Deep in the cave of pain, legs screaming, I start lying to myself. “This has to be the 80%,” I think. “It HAS to be.” How could something that hurts this much and feels like this much exertion only count for 20%? I work out every day, and I say that not to signal my insufferability, but to telegraph resignation. I know perfectly well abs are made in the kitchen, not the gym. And yet, despite all my mental equivocating, the grunting, sweating, and miles ridden to nowhere matter bollocks next to the IPA, sheet cake, Halloween candy, whisky, rum, and…I could keep going.
I know this all too well because I finished 75 Hard earlier this year. Simple rules: For 75 days you work out twice a day (one can be a walk), no alcohol, pick a diet (mine was nothing with sugar as the main ingredient), read 10 pages of nonfiction, drink a gallon of water, and take a progress photo. I dropped a ton of weight in a hurry, and my workout schedule barely changed beyond the daily walk. Clearly there was something to this “kitchen is 80%” nonsense. When 75 Hard ended, I kept a few of the habits: less alcohol, less sugar, the walk. I also watched the weight creep back on little by little. After living like a monk, I’d allowed myself plenty of “treats” and “just this once” and “special occasion” rationalized caloric splurges.
Also by Henry Clifford: Ask the Damn Question
Why am I yammering about the lopsided relationship between the kitchen and the gym? Sales. Plain and simple. Sales.
CI businesses have our own version of the kitchen and the gym. They come disguised as marketing and what I’ll call “show your face” activities. We assign outsized importance to email campaigns, newsletters, social media, and other slacktivist activities. They lull us into a sense of having done something. Meanwhile, the real meat and potatoes of a referral-based business is the grind of networking groups, lunch and learns, receptions, mixers, trade association meetings, consults, and the myriad other events where the main event is sticking out your hand and introducing yourself.
How do we fall prey to slacktivism? It’s easy to delegate, and it feels like forward momentum. Clicking send or upload triggers a dopamine hit that’s a lot easier to come by than the long-game satisfaction of showing up week after week to the same networking group.
Slacktivism only enters the picture after we’ve shown our face. Once someone is checking out our business, all that work curating a killer online presence matters a great deal. Up until that point, kidding ourselves that sending emails beats going to the Catalina Wine Mixer is a recipe for disaster. After all, your competition is going.
Writers call this “neglecting the page.” They’ll do any number of activities in the name of “research” to avoid facing the blank screen. We all do the same thing in our own businesses.
Here are a few easy base hits to get out of the slacktivism doldrums:
- Teach a lunch & learn. Become a CEDIA Design & Build Outreach Instructor and start hosting one a month.
- Join a club. Pick one area of passion (golf, battle bots, aviation, whatever). Showing up is easier when it doesn’t feel like work.
- Get on camera. Shoot video with you in it. People buy from people, not AI slop.
What if we all agreed that showing our faces counts for 80% and marketing counts for 20%? How would that change how we spend our time? Twenty percent is such a measly, shockingly low number that it’s made me do a double-take on how we deploy resources and focus our effort.
Also by Henry Clifford: AI Hack #723: Tell Them It’s Going To Die
So, what’s your current show-your-face versus feed-time split? Pick one thing you want to do differently this week and get after it!
Stay frosty, and see you in the field.
