Notes

When a friend, family member, or colleague is looking for feedback or guidance, trade don't sweat the small stuff for curiosity. If something is weighing them down, turning a blind eye will not only be a challenge but can lead to future distress. The "small stuff" is often what matters most.

There are six steps I follow for every creative project. Sometimes, formally. Other times, I run through them in my mind or create quick sketches. Either way, if I try to cut corners, I always regret it later.

I liken the process to building a house.

1. Imagine. Setting, location, architectural style, ambiance, inspiration.
2. Specify. Rooms, bathrooms, storage, garage, etc.
3. Plan. Blueprint! How it all fits together.
4. Concept. Interior/exterior finishing options.
5. Design. Lock in finishes. Finalize specs.
6. Build.

It's not too different from building a website.

1. Imagine. Experience, ambiance, inspiration.
2. Specify. Number of pages, features, content types.
3. Plan. Wireframes! How it all fits together.
4. Concept. Look and feel options.
5. Design. Lock in look and feel. Finalize specs.
6. Build.

Whether it's houses, websites, or something else, once you master the steps, even the most complicated projects can feel within reach.

Disagreements can be frustrating. If I ever feel this way, I think about what it would be like if we agreed with each other all the time.

We would never see new points of view.
We would never improve our approach. 
We would never get better.‍

Life would be stagnant. Not a life that I want to live.

"Randall Stutman, who for decades has been the behind-the-scenes advisor for many of the biggest CEOs and leaders on Wall Street, once studied how several hundred senior executives of major corporations recharged in their downtime. The answers were things like sailing, long-distance cycling, listening quietly to classical music, scuba diving, riding motorcycles, and fly-fishing. All these activities, he noticed, had one thing in common: an absence of voices. These were people with busy, collaborative professions. People who made countless high-stakes decisions in the course of a day. But a couple hours without chatter, without other people in their ear, where they could simply think (or not think), they could recharge and find peace. They could be still—even if they were moving. They could finally hear, even if over the sounds of a roaring river or the music of Vivaldi." (Stillness is the Key, Ryan Holiday)

A few years ago, Dana and I took a trip to the Catskills with our friends to go snowboarding. It only was my second time on a board, so I couldn't wait to get out on the slopes. I grew up skateboarding, and to my delight, my experience translated. We had a blast.

I'll never forget the feeling of rejuvenation when I returned to work. At first, I couldn't figure it out. The trip was only three or four days, not a month. It was also physically taxing, and yet, I wasn't exhausted. I felt energized. I wondered what it would take to tap into this regularly since I wouldn't be snowboarding all year long.

All day I thought about the long weekend away, and it became clear. Snowboarding is not an activity for zoning out or getting distracted, especially for newbies like me. It required my full attention. Despite the fast-paced nature of the sport, everything around me became silent. In that way, it was more like meditation.

This trip forever changed my perspective on finding balance. Not long after, I took up powerlifting. Four or five times per week, I was able to find the same equilibrium. No matter what happened during the day, it helped me refocus, recharge, and start the next day at 100%. I'm not back in the gym yet, but I still follow a tight workout schedule to keep this practice alive.

It might sound counterproductive, but for me, throwing myself into something challenging, physically and mentally, is the best way to get lifted.

We say yes, yes, yes. To ourselves and others.

Once we get started, we view everything as one big task and think, "this is impossible." Each day, we jump in without focus, bouncing between our obligations. No matter how hard we work, it feels like nothing is getting done.

We can't sleep. We can't eat. Soon, we feel drained. Progress becomes physically impossible. We think, "I need a vacation."

We have no energy to plan a trip, so we stay home. All that matters is we escape our reality for a while.

A week later, our staycation is over. We start the day, read through emails, and check in on what needs to get done. We think, "this is impossible."

Most things can wait. Start with the few that can't.

I wrote the last entry in my first journal today. I started it on December 1 and have logged 167 consecutive entries.

For too long, I thought about journaling but never took the first step. I found every excuse to put it off. When will I write? What will I write? Is it worth the time? When you're writing to yourself, it's not about what you say or how you say it. My journal entry from December 1 is vastly different than the one I wrote today. Who cares?

There's nothing more valuable than the quiet time every morning organizing my thoughts and the fact that I now have a book that captures the last 167 days of my life. After I finished writing, I highlighted the key themes at the front of the book: COVID, meeting my newborn niece, getting vaccinated, looking for a new home, and becoming CXO. I'll enjoy reading these entries someday.

On to journal #2.

Before every session, Seth, my executive coach, asks me: what's your energy heading into our call today? I have come to appreciate the power of this simple energy check.

There are several reasons why we may not be ready to give a conversation our full attention. Sometimes, we're not aware of those reasons; other times, we're afraid of being judged, so we try to hide what's on our minds. When we're unable to engage like we know we should, people notice. Unfortunately, this is often left unsaid, and everyone leaves the situation with their interpretation of our commitment.

I can remember sessions where I felt drained from an intense meeting or tired from a poor night of sleep. Normally I'd power through and do my best to concentrate. Instead, by checking in on my energy, I can address these feelings. It is no longer a battle to stay focused. I can release the weight, creating space to be present. Then, tap into the energy needed to become who I want to be in that moment.

I end most days with so many tabs open in my browser window that all I can see are favicons. In the past, I'd avoid closing the ones that I might need to reference later. These would quickly add up, and eventually, I'd feel like I was back on my childhood Compaq Presario computer, nearly falling asleep as I waited for Photoshop to open.

A few years back, I discovered the OneTab extension. It has become essential to my workflow. In a click, it consolidates open tabs into one where it lists all links in a group with the date and time added. These tabs can later be restored individually or in groups.

Hoarding tabs doesn't have to slow you down!

Every morning in middle school, our principal, Mr. Hershman, would get on the loudspeaker to make announcements for the day. We had a school mascot, but I'd argue that he was the real symbol of school spirit. He had an unforgettable face, further accentuated by his oversized wire-framed glasses (this look was not back in style yet). His energy was admirable.

I am sure there were days where Mr. H woke up with a stomachache or spilled coffee on his desk, but that never got in the way. He always gave us 110%. My favorite part of his briefing was the closing statement, "HAVE A FANTASTIC DAY!" A catchphrase that you'd often hear through the halls of Tamanend Middle School among students and staff alike.

The whole repertoire was pretty brave. Announcements began when school started at 7:30 am. It had been less than an hour since most of us had gotten out of bed. We were nowhere near Mr. H's level, and yet, we couldn't help crack a smile. Whether we wanted to admit it or not, we looked forward to hearing his cheerful, cartoon-like voice as we started our day.

As a manager, I have learned that when the room is feeling dull, you have options. You can assume the energy of your crowd then later complain about how it felt. Or, you can bring your Mr. H game.

Pick an object around you. Look at it for 30 seconds. What do you notice?

Now, stand up and move to either side of the object. Look for 30 more seconds. What do you see now?

Go back to where you started. 30 more seconds. What do you see now that you did not before?

Whether or not you do this exercise, you might imagine that you will notice something new each time.

Changing perspective opens our eyes.

Sometimes, it can be hard to see new possibilities. We become hyper-focused on our view and never stand up to take a different look. Maybe we are feeling lazy or stubborn, convinced that we have it figured out. In either case, being told that we need to stand will only push us further in our seats. So, what happens when everyone is comfortable sitting down?

It is not worth our energy to try forcing anyone to stand up and sit beside us. Instead, we can get curious. Ask questions. Why are they so content? What do they see from their view?

The more we ask, the more everyone learns, the more engaged we become. Soon, we are all standing, looking around, and together, we can find a way forward.

Early on in the pandemic, I remember being nervous that exercising in my apartment would disturb the downstairs neighbors. Instead of simply texting them and asking, I stacked yoga mats, modified workouts, and did whatever I could to dampen the sound. Burpees are just not the same when you're worried about how hard your hitting the floor.

One day while heading out for a walk, we ran into each other. I mentioned my workouts and asked if it was bothering them. Their response:

"We rarely hear it, and when we do, we actually like it. It's a good reminder to be active. We end up working out or going out for a walk."

The discomfort created by assumptions outweighs any temporary discomfort felt when removing them. The sooner, the better.

"We did that before, and it failed."

So what?

When did you do it?
What were you hoping to achieve?
Were you working with the same people?
Had you done it once already?
Did you know what you know now?

One day, a manager notices a new employee excelling in a specific area of their work. They praise them privately. "Nice work! You're killing it."

For simplicity, let's call this employee Taylor. They turned their design into a motion prototype, and the work is outstanding.

Over the next few weeks, the manager notices a pattern. Taylor's motion prototypes seem to be getting better and better. At this point, they begin praising them in public. "Big props to Taylor! You are an absolute motion master."

Now, whenever there is a motion need, everyone goes to Taylor. Within a matter of months, Taylor spends most of their time working on motion projects.

Last quarter, Taylor watched a few motion tutorials on YouTube. She wanted to bring a design idea to life and thought motion could help. She enjoyed it, but her passion is in design, nor does she consider herself a motion expert.

The more people ask for help, the more complex the requests get. The pressure builds. Most weeks, Taylor puts in late nights to grow her motion skills.

She musters up the courage to let her manager know about the extra hours. Her manager revisits staffing and gets her help with her design projects, so she has more time to work on motion.

A year goes by.

Taylor is home visiting friends from design school. She took an entire week off. Lately, her workdays seem to go on forever. The only way she can think to recharge is to get away.

Her former classmates share all the projects they have been working on at their respective jobs. Taylor scrolls through endless MP4s of motion studies.

Taylor realizes she is now a motion expert.

She returns to work the following Monday and puts in her notice.

No one asked Taylor if she enjoyed working with motion.

Ten years ago today, it was a Thursday.

It had been a week or so since I wrapped my first semester as a TA (Teaching Assistant) at Tyler School of Art, my soon-to-be alma mater.

As the evening set in, I got prepared to celebrate Cinco de Mayo at one of "my" student's apartments. I did not know this night would live on for years to come.

Months prior, this student had requested me on Facebook. I let it linger. See, from day one, I knew that there was positive energy between us. I remember walking in the classroom on my first day as TA. There she was with short blonde hair, wearing a Temple U sweatshirt. I couldn't place what it was about her, but our eyes were like magnets.

I was serious about my new TA position, so I chose to ignore our connection for the entire semester. This evening's festivities would be a big step.

I got on my bike and made my way to a nearby bodega for refreshments. 40 oz beers were the budget-friendly drink of choice. I sprung for Miller High Life, one for me, one for her, and set out for the party.

I'll never forget the bottles in their bags swinging from my handlebars. I did my best to stay balanced while dodging potholes in the dark on the neglected North Philly streets. I wondered if this was what it was like to audition for an act at Ringling Bros.

When I arrived, the look on her face was priceless. What I didn't know was that nearly all of her friends were awaiting my arrival. She had been telling them about our apparent connection for months. No one fully believed her, but they all had some expectation of who this TA character might be. Now, there I was, standing on her doorstep. No longer a TA, just a guy, eager to see a girl, refreshments in hand.

You may have caught on by now, but that student is now my wife, Dana. We made some great memories that night.

I chose to share this story today because, for about a decade now, I return to it every year on May 5, and I laugh. I hope it brought a smile to your face, even just the slightest.

"What we need in life, in the arts, in sports, is to loosen up, to become flexible, to get to a place where there is nothing in our way—including our own obsession with certain outcomes." (Stillness is the Key, Ryan Holiday)

During childhood and young adulthood, I had a vision for my future. There were outcomes I was after, and each step was part of a plan to get there. According to my mother, at about age five or six, I hoped to own a station wagon and have seven kids. Don't ask. I have no idea. As I grew up, my vision evolved; touring full-time as a musician, teaching high school art, owning a design studio with my wife, Dana.

Here I am, years later, and in terms of a career, none of these have come true. Am I any less happy with my path? No.

In May 2017, just four years ago, I was offered the partner role at Barrel. It was a pivotal moment in my career. In my mind, I had a choice. Either I seize the opportunity in front of me. Or, I give it all up to go after my vision of opening a design studio purely because it had always been my plan. I knew that if I went after the former while aspiring to do the latter, I'd give neither the attention they deserved.

As I deliberated over my decision, I realized that I was no longer chasing an outcome. I was enjoying the ride. My path at Barrel was not one I would have predicted. I came in every day focused on doing my best and welcomed every new opportunity with open arms. It was invigorating, and the challenge of becoming a partner was no different. Why walk away?

This experience forever changed my outlook. We cannot predict what life will throw our way. If we get too attached to our plan or outcomes, we risk missing the possibilities right in front of us.

My future is no longer about a specific outcome or plan. Instead, I'm focused on creating a future I want to live in, at work and at home. I have learned to be flexible in how I get there, and what I value most is feeling good along the way.