One Move to Make the Work Better
One kind of content feels more magical to me than the rest. It causes my eyes to widen, my heart to beat faster, and my mouth to hang open like a genuine joker:
Artists talking about craft.
I adore when comedians actively sharpen their material in view of the public (which is why I listen to Mike Birbiglia's podcast, Working It Out).
I revel in actors discussing their careers and all the emotions and existential questions of their chosen paths (which is why I've recently been binging the Hollywood Reporter's "Actors Roundtable" series on YouTube).
I even built and sold a podcast asking other podcasters to dissect their podcasts. Yes I am willing to go that meta to get my fix!
The list goes on, and so does my admiration -- and subsequent dedication to my own craft. It doesn't matter what you make. If you speak thoughtfully about whittling wooden coasters depicting rollerskating frogs, I will hang off your every word like those poor tadpoles off Mama Frog as she bombs down the next hill.
* * *
Recently, I was watching an episode of Actors Roundtable featuring Timothée Chalamet, Mahershala Ali, Viggo Mortensen, Hugh Jackman, Richard E. Grant, and the late, great Chadwick Boseman. (Regrettably, the initial episodes of these discussions always grouped people by gender. I've seen a few newer editions where that's not the case. Anyway...)
One particular moment stood out to me, as it applied so squarely to your work and mine -- though we've likely never considered it.
Mahershala Ali was speaking. (Here's his IMDb page if curious.) He was talking about something he dubbed the "tax" on creative work.
His main point was that, as an actor, you don't spend much time acting. The moments in between a director crying "action!" and "cut!" are very short relative to the time spent doing the rest of the stuff you have to do as an actor. He guessed the actual acting part amounted to 10% of his time. The rest was prep work (maybe reading scripts, memorizing lines, or doing hair, makeup, and wardrobe) as well as promoting projects, vetting new opportunities, and considering your business interests.
All of it is required to be an actor, and fairly far down the list is the actual acting.
As I mentioned, he called those surrounding things a "tax" you have to pay in order to do The Thing. The thing is, the taxes aren't necessarily what you imagine when you daydream about getting into a field. But make no mistake, he says, you have to really fall in love with the 10%.
The actual moments of acting out your part after the director cries "action!"
The clacking at the keyboard to write or edit your article, newsletter, script, or book.
The moment the little camera light turns blue or green or red and you begin to shoot your next video.
The 45 minutes between an event organizer reading your bio to their attendees and the applause that follows you off the stage.
The stories and questions flowing back and forth between you and your interview subject.
We have to become so enamored with those fleeting moments where we're doing The Thing that we are willing to take care of the much longer list of stuff which feels like Not The Thing. Because The Thing is just 10% of it. Rarely is an actor acting, a writer writing, a speaker speaking, a podcaster casting pods. Only for a moment do we move from noun to verb.
It's a hard truth to swallow, but we have to find a way to stomach it.
And so you better fall in love with that 10%. Because you have to pay your taxes. If there's not enough Energy Income provided by your precious 10% time, you're going to feel pretty emotionally bankrupt thanks to the rest of it.
* * *
This is in part why "pursuing your passion" is bad advice: you're likely only passionate about a tiny sliver of the entire pie chart of verbs required to become the noun. Pursuing your passion means pursuing a path where you do The Thing infrequently — and spend far more time doing stuff that help The Thing succeed.
What you adore is just 10% of it. That's your "passion." Fine. Have you considered the other 90% that will be required of you?
Maybe you aren't sitting in hair and makeup, but you're probably doing all kinds of things that feel tangential to (or even downright antithetical to) your craft.
Getting buy-in and budget among stakeholders.
Observing the market and competitive landscape.
Researching for that particular project or piece.
Testing your thoughts to ensure others care.
Grappling with tools and technology.
Brainstorming exciting ideas which you’re forced to kill later.
Drafting and editing and re-drafting and re-editing.
Hiring and firing and outsourcing and cultivating culture.
Reacting to endless emails, meetings, and notifications.
Grappling with imposter syndrome and writer's block and shiny objects and an endless array of internal Maker Monsters wrapping their claws and tentacles around you.
These and more all represent the tax on our work, and we simply must pay them. That's part of the job. In fact, that's most of the job.
So we better love, love, love the 10%.
Of course, the previous line, which appeared before you as a result of my own precious 10% time, allows us to arrive at this next line, which addresses a question you might have about your precious 10% time:
How?
How in the world, when 90% of the stuff required can feel taxing, can you fall in love with the 10% of it -- especially when the 90% has a heavy influence on the 10%?
Here is what I'd suggest you need:
A wink and a nod to yourself.
In every single thing you make, make sure it contains at least one thing that's just for you — not the audience, not other stakeholders. When your precious 10% doesn't feel 100% like what you wanted, ensure you include something tiny thing that is. These tiny things can help us fall in love with the craft once more, because it feels like us at our best. It makes the tax worth paying.
Each and every time you are about to ship something into the world, I want you to imagine yourself walking out the door with that project or piece tucked under your arm. But right before you head out the door, imagine yourself turning to a little mirror hanging from the wall. There, think about that one little thing you did for yourself. Give yourself a little wink and a little nod. Then take your work public.
Do one tiny thing inside every project or piece based purely on your own whims. Scratch your own creative itch a moment. Follow whatever your intuition is urging you to try.
This can be anything -- it's up to you. But a few things that come from my own projects:
A moment of music in a podcast episode which aligns so perfectly with my subject’s voice and the emotion of the moment that I cackle to myself during the edit.
A clever callback to end a written piece, carefully considered from the very beginning to neatly book-end my ideas in a way that lands like a joke’s punchline: you never saw it coming.
A bad dad joke delivered on camera, complete with an exaggerated eye roll to myself to let you know that I know that I'm cheesy as hell. But I just can't help myself.
A metaphor pulled from my favorite areas, like food and sports. The metaphor is for you, sure. But the topical area I pulled from? That's for me.
Find one pocket of the work that you can control and no one will question, and do it your way.
One experiment or stolen idea from an inspirational source.
One. Little. Thing.
And it's all for you, baby.
Wink. Nod. Ship.
* * *
The good news is, when we fall in love with the 10%, we also start to see some of the tax as a form of investment in the craft itself — i.e., the part you tolerate can be framed as useful for the part you love, which makes it easier to tolerate.
The actor acting is far more effective having memorized lines and appears far better on camera thanks to hair and makeup. The interviewer interviewing can extract better insights and stories if they actually do the research. Even getting stakeholder buy-in can enroll new collaborators that, once we stop resisting them, improve our ideas and our work -- not to mention give us the financial support and emotional lift capable of catapulting us to new heights. Over time, some of that 90% (not all, but some) can be reframed as contributing positively to our precious 10%.
But if I’m being honest, I know: the 90% will still feel like eating our sides. They're never quite THE dish. So we better find a way to fall in love with the 10% -- even if it starts with just one tiny thing we did for ourselves.
Right now, I'm loving the feeling of click-clacking away at the keyboard. I feel in control and in flow. My ideas somehow move from my mind to my fingertips and morph into pixels, and the pixels convey meaning. I hear my voice as clearly as if I'm sitting next to you chatting. I love it. Hell, I need it. I'm addicted to it. And just as a junky will do a lot of less-than-enjoyable things to get their fix, I will too.
Because I love the 10%.
It won't ever feel perfect. Some things will always feel taxing to us. But if we can find a way to add back a little bit that's just for us, we can regain momentum. Our confidence and our skills will snowball towards a more enjoyable 10%, in those moments when we finally make that beautiful switch from the noun to the verb.
Actors act. Writers write. Podcasters cast pods.
But it's 90/10 against that, and we've forgotten the odds.
Our work is rarely THE thing we thought we would do.
Most is a tax required of all of us.
(And required of me too.)
So in your next project, I want you to think:
"Which part is for me? Which thing makes me wink?"
Trust your gut, use your taste, let it roll off your dome.
As for mine, you just read it:
I thought I'd end with a poem.
😉