Everything I Know

by Paul Jarvis

  A rallying point doesn't need to be as specific as a manifesto, though. In my own business, it's really just defining how I feel about design, SEO and programming by writing lots of opinion pieces on my blog.

  If someone wants to work with me, and then reads what I think about my industry and disagrees... they probably wouldn't have been the right fit and would make me want to pull my hair out.

  But if someone finds me, digs what I have to say about what I do, and then we launch a project together—I guarantee it would at least start from common ground and understanding.

  My logo has changed and even disappeared many times over the years, but what I stand for hasn't budged. I've always been about simple and direct design that serves individuals more than a metrics calculator.

  Rallying points can simply be your values, expressed in some form of content—writing, videos, photography, etc. Or it can even just be the tone in which you communicate. It’s whatever works to show your people that they are your people.

  MailChimp's “Voice & Tone” website is a great example of non-promotional rallying content. It’s not about one specific idea or value, but the company’s manifesto comes through anyway. A rallying point can simply be how you communicate with people on a one-to-one basis.

  The best marketing always takes a stand. It’s not just about selling a product or service; it’s about showing an audience why they should want it at any cost, simply because they agree with what you’re doing. Chipotle’s short film, “The Scarecrow,” was less about burritos and more about why the company sells them.

  Goals can be reached or adjusted if they aren't functioning, but rallying points align with the values and meaning behind what you do (not just the specifics of what you do). They're clear and noticeable and impossible to ignore. They're a bold statement that your work is more than the work, but also the reason why you’re doing it in the first place.

  So what's your rallying point? What does your flag look like when you raise it up – and who will be drawn toward it?

  Finish anything

  When you have lots of ideas, it’s hard to choose which ones to work on. Even more difficult, though, is to follow through and launch the ideas you start.

  The beginning of any project is filled with passion and hard work. Everything seems amazing. You’re exploring something fresh and new and it’s tough to take your mind off all the novelty.

  But then, inevitably, the passion fizzles out a bit. The work begins to actually feel like work. Maybe you even abandon the project, not in some grand gesture of deletion, but simply by working on it less and less until you forget it even existed.

  I (mostly) avoid project burnout by doing a few key things that help me to stay focused and move quickly from idea to launch.

  Before I explore an idea, I sit with it for a while. What are my intentions? What is guiding those intentions? Are they external or internal? If I can get past this phase, I figure out how to break the project into the smallest steps possible, so each individual task doesn’t seem as daunting, or feel like I need divine inspiration just to continue.

  I also like to reward myself for completing each small task. Maybe it’s 10 minutes on social media to catch up with friends. Maybe it’s a short yoga break in my lululemon pants.

  During the project, I also like to think back to my initial intentions. It’s good to refocus and remember the why, especially if you aren’t feeling like you should proceed.

  The most important part of finishing anything is saying no. If I’m working on an idea, I say “no” to almost everything: new projects, new clients, social engagements—basically anything that would take my focus away from what I’m doing. I take breaks, but there’s a difference between breaks and things that cut into my ability to get the work done. I say no so I can say yes to what I’m currently doing – or I say yes to what I want to pursue.

  If an idea truly isn’t working, I might adapt the end result or my expectations, because maybe they weren’t realistic. Maybe the audience doesn’t see the value in what I’ve made. That’s okay, because it was just an experiment. I can iterate and change up some variables or even walk away.

  Know when to quit

  Sometimes our work doesn’t work. Einstein said that trying the same experiment with the same variables and expecting different results is the definition of insanity. It’s difficult to give up on a project, but sometimes it’s necessary in order to make room for something new.

  Frustration is never a good reason to quit. If I’m frustrated, I might walk away for a little bit, but I never throw in the towel just because I’m discouraged. If I think about what I’m doing and find it’s not working because it isn’t creating meaning, aligning with my values, or providing value for others, then I’ll let it go.

  Sometimes the work isn’t worth the cost. I’ve fired clients because it wasn’t a good fit for either of us. Our values didn’t ultimately line up or we just couldn’t communicate effectively. While it’s never easy, sometimes cutting ties is necessary to free the other person to find someone else (so they get a better end result) and make room for projects that work better for you.

  Renewable resources

  Our time and focus are not renewable resources. Once we use them, we don’t get them back. This is why I say “no” a lot. I turn down design projects and writing assignments without remorse, because I know my work suffers if I overcommit. If I say yes to something, and my time and focus could be better spent elsewhere, I only have myself to blame.

  Sometimes we can’t say no – especially if we’re starting out, because “no” might be something we have to work toward. “No” requires options – and mortgages, kids, commitments and other life situations can limit those options. But as we work at our craft and provide deeper value for our audience, more options often appear.

  As you start to develop your craft and expertise, you tend to have much more time and focus. So, it’s good to say “yes” to whatever work comes your way. As you get further along your path, though, your time and focus become more precious. You make the call about what to work on and what to skip, as this will ultimately shape how much meaning you find in what you do. Saying yes to the wrong things for too long will lead to work that lacks personal meaning.

  There’s a lot of responsibility in the option to say yes or no. It can be scary to say no, because it releases you from an opportunity. Turning down work is also turning down a paycheque. We fear there might not be other projects on the horizon if we say no to something right in front of us.

  I say no so I can say yes to work that aligns with my values and what I love to do. I say yes to work that I’d happily sign my name on. I play the long game with yes and no, because creating a body of work takes a lifetime.

  Expertise & obscurity

  You might feel like a fraud – like you aren't good enough to be doing the work you're doing, or like your opinion isn’t valid because you’re not an expert.

  There aren't really any experts, though, just people further along in their individual journeys. I guarantee that they all feel like frauds sometimes, too. But if you're good at your work and people value your opinion, then congratulations—you’re in the same group as the experts.

  You don't need a degree, publishing deal or keynote speaking gig for validation. Confidence means simply believing in your work and hard-earned experience while acknowledging that you’re never done learning. Experts can be wrong all the time. They can also be fearful.

  You don't have to be right to be confident (politicians are a great example of this truth in action); you just have to understand something enough to have an opinion – and then you have to accept that it could be wrong and feel willing to change at any time.

  If you don't yet have an audience that values your opinion, you're actually in a wonderful place. Revel in the obscurity, because it means you’re free to try and fail without much attention. This is a great time to experiment with prototypes, try lots of wild ideas, and do potent
ially outlandish work. The experts have people to impress, many eyes watching their every move, and lots on the line.

  Either place has its pros and cons, and people in each group sometimes wish they were in the other. The grass is always greener.

  Gatekeepers

  In almost every industry, gatekeepers are disappearing. Gone are record deals, publishers and the investors that were previously necessary in order to share what we make. Now, we can connect directly with people in every corner of the world.

  Let’s take that new reality one step further: what if the world existed without publishers, record labels, investors, critics, and even internet trolls? What if it was illegal to judge anyone else's work? What would you make? This world can exist if you want to it be real.

  We are free to share what we want, and all that's holding us back is ourselves. So what will you share?

  Be a maker

  Without gatekeepers, we've all got simple public platforms to share our work, which has forced us to become promoters. This cuts into actual creation time and can sometimes overtake creation.

  Social media promotion has become as ubiquitous as “Keep Calm and Carry On” memes. We're all so bombarded with promotion that we filter it out, rendering it useless.

  For the first decade of working for myself, I didn't do any promotion. I didn't even use social media (as it existed back then in places like GeoCities). I focused on making the best possible websites for my clients.

  Unfortunately, passion-focused business owners can be so passionate about what they do that they want to constantly tell everyone about it.

  Doing well at something comes from iteration and innovation, not constantly promoting what you've already made. There's a place for spreading the good word, but it shouldn’t take priority over generating ideas and creating killer new things.

  Theft & iteration

  There weren't very many websites when I started doing design, but I used to look at their graphics and source code to see if I could replicate them. I would do this again and again until I could replicate the sites effectively. Then I would try to make them better, faster, and more in line with my own style.

  I'd do this hundreds of times – all in the privacy of my own computer. Once I felt like I could effectively copy and replicate individual sites, I'd blend the best of several into one single site. I would replicate it again and again until I could do it quickly. Then I would try to fix the inconsistencies, since the design was pulled from multiple sources. I'd smooth those out so it'd look like a cohesive brand. Then I would work at making it look better and work more efficiently. I'd iterate on this process over and over again.

  The end result wouldn't look anything like the sources I had originally copied, and this is how I taught myself to design and program – through theft and iteration.

  Not much has changed since then. I still steal all my initial ideas from other sources. Sometimes it's the web, but mostly it's from nature, fashion, magazines, books, architecture, or art. If I see something that works for a project, I steal it. Small things. I iterate on details until they feel consistent. I iterate on specific elements until they fit my unique style. After these pieces survive my process, they don’t resemble what I took in the first place – and if you compared the end result with the original source, you'd say, “really?”

  The difference between mimicking & theft

  Most artists wouldn't consider my process "theft." Not every painting of a semi-smiling woman is a daVinci rip-off, nor is every website a copy of the first-ever site. If you’re doing a similar thing, using the same medium, there will always be similarities.

  Mimicking is taking something and passing it off as your own. This is bad – but not for the obvious reasons. It's bad because if you mimic what someone else does, you've failed to tell your story. Your story is the unique lens you use to create. It's what makes your work, your work.

  Artists use other materials as a starting point to tell their own story. Everyone is influenced by someone who came before them. Creation doesn’t exist in a vacuum.

  When we’re inspired, we don't have to worry about finding a muse in order to begin. Our muse lives in the work of others and it’s literally everywhere. Use it as a base to build and refine your own, unique story and flavour.

  It can be terrifying to stare at a blank screen and tell yourself, "Now create something great."

  In the beginning, especially, I didn't concern myself with stealing. I was copying and emulating for educational purposes. I shamelessly stole to teach myself complicated things.

  When I break it down, that’s exactly how I’ve learned everything I know – not through school, but through theft and iteration.

  The process is ugly

  Creativity is part magic. The bigger parts, though, require us to show up and iterate until there's a beautiful finished product.

  The process required to move from first draft to final product is usually quite ugly. It takes many horrible drafts, bad ideas or paths that lead nowhere to arrive at something good. Just like the puzzle box, creativity doesn't work until it does.

  We idolize creativity because, as consumers of it, we see only the finished product – the best version of something that may have taken days, weeks, months, or years to complete. That final product involved a lot of curation, editing and iteration until it was truly great.

  All creative work includes a process that other people may never see. Good design or a polished product makes the process seem easy, when in reality it takes a lot of hard work. Writing a book is the same. If the end result is an easy read that flows brilliantly, chances are it took double-digit revisions, many edits and lots of tweaking to get it right. This can take months or even years to complete.

  Good finished products aren't like social media updates – important for a second or two. They can last and be relevant for a lifetime (or longer).

  Once you make your work public, it should feel rational—like it all adds up. My web and writing projects make sense only when they’re done. They can be crazy, dirty, and messy until they’re finished.

  Brilliance and genius are usually iterative. Things don't work until they do. You don't need to be an expert at first; you can learn as you go.

  The creative process is difficult and full of frustration. But "this isn't working" becomes annoying only if you're focused purely on the end goal. When something's done, it's for other people, but when you're working on it, it's just for you.

  The process is where the magic happens. Enjoy the beauty of creating, inventing, exploring. Don't wait until it's finished to feel rewarded, since that might never happen. The labour is the reward.

  Create bad first drafts

  Slogging through a first draft or prototype is tough for most creatives. Whether it’s writing, designing, filming or anything else, it’s always the same scenario. The first try isn’t bad because the ideas aren't there; it’s bad because it tends to be a mish-mash of every single idea and brainstorm we’ve applied to the project. There can be too many ideas, thoughts that don't make sense, and execution more suited to a toddler... that sort of thing.

  In this stage, just get the ideas down and put your editing hat away. Brainstorm until there isn't anything left to brainstorm.

  Create as badly as necessary to get things created. Editing, polishing and curating can all happen later.

  I tend to almost purposefully write bad first drafts. They're hideous and something I wouldn't even show my editor. But I get the ideas down on (virtual) paper and move forward – and then I have something concrete to mold and shape.

  By focusing on the idea instead of how the idea is presented, I can iterate later until it's ready for public consumption.

  Comparison is ugly

  We’ve covered why the process is ugly. But it’s also futile to compare our work with other people’s creations, since we don't know or see their full process.

  The end result can look easy, like it couldn't be any other way. Bu
t it took real effort to get there. You might never see what happened behind the scenes. There could have been sleepless nights or 108 auspicious iterations before coming to the “obvious” conclusion.

  Comparison is difficult because we’re trying to match our whole, flawed selves against a perceived “perfect” other person. It's comparing our personal reality to a fantasy version of someone else – and you can't match up two non-like things. Even if the situations were identical, what purpose would the comparison serve?

  Enjoy the journey and the ugly process. It's yours. Stop measuring yourself against anyone or anything else and start examining what great work means to you.

  The end?

  This isn’t truly the end, because creating meaningful work isn’t something that’s ever done. It’s constant—sometimes a struggle and sometimes it comes with ease. But it’s never finished. No great artist has ever said, “well that last piece was pretty fucking epic, I’m going to call it right here.” Even Jay-Z came out of retirement (several times, so far).

  Making your own path is one of the scariest things you can do, because it makes you ultimately responsible for the outcome. You can’t do it and then blame someone else if it doesn’t work out. Fail or succeed, it’s completely on you.

  This book is truly everything I know (or at least, everything I know what’s worth sharing). It’s all here, and I hope you gain some insight from it. And clearly, it doesn’t take long to read everything I know.