair.

Well, anyway, here come the holidays.
And we kick off the holidays with S'lichot. That's the late night, post-Havdallah service where the Torahs are redressed in white. And we hear, for the first time, the annual melodies. And we start to realize: here it comes. It's always spine-tingling for me.

But this month — the month of Elul, which precedes tumultuous Tishrei — is supposed to be a month of preparing.

So, while our fully educated clergy is pondering their Big Sermons for the Holy Days, please let this half-educated Jew describe his meager preparation for the big time coming.

First, I try to remember what the holidays are about. A year is just long enough for me to forget everything about my religion. That's why I'm glad we re-read the Torah every year. It's always new to me.

Well, I look around for information about the holidays. I look everywhere. Here's what I've come up with this year.

Let's start with Yom Kippur, because that's the Shabbat of Shabbats.
A teacher long ago taught me how to think of Yom Kippur: It's the day the Jews act as the real estate lawyers for all humanity. 

We pretend we're in landlord court and the landlord is God and God is disturbed about how we have been neglecting the property and mistreating the neighbors. God has prepared eviction notices for some of us — and all of us might just be sent packing. We plead and promise and, as the gates are closing at Neilah, we toss in a few extra petitions.

The 10 Days of Awe which precede that climactic moment is when we walk around apologizing to each other. We do that because we can't appear in landlord court if we are still squabbling. The landlord wants peace in the hallway.

Rosh Hashanah is the anniversary of the original groundbreaking. It's the birthday of the world. Blessed as we are with a different new year celebration every four months, that can be hard to remember. So I'm reminding us now.

Anyway, back to the courtroom on Yom Kippur.
I'm not the best lawyer in the congregation — I hope, because I'm not a lawyer — so I'm not sitting first or second chair at the defense table. I figure we have our rabbis approaching the bench. And now Star Trompeter, too.

What I'm saying is: I've got a lot of time on my hands during the Days and the services.

Much of this time is taken up with eating and not eating.

The rest of the time is taken up with prayer book page turning.

But, I'm not the best page turner. I'm constantly lost and wondering which page we're on. This is because I get stuck on some of the pages. And then everyone else seems to race off and I'm left behind, pondering just what some prayer means.

When I was teaching seventh grade in our Religious School, and really had to know what everything meant, I once asked Rabbi Misha, "What does this blessing mean?" I pointed to a part of the siddur and Rabbi Misha looked at it and asked me one of those tricky rabbi questions, "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" I asked. "I mean, what does this mean?"

If you are my rabbi, you really earn your salary. I sometimes think I could be an entire congregation.

Anyway, he says, "It means what it says. It doesn't have a secret meaning. It means just what the words say. They might seem far-fetched or hard to accept, but they aren't in a code."

I think he wanted me to be happy about this, but it only slowed me down. Because, if the prayers aren't in some ancient Jewish pig latin (you'll excuse the expression), then I feel ever more responsible for knowing what I'm saying.

It's not like when you rent a car or order dinner in a fancy restaurant — you aren't supposed to understand what you are agreeing to drive or eat. You just close your eyes and nod.

Here in the defendant's box, I need to know what my testimony actually means.

***************

So, next time you glance my way during High Holiday services and mistake me for someone who knows what's going on, let me assure you: I'm completely lost.

But I know where I'm lost — and here is where I am:

I'm thinking about creativity.
This is partly because I teach creativity at Ohio State.

And it's also because Rosh Hashanah celebrates creativity because it's the anniversary of God's creation of the earth.

I'm told, by people who really know Hebrew that the phrase isn't "In the beginning, God created...," it's "In the beginning of God's creating, God created...." Small difference? Not to me. I teach creativity and God sounds like a creative artist entering the studio.

And I'm thinking that even God must overcome divine creative blocks. What am I going to create today?

And so, falling farther behind you in the prayer book, I start thinking of all the questions I try to answer to overcome my mortal creative block.

Here are those questions.
They are questions that only we can answer for ourselves. I ask them during High Holiday services.

Question number one is a biggie:

• What would I do if I had no fear? Of course, healthy fear keeps me safe all day. But I still need to ask, "What would I do if I had no fear?" Our consumer culture wants me to fear everything, and buy my safety from my fears.

There are many more questions that occupy me when I'm pretending to pray beside you. Here are some other questions I'm asking myself:

• Who are the people whose opinion truly matters in my life?
• Who are the people whose opinion does not truly matter in my life?
• And what would I do now, anyway, if they were all suddenly dead and buried?
• In whose hands do I place my morale?

Then two questions about who I am and what should I do with my time:

• What do I love doing more than anything else?
• How can I figure out how to do more of that during the coming year?

This next question comes from my interpretation of The Chosen. In Chaim Potok's classic novel, we are told that — each year — we must acquire a teacher and choose a friend.

I know a lot of people, but I don't have a lot of friends (except on Facebook).

In real life, I want to be a good friend to a few people, rather than a superficial friend to more. So, how many friends do I have? Maybe 10? Probably only five. I can't be a good friend to an unlimited number of people. So, if I add a friend each year, I'm going to have to get rid of one.

So here's the question:

• If I were to quietly separate myself from 10% of my friends, which ones would I choose? (That sounds bad, but that 10% probably wants to get away from me, too.)

So, how do I know which friends to jettison? By asking more questions:

• Which people in my life bring me down?
• Which ones ask me to be something other than what I want to be?
• Which people lift me up?
• Which people help me to become my most authentic self?

These aren't pious questions. They're not even questions I'm proud to be asking myself. But I am the only one who can ask them of myself. And they need to be answered.

More questions:

• What are my parents' traits that I want to inherit? What are their traits that I want to avoid?
• What are my children's traits that I want to inherit and avoid?

The world doesn't care if we answer these questions, so like I said, only we can ask these questions of ourselves.

If you like these questions, I posted them on my blogsite just before services started. artieisaac.com

********************

Oh, and before I completely miss this week's parsha, there's a favorite bit about the mitzvah that we build a parapet — a low wall or a guardrail — at the edges of our rooftops.

Roofs used to be flat. People like King David walked around on the roof. David should have had a taller parapet — a privacy parapet? — to prevent him from gazing upon Bathsheba bathing on her rooftop. Such a parapet would have saved him from his fall.

So for me — because now we don't spend so much time on the roof — the roof means the top, the peak, the best of life. And none of us wants to fall from that roof.

So while I'm lost in Lala Land during High Holy Day services, when all the Jews around me are on the roof, as close to heaven as we ever are, I think about what might keep me from falling off the roof.

I think of the parapet as education.
So I'm sitting quietly wondering a couple more questions:

• what don't I know?
• And just how am I going to learn it next year?

We spend on education, because it is a parapet that can help us from falling off our rooftops.

What are you going to learn this coming year?

Shabbat shalom.

Men, Men, Men, Men

I belong to an all men's club. (For the sake of this argument, let's call it "Kit Kat.")

Once a month for the past 99 years in Columbus, Ohio, one of the 39 members delivers a well-researched essay on a topic that is not his profession. Academics, professionals, businessmen and clergy share their most passionate curiosities — for the sheer enjoyment of the intellect. 

And there's a big dinner and drinks and camaraderie. So all are nourished — mind, heart and body.

And it's only men. Nobody else. In the current day, this needs some explaining. 

Some Explaining
In the olden days, when men ran most aspects of influence, Kit Kat was just another place to hide from women. You might think this sad and soulless. As I look back and judge a former generation out of context, I see it that way, too.

I'm sure it made sense back then. I frankly have no interest in judging the merits of their decisions.

I'd rather spend this moment rationalizing my own behavior. Thanks for joining me on this important mission. 

The Times They Are A Changin'
My life is most different from my father's in one primary way: women are the largest influence in my life. All my clients, my dentist, the pilot of last week's airplane, my dean at Ohio State, my provost at CCAD, half my rabbis, the police officer who most recently pulled me over, the owner of my deli, half my mentors, the radio interviewer — are all women. 

Believe you me, my family is run by women. (And thank goodness for all this.)

Of course, men still run the world. It's facile to suggest otherwise. Men mainly run the world. Men are the masterminds behind Wall Street, war, religious institutions, and other legendary successes.

So men might still run the world, but that's not how it feels. It's not how I experience my world. I look around and I see women. I've never been one for team sports and locker rooms. I don't play poker. I'm neither Oscar Madison, nor Felix Unger. (Though, I'm much more Felix than Oscar.) 

Beyond Kit Kat, I am never in a company of only men. Is it healthy to never be among your own gender?

As a friend and mentor put it when he recruited me for Kit Kat membership — after I had rejected it for nearly a decade due to the all-male regulation: "Would it kill you to be, for three hours a month, among only men? Perhaps that dynamic, the single-sex dynamic, will also be interesting to you."

It's Not Perfect
Kit Kat suffers from the lack of women. We rob ourselves of half the world's perspective and entirely from the world's female perspective. 

But we are giving ourselves what has suddenly, over a long time, become a rare treat: a room full of interesting men whom I would otherwise be unlikely to meet. And the lifelong friendships that result. 

If the Club voted to become co-ed, I'd go along. I never vote against women. But, if the vote passed, the Club would be a very different thing. 

Better. And worse.

Psst. Wanna hear some lectures on marketing?

On Monday (8/30/10) at 6:45 p.m., I return to CCAD for the first of a dozen weekly lectures on consumer behavior.

Come. This is your invitation.

There are 100+ students registered for the class and it will be taught in a big, comfortable auditorium, so you can just blend in. Each class is only 75 minutes. You could come to this first Monday, any Monday, or every Monday.

Don't be shy. I would love to have you there.

(I opened last year's classes to folks like you and more than 30 attended. Nice!)

Let me know if you are coming, and I will send you a map to the specific location — and a syllabus with all the readings.

New and Improved
I have taught this course for years at CCAD. And I think it's a good course. As one student wrote:

“The course was high-energy, optimistic, full of humor and most importantly: informative. It was one of the few courses that just about everyone who took it not only looked forward to the next lesson, but recommended it to their colleagues as well.”

But I often recall the admonition of Noam Chomsky: If you are teaching the same thing the same way for more than five years, then you lack either ambition or imagination.

So, this semester, I am adding classes on ethics and creativity. So it was time to go away.

The Course Is Sound
Over time, I'd designed the course to help artists:

• Make work that is more than beautiful. The course helps the artist think through the work, so it persuades others and changes behavior.
• Justify each piece of work as more than beautiful. The course helps the artist describe work to executives in the workplace, to win more production budget for, say, the photography.

The legendary CCAD education — especially its intensive first year, "Foundation" — expertly develops each artist's technical skills.

But having hired dozens of CCAD graduates at Young Isaac, I have seen too many who are riding solely on their technical proficiency. They do have highly developed hands and eyes — but aren't always levering their minds.

That's where this class comes in.

Bridging The Gap
After years of helping CCAD artists win the favor of businesspeople in the workplace, I've been teaching MBA candidates about creativity. This has me building the same bridge — over the creative gap — from the other side.

Now, with my MBA experiences, I'm really enjoying re-meeting the artists at CCAD.

And you. Coming?

More LIP (Live in Person)

Here's where I'll be this week, yapping about this and that.

Just in case time weighs heavy on your hands.

Give Your TV A Rest
The Columbus Metropolitan Club presents a CMCpm program:
Break Free from TV: Real Things To Do in 2010
Tuesday, January 12th
social hour starts at 5:30 p.m.
one-hour program starts at 6:30 p.m.
at the Athletic Club of Columbus
I'm moderating a panel featuring Chuck Gehring of Lifecare Alliance, John Ross of alive!, Olivera Bratich of Whollycraft, and Ryan Ransom of SportsMonster. Information about tickets is here.

Lead With Passion
On this Friday, January 15th, at 9 a.m. (and repeated again at 1 p.m.), I'll be speaking to the first year M.B.A. class at the Fisher College of Business at The Ohio State University on leading with passion. It's this year's version of a two-hour talk that I've given the past four years.

There will probably be a few empty seats. If you want one, let me know which session you'd like to attend: 9 a.m. or 1 p.m. (I'll ask permission of the OSU folks and let you know.)

See you 'round town.