Thinking Out Loud
In certain experiences, there’s something special about after:
After an appetizing meal.
After a humbling conversation.
After a dripping sprint.
After a satisfying song.
An afterglow. ✨
And we are blessed to have it at any point, if we so choose.
What are yours?
The always lovely Michelle Obama released her podcast this week.
And of course, the first episode was a home run — featuring her husband: Barack Obama.
It was fascinating to hear their tender and lively chat. What struck me was a guiding principle for them throughout their life — from community organizing to country management.
“We don’t just look out for us, but for all. We are our brother & sister’s keepers.”
Reflecting on her own childhood, Michelle mentioned how neighbors watched over the little ones — and through that, the whole ‘village’ played a huge part in lifting the whole community up.
And it made me muse over the current state of affairs: how “inward’ we’ve grown. More of us are looking after ourselves. Hostility to “others” feels so woven into our fabric. And our leaders aren’t helping: stroking the flames of dissent and marketing “separateness” broadly — where they should be marketing '“togetherness”.
But listening to both of their brimming optimism, you can feel the light in the room. Our newest generation can take a renewed mantle of looking after each other. This is a messy process, but we can do it.
Michelle said it beautifully: I see you, and I celebrate you. More “we-ness”.
As I continue my journey of learning of Diversity, Inclusion and Belonging, I took a wonderful workshop today: White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack.
Dr. Peggy McIntosh reflects in her powerful essay:
I have come to see white privilege as an invisible package of unearned assets that I can count on cashing in each day, but about which I was "meant" to remain oblivious. White privilege is like an invisible weightless knapsack of special provisions, maps, passports, codebooks, visas, clothes, tools , and blank checks.
It’s worth a read in full. It struck me how many forces are at play, both conscious and subconscious, that affect our daily lives:
If I should need to move, I can be pretty sure of renting or purchasing housing in an area which I can afford and in which I would want to live
Whether I use checks, credit cards or cash, I can count on my skin color not to work against
appearance of financial reliability.
I can swear, or dress in second hand clothes, or not answer letters, without having people attribute these choices to the bad morals, the poverty or the illiteracy of my race.
For me, I am incredibly fortunate. Powerful forces (my heritage, citizenship, skin color, race, religion, etc) have pushed me up. In short, I am extremely lucky.
And only recently, I’ve realized how the darker forces can push others down. It’s not fair; it’s not equal, and it’s definitely not just. In the workshop, we talked about how to lessen our own privilege to make space for others.
Here was a fantastic illustration that helped me:
Some tips they shared: Interrupt the default of doing nothing. Recognize your success is so much more beyond you. Start small. If you are a position of any success, reach farther to lift more.
My small part: I am doing work with Braven, an organization that empowers promising young people (especially from underrepresented groups) on their path to college graduation and strong first jobs. Check them out!
To close, I’ll leave you with a quote from Toni Morrison, a novelist who wrote about the Black experience, that gave me chills:
“If you can only be tall because someone else is on their knees, then you have a serious problem”
A tweet by Scott Belksy sparked my curiosity a few weeks ago:
in this everything-as-a-service frictionless-seeking world, consider the tension between CONVENIENCE and RITUAL. For example, subscription coffee startups vs. the escape and pleasure of going out for coffee, smelling the brew, entering a new environment.
— scott belsky (@scottbelsky) June 25, 2020
In the age of ‘now’, we crave the immediate satisfaction of things coming fast. And millions of $$ have flowed into businesses that serve this need — and only accelerated from this pandemic.
But this struck a chord: sometimes a good amount of ‘friction’ is good. Especially in-person experiences that shake things up in our brain.
Personally, a ritual I enjoy is having a long dinner with friends at a restaurant. Nothing beats the atmosphere: the live music (sometimes), the chatter, the table arrangement.
I am thankful for how much convenience comes to my doorstep, but this made me aware of how much I enjoy things that aren’t so easy to get.
Little Rock, Arkansas: what a beautiful city that permeates southern comfort.
My best friend and I were able to do a quick road trip from Dallas here (only 4.5 hours away)!
It was a perfect getaway in a challenging time: local breweries, great ‘Arkmex’ food, and beautiful pedestrian bridges.
Best part? Arkansans are brimming with pure positivity and kindness: it flows so effortlessly like their own namesake river.
My deepest gratitude to La Petite Roche (named by the French who discovered it) in the Natural State!
As I’ve written before, I’ve been moved with the idea of digital nutrition from my friend Faheem (check out his letters).
And this week, I’ve been thinking on the chef behind the bad diet: our smartphone — the magic rectangle.
This rectangle uses some dark magic: it is carefully designed to regularly draw us in with sight (blue light, red badges), sound (dings and notes), and touch (buzzing, smooth glass)
That dopamine hit punctures small holes in our focus and willpower; and we end the day with an empty cup.
It's something I've struggled with for a decade and only realized the gripping effects in the last few years.
My current strategy to lasso control over my own rectangle:
No push notifications for messages: in the past, I remember having dinner with some friends: but my brain was no where in this chat. Where was it? Far away, in the clouds; formulating a future response to a text I had seen on my phone. How crazy was that?
Turn off most red badges: Woof, does this spread anxiety — especially for my inbox. This gives me shivers. Most apps aren't that important for me to go in a check on their time schedule.
Tucking away apps deep into a folder: Man, Instagram and TikTok really can do a number on you, right? I found as soon as lull hit, I opened my home screen and gravitated immediately to those colorful app icons. I found a huge difference in just putting them out of visual reach so I have to actively go and find them. Bonus: if it’s been a particularly addictive, I log out of the app to make it tougher to access.
Of course, magic is wondrous, and we are all grateful for this rectangle’s power. But with great power comes great responsibility. And I need to exercise it more!
A half-decade later, I am saying farewell to a lovely city: San Francisco.
Nestled by the ocean, enveloped by a cloud: the city enraptured me as a place of possibility and promise.
In late 2014, I still remember driving up the 101 looking at the water kissing the highway — in absolute awe.
So many things to love, but here are a few things that meant so much:
Under the moonlight: Most people I met had a very good day job, but what inspired me was how they spent their night. So many crafty tinkerers, budding musicians, simple chefs, avid bicyclists. For me, I discovered a love of creative dabbling— from singing to drawing.
Spacious skies; mountain majesties: Man, isn’t she beautiful? I marveled at the diversity of SF’s landscape. In one day, you could ski on a snow-capped Heavenly mountain, drink chilled Pinot on a rolling Sonoma hill, and then bask in a sunset on the edge of the Pacific. My favorite spot of all time: The Labyrinth at Lands End.
“Think different”: Uniqueness was the color of the city. I reflect fondly of the experiences I had: Hardly Strictly, Bay to Breakers, Outside Lands, Cherry Blossom Festival, and even the Folsom Street Fair. And I’m grateful that it stretched my perspective.
So, nothing but love to this city that grew me a thousand times over. As Tony Benett sang it so beautifully:
I left my heart in San Francisco
High on a hill, it calls to me
To be where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars
The morning fog may chill the air, I don't care
My love waits there in San Francisco
Above the blue and windy sea
When I come home to you, San Francisco
Your golden sun will shine for me
On Juneteenth, I wanted to reflect on my ignorance.
I’m grappling with how little I know. And how much I need to learn and support the Black community. The hard truth: I didn’t know anything about this date.
Watching “13th” recently, I was startled to see how much noise in the background I mute.
This is the story we tell ourselves: if it’s in not affecting me, it’s not my problem. And if look away, maybe this goes away.
And it’s painfully clear: it doesn’t.
So a challenge to myself: more listening, more learning. And then be an active ally to a better story.
In school, I was lucky to be in the company of friends who were gifted students. Facts, figures, equations, and essays came brilliantly to them.
I was in awe of how much they could store in their brains. How could their brains hold so much and my brain so little? Did I even put shampoo on this morning?
For years, I endlessly cycled through methods: flashcards, pneumonic devices, re-writing notes. Some worked; others bombed.
In the last decade, I started to internalize a (not-so-secret) secret: the teacher who teaches knew best. 8 hours, 365 days went a long way. They not only knew the concepts but also expressed them in their own texture. It was both malleable and permanent.
So when you want to learn something pat, find a way to teach it. Even if it’s only to yourself.
Anguish, anger, pain and exasperation.
It has boiled over in this past month in the US, but sadly, it has been a stain on us for many generations: we have massively failed the Black community.
It’s made me reflect on my privilege and silence. I have said little or averted my gaze when it counted.
I realized this week it starts directly with my inner circle: Too many jokes and whispers that had ‘soft echoes of discrimination’.
It made me internalize this poem that was shared with me by Morgan Harper Nichols:
Let me hold the door for you.
I may have never walked a mile in your shoes, but I can see that your soles are worn and your strength is torn under the weight of a story I have never lived before.
So let me hold the door for you.
After all you've walked through, it's the least I can do
A call to myself to commit to this journey for the long-term, especially as the world keeps turning. Don’t look past it, don’t abandon it.
Less bystanding, more upstanding.
That knot starting to tighten. The grip starts to clench. The lines in your face narrow.
I know that feeling too well: you’re ready to go to war with your partner, friend, parent or maybe your child in a heated discussion. Of course they’re wrong — they clearly don’t know all the details as you do!
But…but…but: is it really worth finishing the fight? With the ones we love, usually not. And sheepishly you realize this days later.
My challenge to myself: learning to calm the ‘lizard brain’ of reaction before conflict bubbles to a boil. The love is what remains.
Hoping to remember to being excellent when it’s easy not to.
I saw a beautiful poem: Do not ask your children to strive — by William Martin.
He writes how to teach children to take immense joy in simple pleasures. Invite them into wonder and let them marvel in supremely simple things.
Three decades on this beautiful marble (and even more apparent from the virus), this has been a soothing reminder that ordinary is really lovely.
A belly of laughter from a good chat, the salty finish of a good cookie, and the warmth from a sunny balcony.
Anything beyond? Lovely cream on a satisfying cake of life. The ‘extraordinary’.
Full text of the poem below:
“Do not ask your children
to strive for extraordinary lives.
Such striving may seem admirable,
but it is the way of foolishness.
Help them instead to find the wonder
and the marvel of an ordinary life.
Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples and pears.
Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.
And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself.”
One of the greatest gifts we are bestowed is our family. And I am one of the lucky ones.
Parents who are now friends. A brother and sister-in-law who are soothsayers. Grandparents that can counsel but joke in the same breath. And a whole bunch of aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, nieces and more to fill my cup of happiness.
As I get older, I realize the world isn't so clean and many have lost or never had a ‘blood’ relationship with some (or all) of their family.
But blood is such a tiny slice of the pie. The pie is rather large if you include those whom you love and love you back. And you can feel connected with them as much as your closest family member.
TGIF? TGFF. Thank God for Family*
*However you define it!
Okay, I’ll fully admit it: I am fascinated with TikTok. It has completely raptured me — especially in this brave new world we’re in today.
But why has it became such a force of nature?
For me, it’s a combination of three things: addictive design, bursting creative tools, and (perhaps most important) an inviting community.
Addictive design: TikTok immediately throws you into the product. No sign-in, account, onboarding. Rather than YouTube, it serves concentrated dose of 60 seconds with every flick of your finger that are vertical and fit with your screen. It immediately gives value without asking anything in return. Remember when you supposed to go to bed hours ago? Woops.
Creative tools: After a week, you get inspired to just throw something at the wall and see what sticks. The creative barrier of entry is intentionally set very low. You can lip sync with a trending song, change your environment with a ‘Green Screen’ effect, or add an AR effect with glasses. You really can explode your ideas into every which way.
Inviting community: We want to belong somewhere. Especially now — after life has turned virtual from this virus. But TikTok prides itself on its inviting, zany community. No need to polish, prune, or filter — unleash your authentic self into its atmosphere. And many people will engage and jump in with you. (Literally, with a ‘duet’!)
With the world far apart, we can still feel together. And TikTok gets huge credit for doing a bang up job.
Always been inspired by creators. Those who risk, push, expand their world — all by adding freshness and novelty through their work.
The crazy thing I am realizing: it’s not exclusive to one realm.
Many of those who I admire flex beyond their comfort zone — in areas and lanes that seem so far apart.
But funny enough, that’s the beauty of creativity. It can flow wherever you apply it - it just needs room to breathe. And then practice to take it from good to great.
A reminder to myself: open up my horizons to all creative journeys. It might make the drive even more enjoyable!
Our world has profoundly changed from this virus. Very easy to succumb to alarm, fear, worry and more. The new Great Depression.
But we have been given a gift: a Great Pause.
When the world is now at a ‘red-light’, what can you do with this time? What’s been thrown to the back burner for too long? A page-turner you left behind, that guitar that’s been getting dust, or even a relationship that’s been growing apart.
Despite the worst, our vessels are generally intact. So how are you planning to fill it?
A great article that was shared with me left me thinking this week: "You’re hard on the problem and respectful of the people”
From any challenge or issue, either personal or professional - sometimes all energy gets misplaced on the wrong area: the people side. People will royally screw up, and that’s the fact of life. In fact, it’s very human of us.
But if we spend all the energy at the problem: what is is, why is it, how is it - with merciless precision, it becomes a ‘us’ versus that — versus “you” versus me”.
Treat people with utmost grace and patience. And then both of you can work together on making a problem part of your distant past.
Fred Wilson shared one of Twilio’s values in his fantastic blog: No shenanigans.
The idea that thoughtfulness and care comes from honesty and directness: what you say and do is what you get. It really resonated with me — especially even outside a work context.
Trust is built when you can match your actions and intentions, when your agenda is open and clear with as little as surprises. You can feel so connected when you know you’re getting the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
So a call to myself: strive for less antics, less mischief. It’ll be worth it!
I’ve been subscribing to ‘5 Ally Actions’ - a weekly newsletter to expand out thinking on how we can all elevate our actions to improve diversity & belonging. (Wonderful newsletter - highly recommend subscribing!)
From these emails, a recurring theme that’s been playing in my mind: separating your ‘intent’ from ‘impact’.
Many of us mean well. We really do. We don’t ever intend to make someone feel small, far away, or diminished. But through layers of privilege, aloofness, ignorance — we sometimes add ‘hurt’ to people we work with, live with or love. That ‘impact’ is still very much felt for the party.
So rather than ‘excuse’ or ‘explain’ away your behavior, I’ve been attracted to the idea of ‘surrender’ and ‘acceptance’. Express your apology and regret with a full heart - and push yourself to not make the same mistake twice.
So the impact is actually left with ‘goodness’ - even if intended it to be that all along.
What’s your decision? Yes or No?
Too often, I’ve felt in the middle. Easy to not commit when the consequences are stark or the answers are murky, And you can be lulled into the safe comfort of ‘grey’ answers.
But I heard something this year that resonated: Is it a ‘full body 'yes?
Is it a visceral, in-the-gut kind of feeling? Because that’s hard to fake, or misinterpret. It takes a full listen too - cutting out the din and noise of any inputs.
So when you feel it, you know.
