*Typing*

I have been without cold air the past few days.

My Air Conditioner is blowing air but it isn't remotely cold. Because the days here in Tennessee have crept up to the mid-eighties, the inside of my home has felt like a lion's mouth. Or, what one could imagine the inside of a lion's mouth would feel like. Hot. Muggy. Sticky. Stagnant.

Once the sun goes down for the night, I pry open my windows and allow the evening breeze to do its magic; shoveling out the heat and shoveling in the cool. I have gotten creative, too. Yesterday, I filled up a bowl with ice and pointed a box fan at the cubes in hopes the pair would distribute cold air throughout my room. It worked about as well as you'd think.

All of this inconvenience got me thinking seriously about the strange relationship between absence and appreciation. Why is it that we have to lose something to truly cherish something? Perhaps there is a way to purposefully do without what we feel is necessary from time to time so that we can appreciate what we have, while we still have it.

Furthermore, the absence of something allows room for something new. It wasn't until these past few days that I realized how good it feels to sleep with the cool night air whisking through my open window.

We must be wary of holding on too tightly to any one experience.

When we become too attached to an experience, we risk comparing a new experience to an old experience. Comparison is one of many sure paths to unhappiness. This kind of comparison of old and new, in particular, is especially dangerous for our happiness because we have a tendency to inflate and romanticize our past experiences. We imagine the ice cream being sweeter, the relationship being better, the days being warmer and the struggle being easier.

After gravity, nostalgia might just be the most powerful force in the universe. Due to nostalgia, how we remember an old experience looks more like fiction rather than reality.

This doesn't mean we shouldn't cherish each experience. We should most certainly cherish and be fully present in each experience. However, we shouldn't allow any one experience to become the gold standard for all future experiences.

People say talk is cheap. Talk isn't cheap. Talk without action is cheap. Talk can incentivize action. If you tell the world you're going to do something and then you don't go out and do that something, you've got hell to pay. Muhammad Ali talked a lot. But, when Ali talked about knocking someone out, he normally got in the ring the next day and knocked the person out. In this way, talk can incentivize action. If you want to leave your shitty job, talk about it. If you want to quit smoking, talk about it. If you want to get in better shape, talk about it. If you want to stop drinking, talk about it. You talk about wanting to do something for long enough without actually doing the thing you talk about and eventually you will have hell to pay. You, your friends or your loved ones are going to tell you to put up or shut up. Talk is only cheap until you put your money where your mouth is. But, sometimes you've got to talk so you can force yourself to put your money where your mouth is.

People tend to approach work in two very different ways.

There is the hunter and  the gatherer.

The hunter approaches their work like a bowman tracking an elk. All of her attention is focused on finding and killing the elk. She isn't thinking about anything else. She can't afford to. She isn't thinking about the squirrel or the pheasant or the bass she saw leap out of the lake.  If she doesn't come home with the elk, she will starve.

The gatherer, on the other hand, spends his days turning over dozens of logs and stones to see what he might find. In the morning, his attention might be on the blackberry bush. In the afternoon, his attention might be on the fairy ring Morel mushrooms. In the evening, his attention might be on the patch of wild onions. For the gatherer to prosper, his focus must be a little bit slippery, like water.

Which is better depends entirely on your vocation. If you're a novelist, you must work like a hunter. If you're a graphic designer––fielding multiple projects at once––you must work like a gatherer. If you're a programmer, you must work like a hunter. If you're a creative director––overseeing dozens of copywriters and art directors––you must work like a gatherer.

The only sin is to not know which approach is best for you, your vocation and the way you work best.

We have a tendency to dismiss ideas before we've given them a genuine chance to exist outside of our (or someone else's) skull.

Usually this dismissal is a side-effect of the following three things:

1. Preference

2. Insecurity

3. Prejudice (due to past experience)

Let's say you prefer the color red. Somebody throws out an idea that involves the color green. You might dismiss the idea simply because it doesn't involve the color red. This is dismissal due to preference.

Let's say you are insecure about the sound of your voice. Somebody throws out an idea that involves you being recorded. You might dismiss the idea simply because it makes you feel insecure. This is dismissal due to insecurity.

Let's say you are prejudice again flutes. Why? Maybe your ex-girlfriend played the fucking flute. Somebody throws out an idea that involves an intricate flute harmony. You might dismiss the idea simply because it reminds you of your ex-girlfriend. This is dismissal due to past experience.

The bottom line is that dismissing ideas before they've had the chance to take form outside your skull is wholly unproductive. It gums up the creative process. When you or someone else has an idea, try the idea. Get it out of your head and onto the page or the canvas or the demo or the screen.

Then and only then are you allowed to dismiss the idea.