Ding! Round 1

I’m starting off the round with a pretty wicked feint. I have to admit I actually think Facebook is pretty amazing. I mean, you can leave messages for your friends, chat with them, find someone to have sex with, send people fake beers, play fake cards, check your fake horoscope and about 80 zillion other mostly not-real things.

Not to mention, you can’t really go complaining too much about something that is just an application. Until it’s put to use, it’s just an inert thing. Like a chainsaw, which is just sort of ho-hum until you saw someone off at the ankles. At which point your family picnic becomes a whole different type of awesome.

So the problem with Facebook is with the people who use Facebook. For everything. All the time.

Instead of living.

Living is awesome.
Pretend living is only pretend awesome.

I think it’s cool that people want to send me a fake beer over Facebook. I’m glad I can refuse to join everyone’s fake mafia group. Or let everyone know that I just became a fan of fake not dying. Or that 84 people just compared me to 84 other people and think that I am without a doubt taller/funnier/likely to fail/smelly/most like William Shatner.

My beef isn’t with the intentions; it’s good to be on your friend’s minds. That’s what makes you friends.

My beef is with the fake. I’d rather meet a real person in real life for a real beer. I’d rather refuse to join a real mafia group in person than refuse to join a fake one online. I’d rather not die in real life than just click a button that says I vote for not dying. I’d rather spend a good half-hour in real conversation looking in someone’s real eyeballs to determine what they think of me than be part of a survey. I’d rather get into a real fight than be challenged to a fake duel online.

I bring this up why? Two reasons:

One. Use your time wisely, and don’t wonder why your income is lousy when 4 hours of your day are devoted to your MySpace and Facebook profiles.

Two. From what I’ve been reading, it seems employers across the nation are starting to look toward Facebook networks as part of their hiring process. A large Facebook network must mean you’ve got friends, clients, customers and know how to do business.

Yeah, but not really. Not at all in fact.

It takes zero effort to make a friend on Facebook. It doesn’t take even a single word of actual conversation. No social graces. No manners. No problem-recognizing or problem-solving ability. No ability to cross the street without getting hit by a taxi. No ability to give a real handshake, not one of those clammy limp ones that afterwards makes you feel like you need to take a bath in Purell.

Nor does a network of zillions mean you’ve ever sold even a single product, had a conversation with a client or stepped out of your parents’ basement in the last decade.

What it probably means is that Iron Maiden fans really tend to stick together.

Or that someone has spent an ungodly amount of time learning to speak Klingon.

The internet is an awesome place for networking, for sure. Absolutely. My entire livelihood is provided by the existence of the internet, so I’m not about to start bashing it.

But don’t make the mistake of substituting a real life with stuff you do online.

And don’t make the mistake of hiring someone with whom you have a conversation like this:

You: “So…tell me. What are your qualifications for this position?”

Facebook Guru: “I have high-score.”

You: “K. Uh. High-score at what?”

Facebook Guru: “High-score on the internet. I win.”

You: “Oh. Wow. I wasn’t aware they were really keeping track of that.”

Facebook Guru: “w00t!”

Instead, maybe hire someone with, you know…skills and stuff.

Life.

You’re late for work one day. Your car breaks down. You get fired. You find unexpected money somewhere. Someone surprises you with a gift. You surprise yourself with your own integrity. You stand up for a weakling. You get punched in the face in front of thousands of people, maybe even for standing up for a weakling. You make a great new friend. You lose a friend. You fall in love. You get dumped flat out. You discover a new author that changes your world. You discover you can actually cook. You enjoy a long span of great health and vitality. You puke your guts out. You get really hungover and vow to never drink again. You drink again. You take your first vacation in years and end up wishing you were back at home, being productive. A secret admirer leaves flowers on your doorstep.

Life.

Don’t think too hard about it. You can drive yourself nuts and get awfully introverted trying to find why these particular bells are tolling for you.

Funny thing is, I’m not so sure there’s anything profound to figure out anyway.

These are the rewards and payments for living life.

Play hard. Get hurt. Fall in love and get your heart broken. Make some money with your own good work. Take a chance and fail. Be ethical, even when it’s uncool and people call you “sissypants.”

You’re alive.

Have you ever heard that one before?

Better yet, have you ever felt like that or maybe even said it yourself? Ever feel that maybe you’d be abusing a relationship if you used it for a business connection?

It’s time to disabuse ourselves of this idea.

I say milk every connection, every network and every opportunity that comes your way.

You have to pay your dues.

This is true. Honestly, I think it is, and you’ll see what I mean in a sec. I’m not just trying to contradict myself.

The thing is that the cliche is not even slightly applicable when you’re confronted with the opportunity to network and really use your connections. People who think you’re taking the easy way out or having life handed to you are missing one very vital truth:

Paying your dues is done way before opportunity starts knocking or people take notice of you.

Think about it. If some celebrity or friend or big-time pal of yours wants to help you out, that’s because you’re already good at what you’re doing. If you sucked ass at what you do, nobody would be offering to help you and networking opportunities would be exactly zero.

Here, meet Andy. A “lucky guy who had it all handed to him.”

Andy McKee is an extraordinary acoustic guitar player, human being and one of the best song-writers of our time. You’ve probably never heard of him, and just a little while ago nobody else had either.

Andy went from unknown invisible person to somewhat famous basically because of YouTube. One second, Andy doesn’t exist. Couple weeks later, the videos of him playing have millions and millions of views. In no time he’s getting radio hits, guest gigs, touring the US and Asia, selling CDs, DVDs and sheet music. He’s hit the big time. Not Christina Aguilera Big Time, but about as big as you can expect for a solo guitar player. He’s set for life if he keeps up the great work.

Did he shortcut the process by using YouTube, or by getting a record deal with a great company? Did Andy not pay his dues? Some people would say so.

But not me, and probably not you either. I’m a guitar player and I can tell you that to get as good as Andy requires one thing: you trade in your social life for your craft. To play like Andy you have to play and play and play. You play until your fingers hurt and your callouses peel off and then you play some more. You bend yourself over the fretboard until your back is killing you and your eyes are blurry. Then you wake up and do it again the next day.

To get good at anything, you don’t go out and party every night and all weekend. You don’t waste time. You say, “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass,” to much of the fun that your friends are out having. You stay up later than you should to squeeze in some extra practice, to read a few more paragraphs, to write a few more lines.

Just like you, Andy McKee paid his dues long before he made a dime.

I remember when I too had it all handed to me.

While I’m not likening myself to Andy by any means, my own smaller story is similar and you’ll probably find some similarities to your own.

When I started my graphic design and consulting business, all of a sudden I was just sort of “on the scene.” I had a pretty successful company right off the bat. That was met with jealousy from some folks, some even really close to me who thought I was handed success on a silver platter. Ever feel like people thought this of you?

Well, nothing could be further from the truth. I’d been studying graphic design for nearly a decade before I started my own business or even had a single client. I’d designed dozens of websites before I even had the guts to publicly say I was a designer. I’ve been drawing and writing since I was about 5 years old and I’m now 34.

I’ve had numerous business ideas that failed. I’ve been down in the trenches for a long time and have learned how things work by screwing up, practicing, falling on my face and having things just generally catch on fire and fail miserably.

Perhaps you have a similar story, and I’ll bet you do. So don’t be offended when someone thinks you lucked out or took short-cuts or had it just handed to you. This is jealousy, and nothing more.

They’re not jealous of your money or success. Well, maybe a bit. Mostly they’re jealous of your glowing interest in life, your industriousness and integrity to your life goals.

So don’t listen to detractors. Instead pat yourself on the back and congratulate yourself for those long hours alone, the lonely nights, the crumpled efforts that ended in the trash bin, the sore fingers, lack of social life or subtle suggestions that you shouldn’t work so hard.

Your friends would be as successful as you if their free-time wasn’t spent in front of the television.

There’s no silver platter anywhere in my story, nor in Andy’s and certainly not in yours either. We pay our dues first, and only then does opportunity knock and people take notice.

And when it happens and you finally get that hard-fought success, don’t think you haven’t earned every single second of it!