If you were to produce a film about your life, what would it say about the choices you made, the people you surrounded yourself with, and the impact you had on the world? Eriksen Dickens is today’s guest on the show, sharing his passion for storytelling and filmmaking in the form of legacy documentaries. Our conversation begins with his endless curiosity about big existential questions and how his schooling in philosophy and psychology translates to filmmaking. He talks about turning a childhood passion into a business, what it’s like collaborating with his brother, the seven storytelling pillars, keeping creative juices flowing on long-term projects, leadership, and balancing a long-term vision with the needs of today. Regardless of where you find yourself in the creative world, Eriksen brings a depth of introspection and drive that you can learn from and bring into your life and work.

Some monologues I have a pretty solid idea from start to finish, but others need time and reflection to make sure I’m not just ranting and railing against some invisible force. Today’s episode started with a few early morning rants that I captured in my notes app. As I went through the day, I realized I wanted to shape it into something else, but didn’t know what. So, I just wrote. I fought the urge to apologize for expressing my feelings, ate dinner, then deleted the apology. I’m not sorry, so why pretend? Because I got comfortable using code words to let people know what I was feeling without really saying what was going on. But, it’s time to let the code words go. I’ll still change the names to protect the guilty, but that’s just smart.

What’s the point of preserving old homes? Why do old homes matter? Two driving questions for today’s interview with Lee McColgan, woodworker, restorer of old homes, and author of A House Restored: The Tragedies and Triumphs of Saving a New England Colonial. Lee shares his philosophy, how he thinks about old things, and many stories about his journey from finance to woodworking and home restoration. We talk about his fascination with how things are made by hand, the breadcrumbs of our work present throughout our lives, the creative drive and purpose of his work, the impermanence of all things, the eccentric personalities of people he’s met over the years, why generalization is dangerous, and interesting things he’s found hidden in the walls.

The simplest quotes are often the deepest and inspire endless reflection. In my conversation last week with Gregg Brown—entrepreneur, keynote speaker, and author—he dropped a short sentence that stopped me in my tracks: “We have to be prepared to be unprepared.” My mind filled up with questions. How does one prepare to be unprepared? Why can’t we prepare for all possibilities before they happen? How does preparing for how we will respond to the unknown becoming known impact all areas of our lives and work? In this episode, I’m diving into this quote and my questions in greater detail and hopefully discover a healthier mindset when faced with change.

How prepared are you for the future of your work? Maybe you are coasting on continual success, not worried about what’s on the horizon. Perhaps you find yourself in a season of loss, feeling threatened by the rise of AI tools and frustrated with disruptive change. Regardless of where you are at in your professional journey, today’s guest is on the show to teach us how to be change ready. Gregg Brown is an entrepreneur, speaker, and author of Spark Action: How to Lead Change That Matters. He helps “leaders and teams get ready for the future so they can tackle change head-on and get things done.” In our conversation, he shares what getting future-ready in a rapidly changing world means. We also discuss the need for critical thinking and decision-making in the age of AI, how to bring our personality and brand of magic to our work, why it’s crucial to shed our corporate skin, what change looks like in the middle of your career, and the importance of taking action and being explorers in everything we do.

What rules do you follow because you believe they will lead to success? What tools do you use to ensure you can be as relevant as possible? What if these rules and tools have the opposite effect on your life, and you can’t see it because you’re too close? What if social media is actually turning you into a new person you don’t want to be, doing what you don’t want to do? What if all your daily actions to stand out and get noticed shape you into a societal clone? How many more questions can I fit into this opening synopsis? One more? I love it when a book enters my world and shakes it up. Anti Rule: Navigating The Lies About Fiction Writing by Christian Francis is the small but mighty book that inspired today’s episode. So, put on your dunce cap and join me in detention. It’s time to chat about what we’re doing wrong.

How do you pitch yourself and your business to podcasts you want to be a guest on, people you want to connect with, and companies you want to bring into your network? By taking the courageous step and shamelessly sending the email or making the call. Today’s guest did that after hearing an earlier episode of Getting Work To Work with Rachel Allen. Solveig Petch is a strategic brand consultant and creative director providing “remarkable branding for the quietly rebellious.” In our conversation, we talk about the importance of sending shameless pitches and the difference between courage and confidence. She shares what a brand is and how it’s different than branding, what it takes to build a stand-out brand, why we choose generic values instead of those that will help us stand apart, and why it’s okay to want to keep changing the world.

Earlier this week, in my paid newsletter for Getting Work To Work, I was reflecting upon the question: How is your body of work holding you back from experimenting with risky creative ideas and exploring new directions? No matter how long you’ve worked on your craft, you inevitably amass a body of work. The apparent measure is quantity, but you can also look at quality with an eye toward growth and outcomes. But the more I think about my body of work, the more I wonder if it’s a hindrance rather than a help. What does it communicate to a potential employer or client? How can it hold you back by morphing from what you’ve done into a statement of being on-brand, not to mention consistency? Questions aside, I want to explore what to do if you feel stuck and need to take a creative chance beyond what you’ve done before.

I first met today’s guest near the beginning of my creative journey at the Northwest Film Center in Portland, Oregon, where I was taking a workshop on interviewing techniques. Almost 20 years later, he is on Getting Work To Work to share his latest project hitting theaters and the internet today. Brian Lindstrom is a documentarian and co-director of Lost Angel: The Genius of Judee Sill. In our conversation, Brian shares what captures his attention in filmmaking: the stories of struggles and victories and the beauty, strength, and resilience to overcome the odds. He talks about his first exposure to Judee’s music in the early days of YouTube, why she was more than the one-note tragic story her Wikipedia page describes, why some projects need to take longer than others, and the joys of collaboration he experienced on this film. Most importantly, Brian reminds us of the importance of independent filmmakers and how we can vote with our attention and wallets.

Earlier today, I was writing about the National Geographic docuseries, Photographer, and my lifelong love of photography. This newsletter led me to explore my archives from two trips to Africa in 2008 and Haiti in 2012. Scrolling through thousands of photos, most not very good, I could see something in my work that only the passage of time allowed me to see: the desire to capture and be present with people. In 2008, I could feel the fear, but my creative brain was at work to document what I was experiencing. 2012 was a different story. I was documenting like before, but I was getting closer, physically and emotionally, as I engaged with people. I felt less fear and was more present. And then I came home. I had an adverse reaction to the anti-malarial medication I was taking, and I wanted to die. I didn’t, physically, but part of my creative spirit disappeared over time. And as I look at pictures of me from that time, I realize just how much I miss that young man and his dreams.