🍂 Immolation, Desecration & Foolishness

A story so far

This is ‘The Year of The Fool’ for me. Foolishness. I have to say ‘foolishness’ because people think I am saying ‘Full’. Gosh dash it, it’s fool, you fool!

Anyhoo: why Fool?

I didn’t quite proclaim my Word at the beginning of this year—despite it being something I generally encourage in others. Hypocrisy is my strong suit.

Last year was The Year of the Wizard, the chief intention of which was to make deep work the chief priority—to shut myself off from the more distracting elements of the world, so that I might contemplate the cosmos and Write My Next Book. There was also an intention to sharpen up aspects of my character (to embrace more eccentricity), and to cultivate a better relationship with time (more antifragility). But then someone I was super close to passed away in the middle of the year after a long and challenging battle with cancer. Suffice to say: it affected me deeply.

Part of the charm of choosing One Word is that is forgiving of (and antifragile to) life’s curveballs. Unlike a narrow/rigid and (deceptively fragile) quantitatively-anchored mission or goal, a Word is open/fluid and remains qualitatively open to interpretation. It is a fabricated ‘reference point’ to which we can ‘make sense’ of the world, so as to cultivate a richer narrative (fallacy).

(I keep adding ‘fallacy’ whenever I say narrative, just so that we don’t grip too tightly to the stories we tell ourselves. The fictions we weave are truer than true, and at the same time not.)

Anyhoo: I found that I had accrued some rather dark and melancholic humours, and that my bitterness for my own industry (of fellow ‘expert motivational thought leadership authorities’)—and the business model/cage I had built myself—only intensified. It was time to do something Foolish.

Hence: The Year of The Fool.

I thought that, as an Inverter of Paradigms, I would reject the conventional world and live on the fringe—embodying philosophies that might be considered ‘foolish’ to those ensnared by convention (even if it meant being laughed at). But now, half way through the year I realise: this is actually much the same trajectory I was on anyway. To really be foolish—to be true to my intent, and bring about new beginnings—I need to invert my own paradigm. Hoho—it’s not ‘them others’ who are fools—it is me. I am The Fool. Though not foolish enough, yet. I shall amend this.

And so, after a year and a half of relative seclusion, palatable bitterness, and self-sardonic depth—it’s time to bring some lightness, meaning and mirth back into the mix. To step back into the arena; to play the infinite game once more, with a glint in the eye and a spring in the step.

There’s an echo here, for me. Lightness, paradox and play were the key intentions behind the Word ‘Jester’ of several years ago. At the time of choosing the word I had a relatively ‘heavy’ business and a swathe of commitments that were weighing me down. And so, once more, I find that I have accrued unnecessary ‘heft’ into most what I am doing.

It might be the same for you, too. And so, if you relate: here are some thoughts.

How to Unlock ‘The Next Chapter of Your Life’

You may have arrived at the mid point of 2019 weighed down and somewhat lost again. Or too busy and exhausted to even realise. (Or neither.)

Never mind: I have a solution for you. It involves fire.

1. IMMOLATE THE EXTRANEOUS

If you were to keep a time diary for a few weeks—a simple notebook that tracks your 100 blocks a day—I wonder: where does your time go? Is it invested—directly or indirectly—toward ‘meaningful progress’? Or are we potentially indulging in a rich delusion of progress?

Of course, this requires that we ask: “What is meaningful progress?” In a business sense, it may be ‘that which brings us closer to future relevance’ (which itself begets more questions—which is a good thing). But in a personal sense, the question of meaningful progress might have something to do with values, congruence, eudemonic fulfilment, and the evolution of your own narrative and self-concept. Any attempt to answer this question will brush up against confounding complexity, nebulosity, ambiguity, paradox etcetera and so on—which is a good thing.

Now I’m the last person to advocate an ‘optimised’ life. (Partially-optimised is enough, for we want to leave plenty of room for entropy). I don’t think it actually helps us to view things simply through the lens of productivity (much as capitalism pressures us to). Hence I suggest the ‘100 blocks a day’ lens simply as a means to access a somewhat ‘objective’ sense of your days. To augment your perspective, so that you may get a fuller picture.

If you’re journalling/introspecting regularly, chances are you’ll have an awareness of the patterns or narratives that help or hinder your own progress. These may take the form of ‘unquestioned defaults’—the options we choose automatically, in the absence of viable alternatives.

Well, heck: it’s time to question these defaults.

But the predicament we find ourselves in at the middle of our year is not typically the result of a few large and distinct decisions—rather, it’s the result of many little ones.

We accrue complexity through the meandering course of our days. Such is life. We’re nice and reasonable people: so we say yes to things, we offer to help, and we take on small projects and tasks and things that—individually—do not seem to amount to much. And yet collectively—in how they distract and detract—they are the siren choir that lures us away from where we need to be.

This impending mid-year solstice, therefore, can serve as an inflection point. The parabola to your parable, as it were.

So: take stock. Wind up projects. Quit the skirmishes, the petty battles and the finite games of ‘being right’. Submit your apologies. Relinquish ground. Wave the white flag. Eat humble pie. Use the excuse of the ‘End of Financial Year’ (if that’s applicable for you). Claim you have a mid-year holiday and that you’re trying to ‘wrap things up’ before then. Do what you need to do to shake away the strands of commitment that bind you.

The same could be said as to how you approach the things you are committed to. Is there a smarter way? A better system or rhythm? Is it time to ask for help? Or is it time to retire some projects—gracefully—that aren’t serving you any more? To put them to rest? Use this mid-year solstice as an opportunity to reduce (or better: release) unnecessary complexity.

2. DESECRATE THE PAST

The Internet haunts you. It remembers everything you share, and it loves to remind you (and others) of your past. (It watches you, too).

I have disturbingly old videos on YouTube that others have recorded of me, which people still watch and see as their first impression of me. In this way, the detritus of my past shapes and warps who I am today (at least: in the eyes of the beholders). Likewise, people read my first book—The Game Changer—and tell me it’s good. (It’s okay but my recent work is better*).

* (On that note: I contend that if you’re not at least somewhat embarrassed by your past self, you probably aren’t growing. There’s a backhanded kindness in this, somewhere.)

The Internet therefore encourages a kind of rigidity to your identity. A petrification of your past, and a fixedness of ‘self’ (encouraged by meme-ideals of ‘authenticity’ and ‘truth’). You can’t simply travel overseas for a few months and come back a changed person anymore—the Internet will follow you the whole way. You’ll check into places, document what you eat, and keep in touch with all of those around you—unless, of course, you ‘go dark’ and retreat into your Dark Forest—but even still: some things can’t be undone.

But hohohoho there are still plenty of things you can do about it. You are not your LinkedIn profile, your feed. You are not your work. You can set the torch to your online profiles, and to the all the photos/videos/articles you’ve uploaded and shared in the past. (Or: most of them.)

Light it ablaze and clear the way for that which may come.

It’s what I’ve just done.

3. FILL THE VOID

Wunderbar. You’ve cleared the way—now what?

Nature abhors a vacuum. If you want to attract new opportunities and work—clear your desk and calendar. In the absence of deliberation, there can be no liberation. There’ll always be a new distraction that emerges.

Fire has been used by Australia’s First Peoples for tens of thousands of years to harvest food and regenerate ecologies. There’s a kind of ‘antifragility’ to the practice. Of course if one were to take this process to other ecologies, there’s a high chance the system wouldn’t recover—that only weeds will come to occupy the fire-cleared land.

And so hence, after all this clearing and burning, here’s what you can do to ensure the best kind of things emerge in your wake.

Actually, heck: I don’t know what is appropriate for you. Just do something. Or, more specifically: just do 5omething—50 days of something. Get in there, before the weeds take root.

This idea comes from that rogue Mykel Dixon. He wrote a book about it, and is the embodiment of creative leadership.

I love the notion of just doing something—anything—for 50 days, because it shreds away the typical excuses I manifest to stay in the safety of my dark forest—‘thinking deep thoughts’, writing long articles that are never shared, etcetera. The pathetic solace I find in the pursuit of perfection. Bah!

ANYHOO!

Dear goodness—enough of me!

<fans face gone read, fluttered>

How did this happen again?

In summary, my friend: immolate the extraneous, desecrate the past—and then fill the void with intentional making. The questions you might ask yourself at this opportune time of year (should you value your own character development) are as thus:

• Where (who) are you in the unfurling story of your year?
• Where (who) might you like to be?
• What might this require you let go of (immolate/desecrate)?
• What might this require you to do (be)?
• And... if you were to lean into 50 days of doing a small something each day—what might that small something be?

It’s easier, of course, if you’ve put the thought into choosing a Word. Even if that Word is something you’re beginning to outgrow—it heralds the new theme awaiting to emerge.

Hoho, remember though: this is all narrative fallacy.

Fabricated truth made real.

But still: we can make believe.