Franklin Taggart's Unconventional Life Blog

Some friends I know who are recovering from addiction talk a lot about the bottom, the depth of depravity and desperation that they had to reach before they were willing to admit the problem at hand and seek help. I wonder sometimes if for many creators that an equally terrifying place is The Middle. When I first get an idea that I'm excited about, I can't wait to make it happen. The hyper energized state is fun, and the initial productivity that comes through keeps my focus and consumes time in gluttonous bites. Momentum is effortless, and I'm driven to distraction in any activity that isn't related. It's all I can think about. This beginning lasts until the inevitable Middle shows up. The Middle is usually heralded by a complication, an interruption, on an unanticipated obstacle. If you've ever encountered barre chords in a guitar lesson, you've met The Middle. Playing a barre chord requires greater hand strength than the open chords that were

My friend George's grandfather was fond of saying that the hardest part of exercising was putting on your sneakers. I'm still working on the exercise bit, but I'm also aware that the same principle goes for any kind of work. If I just sit down and start something it amazes me how easy it is to get into a flow state within a matter of minutes. Then minutes become hours, and those hours become satisfying in ways that otherwise don't happen. I don't care if you ever read what I wrote. I just had the best time writing it. The process was it's own reward. I'd like to cultivate a habit of starting. I know that sometimes it's good to finish things, but you can't finish what you don't start, and if you keep at it, some of the things that you start get finished. I remember when my first CD came out. It had taken 18 months from start to finish, and most of the songs had been written years before production even started. But I had put off beginning t

When I look at the list of clients that I have worked with over the years, the most remarkable thing to see that they all have in common is that they all possess tremendous courage. Whether they are teachers, authors, artists, poets, designers, musicians, dancers, entrepreneurs, or any others of the hundreds of people I've worked with, their lives are shaped by the courage within them that won't settle for anything less than a path that they carve out for themselves. It is humbling to be in their presence. To them it doesn't feel all that significant; it's just something they are doing. They get embarrassed if I imply at all that they are in the least bit courageous. Courage in their minds is reserved for firefighters and skydivers, extreme skiers and daredevils. What they don't realize is that their courage sets them apart from a large majority of the rest of the world. The author who writes every day despite not knowing in the least whether what he's writing

Yesterday, My friend Jeff Finlin and I gave the pilot session of a new workshop called Making Your Own Way. In the last year my focus in coaching has largely become helping creative people to find direction, get things started and finished, and mostly to identify the real impact they are making with their work. Creative professionals frequently wonder to themselves and out loud just what the value of their work is. I know that's been a regular inner dialog for me. Some great discussions in yesterday's workshop helped to bring some clarity to the subject, and a comment in a message at church this morning also brought it home to me. Creative work matters for two huge reasons; it connects us on deeper levels and it feeds our soul. A big part of the workshop is about the distinction that I see between a person's gift and their talents. We talk about that often we lump the two into the same definition. I don't think that quite captures the essence of your gift. I've wr