Here’s the problem with copying: Copying skips understanding. Understanding is how you grow. You have to understand why something works or why something is how it is. When you copy it, you miss that. You just repurpose the last layer instead of understanding all the layers underneath.
— Jason Fried, Why you shouldn’t copy us or anyone else

What if your homebuilder constructed houses based merely on the outward appearance, with no attempts to understand the foundation, infrastructure or load bearing walls? They would have no idea why that one window was off-center, or that specific material was used in the kitchen, or why the porch trim is blue. The exterior may look fine, but the bones are rotten.

Ultimately, copying doesn’t affect the person being ripped nearly as much as the one doing the copying. After all, rarely is the faux as compelling as the original. But when you copy, you do yourself a disservice. You cease to do work. You cease to be inspired. You stop trying.

When you copy, you never learn how to learn.

If you, as a leader, create and nurture a culture where employees must continually fall on their swords to prove their loyalty to the mission, the cause, the vision, the organization, your leadership, etc., eventually you won’t have anyone left. Your people will either burnout or simply leave. And when they fail or exit, the delusional self-fulfilling prophet in you will quietly say, “See, I told you they weren’t loyal.”

And maybe they weren’t. Or maybe all employees are not longterm relationship material. Or maybe your mission and direction sucks and they got tired of it. Or maybe they were so bloodied from all the sword hugging that they didn’t have anything left to give.

Don’t let a misplaced need for leadership affirmation confuse the loyal people with the folks just passing through. In the trenches, we all want to know our people have our back. But if the way we expect them to prove their loyalty kills them in the process, don’t blame the dead. You’re the one calling the shots.

In less than a month, I turn 30.

Western culture loves assigning weighted meaning to a good round number, a gravitas beyond the simple recorded passing of time. And however right or wrong or in-between that is, I feel the weight of soon-to-be 30.

There are a lot of things I’ve said I wanted to accomplish before that birthday. Some of them have happened, some of them haven’t, a lot of them I’ve probably forgotten. But the impending milestone has me thinking about dreams, ideas, execution, legacy and body of work. And wishing I’d done more. And wanting to do more.

So I have 30 days until I’m 30 years old. And I want to do something.

I know, I know. You’re probably thinking we already covered this, you weirdo. But no, again I go with the job titles thing. Call it a pet project; I thirst for complete knowledge of the topic. It is my white whale, and I am its Ahab.

Let me throw a situation out at you. A few years ago I was in one type of work environment, mainly agency-type places with a very set structure and clear hierarchy. Everyone knew the top, the bottom, and all the clearly labeled rungs in between. Then I transitioned into a different work environment, one more wide than tall, more collaborative than creatively authoritative. There aren’t many rungs, and a proclivity for climbing isn’t part of the DNA (or mine for that matter).

On paper, I’m the Creative Director at NewSpring Church. But here’s the rub: NewSpring doesn’t really have a Creative Director. And the more I think about it, I don’t think we ever have, despite the fact that I’ve held that title for half of our existence. Let me explain…

In agency world, a Creative Director usually has a design or writing background and interacts with the client to create ideas, approaches and treatments that are typically implemented by designers and copywriters on their team. They’re the filter, and often the initiator of the idea. It’s fairly clear, and intensely hierarchical. But at NewSpring, no one person does that. Or to put it better, a lot of people do that. There’s tension. There are often (much to my dismay) minor lacks of cohesion. But ultimately we share the process and burden of creative direction across a lot of roles on our team. Which is cool, especially considering we’re the “client,” too.

That brings me squarely back to the job title thing (“from hell’s heart I stab at thee!”) and my situation. At NewSpring I handle overall design, branding, some copywriting, and web design/strategy. But I’m admitting the traditional Creative Director role doesn’t exist in our environment, so what* am I?

*I have an idea of what I am, but I want to hear your feedback.

What are you good at?

The amount of effort between complaining and creating is a ginormous chasm.

A friend recently commented, “I can make a website in 10 minutes and just complain, complain, complain. I’m done with all the complaining.” She’s right, it takes no effort to complain. You have the tools and the network of listeners to make your voice heard quickly and easily. But no matter how personally satisfying your complaint is, no matter how biting your sarcasm or eloquent your delivery, you’re still just whining.

I wonder what would happen if we took all the energy we spend complaining and put it into creating something?

[Post-college] I worked out what I was good at and what I was bad at. It became pretty clear what I wanted to do. I was really only interested in design. I was neither interested, nor good at building a business.
— Jonathan Ive, Senior VP of Industrial Design at Apple

Almost every time I’ve been in-between fulltime gigs (and sometimes when I’m in the midst of one) there’s a groundswell of people who tell me I need to start my own business. They list plenty of reasons, and approach the conversation as a foregone conclusion.

And maybe one day, I’ll actually agree with them. But not today.

Too many cooks can raise the price of dinner.
— author unknown

There’s no way around it, design-by-committee will cost you in the long run. So will decision-by-committee. Or anything-by-committee. It’s simple math. You’re going to pay the overhead. It might not be in cash (though it probably will be), but you’ll potentially bleed time and missed opportunities and your sanity in the process. Too many cooks COSTS.

So the buck stops where? Who’s calling the shots? Who’s the filter?

The war for talent is still ongoing. There is and will be for some time, a shortage of leadership talent as a result of the baby boomers leaving the workforce. There will be plenty of “bodies” available, but that doesn’t equate to talent. Cutting back on development efforts to grow your own leaders will leave you at the mercy of the market when the economy picks back up. You will end up paying more for outside talent instead of developing your bench strength now.
— Tom Peters, excerpted from this blog post

There’s a time for bringing in outside talent. A time when you need a franchise player who will shake things up and be pivotal. Someone to build teams around. And there’s a time when you have to suck it up, realize there’s no easy button to fix your internal woes, and you need to develop the people you have in expectation that they’ll be the ones to see you through.

Your job may very well be to know which time it is right now.