Monthly archive for January 2015

It’s funny thinking about the differences between stories we tell ourselves and how other people actually see us.  Sometimes we totally miss reality until someone smacks us in the face with it.

For example, we look at an anorexic woman frightened at how skinny she is while she worries about being overweight.

Or, the bodybuilder who spends 4 hours a day at the gym feeling scrawny while everyone else is amazed at his physique.

At first blush, it seems strange that neither the woman nor bodybuilder can see reality staring back at them from a mirror.  But this type of thinking is not limited to physical appearances.

For me, an eye-opening realization came while catching up with a friend I hadn’t seen since college.  He’s running his own business now and asked me what I had been up to.  I shared that I had been with Procter & Gamble for 5 years (large company), a small startup for 3 years, and then that company was acquired by ADP (large company) where I stayed post-acquisition for another 9 years.

We were talking whether I could ever see myself at a startup/small company again.  I said, of course, I’m not a corporate guy!  He looked at me sideways.  Nearly 15 years in corporate America says otherwise.  In my mind, despite working for these large companies, I’ve tried to keep the startup mentality – wear multiple hats, solve problems, eliminate the status quo and improve outdated processes, innovate new solutions, be nimble, and simply do whatever it takes to get the job done while being as productive as possible.

But that’s not what he or anyone else sees.  While my perception is I have the mindset of a small company leader and can step back into that environment at any time, the reality is they see a résumé filled with big company culture and office politics, and wonder if I can adjust.  Not necessarily a bad thing, but also not what I thought I was portraying.  I’m not exactly sure why I was surprised by this realization but it didn’t really hit home until he said it.

It’s hard to separate your own thinking versus how you actually appear to others, but certainly a valuable skill to have.

For a few years, I had a great love of photography.  So much that I strongly considered setting up a side business taking pictures.  Naturally, I talked myself out of it.  Didn’t want to lug a bunch of equipment and props around.  Didn’t want to spend hours in front of Photoshop tweaking photos.  A myriad of excuses, but that’s a story for another day.

In Seth Godin’s new book (which I’ve discussed on a couple of occasions), he talks about Stephen King (one of the most famous and bestselling authors) often going to writer’s conferences.  Ultimately, during the Q&A session, someone always asks him what kind of pencil he uses, as if the answer will be a secret key to unlocking their own writing success.

This type of question is common in photography as well.  Scan the comments on virtually any forum and you’ll usually see feedback like:

“WOW, what a great picture!  What lens did you use?  What was your aperture?!”

It’s the wrong question.  The equipment choice – camera, lenses, external flashes, remote flash trigger, umbrella stand, etc – is the wrong area to focus for the majority of people.  For starters, most non-professionals will have a hard time detecting any difference in picture quality.  Additionally, price tags can cause sticker shock.  Professional camera bodies and lenses can run thousands of dollars.  Nonetheless, the idea that having the same equipment as a famous photographer will make you take pictures like one, is still the prevailing thought.

How do I know?  Because I’ve fallen into the same trap.  I’ve bought the gear and am still piddling away.  The equipment doesn’t take the place of learning what makes a good picture and years of practice to continually get better.  My lenses are now collecting dust in the closet while my phone has taken their place.  It’s an expensive lesson but one that bears sharing.  Stop worrying about the tools of the trade – it’s not what creates the art.