Seth Godin's Blog

On an airplane, we notice even tiny changes in acceleration (including direction) but we’re completely unaware that we’re traveling at hundreds of miles an hour.

“Compared to what” is the unstated question that we ask ourselves, all the time.

Consumers, employees and peers are unlikely to think about what’s already a given. It’s the changes we notice.

Start where you are.

Start with what you’ve got.

Start now.

Now is the perfect moment. It only feels ‘fast’ if we’re rushing.

Don’t rush. But act.

With deliberate progress.

The next dish.

It might be better than the one you have now.

The presence of the next dish, its possibility, corrodes our experience. “Compared to what?” keeps needling us.

The next email, the next text, the next blog post.

It arrives, unbidden, unasked for. Here it comes.

Next.

Like Lucy in the chocolate factory, we’re trained to simply focus on next.

Which is rarely as satisfying as now.

Perhaps this metaphor will help:

Nails are the easiest to use and require the least skill.

Glue can make a more solid bond, but it’s often a one-way commitment–you can’t undo it without damage.

And screws are the most resilient. They require good judgment in their selection and skill in their application. They create a powerful bond but can also be undone without a lot of fuss.

Often, we build our projects with nails. Sometimes, we commit and use glue. But screws often yield the best productivity in the long run. They’re not easier, but they might be better.

Here’s a summary from a book industry newsflash about what’s selling right now: Dystopia, Dark Romance, Dark Literary, Horror, Paranormal, True Crime, Alternative Histories, Decline of Democracy, Humor, Digital Wellness, Cozy & Cute, and Escapism.

Setting aside just how long it takes to bring a book (or just about anything more important than an instagram post) to market, it’s pretty clear that this list, and any list, contradicts itself.

Look closely enough or in a short enough window of time, and all you will see is turbulence. Turbulence is the chaos around the edges, the noise without signal.

The problem with snipe hunting (it’s a real creature, it turns out) is that it distracts you from the real work to be done.

A useful north star: Work that matters for people who care.

We need to figure out who the people are. What they care about. What would matter. To them. Not to everyone. To them.

And then we need to earn enrollment, trust and attention. Build a foundation, with consistency and persistence.

That’s impossible if you’re also hunting snipes.

Chasing snipes comes with a sort of deniability. It’s obvious that there are fast-moving snipes, and they’re successful as well. Of course you’re chasing them.

On the other hand, when we make a commitment to find our people and to contribute in a meaningful way, we’re on the hook. If it doesn’t work, there’s no convenient snipe to blame.

There’s a simple law: No one buys anything unless it produces more value than it costs.

This seems obvious. Value could be in the form of sustenance, status, affiliation, peace of mind or health. And value is always measured by the user.

A $300 caviar spoon will only be purchased if someone believes it produces more than $300 in value (and they can afford it).

The user doesn’t care how much it cost you to create. They don’t care how much you need the sale.

So, why don’t nurses get paid more? It’s pretty clear that they produce value far in excess of their salaries.

And why are Taylor Swift concert tickets so expensive? It doesn’t cost the promoter much at all to offer that last seat…

The reason is clear: scarcity.

When there are substitutes, informed consumers usually choose the cheapest identical item. That’s why expensive wine costs more than water, even though you can’t live without water.

This all comes together when we realize that a good business project doesn’t simply create value, it also is built around some sort of scarcity.

Freelancers are tempted to forget this, and end up racing to the bottom. “You can pick anyone, and I’m anyone,” is not a useful marketing slogan.

People are going to buy this from someone, but why would they buy it from you?

Tell us about the value you create. And tell your investors about why your offering will be persistently scarce.

Big company customer service has evolved to be pointless, a useless shadow of its former self.

Big companies can’t take responsibility, only humans can. And when we depersonalize our interactions and work to minimize the time spent and use a refund or policy to ‘make it right’, we forget what service is usually for. It’s simply cheaper to offer a refund and move on (or to fill out a form and ignore the complaint altogether).

The customer who cares enough to complain (about a doctor, a product, a service or even an expectation) is rarely seeking a refund. A refund doesn’t make things right.

We want to be heard, understood and responded to. And we’d like the organization to learn something in exchange.

Not only is this cheaper than a refund, it makes you better.

This, in itself, is a compromise.

When we insist that our vision be accepted, completely, without alteration, we’ve already compromised.

It might be that we’ve settled for a much smaller audience of people.

Or it could be that the laws of physics get in the way, and our no-compromise solution is so heavy, so expensive or so difficult to use that it’s not even possible.

Mostly, though, we’ve compromised on who can contribute to our choices and make it better.

Compromise isn’t always a bug, it’s often a feature.

We spend a lot of time responding and reacting to the throws of others. Ejected, rejected, projected, interjected… No one dejects you, of course, but it’s easy to feel dejected.

Perhaps this is a good moment to take initiative, which is rarely given on its own.

No one is coming to pick you. Today’s a great day to pick yourself.

We’ve built a circle of reactions about the latin word for ‘throw’ but we rarely say the word itself. When we ject on behalf of others, creating possibility and connection, the effort pays off.

It’s not just for horror, terror and doom. These are worth preventing.

It turns out that the hard work of innovation or the creation of revolution involves imagining what others consider unimaginable and speaking up with the unspeakable.

Sometimes we work to avoid the things that scare us.

We can’t imagine something better if we’re not able to speak of it.