Blog

Twelve years ago, I left my desk job and entered the world of entrepreneurship. There have been many ups and downs since that journey started, but one thing has remained the same. I am fascinated with, and love meeting, the friends I have made online. Some of them have become close friends.

A couple of months ago, a friend and I were talking about online personas, and one of the people we discussed was Erin Loechner. I came across Erin when I was looking for design inspiration. When I landed on her site, I fell in love.

Then I spent some time reading through her blog, which is filled with truth and authenticity—for that reason alone it instantly became a “must read”—then I landed on her Work With Erin page.

The first thing I noticed was that she has over a million fans. I was impressed, so I dug a little deeper and found they are spread out over many social media platforms: Pinterest, Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. She offers a variety of services such as writing, speaking, and creating.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out her business model. It’s clear as day, and in my opinion, is quite brilliant. So take notes on this, m’kay?

Follow your passion. Build an audience. Sell access to yourself.

Building a Brilliant Brand

The journey of being a creative entrepreneur is filled with ups and downs, but building a successful business is a whole lot easier than you think.

Unfortunately, there are some things we allow which prevent us from this:

The journey of being a creative entrepreneur is filled with ups and downs, but building a successful business is a whole lot easier than you think.

1. We let our fears and anxieties stand in the way.

In a brilliant essay, John O’Nolan shares what happens when you start to rise in popularity (or notoriety) on the Internet:

“I feel it. I feel it now more than ever. I delete more tweets than I send. I leave more blog posts half-written than I publish. Increasingly, I do the very opposite of the thing I’m most passionate about. I reneg on my right to the freedom of speech.”

He goes onto say:

“When you have nothing, you don’t fear being torn to shreds by the mob. You stand up, and you call bullshit when you see it. But then when you start to do well—when you start to make a name for yourself—when you start to make money or have a certain number of Twitter followers, the spotlight turns to you.”

In the end, we hit a point of saturation within our comfort zones, and we’re petrified of taking the next step—the one that no doubt sounds terrifying.

A while back, I wrote a piece in response, which was my attempt of breaking through the wall of chasmic fear I had been feeling. It didn’t work.

2. We get distracted and focus on things that take us away from our goal.

I will scream from the mountain tops how much conviction I feel as I type this. I’m an idea guy, which is great at the beginning of a project, but not so much towards the middle or the end—because at that point, I’m usually nowhere to be found.

Yes, I’ll admit, I’m a vagabond when it comes to my work, but isn’t that part of the gig of being a creative? At some point, if you want to slay the dragon and make a name for yourself, you need to stay put and follow through.

Thankfully, there was “this one time at band camp” when I did just that very thing—I founded StudioPress.

3. You lose the hope and faith you had when you began.

If you follow the first step in my equation (following your passion) this one is less likely to occur. Because of passion. And when you have passion towards something—much like I do with Starbucks and Sarah McLachlan—you will never stop loving it. In short, you’ll never let it go.

But if you’re less passionate about whatever it is you’re working on, you run the risk of having doubts whenever anything suboptimal comes up. Maybe it’s a lemon blog post or a piece of negative feedback you receive on social media. There’s plenty of that happening in the cesspool of the Internet.

What’s the bottom line?

You need to stay true to yourself and believe in what you’re doing. Ask any successful creative entrepreneur if they threw in the towel on the very thing that made them successful: passion.

My guess is they didn’t. I didn’t. And you shouldn’t.

As entrepreneurs, we have the luxury of setting our schedules, choosing which projects we want to take, and taking time off when we feel the need. The solo gig is pretty excellent.

I often find that my personal life and business life tends to mix—in a George Constanza “worlds colliding” kind of way. (Dang, that’s two Seinfeld references of late, perhaps a trend?)

When you’re self-employed, I find that it’s nearly impossible to separate the two—I’m pretty sure that you would agree. As difficult (and mildly) annoying as this might be at times, it also provides the opportunity to consolidate our intentionality.

I am a firm believer that the key to building an authentik business is building an authentic life.

With that said, it’s not a yin-yang situation. For me, it’s more like a yin-yin situation, or a yang-yang situation. I wear my heart on my sleeve—at home, on social media, and quite frankly, every place I can.

Years ago, I learned just how damaging dishonesty can be, and how a lack of communication can derail a relationship and a marriage. It was the darkest time of my life, without a doubt, but helped shape who I am.

For me, authenticity is not a gimmick. It’s a way of life—an ethos if you will.

And while I’m not perfect, I try to live my life and run my business in a way that models honesty. In my opinion, there is far too much to gain with that approach, and a whole lot less to lose.

Live Like You Were Dying

In 2004, American country music artist Tim McGraw—along with fellow songwriter Tim Nichols—recorded and released “Live Like You Were Dying.” It was the lead single from Tim’s eighth album of the same name.

The duo crafted the song based on family and friends who learned of illnesses (cancers), and how they often had a new perspective on life upon learning they had limited time.

They decided to write a song based on the concept, hoping that it might inspire someone in such a situation. The song’s lyrics center on experiencing life to its fullest, while also becoming a better person.

While building an honest brand or business is about building an honest brand or business—it’s also so much more than that.

I believe that so much of what we do—the things we choose to do and the way we choose to do them—in our businesses should be crafted upon the principles that we exemplify.

I took that approach as I built StudioPress into a multi-million dollar company. I treated our customers as if they were my friends. I choose to communicate with them in the same way had I known them for years.

Each customer was the most important person.

. . .

Last weekend I spent some time in Nashville, and along the way, I listened to country music. It felt right, considering where I was going.

On my way there, I played “Live Like You Were Dying” many times. I guess the 8-hour drive provided some much-needed time for contemplation and self-reflection, so I seized the opportunity to do just that.

The song’s bridge goes like this:

“Like tomorrow was a gift and you’ve got eternity,
To think about what you do with it,
What could you do with it,
What can I do with it,
What would I do with it.”

And then it ends, gracefully:

“And I loved deeper,
And I spoke sweeter,
And I watched an eagle as it was flying,
And he said someday I hope you get the chance,
To live like you were dyin’.”

Friends, life is short.

Life is too short for you not to be who you are—or who you were meant to be. It’s also too short for you not to run a business with integrity or a company that is not aligned with the things you believe.

I encourage you to live a life full of intention—to remove the things that stand in the way of who you are, where you want to go, and most importantly, who you want with you along the way.

I love what my friend Courtney Carver, founder of Be More with Less, says:

“If you don’t have time to do what matters, stop doing things that don’t.”

This quote should not only apply to your personal life, but it should also apply to your business. I know that, over the years, I have intentionally chosen to bring these together in harmony.

Not only does it feel good, but it aligns perfectly with the legacy I wish to leave behind—all while requiring a lot less work.

Here’s one thing I know: the art I create is far more valuable than any money I will have left in the bank when I die. That’s a promise.

I want to create. I want to be alive. But, I want to live like I was dying.

I feel, deep inside my heart, that I was meant to walk alongside creative entrepreneurs—to inspire them, to help them connect with one another, and to equip them on their journey.

Authentik is my way of answering the call—of serving you.

As artists, it is our responsibility to create honestly. It is our responsibility to seek inward and build from the heart. As a community, it is our responsibility to encourage one another and help with accountability.

I don’t think there are many communities out there which do an excellent job of this—which is why we’ve chosen to build it.

We are building a community that is about giving, and not just about taking. It is a community that is about navigating the realities and struggles of running a business just as much as it is about being successful.

Goonies Never Say Die

One of my favorite movies from back in the day is The Goonies.

There’s a scene where they, The Goonies, are underground, at the bottom of a well, talking about whether or not they should continue their journey. Mikey, played by the beloved Sean Astin, says:

“Our parents, they want the bestest stuff for us. But right now they gotta do what’s right for them, ’cause it’s their time. Their time, up there. Down here it’s our time. It’s our time down here.”

While the rest of the world—creative or otherwise—is “up there” being busy, building businesses on false hope and weak foundations, and following the advice of folks who claim to know-it-all, I say we let them.

I say we go our own way, we ebb while they flow, and we take the road less traveled. I say we follow our hearts, and we trust our instincts.

I say we embrace “our time” and experience community—the Authentik kind, and the kind I think we all long for—“down here.”

I say we keep walking and find our treasure. Because Goonies never say die.

#BetterTogether. Every. Single. Time.

Back in early 1989, Swedish pop duo Roxette released “The Look” as the fourth single from their studio album, Look Sharp! It became an international hit and was the first of four number ones on the Billboard Top 100.

The band featured a duo, consisting of Marie Fredriksson (vocals and keyboards) and Per Gessle (vocals and guitar). Before coming together, they were already established solo artists in Sweden.

The story behind “The Look” is a good one because the success it had was attributed to a fluke. An American exchange student in Minneapolis brought his Swedish Roxette cassette tape to a local radio station, asked them to play the song, and before long, it hit No. 1 in 20 countries.

I was never a big fan of Roxette, as their sound was a little too “pop” for me. Keep in mind, Sarah McLachlan was coming on the music scene at the same time. Enough said.

But the title, “The Look,” has always made me curious, and mostly what I remember from the song was the redundancy in the chorus:

“She’s got the look (She’s got the look) She’s got the look (She’s got the look)
What in the world can make a brown-eyed girl turn blue
When everything I’ll ever do I’ll do for you
And I go la la la la la she’s got the look.”

. . .

Recently, I announced that I was stepping away from StudioPress. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, because most acquisitions usually result in the founder’s role changing. Or in my case, ending.

Over the last 15 months, I have had a lot of time to reflect. I looked back to the early days (and struggles) of starting a company, the development of the Genesis Framework, and the growth of the community that surrounded.

It’s been a fun ride. (Or, for you Roxette fans, joyride.)

One thing that became evident to me over the years was the inner struggle I had between what I should have been creating and what I wanted to create. It became a dichotomy, and at some point, people started to notice.

“Why is StudioPress releasing another theme that looks like the one before?”
“I can tell that Brian designed this one again.”
”Ugh, another simple looking theme without a sidebar!”

These were the murmurs that I heard—around the community of users, but also inside my head. I couldn’t blame folks for thinking (and sometimes saying) these things, because they were the same things I was saying to myself.

I knew all of it to be true. But quite frankly, I didn’t care.

The Signature of an Artist

I have fallen in love with minimalist design and prefer to balance aesthetics with functionality. I believe that white space, stunning visuals, and striking typography establish a more sophisticated and intoxicating reader experience.

In some ways, that’s it—end of story.

I began to defend what I was doing and believed it wasn’t the liability of an artist, rather it was me identifying what I wanted my voice to be and how I wanted things I created to look. My signature, if you will.

I have, what Roxette calls, a “look,” and a comment from my friend on an Instagram photo that I posted of our house finally convinced me of it:

“White on gray plus a single accent color? That’s not predictable AT ALL @bgardner.” — Chris Wallace

He was right, and I was ok with that. (Still am, by the way.)

The Magnolia Signature

Unless you live under a rock, you have heard of the show, Fixer Upper.

It’s no secret that my wife and I are huge fans of Chip and Joanna Gaines—so much that we took a road trip last summer down to Waco, Texas, to visit Magnolia Market and do some shopping.

We had the pleasure of staying in the Shotgun House while we were there. It truly is as cute and cozy as seen on TV. And like every project that Chip and Joanna have worked on, the house has a “look.”

You see it in all of their houses, at the Silos, in their store, and throughout their restaurant. I’m sure we’ll see it in the coffee shop and hotel they are building. The Magnolia brand has a “look.”

Joanna’s signature is obvious and has even made its way into our home—from our morning room to our family room. Heck, it even inspired the Simplify Pro Theme I designed earlier this year.

Introducing the Signature Series

As an artist, I have learned to embrace who I am. I have learned to lean into my passion, to create honestly, and to spend my time doing things I love.

It’s truly a waste of time to do things otherwise, but I’ll save that conversation for another day. (Because it is definitely one worth having.)

Now that my time at StudioPress is over, I have freedom to explore and to be curious. I can try new things and dive back into old ones that I enjoy.

You might have seen me lately teasing a theme that I am working on called Lookbook Pro. It is built on Genesis, and yes, it has my signature written all over it: black and white, with subtle use of one accent color.

This leads me to a little secret that I want to share with you. So here goes…

I am pleased to announce the Signature Series, which will consist of niche themes, designed minimally, and each will serve a particular audience.

Starting early 2020, a new theme will be available every quarter. The cost will be $75 per theme, but there will be an annual option which offers incredible value.

Stay tuned for more details, as I am finalizing the business plan.

In the meantime, I encourage you to spend some time thinking about your signature. After all, you are an artist, and you do have one.

So pop in that cassette or open up Apple Music. Search for Roxette, and in particular, find “The Look”—then hit play.

While you are listening, embrace your signature, defend your signature, and proudly start putting your signature on everything you create.

Over the past month, I have done something I’ve never done before—taking mid-morning walks around my neighborhood to intentionally remove myself from my computer and the busyness of the Internet.

I’ve used this time to listen to podcasts, in the hopes that the distraction-free environment of the woods would provide a blank canvas for me to consume creative content, rather than trying to create it.

Because I don’t know everything, and there is so much we can learn from fellow creatives. Thus, I seek knowledge and wisdom, from those who came before me.

Lessons from Jewel

Back in 1998, one of my favorite musicians was Jewel. She had just released Spirit, a brilliant coffeeshop album, and reflected a lot of what she was going through at the time.

I didn’t know it then, but the reason I resonated with so much of her writing was that I had, and was about to go through, similar life experiences. In short, she inspired me.

To this day, her music and books continue to speak to me, which is a bond never to be broken. So when I came across a podcast interview she did with James Altucher, I was thrilled—and after listening, it did not disappoint.

In that interview, she said something that struck me as oddly true—something I resonated with probably more than I’d like to admit:

“Fame is a path that a lot of people lose their footing on.” —Jewel

She goes into further detail to explain what she means:

“I don’t think fame changes you, I think it exaggerates, it just puts fuel on whatever little fire you have smoldering. So if you’re insecure, you’re going to get more insecure. Being aware of that I tried to setup my career in a very specific way, where I led with my flaws.”

What I love about her, aside from her desire to truly live an authentic life, is that she embraces her imperfections—much the way I try to.

She talks about her art, and how she uses it to establish a relatable story:

“I never tried to use art as propaganda—to make myself seem more perfect than I was. These are my downfalls, and these are my dreams—I’m a real human. And that gave me room to grow, and change, and adapt in realtime, and it also allowed me to sort of have this dialogue with my fans online and through the Internet of talking about it all.”

That is what Authentik is all about: building an honest brand.

More and more often, I meet amazing creative entrepreneurs (designers, developers, writers, photographers, and marketers of all stripes) who feel like they’ve hit a wall, and they’re not sure where to turn.

I am trying to suggest, and help you build, a different approach. I want to help you craft or expand your honest, real brand, and grow your online business by sharing what I know, and what has worked for me.

As Jewel was touring in her early days, she had the fortune of spending time with some legendary musicians. I’m sure that was an invaluable experience, especially when advice like this was freely given to her:

“Don’t you dare, you stay just like you are, and you keep doing it.” —Bob Dylan & Neil Young

That sounds like some pretty smart (albeit daunting) advice.

Doubling Down on YOU

Imagine if your life—and your business, for that matter—was made up of you being you? Facades taken down, honesty being spoken, surrounded by those who don’t pass judgment. Just imagine how less exhausting that would be.

I believe there is so much undiscovered art in this world, and we have fear to blame for that. I think we all seek approval—that we base our value on the way we think others perceive us—rather than how we perceive ourselves.

I also believe that Ruthie Lindsey, a Nashville-based designer, nails it here:

“All of us are longing for connection and authenticity, and what we believe will repel people does the exact opposite.”

I don’t take risks nearly as often as I should, but the few times I’ve taken a giant leap of faith by doing something I thought would repel people, it turned out—as she says—quite the opposite.

I am trying new things and, as Robert Frost suggests, taking the road less traveled. He said it made all the difference, and I’m planting my flag there.

Marie Forleo inspires creative entrepreneurs to live their life to the fullest. She’s good at that, so I’ll leave you with these words of encouragement from her:

“Don’t worry about what other people have or do. Know your strengths and go *ALL* in with them! Double down on what you’re best at.”

I challenge you to focus on embracing your inner YOU, and how you can channel any self-doubt into creating some beautiful art this world needs.

Here’s to heeding her advice, and crushing it together next year. We got this!

Years ago when was in high school, I worked as a cashier at a local convenient store. I was seventeen, and the typical “thought-I-knew-everything-but-did-not-know-everything” kind of kid.

One morning, I was in the aisle putting away some stock, when a customer of ours started talking to me. Toward the end of the conversation, she accidentally dropped the coffee she was holding.

Frazzled and embarrassed, she apologized and started to pull out her wallet.

“I’ll go get a mop after I ring you up, ma’am, and the floor will be good to go.”

My boss, who was in the same aisle taking inventory, came over and said something—that to this day—are words I’ll never forget.

“Oh Carol, you don’t have to pay for this. Accidents happen, and we love our customers. Go grab another cup of coffee and don’t worry about a thing.”

“Thank you so much Terry, I so appreciate it. This is why I shop here.”

I was floored. And confused. What? Did my boss just give her free coffee? (Of course, these were the thoughts that a naive teenager thought at the time.)

The woman proceeded to fill up another cup of coffee, smiled on her way out, and was on her way. Meanwhile, in aisle two of the local convenient store, I was taught one of the most valuable lessons in life: the customer is always right, and more importantly, the customer always matters.

I suppose it was my bewildered look that prompted my boss to explain herself.

“Brian, we take care of our people. They come in every day and trust us with their business. Even if it’s milk and bread, we play a role in their life, and we do everything we can to make their experience with us a pleasant one.”

I nodded in quasi-agreement and understanding, walked into the back to grab the mop, thinking to myself, “We just gave away $0.27 in profit.”

Yes, there are all kinds of things to learn when you are coming-of-age, but over time, the lesson I learned that day sunk in. Big time.

. . .

This past weekend I received the Sunday Dispatch, sent by one of my favorite people on the planet, Paul Jarvis. I enjoy receiving his email every Sunday, but this weekend’s, in particular, did it for me.

I enjoyed it so much that I sent Paul an email to tell him. (Because you should do that once in a while with your favorite people on the planet.)

Anyway, the subject of this email was “This is not about me”—which is quite brilliant if you think about it, because what raving fan wouldn’t want to see what something with an email subject line of “This is not about me” is all about?

It starts:

“My picture and words are on my site. I create and sell my own products. And I pay for this newsletter, as well as hit the “publish” button each week. Given all that, it’s easy to believe that this is The Paul Jarvis Show—both in terms of me sometimes thinking it and folks, like you, believing it too. In reality, though, nothing is further from the truth.”

Then he lands the left hook:

“In fact, the most important person in my business is you.”

Immediately, I am brought back to the memory of my coffee encounter with Carol. I remembered just how much a gesture of sincerity made an impact on my life, and probably did on hers as well.

Back in 2007, I left my day job, which ironically, was given to me by another customer of that convenient store. (This is another story of customer-service-gone-right that I’ll get into another day.) My apologies, I digress…

I left that job to pursue the wonderful world of creative entrepreneurship, by establishing a “work-at-home” thing called StudioPress. At the time, I had no idea what I was doing, and also had no idea what it would become. But one thing I do know is that, during the formative years, customer service was far and away one of the most important things I wanted to instill on the brand.

It wanted StudioPress and customer service (pristine customer service, to boot) were synonymous. I wanted to be known as “The WordPress Nice Guy” and remembered as someone who cared about people.

In the digital world, folks don’t spill coffee in aisles of convenient stores, but they do accidentally purchase the wrong theme, get in over their heads, or want a refund for reasons they won’t disclose.

Years ago when I was flying solo, I gave them one every time. And to this day, we have a 30-day money back guarantee refund policy, no questions asked.

. . .

In his email, Paul continues to illustrate the importance of serving your customers the right way:

“It can be difficult to make your business about your customers. If they’re angry about something, or worse, apathetic about what they’ve purchased (E.g., they buy a course but never even log in to start the work), then you can feel like who you’re trying hard to serve doesn’t care.”

Then he closes his email with:

“But in those moments, even though it’s difficult, you still have to empathize. In fact, that’s the most important time to have empathy, or as Brené Brown says, to feel with someone. In those moments, you have to take a step back and see what went wrong, what you can own about that, and try and do better.”

Friends, it is my promise to you—my customer, my reader, my “whatever role you play in my world”—to do as he suggests: Better.

And if what I am doing is not good enough, if you find that for whatever reason I am not fulfilling that promise, I give you full permission to let me know.

Because the customer is always right, and the most important person in my business is you.

On April 14, 1996, I attended a country music concert in Carbondale, Illinois that would shape the way I view my business.

Carbondale is the home of Southern Illinois University, an institution typically not known for its MBA programs. Back in the ’90s, SIU was rated (on an annual basis) as one of the top party schools, and often shut down in the fall due to its notorious Halloween riots.

In other words, the small town of 25,899 nestled between the Mighty Mississippi and Shawnee National Forest was hardly considered a breeding ground for up-and-coming entrepreneurs.

Back in the day, I spent my days as a Saluki sleeping in and frequenting whichever-bar-had-line-dancing-that-night with my friends. Yes, I admit that country music and bull riding defined much of who I was—which explains why on April 14, 1996, I attended a country music concert.

The concert featured Audrey Faith Perry, who was opening for headlining act, Samuel Timothy McGraw. For those of you mainstream folks, that’s Faith Hill and Tim McGraw.

Their tour, Spontaneous Combustion, personified the very definition: a type of combustion which occurs by self-heating (increase in temperature due to exothermic internal reactions), followed by thermal runaway (self-heating which rapidly accelerates to high temperatures).

Just take one look at the photo above, and you’ll see what I mean.

You would think they were married with the way they gazed into each others eyes while onstage. They looked like a couple madly in love. And they were, even though—at the time— Faith was engaged to another man.

I took the photo from the front row, and knew something was going on between the two of them. It was obvious. Their chemistry was special, in an undeniable kind of way.

It also explains why they married six months later and have been together ever since. (Yay for longstanding celebrity marriages!)

. . .

Self-employment is a bittersweet thing. With responsibility comes freedom, and with freedom comes responsibility.

There is no getting around it, and quite honestly, I don’t want to. I much prefer to spend my days the way that I want, and working as much (or as little) as I choose.

The phrase “married to my job” often describes the status of any entrepreneur. I lump myself into this group, at times, because I spend a lot of time working. That’s what happens when you have a 14-year-old who wants nothing more than to come home from school, do his homework, and spend the rest of the evening gaming with his friends.

Fortunately, my wife Shelly also has an “Internet” job and spends just about as much time online as I do. Good thing our offices are next to one another because we still get ample time throughout the day to interact.

The Passion Play

As I look back over the years, I realize that every project I have started has been the result of passion—deep, mad, wrap-your-heart-around-it passion.

StudioPress was my first entrepreneurial project and consisted of two things that I love: design and community. It may have been accidental, but it was a pretty epic journey—and well worth the blood, sweat, and tears.

I created No Sidebar as a result of needing space in my life. StudioPress became big (ahem, more than 250,000 customers) and I realized that I had put things of priority on the backburner. I needed an outlet that I could share and be encouraged by a lifestyle of intention.

Last year I sold No Sidebar, which was followed by me selling StudioPress to WP Engine just three months later. These two events paved the way to where I am at now—Authentik.

I feel like I have an open road ahead of me, and trust me when I say that is not by mistake. I desperately needed something new.

My friend Erin Loechner is the founder of Design by Mankind—a brilliant brand that is filled with passion. She is also the author of Chasing Slow—a book that I highly recommend.

Erin has woven her “real” life and “business” life in a way that makes me quite envious. With her, I find it hard to identify where one stops and where the other begins. To me, that’s a great indicator that she and her brand are spontaneously combusting.

When I decided to spend a whopping $10,000 on the Authentik domain, I knew that I wanted to do the same thing: create a brand that showcased my passion, and was also driven by it.

I wanted everyone to see how much fire was (and still is) behind the project. I wanted the perception from the outside to be this: Authentik and I are madly in love with each other—in a Tim-and-Faith kind of way.

Friendship in Business

While passion is essential to building a successful business, another element is “friendship.” This is something Friedrich Nietzsche refers to in a quote about marriage and also something I consider paramount to the growth and sustainability of a brand.

“It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages.”

This begs the question: Are you and your business friends?

What does “everyday” look like in your business? What happens when times are tough? What happens with the passion burns out, even if temporarily? Is there enough of a foundation to weather the storm?

Do you and your business spontaneously combust?

If not, what stands in the way of a remarkable togetherness?

Here’s one thing I’m sure of in life: nothing is perfect. The problem, however, is that I only believe this to be true 95% of the time.

Most artists are their own worst critics, and the unrealistic expectations we place upon ourselves are, well, unrealistic expectations.

Every time I sit down and start to design something, I’m left with the 5% hope that what I create will be flawless—which sets me up for failure.

I get inspired easily, and I’m an idea person. I spend a tremendous amount of my time in creative mode, and while I love what I do, there’s a downside.

One of my biggest faults is an ongoing battle I have in my head every time I pick up the paintbrush. I always find myself wondering…

“Will my work measure up?”
“What will people think of what I created?”
“Will it be as good as this other designer?”

These are questions which go through my head practically every second of the day. Combine them with my need for approval, and there’s a pretty good chance at the end of every project, I feel like I didn’t get it right.

There’s a place for creativity in our lives, and it looks different for every person. Whether it be writing, singing, taking pictures, or designing for the web. There’s nothing wrong with doubting the process—I think we all do at times.

I love what Emily Freeman says, and I completely agree with her:

“I used to think that writers of books took years and years to write out their ideas and only when they had it perfectly figured out did they decide they might like to get it published.”

There’s so much truth in that, and I’m sure at some point in our creative lives we’ve said the same thing to ourselves. I know I have, and the envy I have of writers like Emily is off the charts. It’s the same envy I have of the best designers, those who take pictures, and those who write music.

We all have imperfections. And if you’re like me, you have many of them.

One important thing I’m learning as an artist is that it’s better to embrace imperfection than to expect perfection. Because the reality is nothing is perfect.

Every window has a crack in it. Every tree has a broken branch. Every design has a pixel out of place. Every song has a note sung out of tune.

I’m getting better at believing this, though I admit it’s difficult at times. But in the end, I’m doing my best to enjoy what I’m doing—to be satisfied I’m doing what I love, and what I feel deep in my heart I was meant to do.

Designing for the Soul

Each winter, a group of friends and I head to Colorado and spend some time in the mountains. It provides a much-needed break for us all, mainly from the monotony of our everyday lives.

While I was there this past year, I was reminded of something that eludes me more than I’d like it to admit—consumption of the soul. I explained this struggle to my friends in the context of skiing, but I learned it in the context of surfing.

There’s a term called “soul surfer,” which is well-defined by Wikipedia:

“Soul surfer is a term coined in the 1960s, used to describe a surfer who surfs for the sheer pleasure of surfing. Although they may still enter in competitions, winning is not the soul surfer’s main motive, since they scorn the commercialization of surfing.”

The idea is to remove the noise and distractions we have and to focus on the why of participation. I spent most of my time on the mountain focusing on the love I have for skiing, rather than the metrics or value I place on my ability to ski.

I feel the same way towards design. While I’m susceptible to straying from time to time, I try to remain in the mindset of being a soul designer—I want to design because I enjoy designing.

I don’t want to design to see how many themes I can sell, rather because I love to design them. I want to enable fellow creative entrepreneurs a quicker, easier way to establish a web presence. In baseball terms, for the love of the game.

Like many aspects of life, we tend to allow the noise and distraction into our work, and we end up with canvases that are cluttered. We shouldn’t feel the pressure to include, instead we should be looking for things to exclude.

So I’m issuing a challenge to you to look inward, and see if the work you produce as an artist reflects an overabundance of elements in your life which aren’t necessary. If it does, go out of your way to remove them.

This past weekend I drove down to Nashville to attend WordCamp US. I drove because I’m not a fan of flying, though driving through a snowstorm there and through freezing rain on the way home wasn’t much better.

No matter the risk, the reward was worth it—I spent four wonderful days amidst old friends and making new ones.

Without a doubt, this was my favorite WordCamp that I have attended. Aside from being with co-workers—my team is lit, by the way—I was able to spend most of my time with folks from the Genesis Community.

Among those were individuals who traveled a long distance—some more than 10,000 miles—to attend the conference. The United Kingdom, Australia, and of course, locals from within the United States represented.

One of the hats I wear at StudioPress is “community evangelist”—no surprise there, right? It is my job to bring people together and help them build their businesses.

This looks many ways, from sharing work/content on social media, connecting those looking for a website with designers and developers, and providing a way for some to sell their themes on StudioPress.

I love my job. Plain and simple.

This past weekend, on three separate occasions, I was told: “Thank you, Brian, you changed my life.”

It feels really good when you hear those words—like I’m a magician or some kind of miracle worker—and my ego goes through the roof.

This definitely wasn’t the first time I had heard them, and probably won’t be the last. Over the years, it has happened many, many times.

Meet Lee Anthony, a talented designer who, along with his fiancée Jade, traveled from Perth, Australia to be with us. Lee owns SEO Themes, a collection of beautiful themes—many of which we sell on StudioPress.

Yesterday, Lee tweeted this:

“Meeting the man that literally changed my life. @bgardner”

On my way home, in between dodging patches of black ice and skidding out, I came to this conclusion: Lee is wrong.

In fact, everyone who says that I changed their life is wrong.

. . .

In 2006, I was working for an architectural firm as a project manager. I had a good job, but it wasn’t a great job. There was no path within that company which would have made me happy.

Before I started blogging, a friend recommended that I check out WordPress. Very quickly, I fell in love and enjoyed the community that came with it. I downloaded a free theme, hacked away, and customized my blog.

Over the next few months, I started writing about my experiences with WordPress—building an audience around folks who were interested in what I had learned. Plus, they were downloading themes that I designed.

I began moonlighting as a “freelancer” by customizing the themes I had freely available to download on my blog. A few hundred bucks a week was good spending cash, so I was living the dream. Meh, not really.

While it was great to have some extra money for vacations, what I wanted was to be one of those “internet people” I saw working from coffee shops.

Life was going alright until I landed a gig with a real estate agent from Boston. I worked up a beautiful design for him—one that I was particularly proud of—because it was more than just a “blog” theme.

I sent it off for him to look at, and after a few days, he got back to me. Rejected.

Ironically, it wasn’t the design he didn’t approve of; it was the fact that I had created a custom homepage for him—something that resembled more of a full website look, rather than just a blog.

So I went back to the drawing board and came up with something more straightforward, which he approved of, paid for, and used happily.

I was left with something I thought was amazing, and was borderline depressed. I thought I was going to be stuck with this “masterpiece” I had created, but then I had an idea: ask if my audience would be interested in buying it.

A couple of days went by before I had the time to do it, but I finally penned the blog post that would forever change my life—“How Much Would You Pay for a Premium WordPress Theme?”

I took the rejected design I did for the Boston realtor and turned it into the Revolution theme for WordPress. I made $10,000, $20,000, $40,000, and $80,000 respectively the first four months. I was in shock and told my wife Shelly that it was “financially irresponsible” for me to stay at my day job.

Some days I feel as though it was pure happenstance—that it was merely a stroke of luck and I was in the right place at the right time. Other days, I embrace the fact that I was smart enough to seize the opportunity which presented itself in front of me.

Either way, I strongly believe that neither Matt Mullenweg nor WordPress changed my life. Yes, they were instrumental tools, but in and of themselves, they were not solely responsible for what happened.

I was.

. . .

I fully understand the sentiment that Lee was getting at when he spoke those words—and trust me, they mean the world to me.

As I was driving on I-65 in the middle of nowhere Indiana, my response—and idea for this post—became crystal clear. I didn’t want to let it escape me, so I pulled over and responded.

It took me a few minutes to decide whether I wanted to reply to his tweet or retweet it. I didn’t want to be accused of #humblebraging, but I felt my response needed context. Here is what I said:

“You changed your life. I just helped.”

I am not a healer. I am not a miracle worker. And I certainly don’t have—nor claim to—the power to transform lives.

What I do have is the power to help people transform their lives.

I love what Susan Ramsey tweeted in response:

“Words of wisdom right there. You have to be the change you want to see; others can help you along the way, but it’s your hard work that changes your life!”

My experience this past weekend was another illustration of something that I believe with all of my heart—we are better together.

Here’s to paying it forward, friends. It is so worth it. Here’s to that moment, a few years from now, when someone comes up to you at a conference and says the same thing Lee said to me.

Here’s to you saying: “You changed your life. I just helped.”