I can kill just about any idea. I’ll find you 7 things wrong with your idea right now. Time me.
1) It’s not different enough.
2) There’s too much corduroy.
3) Nobody will like it.
4) It’s too different.
5) It doesn’t smell like a real baby.
6) It won’t make people laugh.
7) There’s not enough corduroy.
I can manufacture a list of grievances longer than Pi. But you don’t need me to.
You do fine on your own.
Is that a jerky thing to say? Reading it over I’m second guessing my choice of words. Kind of looks like I’m being confrontational. I guess I kind of am. My closest amigos know that I avoid conflict like my children avoid spicy toothpaste. Except sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I roll up my sleeves and start snapping my fingers in a dancey fashion like those hoodlums in West Side Story.
Wear was I?
Oh yeah…you don’t need my help to kill your idea because you’ve got that locked down already. When you say jump your idea says, “I’m an idea. We don’t jump so much. Besides, even if I could jump I can’t anymore because you just killed me.”
That’s messed up. I can’t believe you just did that. I guess we’re all capable of the worst atrocities or so it’s been suggested. But, why? You’ve had ideas before and you nurtured them and protected them. You gave them breathing room and bore witness to the miracles they performed. You dressed them up like a princess wearing kitty-cat shoes and pushed them on the swing set. You haven’t been the same since and neither have we. We’re both better.
So what makes you think this idea won’t recreate the same or similar miracles of its own?
Or, a better question is, “Why should the amount of corduroy even matter?”
Nothing gives me the right to kill your idea.
And nothing gives you that right either.
Sadly, I’ll someday end up ignoring my own advice, as I have in the past.
And just like those now disowned times, it will be a tragedy.
But only if you let me.
