Notes

In 2015, my wife Dana and I ended our lease early, not by choice. Our apartment became infested with mice, and the landlord chose not to address the issue. Instead, informing us that we had until the end of our lease term to vacate.

We were new to Park Slope, Brooklyn, and fell in love with the area and our apartment. It was perfect. So perfect that we gave in and paid a fat broker fee to get it. To say this was a bummer is an understatement.

In the months that followed our landlord's notice, we tirelessly searched for an equivalent place to call home with the same rent. Brokers looked at us like we were crazy. They kindly suggested it was an impossible feat.

At one point, we were eating, sleeping, and breathing apartment listings. It was tough. Soon any time we came across a halfway decent apartment, Dana would look at me with this face that said, let's take this one. But as tired and beat down as we were, we didn't give in.

Weeks before our lease was up, Craiglist notified Dana about an apartment right down the street. Cheaper rent (stabilized!), backyard, garden box, what? Could this be it? We jumped on it.

Despite six other interested renters, we got the place. Funny enough, as we were signing the lease, we learned that our landlord went to school with Peter and Sei-Wook, Barrel's co-founders. Small world or fate? Who knows, but from then on, I had this renewed faith that the best things in life are possible; it just takes persistence, patience, and perseverance.

Years later, I got down on one knee at Brooklyn Botanic Garden, and Dana and I were engaged. After roughly three months, we came down off cloud nine and began wedding planning, then reality set in. My uncle-in-law, Father Fran, is a priest. For as long as my wife Dana can remember, she pictured him marrying her someday. The challenge was that Dana and I wanted to get married outside the church, a no-no for most Catholic dioceses.

Everyone kept telling me it was impossible, but I refused to accept that. I kept thinking of our sweet, brick-lined Park Slope apartment and the journey to finding it. In all of Fran's years as a priest, he had never seen or done what we were asking. I thought, hey, there's a first for everything.

After several phone calls and a letter to the chancellor, our wish came true. With hundreds of nearly identical weddings under his belt, Uncle Fran got a taste of something new, a non-church Catholic wedding ceremony. It was magical.

Since then, my belief and determination have only grown stronger, resisting the notion that anything is impossible, even if everyone around me is ready to give up. Among family, I often say, "If Fran can marry us outside the church, anything is possible."

If you believe something is impossible and you act like it, it will be. Once you decide that it's possible, the future is yours to create.

If there seems to be too much to do in too little time, it is time to slow down, especially when delegating work. When I have lost sight of this in the past, it has never felt good. 

Acting under unnecessary pressure, I would default to giving quick tactical feedback, thinking that was what I needed to do to keep my team going. The trouble was that I did not stop to articulate a vision for myself or the team. So, if the team hit a bump in the road, there was no north star to guide them, resulting in rework, delays, and tension.

Picture a person walking around in a new city, they do not know where they are going, but they have a list of directions. All is well until they hit a road closure, and in an instant, all progress comes to a halt. If only they had a destination, maybe they could find their way.

Take the time to articulate your vision, especially when it feels like there is no time at all.

When I worked in an office, I used to carry a notebook around to take notes and sketch during meetings. Once I worked from home, I started taking notes on my computer, so I no longer needed a notebook. And so, no more doodles.

The other day, I grabbed a piece of paper to write down a phone number and ended up doodling on it throughout the day. I had forgotten how much it encouraged deep listening and focus for me.

Nowadays, it can be hard not to multi-task during Zoom calls with all your work right in front of you. To keep my hands occupied, I've been rotating between a hand grip strengthener and a fidget spinner from my younger brother, Justin. These have been helpful, but there's something about doodling that does the trick.

After an in-depth interview process, we recently extended an offer to an exciting candidate. Last night, I found out they decided to accept another offer. At first, it stung a little. I thought they would make a great addition to the team and play an integral part in our growth as an agency. Just yesterday morning, they seemed enthusiastic about what we could create together.

While they chose a different path, they shared how invigorating our conversations about the future were and wished they could "work for two companies at once." I'm still waiting for clarity on what led to their decision, but it felt good knowing that I put my best foot forward. I remembered past experiences where a situation like this would have left me feeling discouraged, but last night, I felt hopeful.

The truth is, this wasn't the first time this has happened, and it won't be the last. I've learned to accept that not everything can work out as planned, and anchoring our satisfaction on the win is a dark path to follow. Even if it feels like a done deal like it did with this candidate.

If you live for the win and you're not winning all the time, which is true of most humans, then you'd be living a pretty unhappy life. Winning isn't always what it's cracked up to be either. There's the bliss when it hits where it feels like you're floating, then moments later, you return to Earth and continue with the next steps.

You land a big project; then, you work on an approach to get it done with the new timeline. You hire an impressive new employee; then, you onboard them and start regular check-ins.

I'm not saying we shouldn't celebrate the wins, but we cannot control the game. So, it's not worth letting the outcome dictate your wellbeing. What we can control is how well we play.

Maybe it's cliché, but for me, it's about giving it your best shot. I aim to leave every outcome feeling like I've done everything in my power to get the best result. Then, win or lose, I take it as an opportunity to keep on raising the bar by learning why it went the way it did.

Even if the candidate did accept our offer, understanding why they did could help attract and land future candidates. In this case, they seemed excited, but in the end, something changed their mind. As I continue to interview candidates, it will be helpful to know if there's anything I can do better next time.

I look forward to hearing back from the candidate with more insight, but in the meantime, as the Barrel partners and I like to say, keep it going.

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.