Moments of Conception 188: The Third Class Scene from Titanic

All creativity begins with the moment of conception.

That little piece of kindling that gets the fire going. That initial source of inspiration that takes on a life of its own. That single note from which the entire symphony grows. That single spark of life that signals an idea’s movement value, almost screaming to us, something wants to be built here.

Based on my books in The Prolific Series, I’m going to be deconstructing my favorite moments of conception from popular movies. Each post will contain a video clip from a different film, along with a series of lessons we can learn from the characters.

Today’s clip comes from the third class scene in Titanic:

Communicate value in three dimensions. Titanic was a vessel that ran on coal energy. Crew
members shoveled more than eight hundred tons of coal every day. That’s over a
million and a half pounds. Every day. And so, it’s no surprise that the
memorial of the crew members that perished in the crash had an inspiring
epitaph. The work is vital, the labor is
invisible and the work is an endless cycle.
What’s interesting is, that
sentiment could describe almost anyone’s job. Because most of the world only
sees ten percent of the work we do. The final product. The big pay off. The
photo finish. The other ninety percent of the work, the sweat and the time and
the care and the generosity we invest, remains forever undetected. Unless we
visually substantiate it. Unless we find a way to amplify the intangible effort
behind the work, making the process as interesting as the product. I always
struggled with this disconnect as a writer. The fact that nobody knew what the
hell I did all day was not okay with me. And so, I started publishing a series
of time lapse videos of my daily writing process. With the help of a simple
screen capture application, I was able to compress my typical seven hour blocks
of writing into seven minute clips. The result was a highly personal, wildly
compelling window into the way I worked. The videos memorialized my creative
process, branded my service and helped people understand how my brain worked.
That way, I was no longer just shoveling coal in the dark. How could you facilitate a visual understanding of what you do all day?

The work a man does, forms him. I’m a big believer in a bullshit free, blue collar
approach to the creative process. Treating art making as more clerical than
cosmic, more mechanical than magical. And not because that posture makes us
feel noble and humble and working class, but because it emphasizes the
unspectacular reality of the process. It reminds us that bringing new ideas
into the world is, at its fundamental core, labor. Which is nowhere near as
difficult as shoveling coal, but the repetition and dedication and sweat equity
is what separates professionals from amateurs. I volunteer at my local food
coop. Once a month, I spend a few hours unloading trucks and stocking shelves
and stacking boxes and unpacking cases of produce. It’s glorious work. It makes
me feel strong and alive and connected and manly. What’s more, since I spend most of my
days putting words on paper, this monthly exertion of manual labor becomes a
kind of communion, with others and with the future. Because it’s a shift. You
punch the clock and do your job. And that reminds you that you’re a real person
living in the real world. In an increasingly automated and outsourced world,
that’s a priceless experience. Reckoning with the infallible judgment of
reality, where your failures or shortcomings can’t be interpreted away, that’s the
stuff civilization is built on.What type
of work helps you discover the objective reality of your humanity?

And the humbling has begun. Rose dares to break rank, venture out of her luxurious
first class quarters and press the flesh with the crew. The peons. The lowly
third class. And yet, she drinks and dances and smokes and screams, the kind of
behavior her upper crust cronies would never approve of. But that’s just it.
Rose doesn’t belong in first class anyway. She and her mother have been lying
about their wealth the whole time. And so, showing up to the party is not only
an act of humility, but an expression of identity. That’s what makes this scene
so pivotal. It’s the beginning of her unmasking. The shedding of a misplaced
self. This moment of conception sends her on the trajectory that ultimately transforms
her life for the better. It’s a titanic reminder that we all have to give in to
the humbling to find where we’re going to go next. That’s the nature of humility.
It’s a release valve. It helps create space for something new to enter. A
humble heart is a teachable heart. And a teachable heart can change the world.Are you confident enough to be humble?


What did you learn from this movie clip?


For a copy of the list called, “11 Ways to Out Market the Competition,” send an email to me, and you win the list for free!

* * * *

Scott Ginsberg

That Guy with the Nametag

Author. Speaker. Strategist. Inventor. Filmmaker. Publisher. Songwriter.

Never the same speech twice. Customized for your audience. Impossible to walk away uninspired.

Now booking for 2015-2016.

Email to inquire about fees and availability. Watch clips of The Nametag Guy in action here!


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