Band-Aids (Rethinking Thinking)
When I was a very small amoeba of a monster, old enough to know better and young enough to get away with it, I learned two very important things: 1) band-aids were magical, curing all ills with a mother's kiss on colored latex, and 2) band-aids garnered attention. My older brother liked his Mickey Mouse and G.I. Joe band-aids, but I liked the normal fleshy ones best. What better way to declare proudly, "I have a boo-boo!" than the subtle, yet elegant, placement of a plastic bit right over the knee, elbow, or other such easily skinned area? It always fell off, of course, flapping loosely and revealing a gnarly green- or yellow-tinged scab (these were the days when people didn't panic at the thought of playing in the dirt with scabby knees, see), but that wasn't the point.
Band-aids were marks of pride, badges of honor to be shown off at the local hang-outs — usually someone's front yard — and eyed with disdain on your own body. "Nah, it didn't hurt," we'd lie, right through our teeth, repressing any sure knowledge that we bawled like babies when we'd limped home to mom after taking that fall from our transporation of choice, or falling out of that tree, or off that fence, or just being clumsy.
Band-Aids gave you power, and people noticed. I especially noticed when my brother would come home, tear-stained and bloody, and mom would fuss and cluck over him, wash him up, and apply that ever-magical, all-powerful Band-Aid. So in my young wisdom, I would find the box — wherever my mother tried to hide it — and steal away to a likely hidey-hole. More often than not, this was a corner in the bedroom, a closet, or under the dining room table. Patiently, methodically, I would tear open the package, find the little red string and do my best to use that appropriately. (I often failed, mangling package and band-aid both.) I'd very carefully peel off the impossible-to-figure-out shiny plastic bits protecting the adhesive, remove the adhesive bit from my fingers, and artistically place the band-aid on an exposed bit of skin. By the time I was done, there were no band-aids left in the box, and every inch of available skin was covered by flesh-colored adhesive. A peek under my shirt would also reveal a nice layer of band-aids around my navel — I wasn't sure what would happen if I put a band-aid on my belly-button. If it magically closed up, I'd be a freak, wouldn't I?
Sometimes my mother would catch me before I went anywhere, and occasionally I managed to get away with it for a little while before getting caught. The end result usually was nothing like I'd planned; people do tend to wonder about your home life when you walk around like a Band-Aid mummy.
(The fact I also did this with chapstick indicates either a premature interest in maintaining my young skin, or sheer bloody-mindedness.)
Band-Aids solved everything. I Band-Aided my Barbie once, just to see if it would make her prettier.
(It didn't.)
I also band-aided my nose when I realized that consistently wiping it
on my sleeve was putting a little dent in the tip. It
didn't fix that, either; I did stop wiping it on my sleeve, though.
Now that I'm older, and ostensibly wiser, I can see the lesson here. Aside from "Stop wasting money, band-aids are expensive and you look ridiculous", it's also, "Just because you think something works, doesn't mean it always will." The first time I sprained my ankle, band-aids were useless.
Kyle touches on the subject in his latest meanderings. In Mindfly's zeal to have found a fabulous way to do columns, we latched onto the tool that worked and failed to really break out of that. Without repeating what Kyle has already explained (and at great length, no less), we fell prey to the same way of thinking that had me covering myself in band-aids. It worked, it looked awesome. Voila! The wrapper div had become our magical band-aid.
At least until until the continuous pounding of Kyle's head against the brick wall behind him rendered a better solution.
For anyone keeping track at home, my personal blog has gone through no less than five designs in one year. Some saw the light of day, others never made it past the final snippet of code. While some got better, others regressed, and the fact of the matter is, I've been in a design rut for the past three designs. The theme I entitled "Blue Ambition"was likely the peak of the lot, ambitious for my level of knowledge and just plain pretty, besides.
The reason for this rut came with the shininess of new knowledge. I learned a few tricks, and then that was all I decided to implement. Memo, folks: the fifth time you say, "Hey, guys, watch this!", there better be something truly spectacular in store. Maybe even something involving an award at the end of the year. If there isn't something awesome, then all you're doing is trotting out the same thing time after time, until all you end up being is that lame guy at the party who tells the same joke over and over again. (What did Batman say to Robin before they got in the car?)
This time, it's different. I have avoided my box of band-aids, and I'm now looking to branch out into new territory. This is a lot harder than it sounds, but you know what? Sometimes your scabby knees just need to flap in the wind.
A fellow designer who has come out proud, knees flapping, is Joelle; otherwise knows as Tenth Muse and whose blog has undergone a recent transformation into something truly luscious. Initially, her original design was illustrated, flat in dimension but sparkling in color, and heavily inspired by 70s pop culture. Martinis, gogo boots and all. While she still professes a love for vintage, she's taken it back, ya'll, and embraced lush textures, all new depth, and an impactful color palette that embraces a trend for the divas. Even more, she's dipping her toes into an all new blog code base.
Way to take it out of your comfort zone, sister!
For this reason, I'm also really proud of Mindfly. While some folks are wallowing in the ongoing effects of the US recession (and all that it means for, you know, money) Mindfly has turned its collective attention toward reaching for higher goals, really pushing to come up with and practice on tools and ideas we had no guarantee would work. And while I am working on the next, hopefully last for a while, incarnation of my personal blog, we're all striving to make ourselves better, more standards aware, even pushing into territory as yet unexplored by the masses.
Will it all work out? Not all of it, I'm sure, but it won't be for lack of trying. (Helloooo, browser support.) That's not the point, though. The point is: there is only one surefire way to get out of a rut, whether it's how you think, what you design, or even how you go about your day.
The answer isn't one we always like to hear (just ask Kyle and his giant brain-bruise), but it works every time: shake it up. Shake it up hard. Even if you think you'll fail, you may as well get the experience trying.
And, uh, stay out of the band-aid box. They aren't that expensive anymore, but you still look ridiculous.