Much of idea generation is about being open, exploring, accepting hypotheticals. We lean into what might be possible. We embrace risk. We are, at best, cursed with optimism.

So the practice of ignoring might not get its proper due. As the great London creative director, Rory Sutherland, has said (and I paraphrase), “It is perfectly acceptable for a brand to ignore its customers. My bank, for instance, can feel free to ignore me through its marketing except for the two seconds a month when I actually care about the account.”

There is a context for ignoring, and it benefits being creative.

Ignore your Lizard Brain.

Ignore the tormentor within.

Ignore criticism.

Ignore defeat.

Those are mostly self-preservation skills. Good to have, hone and use.

But perhaps equally important is the practice of ignoring that which can not influence or effect our work or its outcomes. In fact, why not document what can be ignored? This can be a productive means of outlining a challenge — providing a reverse perspective from potential.

What can we ignore successfully?

In audience targeting:  Who doesn’t need to hear what we have to say? Who won’t listen anyway? Who can’t we afford to communicate with? (And you might ask, why we can’t afford them.)

In platform analysis:  What venues restrict our idea, and how? What venues require too much time or capital to deliver our idea? What venues do our target audiences ignore in the context of our idea?

In messaging architecture: What product attributes just don’t matter (even if they were communicated brilliantly) in this context? What keywords fit our assignment, but are over-used or too expensive? What are the top 98 things we already say about this brand that the vast majority of our audiences currently ignore?

In design systems:  What elements in a design could disappear and yet communication would still be clear and persuasive? What mandates or traditions or rules could we skip without anyone noticing? Do we need color? Do we need space? Do we need dimension or interaction?

In media budgeting:  What don’t we need to pay for anymore, and still maintain reach? What audiences have zero impact on our campaign/brand/objective? What times of the day can we be silent without impact on goals? What days of the week won’t benefit our objectives?

In measurement and optimization: What metrics will never be scrutinized, or acted on? If we didn’t maintain this program, would anyone notice? What have we always kept track of, but never converted into change?

Instead of creative briefing that asks “what can be?” we might do well to ask “what’s not worth thinking about?” At the very least, you will have determined what definitely is worth your time.

The most perilous, risky, barren, stubborn place for ideas is in your head.

That’s where doubt forms, where hubris reigns.

It’s where false rewards and faux reactions generate.

It’s the same place that offers you stunning reasons to not have ideas.

Best to get your ideas out of there, onto paper or pixels.

Best to get them in front of supporters, influencers and audiences.

Why not do it now?

Put yourself in a position to perform, and it’s much more likely you will.

My dad’s a church organist and choir master (among many other gigs), and one of his tasks is to improvise. He’s expected to make up an intro to several hymns during the service each Sunday. You know, just start playing something appropriate to the moment for, oh, 30 to 60 seconds. He’s probably done this routine three to four times each Sunday for 40+ years. So it’s no surprise that most people who’ve heard these moments don’t hear improvisation. They just hear music.

There’s a long history of the role of organist improvisation. Imagine how useful it might be to cover various processions or moments in a service whose timing can’t be estimated up front, and it’s impractical to schedule written music. Just hire an organist to improvise to fit.

So at this point, my Dad’s improvisation isn’t really about preparation. As the drummer Chester Thompson once put it, “Learn all you can than, then forget it all and play what you feel.”

The lesson is at-bats.

The church organist role brings out really good improvisation in part because improvisation is routinely expected.

When performing is a job requirement (especially when it’s self-defined), you perform.

Everyone prepares.

We all watch. We all gather. We all learn.

The default status of humanity is to be a student.

Few perform.

Few step onto the stage, into the rehearsal space, to the mic, click “publish now.”

That’s why there’s cinematic gold in that moment of awkward realization the spotlight has shifted to someone who would prefer not to be in the spotlight.

The hesitation isn’t for lack of talent or knowledge or perspective.

The hesitation is just fear.

The trick is to prepare for that, too.

Who decides if communication is legible — the sender or the recipient?

This isn’t a battle over who’s right.

It’s really a question of listening and responding and learning and optimizing.

“I don’t get it.”

“What are you trying to say here?”

These aren’t criticisms. And they’re not quite gifts.

They are opportunities.

Yesterday, the Minnesota Interactive Marketing Association hosted a “social media crisis” simulation. (We’ll be posting video soon.) The premise: You walk into work and your brand is on fire — what do you do? While the session we saw was condensed, the emotions were real and the impact was apparent. I asked the audience how many of their firms had written, distributed and trained employees on how to handle a crisis. Three hands went up, out of over a hundred. Seems like there’s an opportunity here. What kinds of ideas can help reduce the hurdles and friction towards being prepared inside your company?

This Friday evening we’re hosting the second annual Intern Game. It’s part matchmaking exercise, part career fair and awfully entertaining — thanks to our host, WCCO’s Jason DeRusha. If you’re looking for youthful enthusiasm, and a fresh perspective on talent and careers, this event supplies both. And it’s free. I encourage you to attend.

One of the books that continues to inspire me is Robert Grudin’s The Grace of Great Things: Creativity and Innovation. Published in 1990, before mass email, before so many of today’s creative/technical expressions, the book unearths pithy and often difficult insights on all aspects of being an idea person.

In a chapter on The Politics of Innovation, Grudin advises innovators to:

“…accept the fact that no… proof of genius will ever wholly defuse the shock of a new thought. Without suppressing or corrupting their own thought, [innovators] must learn to understand… the way others think.”

“Moreover they should, so to speak, bend their minds to reassess their own ideas from outside: from the surprised perspective of people who have been accustomed to the old. Understanding the outside perspective may enable innovators to express their ideas effectively.”

So, how might we best retain the valuable of surprise in presenting and nurturing a new idea, yet not wholly overwhelm its value by the weight of being unsettling? Often, the answer is political. It is in the value of relationships. It rests in patience. But, as Grudin notes, the successful adoption of new thought often benefits from listening first — from understanding and interpreting what is — then expressing what’s new in ways that don’t totally imperil the old context.

Once an idea is released into the world, its creators lose control of it.

Sure, they might continue to define the idea as they saw or still see it — maintain its brand standards and voice — just like a band covering its own material note for note. This approach works well for painters, sculptors, film makers and writers.

But often other idea people, and especially the idea’s audience, will test, iterate and play with your idea as they see fit. That’s somewhat the point in marketing and advertising, especially in this era of empowered consumers. It’s the motivating principle of jazz and open source development.

So perhaps a measure of an idea’s success (and the sagacity of the the people who funded the idea) is the variety and breadth of interpretations of the inciting premise. Another measure might be the ability of an original postulation to remain clear, regardless of how or how often it’s redefined.

Today I’m taking the day off work to work on the construction of a Habitat for Humanity home in Minneapolis. Millard and Linda Fuller released this idea into the world back in 1976. Their thesis has remained clear despite, or perhaps because of, over 500,000 Habitat projects. As ideas go, it’s one for the ages.