I came up with a brilliant app idea. What the idea is, specifically, is unimportant to the story, but just know that it’s such a good app idea that as I thought about it, I realized “someone else MUST have done this already.”

But I didn’t pull out my phone and check the app store (also, it helps that I don’t have a smart phone right now). I took out a pad of paper and I started mocking it up, with the understanding that “if someone’s already done this before, I’m going to see it as a sign that I should at least contact them because we’re clearly very similar thinkers and this person must be very awesome.”

Someone else has already done it. It isn’t available for Android and it’s lacking some of the features I imagine it could have. I’m going to contact the people who built it because one of the founders is JUST like me.

From her bio: “I excel at prolific idea generation, brand voice, dealing with crazy people, thinking visually, team love, gut intuition, powerful presentations, getting wonky with research, digital thinking, voraciously following what’s new, and solving problems.” Right?! Great minds think alike.

Here’s my takeaway from this, and it gets down to the core process of ideation: just because it’s been done before doesn’t mean you should feel like it can’t be done again, or done differently, or at least flushed out past that first moment of “oh, someone else thought of this before me.”

Remember, there’s nothing new under the sun.

Recognize that when you come up with a copycat idea, that you’re connecting into a matrix of likeminded people who are quite likely to be closely aligned to your principles. You can always build it:

Better/Differently/Again/Together

As if it were possible to keep up with the endless newscycle of the day, one particular story caught my eye tonight in the endless stream of Syria-Cyrus-and-Shutdowns. Late-night show host Jimmy Kimmel executed a flawless critique of rap impresario Kanye West’s pleasantly absurd BBC interview by reading back the exact transcript, acted out with children playing Kanye and the interviewer.

It’s reminiscent of Tina Fey’s impersonation of Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin, where in lampooning the Maverick, she employed direct quotes and costuming that were right on the money.

The absurdity of Kimmel’s bit invoked an all too expected outlash from Mr. West, with the hip hop mogul tweeting threats and admonishing the comedian’s on-point commentary. A word of advice I heard somewhere: never heckle a comedian. You’re playing with fire.

Nestled in the Kootenays of British Columbia, on a 200 acre farm, there lives an enchanted neighborhood where Canadians have gathered for 16 seasons to celebrate the end of the short, northern summer. Shambhala Music Festival is, like its namesake, as much a journey as it is a destination.

For those who have been following my travels, you’ll know that Canada was my northernmost destination planned this summer. This leg of the trip has been my summit, the apex of my triangulation. That isn’t to say that it’s all downhill from here, but I did pass the 5,000 mile mark on the odometer (plus an additional 7,000 miles flown).

I pulled into Nelson on Wednesday evening and explored the town before it closed up for the evening, at 6 PM, no less. Quaintly nestled between sharp peaks and a glowing lake, Nelson is a town that was hit with an influx of conscientious objectors to the Vietnam War in the 60’s, and has since become the pot capitol of Canada. One 5th generation local I spoke to claimed that more than 60% of households grow the plant, and it is a big part of the local economy. Whatever your feelings on the subject, there is no doubt that Nelson is a wonderful little town, full of hippie-centric businesses.

A waitress recommended checking out a nearby park that is normally filled with Rainbow folk. As I drove up, I spotted a bus and 10-12 barefooted, dusty people that looked friendly. I had a variety of beers leftover from my journey through Oregon, and as Shambhala is a no-alcohol festival, I was joyed to have a group of thirsty Canadians with which to share some delicious Ninkasi. There was guitar playing, I pulled out my melodica. Drinks were consumed, tales were told of cross-country hitchhiking in English and French. One girl needed a ride into Shambhala the next day to meet up with a friend.

There’s some truth to be found in the places we’ve been, the things we’ve built. The Grand Coulee is a reminder of the magnitude of community buy-in. It was, along with similar projects of The New Deal and Works Progress Administration, a bit of a Hail Mary for the Roosevelt administration. Projects of this magnitude could hardly be considered viable today due to the crippling stinginess in Washington. We aren’t willing to invest in each other for the sake of national investment. Maybe it’s just as well.

Imagine how the Great Depression had destroyed the backbone of the upper class while raging dust bowls in the Midwest and Northwest had ravaged the middle class. Following years of teetering on what must have felt like the very end of American identity, a new vision emerged so preposterously large and elaborate that one couldn’t help believe in it. To believe in the Columbia Basin Project was to accept the fate of “now-or-never.” A certain direness is prevalent in the outlook for our world today. So too are we on the cusp of losing our identity, and not just our nationalistic pride, but as humankind on planet earth.