On short notice

On reframing exhaustion, practicing attention and attracting virality  ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ Is is possible to practice noticing? How a Fujifilm in Philly taught me to take notice ​ Years ago, I found myself jetting back and forth between Chicago, Illinois and Denver, Colorado in a desperate attempt to fan the flames of a long-distance relationship that was sputtering out right before my eyes. In those days, I never left home without my Fujifilm X20. It was a real work-horse of a camera: gorgeous, sturdy, vintage and unpretentious. My camera fit in my hands as if it were my own two hands that had sculpted it from clay. I knew its every curve, groove, edge, knick, and button. If you blindfolded me, I could pluck it out of a pile of cameras. It was my friend, my ornament; my constant reminder to open my eyes and pay attention to both the ordinary and extraordinary around me. Eventually, my little camera suffered water damage so severe it'd make a seahorse whinny; and when the fire with this woman had finally burnt out, I chucked it in the trash along with the heap of love letters time was turning bone dry in the far back reaches of my closet. For months, I couldn't look at those letters. When I had to venture back there for something or another, I'd close my eyes as if Medusa was lurking in its depths. When my camera was no more, I didn't purchase another, fibbing to myself that the camera on my phone would suffice. I was wrong. I didn't realize just how wrong until I was reunited with another Fujifilm X20 just recently. For the past week, I've been posted up in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania with a partner-in-crime by the name of Dave Peterson, slinging ink for a company called Phenom. After a good day's work, I'd tear the lens cap off my Fujifilm, queue up some Frank Ocean and take to the streets. Philly is like Gotham after dark: gorgeous, gritty and giant. During my nighttime treks, [I captured lovers kissing outside a McDonald's](), graffiti clinging to the walls of abandoned factories, skateboarders sharing a joint on the edge of a half-pipe, cyclists doing wheelies underneath the Blue Line. After two or three sessions of late-night photography, I noticed something: I was noticing again. ​[In Several short sentences about writing](, Verlyn Klinkenborg shares some intoxicating thoughts on the practice of noticing... Is it possible to practice noticing? I think so. But I also think it requires a suspension of yearning. And a pause in the desire to be pouring something out of yourself. Noticing is about letting yourself out into the world, rather than siphoning the world into you in order to transmute it into words. Practicing noticing will also help you learn more about patience and the nature of your mind. Noticing means thinking with all your senses. The reason creativity wilts inside of us like a vase full of snipped wildflowers is the very same reason love fades. Somewhere along the line, we stop noticing. We can never stop noticing. The moment we stop noticing, we might as well be dead. We're alive and breathing but we feel nothing at all. Creativity and love dies when we feel nothing at all. And so we notice so we we can feel because, in the words of Klinkenborg, noticing means thinking with all your senses. By [Cole Schafer](=)​ P.S. Keep scrolling, there's more where this came from. P.P.S. Validate me on [Instagram](, [Twitter](), [LinkedIn]() or [Threads](=). --------------------------------------------------------------- Brought to you by Schedule35 The proof is in the psychedelic pudding ​ While I wouldn't recommend you attempt to recreate Hunter S. Thompson's maddening roadtrip to Las Vegas, I think micro-dosing at sub-hallucinogenic levels can help writers, artists and entrepreneurs heighten their creativity. Studies have shown that psychedelics allow artists to make novel connections and experience more "aha" moments. ​[Schedule35]() makes micro-dosing safe and seamless with precisely measured out doses of psilocybin. Today, Schedule35 is gifting The Process readers 15% off their first order with code “dreamland” at checkout. [And away we go]() --------------------------------------------------------------- This week on [Dreamland](=)​ I talk with videographer and viral hit maker, Jake Heidecker ​ Jake Heidecker is the creator of the sensationally viral series, “New Editing Setup” and a videographer who has collaborated with everyone from rapper Yungeen Ace, YouTube sensation Danny Duncan, the Indianapolis Colts and brands the likes of Crumbl Cookie and Adobe. Over a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, Jake and I talk about his days as a Division I swimmer, the time Luke Bryan grabbed his ass, his health struggles with a brain-eating amoeba and the dark, twisted art of internet virality. [Dream on]( Now streaming... [[youtube]​]([[spotify]​]([[apple]​]( --------------------------------------------------------------- "It's the trade entering the body..." How to reframe exhaustion, frustration and disappointment ​ In working class France, the veteran craftsmen had a wonderful phrase when they witnessed an apprentice become overwhelmed with feelings of exhaustion, frustration and disappointment... "It's the trade entering the body." When our crafts and vocations break us, challenge us and push us to the fiery gates of burn-out, we should see it as the universe way of nudging us to rest so that we can then break-through. [Share this meditation](=) [[twitter]​]()[[instagram]​]([[linkedin]​]() ​ [Update your email preferences]( or unsubscribe [here](​ © 2023 The Process 113 Cherry St #92768, Seattle, WA 98104-2205