Notes

In Playing With Movement, author Todd Hargrove shares how worry can lead to the exact outcome we're trying to avoid:

"In many situations, worrying about a bad outcome will make it more likely. Fear is the enemy, and playing with risk is a way to learn to master it."

In Stillness is the Key, author Ryan Holiday explores a similar idea:

"Whatever you face, whatever you’re doing will require, first and foremost, that you don’t defeat yourself. That you don’t make it harder by overthinking, by needless doubts, or by second-guessing."

When I was actively performing music, I could relate with this concept when playing new songs or revisiting old ones. I'd get anxious about forgetting the lyrics, so I'd do everything I could to embed them in my mind. I refused to stand on stage with my own lyrics written on a piece of paper as a guide. It felt inauthentic as a songwriter and performer. I wanted the audience to feel my relationship with the words I sang, and I thought this would get in the way.

Once I got on stage, the show would go in one of two ways:

• If I let myself become immersed in the music, I'd enter a flow state. The words would come to me, almost unconsciously, like I'd been singing them for years.
• If while singing, I let my mind wander to my doubt for even a second, I'd forget the words almost immediately. It was as if my determination to remember the lyrics was what made me forget them.

It didn't matter how I prepared or how much time I put in; mindset was everything.

Beyond Music

I've come to apply this concept to so many aspects of life; building new habits, acquiring skills, presenting my ideas, and truthfully, experiencing life. I remember feeling nervous when going to get my motorcycle license until realizing that there was nothing more I could do to prepare. When it came time to take the test, I took a deep breath and drove like I would any other day. I passed.

I believe that when we overthink what we're doing, it's hard to give it our best shot. We can't get in the flow because we're too focused on getting it "right." As a result, we get it wrong.

While it's unrealistic for me to think that I'll never get nervous about anything again, I've decided to trade my doubts and concerns for commitment to myself and my growth. Once I decide to go after something, I've learned it's best to go all in.

I was excited to catch up with one of my former professors today, Christine; it had been over a decade since we last spoke. Once we got on Zoom, it felt like no time had passed.

We got to talking about the books we've found valuable over the years and how we're often inspired by stories from outside our field. As we ended the discussion, Christine added: "We're all just people after all."

Regardless of our profession or industry, we're all just people working with other people. Framed this way, we're acknowledging our nature and inherent commonalities as humans. We're opening the door to learning from one another.

We all have times where we think our experience is unique and that no one else has ever dealt with the same problems in this way. Not only have countless others experienced the same problems but many are experiencing them right now and many others have overcome them.

We resist help because we can't imagine our friend who works in finance could ever understand what it's like to work in a creative agency. They may not be designing for a living but they have clients relying on them. They also have to earn their trust. They have deadlines. They want their manager to let them know how they're doing. They want to be recognized for doing good work. You get the idea.

We're much more alike than we think. When we remember that, the world suddenly becomes an open book and if we dive in, we just might learn a thing or two.

How do you describe an agency?

A group of people with unique perspectives and backgrounds working with other groups of people with unique perspectives and backgrounds toward a common goal.

What could go wrong?

I'm actually encouraged by this definition. It's the reason why misunderstandings and challenges are inevitable, but it's also the reason that I enjoy coming to work each day.

In moments of conflict, I like to remind my team of this reality. Like most things in life, collaboration takes patience and practice. When a situation gets tense, it can be easy to let our emotions take the wheel and quickly lead us off track. We forget that we all want the same thing.

We all want the same thing. Time and time again, I'm amazed at how powerful this statement can be. Even when we don't see eye-to-eye, it's a reminder that we have the same intent.

When we accept this statement as fact, conversations immediately become more productive, and resolution soon feels within reach. If we discover a disconnect in what we want, we can take appropriate action, but we're not acting on assumptions.

I was a resilient little kid and sometimes, a little reckless. I once "escaped" home, just after learning to walk, and was promptly found meandering far down the street in my diaper. As a kindergartener, I pulled the fire alarm on the school bus, and all the kids had to evacuate. When asked why I did it, I responded: "I just wanted to see what would happen."

I look back on my childhood and admire my curiosity and determination. When I wanted to achieve something, there wasn't much I would let get in my way.

One day, I decided I was ready to ride my bike without training wheels. My Dad wasn't home so, I got help from a neighbor after unsuccessfully trying to remove the training wheels myself. I then proceeded to go full speed down the hill next to our house off a skate ramp. Luckily, I landed. From then on, I was confident I could ride on two wheels. Little did I know, the momentum of riding down a hill is non-existent on flat ground.

Not long after the training wheel operation, I distinctly remember falling on the sidewalk right outside my house. I didn't cry until I looked at my elbow and saw the blood. By this point, my older brother, Nick, had already run inside to get help from my parents.

I'm not sure why this memory of falling off my bike comes to mind now and again, but it does. It's fascinating to me that while the impact of falling didn't bother me much, the sight of blood was alarming.

As an adult, I may not be as reckless as I once was, but I still relate to my perseverance as a child. I've come to embrace the fall and take the long game when it comes to success. That said, what does the blood represent in my life today?

I began writing this note to find an answer to this question. I think the blood represents a truth we tell ourselves about how failure looks. Even when the fall doesn't hurt us; we feel hurt when we see the blood. It makes our failure feel real and can be discouraging.

Similar to the saying, if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? I wonder if I fell off my bike and my elbow didn't bleed, would I have immediately stood up and returned to riding, not a tear in my eye? Would I have acknowledged the fall?

When we fail an exam, what if we never saw the grade? When we lose a race, what if no one was declared a winner?

I'm not suggesting that we stop giving grades or declaring winners. I'm more interested in what would happen if we didn't.

This trip down memory lane has taught me is that it's not worth crying over the blood. Whether it's there or not doesn't change the situation; it only serves as a distraction. All that's important is we pick up, move on, and keep trying.

I'm currently reading The Millionaire Real Estate Agent, and in it, the author, Gary Keller, shares his thoughts on failure. I'll leave you with a relevant excerpt from my reading today:

"You can’t know what you’re really capable of doing until you try and never give up. In fact, many people have said that they believe that failure is not the worst thing in the world. They believe the very worst is not to try at all. It’s been observed that many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up."

Back in September, I wrote my first-ever newsletter about adopting Webflow at Barrel. At the time, I had recently learned the platform through the design and launch of this website. I thoroughly enjoyed the simplicity and control of the experience. I ended up doing the bulk of the design work right in Webflow after some initial light concept work in Figma.

Less than a year later, Barrel has launched 16 websites on Webflow, including our own, with a few currently in the works. The previous iteration of the Barrel website was on WordPress. One of the constant challenges we faced was making design updates and adding new pages on the fly. Now, I can wake up with an idea for the website and have it done by the time I finish my morning coffee. Yes, this has happened, and it's a beautiful thing.

There's a lot to love about Webflow. We're excited to continue our work exploring all it has to offer. Personally, it's been a pleasure to see our team embrace it and push what's possible.

I recently "sat down" with the folks at Webflow and shared more insight into how we use the platform and why we find it valuable for our process and clients.

Read the case study here: https://webflow.com/customers/barrel

In team workshops centered around sharing personal experiences and challenges, we've been experimenting with establishing norms. I introduced the idea in a team-wide coaching workshop weeks ago, and it seemed to open the group up to more honest conversation.

For many, speaking openly in front of a room or Zoom full of people is not easy. Even if there's trust among the group, it's hard to be vulnerable.

Establishing norms means that the group accepts each norm as fact. It means that the space they occupy is safe and free of judgment.

Here are the norms we've experimented with so far:

• We all can be better collaborators.
• We believe feedback is information.
• We trade all judgment for curiosity.
• We communicate openly and honestly.

The times we've done this, I've displayed them at the start of the meeting and asked for volunteers to read each one. To me, this is a special moment. It's inspiring to hear your peers commit to these statements out loud. In our first workshop, I asked everyone to follow up in the chat with "yes" or "agreed." I love seeing the responses flow in as each norm is read.

I'm looking forward to evolving this idea further in future workshops. The hope is that, down the line, these will become commonplace. Even if we continue to recite them together, they'll be an integral part of our team's DNA.

Even with the best intentions, we are not always aware of how others interpret what we say or do. In last Tuesday's note, I wrote about how a simple question made an employee feel that a co-worker was dismissing them.

Since then, I've been interested in uncovering what other responses may inadvertently elicit a similar feeling. Through my interactions over the week, I've compiled a list.

1. Acknowledgment of what was said followed by "but..."
2. Abruptly moving the conversation to a new topic
3. Revisiting an earlier point without acknowledging the one just stated
4. Sighing or laughing in response to an idea or question
5. Telling someone they are wrong without explanation
6. Saying "don't worry" when someone is expressing worry
7. Explaining how the "new" idea has been done before and didn't work out 
8. Belittling impact with phrases like "oh, that's not a big deal" when someone is stating concern
9. Jumping to feedback when someone asks to talk through a tense situation
10. Suggesting a solution without digging into the problem first
    

This list does not mean that we should walk on eggshells whenever we communicate with others. For me, it's simply about awareness. When I have a better idea of how I might come off, I can more proactively share context and ask questions to ensure what I'm saying is not misinterpreted.

When someone feels dismissed, they eventually feel afraid or insignificant. When someone feels this way, they either become scared to share their ideas or don't think anyone wants to hear them, so they stop providing input. When they shut down in this way, they get by on taking orders. When this happens, their heart isn't it, and that's the beginning of the end.

This morning, I re-discovered this excerpt from Tell to Win by Peter Guber (via Readwise):

“The best stories lead from the heart, not the mind.”

Initially, it resonated with me because it's an idea I revisit constantly when I write. But as I sat with the statement longer, it began to take on new meaning.

Look at what happens when you omit the best stories:

"Lead from the heart, not the mind."

Notice the word lead. It is not about acting emotionally. It is about pursuing our instincts, not second-guessing ourselves or overthinking what we feel.

Our mind is what holds us back. It worries about what others will think. It fears the discomfort of telling the truth. It sidesteps momentary pain for short-term pleasure. All along, our heart knows we are making the wrong choice, but when we lead with our mind, our heart takes a back seat.

When it comes to communication, collaboration, and just purely interacting with other humans, I cannot think of a better mantra. At home, at work, in life.

Last Friday, I shared a new essay, Building Teams with TLC. I can't tell you how good it felt to hit the publish button! The framework has been a work-in-progress throughout my time building out the design team at Barrel. Until last year, these concepts only existed in my head. While the team was living them every day, it became challenging to chart the future without visualizing the current reality.

In October 2020, I wrote about visualizing project staffing models and how powerful it was to align with the team. This exercise was the beginning of the framework.

From there, I continued my work codifying other core concepts as I planned for the next stage of my team. Through the process, I found that their application was universal, which led me to document and share them with you.

Since publishing the framework, it has been fun to get feedback from within the team and peers beyond Barrel. Just yesterday, I enjoyed hearing how one of our team members used the Best Fit Activities Diagram to help delineate roles when conducting a website audit at the start of a project. See below.

Whether you’re in the process of building a team, scaling an existing one, or even an individual contributor on a team today, I hope the TLC framework brings you new insights on the power of creating a clear team structure.

If you decide to give TLC a try or have questions/feedback, I'd love to hear! Feel free to shoot me an email.

Interested in a TLC template? I'm planning to create templates for each of the framework's components. Sign up here and you'll be the first to receive them when they're ready.

Sometimes, we miss the mark. It happens.

Unfortunately, we missed the mark with one of our clients this week. While I'm not intimately involved with the project or on calls, talking it through with the designer reminded me of a powerful lesson.

Let's take a look at the situation.

The Situation

Round 1

We present the designs via Zoom. We're super excited about what we've done. Luckily, the client loves the look and interactivity of the work. Check. The issue? They feel like we failed to capture the unique selling points of the product. They admit that they have some work to do in gathering the content, but at the same time, we know it's our job to guide them.

The client does not provide additional feedback. They say, "we provided all we have to say during the call."

We regroup and make revisions, focused on creating a page that clearly outlines what the product offers and why it's unique.

Round 2

We present the revised designs, once again via Zoom. Within minutes of the call, the client lets us know this is not what they're looking for; it's feeling very sales-y and off-brand. We finish walking through the designs and end the call.

The internal team does not feel great, and we assume the client does not either. The team sleeps on it (some lose sleep over it) then regroup the next day.

Round 3

In round 1, we nailed the visual but missed the why. In round 2, we nailed the why but missed the visual. In round 3, all we have to do is find the perfect combination of both. Right? We take a step back and revisit the structure with a wireframe. We send it to the client and ask for feedback.

As I write this note, we're still waiting to hear what they have to say before we take it back into design.

So, besides the client being unhappy, what's the issue here?

The Challenge

The client's feedback was reactive on our calls because that's what we asked of them. We did make room for follow-up but from their perspective, they said all they needed to say. Our process did not create space for the client to spend time with the work. Caught up in finding a way forward, we did not re-align with the client on exactly what they're hoping to see. Outcome? We're shooting in the dark.

As demonstrated in this situation, clients often see our work for the first time on calls. When they love it, this can work out fine. When they have feedback, which is inevitable, it's hard for them to give meaningful insights after spending just ~30 minutes with the work.

Many times, this means they regroup offline and send written feedback a couple of days later. In situations like this, we may not get anything more. From there, we have to jump on a second call to make sure we understand the feedback or share revised designs.

Have the Second Meeting, First

If we could do this all over again, I'd suggest we have the second meeting, first. A topic I wrote about in my newsletter in February.

Send the designs the day before the first call, outline the key ideas, and ask for initial thoughts. Give the client time to sit with it and gather their thoughts.

When they provide feedback, we may even have time to address it before the first call. Now we're that much further along. If the client is unhappy with the direction, we can cancel the meeting to revisit the work or get on a call to talk it through.

Either way, the meeting we'd typically have second is the one we have first. Not only do we save everyone's time, but we also invite more thoughtful feedback, and in the end, we're more likely to hit the mark by the first meeting.

I'm confident we'll get this project back on track. In the meantime, I'm excited to apply this thinking more actively across all current and upcoming projects.

Yesterday, I ended the workday feeling off like I might be getting sick. Dana suggested we take a walk outside and take advantage of the warm weather. After a short walk and an impromptu Pomegranate Recharge shake from Juice Press, I started coming back to life.

Whenever I'm not feeling well, I'm on the fence about working out. Unless I'm clearly ill, I usually push myself to do it anyway and feel glad I did afterward. Sunday and Monday were rest days, so I was anxious to get my heart rate up.

I decided to repeat a workout from September 15, 2020, ironically a Tuesday.

Part A, 4 Rounds of:

• 10/arm x DB Single-Arm Kneeling Press
• 12/arm x DB Row
• 15 x Leg Lift with Pulse

Part B, 4 Rounds for Time:

• 30 x Sumo DB Deadlifts
• 20 x Goblet Lunges
• 10 x Push Ups

I increased the weight for a few of the movements. From 35# to 40# for the DB Single-Arm Kneeling Press and DB Rows. From 40# to 52.5# for the Sumo DB Deadlift.

I'll admit, there was a second there on Part B where I wondered if I should have stuck with the original weight! In the end, I powered through, and it was well worthwhile. I was feeling good until I noticed my time for Part B in September...

In September, I completed Part B in 7 minutes, 55 seconds. Last night, my time was 13 minutes, 23 seconds. What... the...? For one, I should have looked at the time ahead of the workout. I love trying to beat an old time. But more importantly, why was I so slow?

In these moments, I find it hard not to be frustrated. Annoyed, I immediately dismissed how I felt pre-workout and the increase in weight. In a group workout setting, my coach or friends would remind me of these circumstances. Without that, I needed some other way to understand the discrepancy.

So what did I do?

• Flip back to September 15 in my camera roll. I record every workout in time-lapse. A habit I picked up last year. How did I look? Was I home or visiting family?
• Open the Withings app. I weigh myself daily. What was my weight on September 15? Body composition?
• Open the Whoop app. What was my strain on September 14? What was my recovery score for September 15?

Here's what I gathered:

• Shorter hair seven months ago. Not a big deal, but it is hotter these days.
• Body composition is nearly identical.
• My recovery was ~20% higher on September 15 and trending higher in the days prior.

For me, tracking like this is how I know I'm staying on the right path and making progress. In a situation like this, it makes all of the difference.

Discovering that my stats in September were close and slightly better than now, I could more confidently deduce that my DB weight increase and overall physical state were the factors driving the increase in my Part B time.

One question that I wish I could answer is: what did I eat that day? I'd love to understand if my diet had any impact on my time. I used to track my diet in MyFitnessPal. Since learning what I need to maintain my weight, I've stopped. Maybe I'll pick that up again soon. More data = more insights.

Today, I repeated a workout from August and beat my time by 26 seconds. No increase in weight, but I'll take it.

I was chatting with an employee recently who shared a challenge they often face when giving feedback to others. They mentioned that when the response is "Can you be more specific about an example where this took place?" when they give feedback, they feel like their feedback is being dismissed or questioned. It's as though they have to prove that their feedback is worthy of discussion or "correct," leaving them feeling unmotivated.

I never thought about this perspective. It makes a lot of sense. I'm guilty of it myself, and since surfacing it, I've noticed it happening in conversations daily.

What's interesting about this interaction is that, most times, both people want the same thing; to work better together. However, when they communicate, their unique context gets in the way of the message.

It reminds me of a classic rom-com where the couple breaks up because of a misunderstanding, only to later realize they made a mistake. As the viewer, you know that neither of them wants the relationship to end; they just have no idea how the other is feeling. You wish you could step through the TV into their unrealistic, picturesque NYC apartment and scream, "Hey!!! She DOES want to be with you. She didn't answer your text because she thought you had feelings for your ex."

Exploring Context

I took this experience as an opportunity to explore the possible context that surrounds each person during the exchange. In this example, the feedback is between a junior designer and an account director.

The feedback: "I find it hard to get a word in when you're in meetings. Over time, this has made me feel like my opinion doesn't matter." 

Junior Designer: Giver

• They are doing everything they can to deliver quality work and show their capabilities.
• They're eager to grow in the role and learn new things every day.
• Feedback is uncomfortable to them, but their manager has shown them how important it is to give feedback and do it directly.
• They spent the night practicing how to deliver the feedback with their roommate.
• They're feeling nervous and apprehensive about the conversation.
  

Account Director: Receiver

• They want to support the team as much as possible.
• They're still learning the ropes and trying to figure out how they fit into projects.
• They often feel like they're talking to themselves in team meetings. They wonder if anyone cares about the work. They try to fix this by being louder and more enthusiastic.
• They haven't had a lot of feedback from the team and wonder how they're doing.
• They're excited to have a feedback conversation and are hungry for growth areas.
  

After the Junior Designer gives the feedback, the Account Director says: "I had no idea. Can you be more specific about an example where you felt this way?"

Imagine how this might go if neither shares what they're thinking? If they do?

Going Forward

When it comes to feedback, I find it liberating to put all of my relevant context on the table; so the other person has a chance to get inside my head. It can be hard to be this vulnerable, but the relief afterward is always worthwhile.

In terms of asking for examples, I don't think it's unreasonable when receiving feedback; it's just good to consider how the question may be received. 

When giving feedback, this insight has been a welcome reminder to be as specific as possible. Come prepared with the examples before ever being asked. It's natural to want to give high-level, vague feedback in fear of discomfort, but that can be hard for others to take action on. 

Here are some related posts on feedback:

• Edition No. 027: Inviting Feedback Through Shared Principles & Vocabulary
• Feedback Specificity
• Feedback Cards

Every Wednesday, I meet one-on-one with our three senior designers for one hour. 

Until recently, the format has been open-ended. Sometimes, we spend most of the time reviewing designs. Other times, we go deep on themes such as role definition on projects or how to distill client feedback.

In recent weeks, I noticed a trend. If there wasn't much activity on their projects, they wouldn't prepare much to discuss. Early Wednesday, I'd receive a message: Hey, I don't have much to discuss. We can probably end early. 

While we'd always end up using the full hour anyway, it was clear that the meeting structure was worth revisiting. Last week, I rolled out a new format. Here's a look:

Highlight of the Week (5-10 min)

Project Review (30 min)

Open Discussion (remaining time)

• Anything that’s come up lately that you think I should know about?
• Are there any ways I could better support you?
• Have there been any recent situations where you’d like my advice on how to handle it now or next time?
• How much time are you spending on executing work? Overseeing? Anything you'd change?
• How much time do you spend in meetings? Are there any you don’t feel you need to attend?
• What do you think are the biggest blockers right now for the team?
• What is your favorite part of your role? Why is that?
• What is your least favorite part of your role? How do you handle that?
  

The new format is meant to uncover thoughts and ideas that may not otherwise get surfaced. While we still have time to review designs, the goal is to make sure we leave time for open discussion. If there's nothing pressing on the designer's mind, the list of questions can be used as a guide. Whichever question feels most relevant is where we start.

We're only one week in, but the questions have already proven to be incredibly insightful. With shared notes in place, I'm excited to see how their answers to the same question evolve.

Every Friday, I make time to review my notes and tie up any loose ends as I close out the workweek. A helpful tool for making sure this is not a big lift is the two-minute rule, one of my favorite productivity tips from David Allen’s book, Getting Things Done.

The rule is simple. For any new tasks that can be done in less than two minutes, complete them immediately. I practice this habit all week long, making it easy to welcome the weekend with open arms.

Here’s what I learned when I adopted it:

• I unconsciously put off simple tasks like replying to emails, saving down files, and e-signing documents.
• When I delayed these tasks, it took me longer to document them than to get them done.
• Over time, these tasks piled up. They added weight to my day that took energy away from more pressing initiatives.
• In the end, a bunch of small tasks had turned into one giant one. I had to rely on a heroic effort to get them all done.
• Two minutes is a long time! It’s surprising how much you can accomplish with a focused two minutes.

In the words of David Allen, “the two-minute rule is magic.”

In my teenage years, it was rare to find me without a guitar. If I wasn't in school or working, I was in my room writing new songs or practicing in the unfinished basement of my best friend turned drummer turned best man, Kyle, or performing for a room of people. We played everywhere; the local bookstore, Sweet Sixteens, the neighborhood cafe, a pottery studio, an old record store, restaurants, fundraisers, you name it.

I'm grateful to have had a supportive family who attended just about every concert. Even to this day, they'll gladly make the trip to NYC to see me perform. Before I could drive, my dad would typically accompany me on his own for performances on weeknights. Many of these were open mic nights, aka a lot of fun and a lot of waiting.

As an adult, I look back fondly on these memories with my dad. We found ways to pass the time together, and in the process, I think we formed an unsaid bond. After performing, he'd give me feedback. I'd make mental notes. Most nights, he'd also record the performance, so I'd review it when I got home. More notes. Rinse and repeat.

The more that I performed, the more comfortable I got, the more I wanted to perform for more people.

As recollections of past performances pass through my mind, there is one that always stands out. It wasn't because it was our best performance or we had the largest audience. It was quite the opposite. I can't place the venue, but the turnout was much smaller than we had expected. I had high hopes, and regretfully, I let my disappointment show on stage.

Seeing my frustration, my dad came over to talk to me after a few songs. I don't remember him saying much except this: Always perform like you're in an arena.

It was a reminder that I was performing for myself, just as much, if not more, than my audience. It didn't matter if there were two or 2,000 people in the audience; what mattered was that I gave it my all. For those who did choose to support me, why give them any less than my best?

This statement stuck with me. I still find power in its application today. Over the years, I've come to view life as one big performance. Every day, we perform for our significant other, friends, family, co-workers, clients, etc.

Performance is about being true to yourself and consistently striving for growth. For this to be true, we have to perform for ourselves before we perform for others. We have to want to get up and make a special breakfast for our family because we enjoy seeing them smile. We have to want to design an incredible website experience because we know it will take the client's business to the next level, and that excites us. The minute we stop performing for ourselves and start performing for others, we begin losing sight of why we ever got up on stage.

As I write this, I don't know who will take the time to read it. When I let that get in my way, I find that I rarely make it this far. I become focused on the stories that I think others want to read, not the stories I want to tell. The stories that I know best and make me, me.