The best things I read on LinkedIn feel like little, part-complete, gifts. Part-complete because I can pick the words up, hold on to them, and give them a new, personal meaning. I can run with the idea. Their words, become my thoughts.

When I get my writing wrong, I’m preachy. When I get it right (I am told) I’m helpful because I start something. A though. An emotion. Behavioural change. Words can do that.

My daughter Izobel is 8. She’s more important to me than anything. So when she asked me what will happen when I die, as a non-religious guy, I had to pause.

“I’ll become every butterfly.”

I said eventually. And even though I know she knows that’s not true, she smiled anyway. And wandered off, chattering about planting flowers. So I’d visit.

Izobel picked the words up, held on to them, and give them a new, personal meaning. She ran with the idea. My words, became Izobel’s thoughts.

‘Every butterfly’ is just two words. But they did help. For now.

I didn’t throw a forgotten, lukewarm, still-brewing mug of tea down the sink today. Because Laurent, the tea farmer from Rugabano that played a pivotal role in the creation of the teabag was stood next to me. Watching. I didn’t want Laurent to think he, and his creation, were not valued.

The SPILL tea that I took the time to reheat cost me 4p. Not valuable. But valued. Because Spill Tea founders Sofia and Lou have built a brand that changes how tea is made and distributed. That change is valued by Laurent. So the tea is valued by me.

Few businesses get this right. But when they do, with good offering, a little luck and a lot of hard work, they can do well. Because customers like me pay attention to the change our buying decisions actually make. We think not only about how how valuable the thing we’re buying is. But how valued the change is, too. And this little shift of focus produces brands that matter more, and last longer.

Not valuable. But valued.

It’s taken me 50 years to learn that, if I’m going to do something hard, it should be really, really hard. Stupidly hard, in fact.

I think there’s truth in this, too… That I’ve quit so many things in life not because they’re too hard, but because they’re not hard enough.

As a general rule, the harder it is, the better it is for you. And the better it is for you, the more likely you are to keep on doing it. There’s logic in that.

I started kickboxing in my early 50’s. It’s like playing chess, sprinting, doing gymnastics and being punched in the face all at the same time. But I can’t stop.

Two years and four belts in, I can’t stop because it’s so absolutely fucking awful that I’m leaner, more flexible, stronger, braver, more structured, dedicated and calmer than ever.

So as bonkers as it sounds, I really do think that I’ve quit so many things in life not because they were too hard, but because they weren’t hard enough.

Before you make your next move with your business comms. Check your briefs.

When I’m being an Associate Brand Director chap, I get the businesses I work with noticed, remembered and chosen. In that order.

With the ‘noticed’ bit, I want the business to appear different. Or daring. Or jarring. Or driven by unique change. Or waydagoddamnminute. That’s the brief.

And sometimes, there’s resistance. A funny thing happens though, when we write down the opposite of what I’m suggesting.

Because the opposite of different. Or daring. Or jarring. Or driven by unique change. Or waydagoddamnminute. Is samey. Boring. Blend-in. Unadventurous. And meh. That’s a different brief altogether.

If the brief’s boring. The works boring. If the works boring, you don’t get noticed. And if you don’t get noticed, the remembered and chosen bit can’t happen either.

So before you make your next move with your business comms. Check your briefs.

Promotional gifts can be rubbish in two ways.

1. Bad product/brand alignment.
2. Boring.

First, the pen, cap, tote bag or water bottle you choose should be decent, desirable and authentically sustainable (look close. They fib) – and brand aligned. Brand aligned mean is if you’re Land Rover, that Thermos flask had better be tough. If you’re Dyson, that mechanical pencil had better be beautifully engineered. If you’re a training company dedicated to the permanence of your work, that tote bag had better last a long, long time.

Second, don’t just put your logo on. If you run a brand famous for the creation of conspicuous clothing, write this above your logo on your tote bag:

“Hey! Are you looking at me? Why not?”

Or if you’re a Comedy Club or a cool, swaggering clothing brand, write this above your logo on your tote bag:

“For the avoidance of doubt. I’m not laughing WITH you.”

Or if you’re a gardener at Alnwick Garden, write this across your shoulder blades, encouraging visitors to chat with you about the plants:

“Talk dirt to me.”

Promotional gifts can be rubbish in two ways.

1. Bad product/brand alignment.
2. Boring.

Avoid both.

The good email marketing I get is interesting. And that’s that. Job done.

It’s job done because they know I’m a ‘not yet’. And they’ve plopped themselves into my mind for when I’m ready.

But there are three other things going on with good email marketing as well.

1. Recognise.
2. Recognise.
3. New.

When we read good email marketing:

1. We ‘Recognise’ the problem they’re talking about.
2. We ‘Recognise’ the appropriateness of their solution (I think their solution will work).
3. We don’t recognise the precise nature of the solution, because they solve the problem in a way only they can. It’s ‘New’ to me.

Bad email marketing, which is almost all email marketing, misses the ‘New’ bit. Meaning I have absolutely no reason to use you over anybody else. So what’s the blibbing point?

Recognise. Recognise. New. That’s what good email marketing does.

I did a MindUnwired Sunday yesterday. My phone was off from about 8am to 7.10pm. And here’s how I feel about it.

There’s an emerging suggestion in my mind, albeit embryonic right now, that people who keep their phones on all the time, and who react to notifications as if their reaction was as essential as breathing – are stupid people. Or at best they are non stupid people behaving stupidly. Because they have not yet realised how stupid they are being.

They have not yet realised how stupid it is to allow their moods and feelings to develop spontaneously from random sugary nonsense, as well as reacting to completely non-urgent requests and triggers as if they were.

Stupid people. And this, of course, includes me.

In summary, and I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am right now by this rhetorical question,

“Why do I CHOOSE to give my attention to things that are unambiguously unworthy of my attention, instead of CHOOSING to give my attention to things that unambiguously are worthy?”

Stupid.

I think I used to say these things when I was running agencies. Developing websites and the like.

Futureproof. And foolproof.

Which is daft really because nothing’s foolproof. Some fool will get it wrong.

And nothing’s futureproof either. Not even the future. Because none of us know exactly what’s going to happen. So how the divvel can we legislate absolutely for something we don’t know?

Fools and futures. It’s best not to second guess either.

I’d put such hyperbole in the same camp as saying, ‘The perfect gift for…’ (It’s Christmas, you’ll see this a lot). Because no Christmas present is perfect for any one mum, dad, wife, husband or granny.

Anyhow, it’s just a small point. I think. I just think it’s best to avoid such chatter. Because none of it is actually true. And if the the first thing anyone says isn’t true, there’s doubt already. “What else are they saying that’s exaggerated or inaccurate?”

Fools and futures. It’s best not to second guess either.

Something I bet no one has ever said to you. And they’ve certainly never said to me, is this:

“Here, do you actually own a phone? I never see you with one.”

Because I look at the world through the window of my phone, instead of directly, for 5 hours a day. 35 hours a week. 150 hours a month. 1,800 hours OR 75 24-hour days OR 10 weeks OR 2 1/2 months – every year.

If 50% of that time I’m looking at utter shite (I am) I get well over a whole month a year of life back, to do anything I like with, if I halve my phone use.  All a bit embarrassing. Especially when, from time to time, I claim to not have enough time for this that or the other. Seeing friends. Fitness. Reading. Being with my daughter, Izobel.

I want someone to say this to me:

“Here, do you actually own a phone? I never see you with one.”

In exactly the same way that if we lose weight or get fitter, it’s a nice feeling for someone to notice.

Let’s see what happens.

Data: https://explodingtopics.com/blog/smartphone-usage-stats