It is possible for you–for all of us–to be gripped with the same determination. Yes, he was young. Yes, he was talented. But, the real magic here is the way he “made up his mind” to become a novelist and the fact that he “had been dreaming of a novel” for three years before it possessed him totally. This is a description of giving birth. It is a description of the rhythm of creation: idea-musing-dreaming-working-working harder-getting wild-getting carried away-wrestling with it!-finishing in a heap, weeping with joy…relief. How many times I have started this process and then dropped the project somewhere in the middle of the trajectory? Too many. Too many. A friend of mine, Hugo Cory, says: “Hell is unfinished projects.” Most of us know what this means. This piece helps me see that the reason it’s so deflating to start something and not finish it: you don’t complete nature’s cycle. It’s like getting half-pregnant. It’s like needing to sneeze and then…not being able to. It’s like–of course–sex without the climax. The half-finished job depletes. The wholly finished job offers relief. Which is a state of completeness…which is bliss.

The substitution of the discord of the fantastic for the harmony of the beautiful constitutes one of the great tragedies of every civilization.”

–– Manly P. Hall, “The Secret Teachings of All Ages”

Tonight we dined at a restaurant called Harvest in a revitalized area downtown dubbed NuLu. I’ve eaten here before on a previous visit and was dying to come back. It rivals anything in New York City for its heart and authentic attitude towards good, fresh food and there’s something more…ah, space. I think the people here simply have more space to think and create. They’ve taken the time. They’ve worked it out. They’re not sweating. They can focus when they talk to you. And for me, a new(ish) mom…they won me over immediately when the waitress approached the table and said to me, before giving the specials or pouring water, “We have organic, local baby food. Tonight we have carrots and butternut squash. Would you like some?” I didn’t hesitate. A few minutes later a bowl of delicious squash puree arrived from the kitchen…WITH a baby spoon. That sent me-and E-over the moon.

Talk about hospitality. Southerners do it right.

How is it so far? Baffling, inspiring, courageous, naive (sometimes), and dynamic. It’s been exactly as I’d hoped: an immersion into the future of commerce.

This startup client of mine is working with the best programming company around. Pivotal Labs is a pioneer and leader in what’s termed “agile” programming. This is a development style that waits for no man. The offices are a whirlwind of activity…because my brain likes to leap backwards in time thousands of years I tend to see it as a marketplace of the ancient world, something Marco Polo might have encountered on his travels. The clients working on their laptops, grabbing a coffee, eating breakfast or lunch in the common space, pacing the floor, are working on some of the most promising businesses of the next 5 years. The programmers are appropriately techie–all t-shirts and bare feet, playing ping-pong and eating bowls of cereal between epic bouts of intense focus.

As if Pivotal wasn’t techie enough, they share offices with the “#1 startup accelerator in the world” (from their website), Techstars. These young netpreneurs are preparing for a one shot pitch to a roomful of venture capitalists. Three months of mentoring and hard work are coming to a close next week and the pressure is on. Some of them are probably sleeping at the offices.

So, it was no surprise to me in this electric atmosphere of innovation and expectation, that I was passed a note while on the phone that read: “Seth Godin is speaking in the common space now.” I jumped off the call (rudely…sorry, Peter Spear) and went to hear this mammoth of marketing speak. There, in front of the motley crew of hoepfuls, he taught a Marketing 101 course that was perfectly tailored to the audience. He started by tackling the main issue with tact and honesty: “You will be judged,” he said of the presentations they would give in a matter of days, “you may not like it, but you have to accept it.” And then he proceeded to tell them what they could do to improve their chances of being judged favorably.

I liked best his response to a young engineer’s question which divided marketing out from the process of building the product. “Well, you see, I don’t think about marketing like most people,” he said, “Marketing is the way your company makes people feel.” I love that. So simple. So true. So Seth.

Thank you digital world for being the great web of connections and interactions and opportunities I wanted you to be.

The Times speculates about the reason for all the attention. One reporter suggests: “He’s just a plain-spoken, average guy. I think it’s just time for the average guy’s opinion to come out.”

I have my own opinion: Bobby Kirk is no ‘average guy.’ He’s an extraordinary guy, a poet in the truest sense of the word, in a way that’s been lost to modern culture.

As it turns out, Kirk has only a 6^th grade education. This is a man who speaks not from book learning or with any regard for grammar, but from the gut and from personal experience. He uses words the way people once used words long ago before we corrupted them completely by shoehorning them into pretty, meaningless paragraphs designed to impress and inform, but not to communicate any particular truth. Yes – I am talking about 90% of the writing we consume nowadays in the form of news, literature, criticism, texts, advertising…maybe even this blog post.

Modern man has been stripped of his instinct by many, many cultural conveniences, the use of words is one of the most insidious. Most of the words we consume today speak to the intellect, but not to the senses. We respond to the proclamations and observations of a man like Bobby Kirk because we can actually feel his words. The choice of words, the turns of phrase, they originate in direct experience and therefore they are closer to the source. They hold more truth, possibility…and even joy…than the words we read in a typical issue of The New York Times.

Bobby Kirk calls it like he sees it. This makes him a poet in the truest sense of the word: someone who translates life into words that can be experienced not just with the mind, but with the body. He speaks without the nullifying, numbing effects of grammar. He speaks from direct experience of living, which we respond to viscerally. It brings us joy because it serves not to distance, but connect us.

The primary, unavoidable obstacle to insight, as I experienced it last night, is the internal struggle of the respondent to be truthful…not because they are inherently false or intentionally trying to deceive, but because it’s nearly impossible for the average person – even the rare extraordinary person – to answer consistently over time from one point of view. This is what I’ll call “the multiplicity of I’s” problem.

Within every person there is not one, but hundreds, maybe countless I’s. And each of these I’s has a distinct agenda. We spend every waking minute (and some sleeping) held hostage by these I’s as they battle to get their way. From the route we take to work, to the tenor and rhythm of our conversations, to the choices we make for dinner, each decision is a battle and the I that wins dictates what happens next.

In the group last night the multiplicity of I’s within me reacted and responded in turn depending on several key factors: the content of the question asked, the way the question was asked, the comments that preceded my turn to talk, the energy and dynamic of the group, and the overall storyline of the evening as it progressed. These were just the factors I was aware of…I’m sure there were more subtle ones: concerns about the way I might be perceived, sensual triggers, memories…

I found myself saying things that didn’t sound like me. I caught myself giving contrasting answers at different points in the conversation. I felt myself restraining information and trying to answer in a way that would “please” the moderator. I wanted to be helpful. I wanted the group dynamic to be positive. I, I, I. So many I’s were involved.

As a moderator, I have a lot of experience interviewing individuals and managing groups. Long ago I accepted the fact that over the course of a single conversation any research subject will seem to change their position many times on matters big and small. I used to think the longer I spent with the subject the closer we got to the truth. As they let their guard down and started to trust me and the conversation, they were more likely to answer honestly…or so I thought.

I felt it was my job to be aware of the inconsistencies and to work towards some kind of conclusion, some kind of solidarity of thought by the end of the session. Clients have pointed this phenomenon out in the back room of the focus group facility. Sitting safely behind the mirrored glass, they’ll catch a participant in an inconsistent response and point it out harshly as a sign of the person’s lack of integrity or as a caution about accepting that person’s opinion: they said they liked it before and now they’re saying they don’t…they don’t know what they want.

Of course, moderators are well-aware that the way a question is asked will influence the response so we formulate multiple phrasings for the same question. We know that context effects response, so we mix things up and change the order of the conversation. We know social dynamics come into play, so we help smooth over tensions and draw out the shier participants.

But, how can we manage for the multiplicity of I’s problem?

I’m not sure, but I intend to practice – and I do mean practice – some precautionary measures the next time I dig in to a set of interviews or a focus group:

• Listen harder
• Ask the question again
• Build a composite sketch of the participant based on the full range of his/her participation and use that sketch to put specific comments into perspective.
• Make sure clients are using research to the right ends…it’s great for gathering facts: the how, what, when and where of the consumer’s experience with a brand…but not so great for the why. Why must be assessed from an objective position.

The moderator’s  job is to be objective. This is just one more piece of information to build into my overall understanding of the dynamics at play as I try to quiet my multiple I’s. One more challenge – and I do love a challenge – to getting closer to the Truth.

When I met them, FlatRate had a desire to deliver in writing and images what they were already delivering in their performance on the job: excellence. Current marketing materials were doing them a disservice by masking a superior experience with generic “sales speak.” They sounded like every other mover out there despite the fact that what they offer is unique. In marketing this is a good problem to have. Too often, it’s the other way around: fancy “sales speak” masks an inferior product.

As an alignment project, this was a joy to work on. The team was small, motivated, and empowered to take action. I was able to work directly with the founder, CEO, and those in charge of marketing, which left no room for confusion or error. Skyelab scrutinized everything the company was using to communicate their brand, conducted internal interviews, and worked shoulder-to-shoulder with FlatRate and their branding partners, Flying Machine, to harness the right words and ideas to convey the experience accurately. It was a story that needed to be told: FlatRate believes moving can be a positive experience. They are dedicated to this idea and are constantly seeking ways to make clients believers.

Through the process I learned how critical it is in this kind of work to fall in love with your client, to get involved, to really take a stake in their success. I couldn’t have done what I did for them without feeling integral. They embraced my participation, gave me access, and their trust. It was a pleasure, guys. Thank you for teaching me about your world and trusting me to help you convey what you do for people on the move.

“When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness…”

He also told me a story once about a man who came to him for advice about his apple trees. The man was no farmer and he’d inherited a small orchard. He took my grandfather out to the orchard to look at one particular tree that was not fruiting. It was healthy and big, bigger than some of the others. But, no fruit. Grandfather took a look at the tree and asked the man if he had a chainsaw. He did. Seeing an opportunity for humor, he brandished the chainsaw threateningly at the tree. “Now, you’re going to fruit or we’re going to take you down!” he called out as he whacked off several branches. The man stood there astonished. Several weeks later, fruit. The tree had needed pruning.

Lessons from trees: Make sure new growth happens from your trunk, not increasingly distant branches. And recognize the importance of pruning to keeping the whole organism healthy and bearing fruit.

As usual this morning I was lost in thought as I walked. Starting up the backside of the hill I noticed a man and his dog coming down the stairs. We met on a landing and nodded a greeting. Then he stopped and turned towards me.

“So, you know there’s a great bullmastiff that lives on this hill?”

It took me a minute to understand his meaning. “A wild dog?”

“Yeah, a brindle. He likes my dog, but he doesn’t like people…” Suddenly I grasped his words and my mind conjured an image of a snarling beast. I whipped around expecting to see it charging towards us. I braced myself.

“Oh, well maybe I shouldn’t go that way?” I half stated, half asked. So strong was my immediate fear that I actually started to walk the other way with the man, off the hill. He looked at me funny and then looked back up from the direction he’d come. There was no fear in his bearing. I realized he was sharing something with me not as a warning, but as a gift.

“He’s right up there in the woods. See if you can spot him. He’s really beautiful. I hope they never find him.”

The man and his dog walked on, leaving me alone on the step. The knowledge that a great wild dog was ahead struck such fear and awe into me. My footsteps felt altogether different as I resumed my walk. Suddenly the woods were alive. The hill felt powerful. The difference between what I was feeling now versus a minute earlier when the hill had simply been background to my mental chatter and imagination was marked.

How easily we are lulled to sleep by routine, I thought. How much of the day we spend in our heads, our bodies going through the motions. Day-to-day I don’t give the hill much thought. It serves a purpose for me and not much more than that. In my mind, the hill exists to provide me with exercise. And while I appreciate the existence of the hill, I don’t give it a “life” beyond that limited role (how many people in my life have I treated the same way?).

I also felt how quickly reactions happen. I was surprised by how readily my imagination conjured fear. Like the Buddhist parable about mistaking a coiled rope in the dark for a venomous snake, I’d made an invisible dog, just the mere suggestion of a dog, a certain attacker. My mind sealed my fate before I’d even seen the animal.

A few steps later, scanning the woods, I saw the dog sitting absolutely still, his back to me. He was huge perched there on the hillside staring into the sun. It was his head I noticed first, massive and black, outlined by the rays of light. I was electrified. The dog’s presence made me feel like I was traversing a temple to the sun. He seemed to be guarding a secret, restoring dignity to the place, a reminder of the power of nature, a symbol of freedom. It was so unlikely to see him here in the middle of a city park and yet there he sat conveying so much intensity.

As I stood there, he turned slowly and looked over his shoulder at me. I knew there was no threat because he remained seated, never moving his body. He just looked. The man was right…he was beautiful and seemed to belong there. Impassive. Noble. Rather than fear, I felt I was intruding. I hustled on.

Nearing the road, I felt a need to see him again, to verify his existence. I turned around and went back, but he was gone. I was left with the memory and still-fresh sensations of his presence. Like the man I’d met on the stairs, I also hoped they’d never find him.