Stay in your lane. Wise words, soul-crushing advice, or both?

Wake-Up Call #39

I started working on a novel. Ish.

October 21st, my friend,

❤️ Jenny Blake

, says she’s doing nanowrimo, but in her own way (which, duh, is the way she does everything).

For those not in the know (meaning most humans with a life), nanowrimo is short for national novel writing month. Hundreds of thousands of people commit to writing a shitty first draft of a novel—some 50,000 words—in 30 days.

“Do you want to do it, too?” Jenny asks.

Let’s see…

I’m running two companies, in the middle of a big launch that’s consuming every free moment, producing two shows and recording three podcasts a week, building the team, flow, and product for a second big launch in February, and deep into my own 2x20™, running a symphony of experiments to help figure out what my next season of contribution is going to look like.

And, while I’ve written a bunch of books and dreamed of writing fiction for years, I’ve never written a word of it. Nor do I have the slightest inkling of what it’d take, or how to do it.

My life is already beyond crunchy with commitments and balls I’m struggling not to drop. And, this is wildly outside my comfort zone, and current skill set. I’d have absolutely no idea how and where to even begin.

I am comically overextended.

Plus, fiction is not what I’m known for, or what I’ve spent years building a platform, following, or community around.

It’s not my lane. Risky, bordering on reckless.

But something about it stirs me. Purely on an artistic level.

“Sure,” I tell her, “I’m in!”

It’s not about whether I can write something sellable when I say yes. It’s about the aliveness that comes from trying to do something I’ve never done before. The fear, the growth, the revelation, the dizziness of the blank white page.

It’s about not writing about how I see a particular aspect of the world we live in, which I’ve done publicly for more than two decades. It is about breathing life into a world that does not yet exist. Characters, moments, places, and happenings yet to be born.

November begins. Atrocious writing commences.

I try to stay in the awe, aka abject fear, of the aesthetic challenge. But, as so often happens with me, the business and branding impulse starts knocking at the door of my amygdala...

Dude, what are you doing?!

You’ve spent years developing a reputation, a point-of-view, a voice, a following in the world of prescriptive nonfiction. You’re the ‘how to live a good life’ guy. The ‘how to make work amazing’ guy. You know how to do that. How to sell it. That’s what people want from you. What they know you for.

If you write some story, even a good one, about who knows what, one that’s totally made up and has nothing to do with anything you’ve ever done, no one will be there to support it, or you, when and if it ever comes out.

You know this better than anyone. It’s a branding thing. A positioning thing. A ‘clarity in the marketplace’ thing.

C’mon, man, stop screwing around, taking a risk like that. Just do more of the thing you know, the thing you’ve got down, the thing you know people will celebrate and support.

Stay. In. Your. F’ing. Lane.

This voice, it’s not alien to me.

In truth, I’ve given this advice many times.

And, as much as I’ve ignored it, it’s not entirely wrong.

Staying in your lane, doing the thing you already know how to do, the thing you’re known for doing, the thing people value and are willing to pay for, is safer. And, easier. More secure, for sure. It’s a much more reliable, stable way to create and offer value. To build a career. A company. A practice. A life, even.

If you value the “same lane, different day” qualities—safety, security, ease, the known life—more than creative expression, growth, novelty, adventure, and possibility, staying in your lane is actually quite good advice. It’s a higher-percentage play. Likely to get you where you want to go faster, and with more certainty.

Or, if that lane you’re in is deep or wide enough to keep you genuinely and perpetually engaged, excited, and energized, without being so overly broad that it dilutes people’s understanding of who you are, and what you have to offer, that is amazing. What a gift.

If that’s you, no judgment. Seriously. You do you.

Much as I sometimes wish it was me, it never has been.

I’ve tried to stay in my lane. Succeeded, even. Many times. Long enough to build brands, businesses, books, products, programs, shows, positioning, a reputation and following. Often sustaining the story and the eco-system for years. But, with rare exception, at a certain point, it becomes suffocating.

It’s not that the lane I’ve been living and building in is bad or fake or failed.

It’s that it’s become overly-known to me.

And, hard as it sometimes is, as a Maker, I come most alive when I live in the realm of the unknown. Then work to cultivate the wisdom, skills, and resources needed to give shape and form to the aesthetic ether. To turn it into something real. Something new. Something manifest. Something that matters. Something that moves people. Starting with me.

The longer I stay in my lane, the harder that is to do.

Which is why, if you look back over the seasons of my working life, I’ve been a painter, club DJ, SEC enforcement attorney, mega-firm deal lawyer, personal trainer, fitness facility founder, copywriter, marketer, teacher, yoga studio owner, blogger, author, speaker, facilitator, podcaster, producer, workplace researcher and innovator, consultant, community leader, five-time founder, CEO, and creator.

Lanes are safe, but the longer I travel down them, the more likely they are to wreck me.

Maybe, one day, I’ll find one, two at most, that break this pattern. I’d actually love that, and keep searching for it.

There is an argument that says my lane is, and has always been, that of a Maker. I make ideas manifest. The Maker is, in fact, my Primary Sparketype®. It’s why the top panel of my website says, “I make things that move people.”

But, that’s more of a primal impulse than a clearly delineated lane. It is so vast and nebulous, it doesn’t tell people what to expect from me, or how to engage me to provide a specific outcome or value.

A lane is a more narrowly defined expression of this deeper impulse. Like being a prescriptive nonfiction author with a focus on work and wellbeing, a lifestyle podcaster, or a private equity lawyer.

And, for me, at least to date, lanes tend to have an expiration date.

I’ve learned to accept this, and navigate lane changes in a less jarring way.

Instead of abandoning, or blowing up the lane I’m in, I’ll find ways to transition more gradually. To use that lane as a lever, a sort of on-ramp to provide social, temporal, or financial lubrication and momentum as I shift into a new one.

Sometimes, that looks like selling a company, or winding a project down.

Other times, it’s about bringing in others to take the reins, while I take a back seat and free up bandwidth to focus on the next thing.

Sometimes, it’s about acknowledging that I’ve done what I came to do. Or I haven’t and now believe I can’t…or no longer want to.

Still other times, I run deliberate experiments on the side, allowing them to reveal, resource, then help me build the next lane over time, so it’s there for me when I’m ready to shift into it.

Which brings me back to what seemed like a wholly indefensible and irrational quest to start writing a novel last November. Which, having logged 15 years in the prescriptive nonfiction author lane and never written a word of fiction, would’ve been a huge change for me.

A year into my 2x20, this seemed like the perfect experiment.

I had no idea how it’d go. Could’ve been the start of something amazing—a new lane—or a total failure. Either way, I’d learn something, and that was enough.

So, I spent the last week of October devouring everything I could find about structuring fiction. But, I didn’t want to go too far. Just enough to help me get a sense for the arc and type of story I thought I might enjoy crafting. Then, I wanted the experience of writing as my primary vehicle for self-expression, self-discovery, and revelation.

I missed my word-count. By a lot. Life and launches did, in fact, take over the months that followed. But, I got far enough into it to experience moments of constructive bewilderment, shattering awe, profound exhilaration, and a sense of expansive possibility that comes from not just learning a new way to create, but also one that is utterly unbounded by the limitations of the material, real, or practical world.

Where this goes, anyone knows. Whether I change lanes, add a second one to shift in and out of, or shut the whole thing down is still an open question.

And, what a blessing that is.

With a whole lotta love & gratitude,

Jonathan

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Wake-Up Call #39 | Lane Check

So, how do you feel about the age-old advice to “stay in your lane?”

Does it work for you? Does it make sense for you?

Does it make you feel relief (which is totally cool), or grief?

If you think about it, what IS your current lane?

And, if you’re itching to shift out of it, what might a new, different, or even complementary one look like?

Think on it. Feel into it. Walk with it. Journal about it. And, as always, if you’re inclined, share what comes up in the comments.