Creative people tend to be creatures of habit. It’s comforting to have external routine and structure to rely on when the inside of your brain looks like a Jackson Pollock; deviation from the expected (at least when it comes to the basic, day-to-day details of life) can be surprisingly stressful. So, naturally, when we decided to uproot and move our office to Lewiston about a month ago, we had some reservations.
Our office in Windham was (and remains) a really great space. A lot of our friends and families pitched in to make it beautiful, functional, and cozy, and we have a lot of great memories there that we will be laughing about for probably forever. But when you grow as a company, inevitably you outgrow the place you started in. And that’s pretty much it - we moved because of growing pains.
When you grow as a company, inevitably you outgrow the place you started in.
Of course, there are some other perks to our new office, aside from the fact that there’s room for all of us to have our own desks. Our collective commute time has been cut drastically. We’re also a short walk away from some of the best eats and coffee Lewiston has to offer.
All that is not to say that we won’t miss where everything officially got started for us. Moving tends to make people reflective, after all. We’ll spare our thoughts on the matter; suffice it to say this kind of change is fairly significant for a small business regardless of what they do. There are lots of decisions to make, things to evaluate.
At the end of the day, the most essential part of Anchour is our team. Everyone who works here has been annoyingly good at making themselves irreplaceable. And it’s statistically improbable for all of us to experience existential crises about moving at the same time, so while some of us are waxing poetic on the blog, others will just be…carrying on as usual.
The title of this post comes from an eponymous poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (look - they knew what they were getting into when they hired someone with a degree in English to write the blog posts). For all intents and purposes it’s about a young man who’s so passionate about his mission (which is…unclear, to say the least) that he dies for it. Depressing? Yes. Inspiring? Not really, since the hero dies.
The reason we’re referencing this at all is because of the meaning of the word “excelsior,” and to some extent, the general feeling behind Longfellow’s poem. The young man in Longfellow’s poem carries a banner with the word emblazoned on it, and every time someone tries to get him to give up and take a nap, he just shouts “Excelsior!” at them. Excelsior literally means “higher,” but when you contextualize it you get “onward and upward” or “ever higher” or even just “forward.”
We’re the most optimistic about our future as we’ve ever been, and we don’t anticipate metaphorically freezing in the snow on our mission to do great work. We do expect what comes with the territory, though, which is some level of adversity and the occasional (probably well-intentioned) person who tells us to take a break and/or give up. And to that, our response is the ever-poetic, ever-inspiring, “…but we’re busy?”
But what we really mean is - excelsior.