Dopp Juice Archive

Robert Scoble has a blog. Robert Scoble’s blog is kinda famous. Robert is kinda famous for his blog.

And by “kinda famous” I mean “very famous.”

Famous people tend to get sucked into the realm of “needing to stay famous.” Sometimes that means getting self-conscious and changing their style. And sometimes doing that is a mistake.

His post yesterday was brilliant:

“If you aren’t willing to look like an idiot in public (or, even, prove that you ARE one) you won’t be a really great blogger.

Lately I’ve found that I’ve started worrying about LOOKING like an idiot to all of you and it’s stilted my writing. I started worrying about getting a better “rank” (whatever the heck THAT means). And all the hubris-filled-bullpucky that goes along with this stuff.

If you asked me whether I wanted to be invited to an Apple or Google press conference I’d drool on the floor and say “yes, yes, yes.” Now that I’ve been? I really can’t understand why I thought that at one point. It was a major flaw in my thinking.

But I’ve been reading a lot of blogs lately. Who are the guys who I’d rather hang out with?

People who prove they are human.

Human beings make mistakes.

Human beings aren’t always smart. Even the smartest ones…”

He goes on, and ends with:

“In the meantime, if you worry about looking like an idiot you’ll never take risks and you’ll never explore yourself. More idiocy ahead! “

Robert Scoble, thank you for keeping it real.

When I was nineteen, I never expected I’d ever live in China. The thought didn’t even cross my mind when I set foot on the plane to Beijing — I was just going for a 5-week study abroad trip, that was all. Three months later, when I was happily settled into a Chinese apartment and teaching English, I never expected I’d ever live anywhere other than China. Another month later, I was back in the U.S.

I dream dreams, I set goals, I make plans, I form expectations, and I get attached to them. Then time moves forward, things happen that I can’t control, and the scene changes. I blink, bug-eyed incredulous that this is my life, and then I shake out the cobwebs and go back to the whiteboard: dream new dreams, set new goals, make new plans, form new expectations, and get attached to them all over again.

The dreams, the goals, and the plans are important — even if they change, they still guide my decisions. (“If you’re not working toward your own goals, you’re working toward somebody else’s.”)

But the expectations lead to mistakes, and the attachments cause pain. And the most I can do is get used to those changing and relax when they make me uncertain — they’re not gonna go away.

Tonight I am sitting down with a blank canvas, trying to carve out my dreams again, and it’s hard work. It’s a process of finding the intersections between “What do I love?” and “What do I want?” and neither of those questions are easy to answer when I’m asking myself to be specific. I look for the shortcuts to these answers, thinking back to last time, to past dreams, to the constant threads in my life, the themes, the values, the ideals. If I can keep the big picture abstract, it starts to forms a story that make sense.

Everything is a project — it’s all about being able to make the projects happen.

It’s all about the words.

It’s all about creativity, creating, and creating opportunities so that others to create.

It’s all about the people.

But if I get any more specific than that, the details become almost arbitrary — a list of ideas that are taken seriously. A painting that will never be real. An exercise in belief and impermanence. A direction to look when I wake up in the morning, because I’d rather walk toward a mirage than stay in bed.

It’s not about obtaining what I’m looking at.

Building a life for myself in China was the best thing I could have done that summer — I needed the freedom, the responsibility, the home, and the perspective shift. I needed to believe I would be there for the rest of my life. The fact that I left in October didn’t negate the importance of that intention — it just prompted a new phase for the dream. And I got everything that I needed.

Dreams don’t get met. They get honored.

The most common question I get is “How much does a website cost?”

My usual response is, “How much does a house cost? It depends on a lot, doesn’t it? Websites are like that, too.”

Their common reaction is persistent disbelief, and they want me to name numbers. So I tell them: “A website can be $5, or $50, or $500, or $5,000, or $50,000, or $500,000.”

They usually can’t wrap their brains around this, so they ask how much it would cost for me to make them a website.

And at this point, I give them a sad look and tell them that right now, I only build websites with an enterprise-level development team, and our websites cost about as much as a house.

It’s usually not a very pretty conversation.

Here’s what they really want to know but are afraid to ask: “What do I need to do to get the kind of website that I need?” Because there’s more to getting a website than paying what’s on its price tag, and there are many, many, many different kinds of web solutions available. So the first question, really, is “Do you know what you need?”

I’m going to turn it over to Seth Godin now, because he pontificates beautifully on the subject. He recently posted two articles:

How to Create a Good Enough Website – Because, admit it, this may be all you need.

How to Create a Great Website – Ten principles not to avoid.

I know you don’t want to believe me, but the first article is actually a lot more enlightening and useful than the second. Most of the people who ask me “How much does a website cost?” are really, when they get down to it, only looking for this level of solution. And that’s okay! But it’s hard to admit, isn’t it? I know they would be immeasurably happier if they came to terms with this fact before the end of the project.  I’ve seen too many of them end up with websites that feel way too expensive and don’t actually do what they need them to do.

So read Seth’s advice, alright? He’s got it.

And get your priorities in place before you shell out a dime.