An aggregate of “wow” moments while enjoying someone else’s art or insight fuels my own desire to say, do, share, or create something that will in turn elicit a similar reaction. My appreciation is often for the nuanced details, too–the ones that facilitate deeper understanding of a greater whole: a beautifully filmed scene, an ingenious plot twist, a glorious but unexpected use of color, a particularly elegant or witty phrase, a photograph of the everyday with an innovative twist, and so on.

Anything thing that challenges me to think or to look at the world differently (if only for a moment) becomes part of my own perspective. I’m a student of human nature. Creativity is a manifestation of the curriculum, one in which we’re all students and all teachers.

Hearing no is a different story, unpleasant at any age. The more invested–professionally, financially, emotionally–we are in something, the harder it is to deal with rejection.

Being told no in the context of objective criteria (budget can’t accommodate, logistics aren’t feasible) is difficult but understandable. We may not like those things, but we can make sense of them.

A negative judgment that’s purely a matter of subjectivity? That stings. Every writer, designer, photographer, chef, and so on has heard: “I can’t explain why I don’t like it. I just don’t.” (On the bright side, they also hear the opposite). It undermines our human propensity to want to understand things…even (and especially) those who don’t respond to something the way we do. And we want to be understood.

Creativity is never independent of its creator (e.g., the way drafting a financial statement is), and well-intentioned platitudes in the face of rejection do little to help. They inadvertently elaborate on the idea of not connecting or of being misunderstood.

One way to get past an uncomfortable subjective no, other than commiserate with someone walking the same path, is to let it go little by little. Sweep it aside immediately, and you’re (possibly) not acknowledging your natural response. Hold onto it too long, and it will erode your confidence and hamper your freedom. Instead, release it at a pace that recognizes your own feelings about it, accepts the reality of it…and prompts you to use it as motivation for getting a yes next time.

At its worst, collaboration is a mess of discrete personalities and ideas that never develop cohesion, facilitate work-flow rhythm, or produce a strong finished product or effective service.

At its almost-best, collaboration is a give-and-take of ideas that ultimately flourishes into an innovative or efficient result. People “feed off” one another and engage in creative problem-solving. Sometimes fun even ensues! (Note: I am very pro-fun.)

At its very best, collaboration is even more than that. It’s a truly fundamental understanding of one another’s strengths and weaknesses. It’s a recognition that the relationships among those involved serve to support, encourage, and inspire. It is, above all, the knowledge that if together you’re greater than the sum of your parts, you’re the better for it creatively, professionally, and personally.

I also think not all those who are lost seek to find–but they often do, unexpectedly.

There’s something to be said for losing yourself–in time, in a project, in a book, in someone else. It can be a comfortable place. Beyond the escapism and enjoyment, that is. Sometimes it’s a way to open up your mind to explore without knowing what it is you’re exploring…until you’ve found it. Then you might have an Archimedes moment. Or something decidedly more subtle. (Shouting in public baths is not for everyone.)

Creativity and problem-solving often benefit from a shift in focus. Turn your attention to something different, and the idea often just “happens.”

I’m often preoccupied with time. But every now and then I lose myself in something, and almost always, I find something new entirely.

It was on an unannounced hiatus. (Sorry, MAM Blog. I should have told you so you could have taken a vacation or something.) I wanted to do something different–not just from what I had been doing but also from what most others are doing. If everyone blogs the same way about the same topics with the same regularity, well, it’s hard not to feel like you’re just marching in time, doing what you’re “supposed” to do, and scaling back the awesome. (Because we ALL have the awesome. We just hide it a lot because we’re too busy following checklists.)

I’m not doing anything revolutionary here. Just something that’s a bit more…me. I’m a huge fan of Twitter for many reasons (indeed, my crush on the platform is well-documented and oft-referred to), not the least of which is the value it places on pithiness. I applaud succinct thought and, despite my rambling pontificating at times (which is typically for my own amusement or that of others, because deliberate wordiness can be funny, which is the point of this long parenthetical aside), it’s what comes natural to me as I take in the world and share my experiences.

I was always that girl who struggled to meet the minimum page requirement for papers, so Twitter suits me. And thus it made sense to recreate the blog with this in mind. Shorter, more frequent posts. More random, perhaps, but still a blend of business and the philosophical.

Think of this from now on as Twitter Plus. Or Long-Form Minus.

Or simply the Much Ado Marketing Blog, version 2.0.