It can be daunting to face one’s creativity and then put on display for others. There are many forms and permutations of this feeling. Perhaps, it’s pressing “Publish” on a blog or reel. Maybe, it’s sitting at the keyboard and literally facing the music. We create doubts, orchestrate judgement from others, and quietly place a watermark of failure on our work. This impedes our expression and may even result in the zero sum of our creative output.
We need to dig deeply into our core for the courage to hold our heads high. We have to possess the belief in our creativity. We must be convicted that the world needs our ideas, dreams, and creative action. It takes courage to do all these things. I know it isn’t easy. By taking steps in these Four Weeks to Rubber Soul, my hope is to help inspire courage in your work. You may not have the camaraderie and support of a John, Paul, George, and Ringo surrounding you in your own creative pursuit. My hope is that creativity series will be like a bandmate for you as you dream, explore, and create.
Today’s word is Courage. I explore that very thing in today’s reel. Check out my riffs on “Rubber Soul” in today’s daily reel:
Welcome to Day 4 of Four Weeks to Rubber Soul. Today’s theme is practice.
Long before Rubber Soul, The Beatles had already spent years learning how to become a band. Hamburg was one of their great laboratories. During their early residencies there, they played punishing schedules in clubs like the Indra, Kaiserkeller, and Top Ten. At the Indra, they were playing four and a half hours on weekdays and six hours on weekends. When they returned to Hamburg in 1961, the Top Ten schedule stretched to seven hours a night and even longer on weekends. Night after night, they had to keep an audience engaged, stretch songs, improvise, recover from mistakes, and keep playing.
That kind of work mattered. Hamburg did not magically turn them into The Beatles we know, but it gave them something difficult to manufacture: musical instinct with one another. They learned how to listen, anticipate, adjust, and respond. They developed stamina. They developed confidence. They developed a shared language.
By the fall of 1965, all of those hours were in the room with them when they began making Rubber Soul. The album sessions began in October with a looming Christmas release deadline, giving them roughly a month to create one of the defining albums of their career. That speed was not the absence of practice. It was one of the results of it.
Still, practice did not mean everything came easily.
Take “I’m Looking Through You.” The Beatles spent nine hours working on the song on October 24, 1965. They completed a version that they initially considered finished. Then they came back on November 6 and remade it. They still were not satisfied. They tried again on November 10, arriving at the arrangement that became the master, and completed the recording the following day. The earlier version was slower, arranged differently, and did not even contain the familiar “Why, tell me why” section. I love that.
One of the great songs on a classic album was not simply delivered fully formed. They worked it. They listened. They changed it. They discarded something they had spent hours creating and began again. That is practice.
Practice is not simply repeating something until you stop making mistakes. Practice is remaining curious enough to ask, What else could this become? It is having enough commitment to return to the work when the first version does not quite say what you want it to say.
Maybe that is why this idea feels especially relevant to me during Four Weeks to Rubber Soul. I am practicing, too.
Every day for four weeks, I am showing up and trying something a little different. I am writing. I am recording reels. I am listening more closely to an album I have known for years. I am experimenting with ideas, formats, stories, and connections. Some days will flow better than others. Some reels will land. Some will need another take. Some ideas may evolve completely before this journey is finished.
I am not waiting until I have perfected the series before I share it. The series itself is the practice. I am learning by doing it.
The Beatles had Hamburg before Rubber Soul. They had thousands of performances, rehearsals, writing sessions, mistakes, arguments, breakthroughs, and countless hours of playing together. Then, when opportunity and pressure collided in late 1965, they had the craft and the connection to create something extraordinary.
Whatever you are working on, give yourself that same permission. Practice. Experiment. Take another run at it. Rewrite the paragraph. Record another take. Play the chord again. Change the arrangement. Keep chiseling away at the thing that matters to you. Do not make perfection the price of continuing. Stay with it.
One of the things I love most about Rubber Soul is hearing The Beatles become more confident in their own voices. They were still evolving, still experimenting, still figuring things out. Yet you can hear them trusting themselves more.
That matters.
Finding your voice does not mean having everything figured out. It means believing that what you have to say, create, contribute, or share has value. It means resisting the temptation to sound like everyone else and giving yourself permission to bring your full self to the work.
Voice and mattering are connected. When you know you matter, you become a little more willing to speak, create, take a risk, and put something into the world that sounds like you.
That is one of the lessons I hear in Rubber Soul. John, Paul, George, and Ringo were stretching beyond expectations and discovering new possibilities in the process.
Maybe that is our invitation today.
Listen to Rubber Soul. Pay attention to the voices, harmonies, ideas, and creative risks. Then consider your own.
Why spend four weeks talking about Rubber Soul? It is a fair question. This is an album released more than sixty years ago by a band whose story has been told countless times. I keep coming back to it because Rubber Soul captures something bigger than a collection of great songs. It captures what can happen when we give ourselves permission to create, experiment, and move beyond what people expect from us.
By 1965, The Beatles were stretching beyond what a Beatles record had previously been expected to sound like. They were not walking into the studio declaring that they were going to create a masterpiece. They simply went in and made the work. They tried things, followed ideas, and trusted their curiosity. George Harrison brought the sitar into “Norwegian Wood.” Paul McCartney incorporated French into “Michelle.” John Lennon turned inward with “In My Life.” “Drive My Car” leaned into American R&B and soul. Across the album, The Beatles were expanding their sound while discovering what else they could become. The journey the band took into creativity with Producer George Martin is just as inspiring and relevant today as it was in the fall of 1965.
That part of the story speaks to me right now because I am currently writing a book called Leadership Riffs. Like most creative work, it comes with questions. Will it connect? Will people read it? Will the ideas resonate? Is there really room for another leadership book? I keep coming back to my purpose for writing. I want to create spaces where people feel that they belong. I want to support the humanity in others. I want leaders to remember that the people around them are not titles, positions, data points, or pieces on an organizational chessboard. They are human beings who want to know that they matter. My hope is that Leadership Riffs contributes something meaningful to that conversation.
Maybe you have something you need to create, too. It could be a book, a song, a podcast, a lesson, a business, a new approach to leadership, or an idea scribbled in a notebook that keeps asking for your attention. The question I keep thinking about is this: Why does your work need to exist? Maybe the better question is, why not? Your ideas matter. Your creativity matters. Your perspective matters. You have a voice and you have value. There are things you can bring into the world that nobody else can bring in quite the same way.
That does not mean everyone will understand your work. It does not guarantee applause, attention, likes, sales, or success. The work still deserves the opportunity to exist. Albums like Rubber Soul remind me that it is okay to step outside the familiar, to experiment, and to follow curiosity before knowing exactly where it will lead. The Beatles could have kept repeating what had already worked. Instead, they kept creating.
With that all in mind, here is my invitation to you. Put on Rubber Soul and really listen. Maybe there is a song, a riff, a lyric, a harmony, or even a small musical moment that gives you the spark you need to move forward with something of your own. For me, it is the harmony in the middle section of “If I Needed Someone,” with John, Paul, and George blending together while Ringo keeps the beat underneath them. There is something about that moment that reminds me how powerful it can be when individual voices come together and create something none of them could make alone.
Find your moment on the album. Let it move you. Let it remind you that your own creative work deserves some space, too. Trust your voice, believe that what you have to offer matters, and create something. The world may need it more than you know.
Check out Day 2 reel created to inspire and invite to creativity:
For Day 1 of my creativity series on The Beatles and their “Rubber Soul,” I share a quick video riff. In this video riff, I simply invite you to begin. All creativity has to start somewhere after the catalyst for inspiration. It may not be a monumental beginning, but it’s a start.
The first day of the “Rubber Soul” sessions began with two songs, “Run For Your Life” and “Norwegian Wood.” The former was later dismissed by its main author, John Lennon. “Norwegian Wood” is another story. This track sets the stage for the introspective angles evident in the final proudct of the completed “Rubber Soul.”
Today is serendipitous in that we get another sneak peek at the upcoming “Rubber Soul” Super Deluxe Edition with Take 2 of “Norwegian Wood.” It’s rough and raw and not quite the near the poetic elegance that final master reaches. In fact, the song is entitled “This Bird Has Flown.” This title is later hued from the Lennon-McCartney songwriting forest as “Norwegian Wood.”
Check it out here:
In case you missed it, here’s the Day 1 Reel that kicks off our “Four Weeks to Rubber Soul.” Please feel free to share in the comments what you creative pursuit are your beginning to today.
Day 1 of Four Weeks to Rubber Soul. Today’s word: BEGIN. The Beatles did not walk into the studio with Rubber Soul fully formed. They brought songs, fragments, influences, ideas, and a willingness to work. That is where creative work begins. Show up. Start. Trust the work. What are you making? FourWeeksToRubberSoul WhyTheBeatlesMatter TheBeatles RubberSoul Creativity
On September 14, I am starting a four week creative experiment and countdown inspired by one of my favorite albums and one of the most important records in popular music history. I am getting ready for the upcoming Super Deluxe Edition of Rubber Soul, arriving October 2, and I wanted to do more than simply count the days. I want to use that time to create.
The Beatles recorded Rubber Soul in roughly a month during the fall of 1965. That still amazes me. In that brief stretch of time, they created an album that included “Drive My Car,” “Norwegian Wood,” “Nowhere Man,” “Michelle,” “Girl,” “If I Needed Someone,” and “In My Life.” During that same period, they also recorded “Day Tripper” and “We Can Work It Out.” In a matter of weeks, they created a classic that would help change the direction of popular music.
Rubber Soul marked a turning point for The Beatles. The writing became deeper. The sound became broader. The studio became part of the creative process in new ways. The band was stretching beyond what had worked before and exploring what might come next.
The impact traveled far beyond The Beatles. Brian Wilson heard Rubber Soul and was inspired to create Pet Sounds. The album also influenced bands such as The Kinks and The Rolling Stones. Decades later, its legacy remains strong. Rubber Soul entered the Grammy Hall of Fame in 2000, and “Michelle” won the Grammy for Song of the Year. It continues to appear on lists of the most important albums ever recorded.
What stays with me most is the process. Four people walked into a studio with ideas, songs, curiosity, tension, trust, and a willingness to try something different. They worked with George Martin and the Abbey Road team. They collaborated, experimented, changed direction, and kept moving.
That process is the inspiration behind Four Weeks to Rubber Soul. For the next four weeks, I am going to focus on four creative moves: Begin, Collaborate, Experiment, and Finish. Begin is about giving an idea permission to exist before it is fully formed. Collaborate is about recognizing that our work can become stronger when we allow other voices, perspectives, and gifts into the process. Experiment is about following curiosity, trying something unfamiliar, and accepting that not everything has to work the first time. Finish is about carrying the work across the line and releasing it rather than keeping it trapped in our heads, notebooks, or hard drives.
I want to see what happens when I commit to those four moves for four focused weeks. Starting September 14, I will share something every day inspired by Rubber Soul and the creative process behind it as I count down to October 2. Some days it will be a reel. Some days it will be a blog post. There will also be special riffs on Why The Beatles Matter. The goal is not simply to talk about an album I love. The goal is to use the album as a catalyst for making something.
The question I will carry through these four weeks is simple: What can we create when we trust the process, work with intention, and keep moving forward?
The first reel drops September 14. Follow along, create something of your own, tag me, and use #FourWeeksToRubberSoul so we can encourage one another through the process.
The email arrived, and I will admit that it rocked me a little. I felt the disappointment immediately. Then perspective started to find its way into the room.
Sometimes I feel a little like Charlie Brown running toward that football. I know Lucy may pull it away. I run toward it anyway.
For a long time, moments like this would send me straight into my feelings. Imposter syndrome would start whispering. Comparison would creep in. I would begin wondering what someone else had that I did not. I would question whether my voice mattered, whether my work was good enough, or whether I had somehow missed my moment.
I have had conversations with companies and organizations about speaking, consulting, collaboration, and other possibilities. Some of those conversations have felt promising. Some have seemed like the beginning of something meaningful. Then nothing happens.
That can wear on you if you allow every unanswered email, closed door, or rejection to become a referendum on your worth.
I am learning not to do that anymore.
More and more, I am subscribing to a different path. I want to find the people and spaces where I know I matter. I want to bring my ideas, experience, creativity, leadership, and full humanity into rooms where those things are actually valued. I do not want to spend my energy convincing people to see something they have already decided not to see.
If an opportunity is not meant to be, I can accept that. If the energy around something does not resound with a genuine “Hell yes,” I am beginning to see that as information. It may simply be a sign to keep moving.
Rejection is one of the constants of being human. Change is another. Rejection is not a definitive statement about my value. It is not a verdict on my journey. It does not erase what I have accomplished, what I know, what I have survived, what I have created, or what I still have left to offer.
Sometimes rejection simply means that this particular opportunity was not mine. The people who say no do not deserve unlimited space in my mind. The organizations that cannot see my value do not get to define it.
That lesson sounds simple when I write it. Living it is harder. Some days still sting. Some emails still hurt. Some opportunities still make me wonder what might have been. I am learning that I can acknowledge those feelings without building a home inside them.
I can feel disappointed and still carry on. I can question myself for a moment and still return to what I know. I can watch Lucy pull the football away one more time and still get back up.
My responsibility is to keep creating, writing, speaking, building, and sharing the ideas that live inside me. I also have to remember that my life is bigger than the educational gig, the conference invitation, the speaking opportunity, the job title, or the approval of an organization.
Joy has to exist outside of those things. I find it in music. I find it in writing. I find it in conversations with people who see me. I find it in creating something that did not exist before. I find it in the people I love. I find it in those moments when I am completely myself and do not feel the need to shrink, explain, perform, or prove anything.
Those are the spaces I want more of in my life. Spaces where curiosity matters. Spaces where creativity is welcomed. Spaces where humanity comes before status. Spaces where my voice is valued. Spaces where I know I matter.
I did not get the speaking gig, and that is disappointing. It does not change the work I am called to do or the value of what I bring. There are still rooms I have not entered, people I have not met, and possibilities I cannot yet see. My job is to keep moving toward them while continuing to build a life rooted in joy, purpose, creativity, and the people and spaces that remind me who I am.
This summer was supposed to be my breakthrough. I was a featured speaker at a major conference. I was on a roll with regular blogging and podcasting. I was amidst writing my second book. I was working on putting together an LLC.
Then, there were some hard realities that began to arise. My sessions at the conference were not well attended. This would be the second time in row that this happened where I was a featured speaker. The blogs and podcasts were not gaining the traction that I thought they merited. The usual friends who had supported my content in the past were not doing so.
I felt alienated and lost amidst a professional learning network that I once held high as a community. Feeling that same alienation in my daily work, I thought that if I invested in my PLN that I would get the return on investment that I craved. I figured if I upped my ante with blogging and podcasting that I would find solace with like-minded colleagues. Ultimately, I was looking for emotional support for my words and ideas in which I shared my humanity.
Impact is hard to judge when you write and podcast. There is no room to riff and vibe with when you do those things. All that I rely on are the likes and comments from my posts. The encouraging texts from friends in my PLN that I would receive after I posted a blog or a podcast. That traction has been missing lately and it hurts. When the reciprocity for the support I share for others, it does sting.
Over time, I realized I had begun measuring connection by engagement. I had unintentionally allowed algorithms, notifications, and analytics to become my scoreboard. Somewhere along the way, I confused being seen with being known and being followed with being supported.
The irony is not lost on me. Much of my recent writing has centered on mattering, belonging, and creating cultures where people feel noticed. Yet, I found myself looking for those very things in places that were never designed to provide them. Social media can introduce us to people, but it cannot sustain us. Likes can be affirming, but they are a poor substitute for authentic relationships. Real connection is built in conversations, shared experiences, and showing up for one another over time.
As I reflected on this difficult season, I found myself returning to something I wrote several weeks ago. At the time, I thought I was writing about the frustration of creating in the silence. Looking back now, I realize I was also writing about the danger of allowing that silence to define us.
Perhaps I needed to read my own words again.
What follows is a repost of that reflection, “When the Crickets Hurt.” Reading it today, I hear it differently than I did when I first pressed publish.
I have been thinking a great deal about noticing lately.
My current morning reading is The Power of Mattering by Zach Mercurio, and one chapter in particular has stayed with me. The chapter explores noticing as the first step toward helping people feel they matter. That idea has lingered with me long after I closed the book.
Two recent experiences reinforced that lesson. Both of them occurred in close proximity to each other and I believe the timing of the impact is of significance. Recently, I have been recalibrating my approach and taking proactive steps to reach out to others. I have been in the occasional doldrums of wondering why the phone wasn’t ringing for me or why my shoulder wasn’t being tapped for invitations. I decided to just simply outreach and share.
In each instance, I reached out to someone. In each instance, my outreach was met with silence. Neither situation was catastrophic. Neither involved ill intent, at least as far as I know. Both, however, reminded me of something deeply human. We notice when we are not noticed. It can sting and it does leave a mark.
That realization could have easily led me toward disappointment or resentment. Instead, it led me toward reflection. I decided to flip my own paradigm of giving into the weight of those doldrums. I stepped back and took a pause to reflect.
As I looked inward, I reflected on the times that I may have missed noticing someone else. I thought about the times that I failed to really see someone. How often have I unintentionally done the same thing to someone else?
Leadership has taught me many lessons over the years, but this one reaches beyond leadership. Every one of us wants to know that our presence matters. Every one of us wants to know that someone saw us, heard us, and cared enough to respond. We crave to be valued and validated. Those connections sustain and inspire. We feel connection and belonging with others. Human connection is universal and is an essential component for our well-being.
Noticing is never just about acknowledgement. It is about communicating, “I see you. You matter.”
The opposite carries weight as well. Silence often says more than we intend.
My recent experiences became unexpected gifts. They reminded me to respond. They reminded me to follow up. They reminded me that connection rarely happens by accident. It happens because someone makes the intentional choice to notice another person.
The more I read Mercurio’s work, the more I believe that noticing is not simply a leadership competency. It is a human practice. Leaders certainly need it, but so do neighbors, friends, colleagues, spouses, teachers, and strangers.
Recently, I have also been immersed in the music of the Bill Evans Trio. Listening closely to those recordings reveals something remarkable. Three musicians are not simply playing at the same time. They are listening to one another. Every phrase is met with another phrase. Every musical idea is acknowledged, expanded, or gently redirected. Space is given. Responses matter. The music exists because each musician notices the others.
Leadership works much the same way.
Organizations become healthier when people feel noticed. Relationships deepen when people feel heard. Cultures of mattering begin with small moments of intentional attention.
Noticing is the first note.
Connection is the melody.
Mattering is what people remember long after the conversation ends.
Here’s to continuing the conversation.
Want to Continue the Conversation?
I am available to serve as a thought partner, speaker, and leadership coach for individuals, teams, and organizations seeking to build more human centered cultures. My work focuses on helping leaders create spaces where people feel seen, valued, supported, and empowered to succeed.
I would be honored to connect, listen, and explore how we might work together. Please feel free to drop me a line at sgaillard84@gmail.com and check out the links below here:
Sean Gaillard Founder & CEO | The Gaillard Group Author • Speaker • Leadership Coach
I have been sitting with something that is difficult to admit.
I put a great deal of myself into the work I share. The blogs, podcasts, reflections, and Leadership Riffs often come from somewhere deep in my soul. When they are met with silence, especially from people I have consistently supported and celebrated, it hurts.
This is not about keeping score or expecting applause. It is about reciprocity. It is about knowing that the people you show up for might occasionally show up for you.
I will keep creating because I believe in the message. I will keep encouraging others because that is who I am. I am also learning to invest more deeply in the people and spaces where support, connection, and care move in both directions.
Thankful for the few folks out there who do show support of my eclectic content.
