Author: Sarah K Peck

A facebook addict’s confession

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

I have a confession to make:

Sometimes I think I am addicted to the internet.

And more importantly, addicted to the Facebook.  You know the one. You’ve probably seen the site once or twice.  It’s shiny and it’s blue and all your friends are on it? Yeah, that one.

A month ago, I had a friend tell me that I was addicted to Facebook, and I quickly denied it. I brushed it off, telling her that being addicted was “impossible.” Then I walked straight by her front door and said, “mind if I use your computer real quick?” And there I was, inside someone else’s house, checking my Facebook and ignoring the world around me.  I’m not sure I even stopped to see her roll her eyes at me — I was glued to the screen.

It gets worse. For two weeks, I would wake up in the middle of the night (usually around 2 or 3 AM), panicked that I had forgotten to reply to a certain email or a particular threaded comment on Facebook. You may be laughing, but I was dead serious.  I’d get out of bed, open up my computer, check the update, reply to a few emails, and then close the laptop and go back to bed.

I’m not addicted, I told myself.

I’m just going to move my laptop to my nightstand because it looks better there. And then I don’t have to get out of bed to turn on my computer.

And then the Facebook and endless swirls of internet browsing and other social networking tools crept into my work life. I added a google gadget to my homepage so I could “sneak a peak” here and there on my work breaks. I caved and started going to the full site to check out photos while I was at work (man I love those photos!).

It got so bad, I would switch over to the internet between saving massive files because I figured those 2 minutes for saving were lost time anyways.  Instead of working better, I found myself working longer, later hours, trying to get everything done. When I finally did leave the office, I found that I was thinking in 20 word phrases when I was out supposed to be enjoying the real world. My mind frame on Baker Beach wasn’t about the wind and the sand sticking to my arms, instead, I was thinking, Hey, when I get home, I’ll post: “Sunny glorious day at the beach with @friend and @acquaintence, could this day get any better!?” My status-centric thoughts began to invade the present moment; excuse me, I have to ignore what you’re saying because I’m in the middle of taking the perfect picture to upload to Facebook.

I’ve made so many Facebook posts, I’m sure all of my friends have hidden me by now. I’m that terrible person who clogs up your news feed and changes their profile picture incessantly. If I have any friends left, they are either my family, my poor grandmother who doesn’t know what a “news feed” is or how to find “those picture albums!” or other people, like me, addicted, devoted, and stuck. And perhaps a few creeps who know far more about me than they should.

Then disaster struck: my computer broke. I got the ominous quiver of a screen going black, and then the screen gave out. I could no longer see anything on the computer. I tapped on the screen a few times. Hello? Is anyone there? I looked up from the screen, stretched my cramped back, and realized it was after midnight and I ought to be in bed. I blinked a few times. Now what am I supposed to do?

It was like going cold turkey. Jumping into a bucket of ice water, if you will. I got shakes and quakes and all that’s associated with the withdrawal from anything that you crave and are addicted to. My mind started to think obsessively in status-related updates. Three sleepless nights ensued. If that’s not an addiction, I’m not sure what is.

And then I broke free. I got home after a week of being computer-free (well, computer-free at home; I still have a computer at work). I made dinner, wrote on a REAL notebook with an ACTUAL pen a few drafts for future posts. I sat and read a magazine outside and found myself occupied by consecutive, related thoughts for over three hours. The broken blood vessel in my eye finally healed because I was no longer staring at a screen continuously all day and into the wee hours of the morning. I could read books and sit still for longer than 15 minutes.

Distracting. That’s how my Facebook-centric life was.

The short (albeit unanticipated) break from my computer and social networking addiction gave me a chance to breathe — and to reflect.  Now I’m wondering why: why is an internet post to a random audience of two or three hundred people (most of who really just don’t care) so important to me?  Am I telling myself, hey, look how important I am? Check ME out because I’m having FUN? I certainly don’t rant and rave about the trivialities about my life: you won’t find me bemoaning breakups or glorifying parties or spending (too much) time talking about work (Hey guys, talked to the civil engineer for an hour today and we really nailed that cobble energy dissipater detail…that concrete is going to be washed, man, and the pH will be soooooo neutral). In fact, most of what I post on Facebook is just a tiny sliver of my actual life: I’m much more boring at work, sitting behind a desk (or as it happens today, in a coffee shop, writing) to warrant writing any post about my regular daily life.

Saturday morning? Slept in, and it was glorious. Didn’t you want to know?

P.S. My shirt is purple.

The truth is, if I posted about my actual life — and not just the happy-wonderful facebook-fantasty life that shines through on my rainbow-colored posts — I would bore even myself some times. I work. I sit around. I run a lot. I eat food. Some of it’s good, and some of it’s bad. I try pretty hard to eat the good stuff. Which brings me to my first post-obsession observation: Most of what I say on Facebook is irrelevant.

My second observation was that anything in excess can be destructive. And those Twitter feeds, Gmail popups, Facebook status updates, and continuously updating internet content can quickly become overwhelming and time consuming. For me, the balance was off: I was spending far too much time on the internet. My work was suffering, my writing was suffering, and I couldn’t focus on the tasks at hand because of my compulsion to be on the computer.

Third: living life in public is interesting — and I’m not convinced it’s the healthiest thing for all of us to do.  Living online — and putting information about ourselves online, shared with thousands of people — can be highly damaging if we don’t take some efforts to manage our public personas and understand how personal branding and networking can (positively and negatively) affect us. One only need to look at the results of the Live in Public movie experiment to see how quickly and drastically life online can change.  We’re quickly – and dangerously – learning lessons of personal branding, social networking, and making mistakes in the virtual public realm. Did you hear about the guy who married two women and his second wife posted it on Facebook? Whoops.

Living online should not replace living real life. And it shouldn’t distract you from real life, either.  There are wonderful, amazing benefits to having social networks, sharing information, and being a part of multiple online communities. But when life behind a computer screen inside a room replaces life outside in the world, you’ve got to wonder if the swap-out is a good trade.

But man, is it fun. And this post is not designed to de-rail the wonders of social networking: far from it, in fact. The Facebook is wonderful for many reasons (as is email, Twitter, Linked In, and many other social networking applications).  You won’t see me deactivating any time soon. I love staying in touch with friends, getting updates, hearing about new events, and seeing the beautiful, prolific photo albums of my friends on their travels. I’ll continue to be a Facebook fan. Just not an addict. Because I’d rather be spending time hanging out with you (OMG, IRL?) in person. After, of course, I post this article. On Facebook.

The happiness project

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Sometimes the blues hit.

For me, when the blues hit, they hit hard. I find myself dragging, having a hard time at work, unable to get as much writing done, slower to respond to my friends … They are the days of curling up on couches, hiding underneath blankets, tapping my fingers on counter-tops, playing with the plants in my garden for hours, or walking through forests without any other people around.

I dare say I’ve had a few of those days this summer, as my life winds and twists in ways completely unexpected to me.  Two weeks ago in particular, I felt like I walked smack into a solid wall. I was trying to accomplish too much and attack too many projects. I got in completely over my head. Overwhelmed, scared, afraid even. It’s difficult to admit — to myself even — when I’ve taken on too much and committed myself to too many projects.

In retrospect (of course), the blues aren’t so troublesome as they are informative: they teach me how to press on, where my edges and endings are, what stresses me out, and how to cope with the bad stuff. A week’s stay in a hospital? Not a problem. A nasty bout of dysentery? Check. But a stressful week at work? Strangely, it can sometimes get the best of me.

On the blue-est of days, when my melancholy gets the best of me, I have to use my obsessive list-making to my advantage (me? obsessive? not at all).  I sit down and make a list of the things that make me happy.  “The happiness project,” as I like to call it, is an active method for lifting my soul up a bit on the melancholy days. Here’s how it goes:

The first, simplest (and ONLY) step (I am always surprised by how well it works!) is to write down 100 things that make you happy. Don’t stop at 25, don’t write down things you think *should* make you happy or things that you feel guilty about not liking. And by all means, don’t write down things that make other people happy.  Write down a list of your favorite things to do, even if they are whimsical, fleeting, rare moments, or if you think they aren’t important — still, take note. Take note of those things that cause you to smile and laugh. The best part is getting lost in the thoughts of things that make you happy: sometimes, just wandering through the ideas of fun times is enough to lift your spirit, if you give your mind those few minutes to daydream.

I can’t make your happiness list for you. But here are some of my favorites – the top 60, if you will. Perhaps you’ll enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed making the list.

The Happiness Project

1.  Waking up earlier than the wind, and watching flat, still water across the San Francisco Bay. Feeling like I woke up before the ocean; having birds and even the trees be still.
2. Being in the ocean, the sensory calm of cold, brisk, water simultaneously activating and dulling all of my nerve endings. Swimming in the bay with the sunrise, being the only moving thing between the ocean depths and the expansive sky. Feeling huge against the tiny city, and tiny against the enormity of the ocean.
3. Thick, creamy lattes with the perfect amount of kick.
4. Quiet offices, libraries, and places to work and study.
5.  Big, fat, juicy, sumptuous wonderful HUGS.
6. The catchy ring to a pop song before it’s been overplayed.
7. Dancing, especially late-night club dancing with hot, sweaty crowds of people who are equally happy to be shaking and moving right alongside you.
8. Standing in lines in grocery stores and catching up on trashy magazines.
9.  Getting engrossed in a new novel or a story.
10. People-watching from cafes, porches, or benches.
11. Splashing water in a swimming pool, jumping off diving boards, and laying out in the sunshine on a lounge chair with friends.
12. Unexpected sunshine, especially in San Francisco. Good heat waves, with 90+ temperatures and sweat dripping down the back of your t-shirt.
13. Baking cookies, particularly chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal-raisin cookies, or snickerdoodles.
14. Trying out new dessert recipes (the latest: cream puffs) or making the family brownies.
15. Having a project canceled or finishing a deadline early and NOT being too busy.
16. Meeting new friends.
17. Running into old friends in unexpected places, or reconnecting with people I haven’t seen in a long time.
18. Putting my thoughts into words; describing things to people, explaining a new concept or idea.
19. Good old-fashioned making out.
20. Holding hands. :)
21. Writing songs, books, short stories and poetry.
22. Tutoring and teaching little kids.
23. Talking for hours on the telephone.
24. Running. Running fast, slow, jogging, pacework and on trails through the woods.
25. Racing and competing.
26. Having dinner parties.
27. Riding my bike.
28. Getting a great night’s sleep.
29. Being relaxed enough to sleep in (this is a very rare occasion)
30. Taking sunshine naps with cats
31. Playing, talking, and running around with little kids
32. Gardening and digging in the dirt. Watching plants grow over months. Harvesting food from my own garden.
33. Quilting and sewing. Fixing old things rather than buying new things.
34. Daydreaming.
35. Hiking
36. Beaches.
37. Magazines: all sorts of magazines. Nerdy, financial ones, business ones, graphic design and landscape; short stories; the new yorker; vanity fair … all of them. I like them ALL.
38. Redwood trees, camping, and the smell of pine
39. Not showering for 3 days
40. Long, hot, slow showers and big, delicious bubble baths
41. Yoga classes with really good teachers. Finding an edge in an uncomfortable pose and finding the breath to be free of discomfort.
42. Handwritten letters and cards.
43. Good wine, gin & tonics, and a really cold beer on a hot, hot day.
44. Barbecues and backyards and handstands.
45. Being surrounded by really great people.
46. Hamburgers and french fries on Fridays.
47. Fresh salads, garden vegetables, crunchy peppers, and unusual food.
48. Clothes that feel as comfortable as pajamas.
49. Outdoor picnics. Even with ants.
50. The occasional trashy television show. Current guilty favorites: Big Brother and Bachelor Pad.
51. Learning how to surf, feeling a still quiet on the board. Forgetting about freezing cold water and wet skin. Seeing the shoreline from the water’s edge.
52. Meeting new people and hearing about where they come from, how they became who they are, and what they spend time doing.
53. Listening to music, especially live music.
54. Being outside, anywhere, anytime.
55. Big, shady, wind-rustling trees. Trees that swallow you up and give you a backbone to sit against, like a big parent, giving you a hug from which to sit back and watch the world.
56. Large batches of homemade soup on cold winter days. Meals that take more than24 hours to prepare.  Cooking big feasts for large parties.
57. Snowy days, cabin fires, running naked in the snow, sitting in saunas.
58. Hot chocolate.
59. Playing with puppies, cats, and animals. Finding the sweet scratch spot behind the ears.
60. Hanging out with my family. Spending lots of time with my cousins, new babies, grandparents, aunts and uncles.

Losing my rib, rehabilitating my body, and doing my first triathlon.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

This is the story of meeting an accomplishment. Achievement is one stepping stone in building career and self-confidence.

Many people reiterate the importance of a “life goals” checklist – a list of things that you hope to do, by a certain time or year, in your lifetime. This summer I accomplished a huge life goal of mine: I completed an Olympic Triathlon. It may seem like a a regular goal to some, and it may pass off the radar screen for many. My family and friends know me as an athlete; then why is one triathlon such a goal for me?

When I graduated from college, one of my life goals was to do a triathlon in my years post-college. Instead, I got wrapped up in the hectic late night schedule of graduate architecture school and made a mess of work-life balance while trying to learn how to design. Three years went by, and it seemed I would never really be an athlete in the way I was in college. It was physically and mentally depressing – the lack of endorphins, the lack of adrenaline, of competition. I missed it.

In 2008, I finished my Master’s program and, re-energized, I moved to San Francisco and quickly signed up to do a triathlon relay with friends on the SF Tri Club. The swim leg was amazing, but I still couldn’t run or bike – and I didn’t own a bike to ride.

I spent 2008-2009 training for a half marathon – running 5K’s and training in the foggy cold morning hours and trying to figure out how to make my legs move faster than an 11-minute-mile pace. I didn’t really know what I was doing, but I had my sights set on one big goal: the July 26, 2009 SF half marathon – my first half marathon. I wanted to focus on running training, and work my way up to a triathlon for the end of the summer 2009. I splurged and I bought my first road bike – a Fuji Roubaix Pro. The rest of my pennies went to a bike pump. Biking shoes would come later. Three weeks until the half marathon!

On July 4, 2009, I stopped by the doctor’s office to figure out a problem with tingling and numbness in my right arm. I walked into the facility with my work clothes on and only my wallet and keys in my pocket – expecting to leave a few hours later.  Instead, I was transferred to the ER and later the ICU for 5 days to undergo an extensive set of tests that revealed a 3″ blood clot inside my chest (blocking blood flow to the upper right extremities in my body), and it required immediate action. I was hooked up to a drip line of TPA (one of the most deadly chemicals available) to “melt” the clot and monitored on an hourly basis for vital signs and breathing. I was a test case for intervention radiology – a series of “living x-rays” – that show the movement of blood through your body after injecting dye into the blood stream. (There were some really cool pictures from this process).

Ironically, I had a rare condition in which my rib and collarbone were too close – nearly touching – pinching the vein and nerves in my thoracic outlet and creating a blood “traffic jam” in my body. After removing the clot, the UCSF hospital cleared the cardiovascular operating room for the whole day to remove my first rib and examine the extent of vascular surgery required. Thankfully, they did not have to cut through my breastbone and open my chest cavity – I was under for only 3 hours and left the hospital with a 6 week no-arm movement prognosis (and no yelling/talking/couching/sneezing or moving my chest, either).

My 2009 Fall season was filled with yoga, gentle runs, and working my way back into swimming – 300, 500, and 800 yards at a time.  In January I did a 1500-yard swim that didn’t hurt my shoulder or neck – because in the process of removing a rib, the doctors also cut out some of the upper chest muscles that hold your ribs in place – making it really painful to reach, stretch, or put any weight or pressure on my entire upper body post-surgery. Sneezing, talking, coughing, and laughing were excruciating. Fortunately, the recovery time went quickly and by March, at 8 months, I swam 3000 yards.  I got out my bike from Sports Basement and started going on short 5 and 6 mile rides. I started riding to work (8 miles each way) and felt my legs getting stronger.

In late March, 2010 I renewed my tired inspirations to actually *do* a triathlon (now a goal over 5 years in the making) and signed up for SF Tri Club’s track practice and Wildflower Training Weekend. At the training weekend, I did my first 25 mile bike ride (which left me panting, sweaty and shaking all over.) The swim was excellent, but the run sub-par (I ended up walking the last 4 miles of it).

And then, the summer of 2010. This summer was absolutely inspiring. I met triathletes who finished half ironmans and full ironmans and watched my friends use their bodies for 9, 12, and 17 hours without stopping. I ran my first 9 mile race and coastal trail runs and began to fall in love with running, especially through wooded, dense, forested areas.  I went on a 57-mile bike ride and waddled for days, but still came out grinning. I went to track practice enough times to make some new friends in the city, and swam with USF Masters many more times. I tried out my new tri-fit and wetsuit in Aquatic Park and got shiny new clip-in pedals (only 2 days before the race – whoops – never a good strategy). Each day I get to run, race, swim, or compete makes me incredibly happy. I can’t take a day – or a race – for granted, and I’m so lucky to be able to live in beautiful San Francisco, spend time outside, meet fabulous people, and train and compete.

On a sunny, clear-skied early morning, I drove down to San Jose to do the Silicon Valley International Triathlon and complete my first triathlon. I was incredibly nervous and really excited. It was my first time doing a brick, my first time doing transitions, my first time in the tri-fit in a race, and my first time racing with clip-in pedals. I took it out smooth and long on the swim; negative-split the bike trying to keep a little energy in my legs (upon reflection, perhaps I could have gone faster), and ran the entire run course without walking. In the end, I was hot, sticky, sweaty, and unbelievably happy. I did it: 2 hours and 55 minutes of pure glory. I came out fast in the swim and was passed continuously on the bike and held on at the end of the run. I made it.

I can finally check off the beginning of my goal to start doing triathlons. I am now a triathlete.

Give Yourself A Chance To Get Good

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

For the most part, I don’t like doing things that I’m not good at.

I prefer doing things I’m good at. Especially as I get older, I find I dislike being “bad” at something. The more expertise I gain in my respective fields, the more I find I enjoy — and gravitate towards — things that I’m already good at.

When we were children, we spent ample amounts of time being frustrated, learning and figuring out new things. We did it every day, a hundred times a day, sometimes even a hundred times a minute.

On a single day in Kindergarden, we learned how to tie our shoes, comb our hair, dress ourselves, how to share and play with others (sometimes not so well), what splinters were, whether landing from a big jump was painful or thrilling, how to make daisy chains, what paint is, what happens when put stuff in our noses, and how to stand in a line to get lunch. The teacher had activities for us planned every fifteen minutes and our brains were always expanding, never saturated.

As a result, we were tired — we conked out for nap time twice a day and consumed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and goldfish and apple juice. We were constantly running around, wondering why on earth adults were so tediously repeating to us that we ought to “slow down!” (Of course, as every five-year-old knows, why slow down if I can get there rightnow?)

And then, somehow, we became adults. We made it through the awkward-bobbly teenage angst years and even through college and asserted our independence, autonomy, and maturation through increased levels of responsibility, decision making, and ability. I have a general understanding of what a 401K is and why I need it; I believe in the time value of money through compounded interest; I hope to make informed decisions when voting in a democracy; I show up to work on time; I’ve made a life list and learned how to say no; I understand the value of saving for a rainy day, and I am, to every five-year-old, a boring adult.

Now what? Am I done learning?  I like to think that somewhere inside of every adult still lies our inner five-year-old, the monkey-ish person who bounces in meetings and runs in the halls instead of walks, who says what they think, and asks the most obvious (and the most interesting) questions about how the world works, and why it works the way it does.

I like to look back at my 5-year-old self and take a cue from the crazy girl running around on the playground and try to remember what it felt like to be at that pace of learning, growing, exploring, and being frustrated. When I get frustrated with learning new things, especially if I shy away because it’s hard or difficult — or i’m not yet any good at it — I think about how i would measure up to my 5-year-old self.

Quite frankly, she would probably kick my ass at her skill-acquiring ability. Granted, the complexity of the skills we learn as adults may not be comparable to our abilities as a kindergardener. But there are still lessons:

  • The first time trying something new is usually filled with effort, struggle, energy, and a low satisfaction-to-energy ratio. Why fall on your face 20 times trying to do handstands if you’ve already perfected sitting in a chair comfortably?  If, however, you only did what you were good at, then you would be done learning. Imagine, then: nope, I’m not going to try that because it’s something new. Can’t do it, sorry.
  • In work, it can take slow, dedicated, frustratingly long amounts of time to get good at something. At times, I’ve contemplated leaving my job because of the day in and day out exhaustion-frustration of tasks being difficult and new. But what holds me to my desk is the fact that I’m learning, no matter how discouraging it can be — and that staying at home, or doing something I already know how to do will not yield the same satisfaction or sense of accomplishment when I tackle, acquire and absorb new skills, techniques and knowledge.
  • The downside is that you can’t always tell how long it will take to “get good” at something. You don’t remember how long it took you to learn how to tie your shoes — now you just know how to do it.  And you do it automatically. And you’re probably pretty glad you practiced every day of that month in kindergarten, because the more you practiced, the more quickly you learned the skill.  You won’t be good at something for a while — not until you put in effort, energy and perseverance.
  • It’s inherently humbling to be in an entry-level job: the tasks vary from ridiculously easy to frustrating, over your head, and complicated. Sometimes the most difficult challenge of new tasks is figuring out how to figure them out: learning how to learn. Each day I walk into the office prepared to be surprised, to learn, to explore, research and discover. I’m never “done learning.”

And sometimes, it takes a long time to get good at something. It’s been said that it takes 10,000 hours to become an expert at something.  Given that a year is (roughly) 2000 work hours, then figure it takes a least five years to become good at something. That’s five full-time years — it will take longer if it’s a hobby or a part time endeavor. Get grinding … see you in 5 years. So if you’re struggling in the first 1, 2, or 3 years of a new job, first, breathe a sigh of relief: you’re right where you should be.

Give yourself the chance to learn.  Leaving because learning is hard is never a reason to quit. The lesson in not giving up?

Give yourself a chance to get good at something.

Do something useful

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

In Time’s 10 questions interview with Elon Musk (co-founder of electric car maker Tesla), Musk talks about his experience building the Tesla electric car company, his belief that most people can become entrepreneurs, and his strategies for successful start-up companies.  In a word, Musk says that companies will be successful when they are doing something useful for other people.  Become an entrepreneur, he encourages.

And “do something useful.”

I love this. My seeming obsession with the question “what do you do?” (as evidenced through the Professional Focus interviews throughout this blog) stems from my unending curiosity about what, exactly, it is that people “do” every day – whether it’s behind their desks, in swanky offices, out and about in the field, at home, or spending long hours behind a computer (like I often do).  I’m still not convinced that the nine-to-five model (or, as it’s becoming more common, the eight-to-eight workday) is truly the most effective way to work. I’m also baffled when I hear stories about long, tedious workdays that seem to have no end and no conclusive purpose. And thus I ask: What do you do?

I’ll admit, this has often led to a series of bad-date-esque scenarios where I’m hounding a person with questions about their daily existence.

Me: “What do you do?”
Them: “I’m a __________ ”
Me: “Nifty. So what do you do each day?”
Them:  “I check my email, go to meetings, respond to questions.”
Me: “What kind of questions?”
Them: “You know, client emails and such.”
Me: “How do you know when you’re done with your work?”
Them: “Well, I just go home when I finish tasks.”
Me: “Who defines these tasks?”

… and it goes on. My apologies to those who I’ve already badgered with questions: I’m not trying to be a nuisance, I promise.  I’d like to better understand the work day and how we define our tasks within our organizations. Often, it seems we spend a lot of time doing things that seem to just fill up our time.  And with time becoming more and more valuable, especially if you find yourself busier, in demand, or beginning to take on the role of project management within your firm, I find myself constantly asking: who is it for? why are we doing it? And what processes do we use to get these tasks done? The big question “what do you do” is inherently linked to my further curiosity about why people do what they do.

Beyond the immediate functionality of my work habits, I also reflect on the type of work that I am producing in the long term: Am I doing something useful for our clients? Is the work we produce something I am proud of? Is there a tangible goal or product that I have worked on? How can I do better next time? Does my work have meaning? There is no “right” answer to the questions I’ve posed. Fundamentally, I want to understand what we do, why we do what we do, and how it is that we get our work done. Much of my research and reading centers around these questions, and I’m a big fan of The four hour work week by Timothy Ferriss, the 80/20 rule, What color is your parachute, and recent writing by Martha Beck. It is through this exploration and reflection that I can be critical and reflective of my own habits and productivity.  Tomorrow morning, as I head back into the office, it will be refreshing to focus my thoughts on one question this week:

Am I doing something useful? Because Musk nails it, in his advice on entrepreneurship and starting a company. This advice translates to everyday tasks as well as larger questions about our work habits and company goals.  During my down time between projects (a rare occurrence it seems), I reflect and ask myself: am I doing something useful with this time? Am I doing something useful for my organization? How am I setting up tomorrow’s tasks to run more efficiently? Do something useful: do it for yourself, in your own time, and for your time working on projects or in the office.

Don’t take (life) too seriously.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

** Editor’s note: This is an expanded version of a post originally written for Grown in the City, a Washington, D.C., based blog about urban planning and gardening. The post is a diversion from some of my previous posts, but still holds relevance for themes on this blog, so I thought I’d repost it here today. **


“Gardening gets taken far too seriously.  All I ask is that it should be enjoyable and stimulating and give a sense of place.” – John Hubbard, Painter, Gardens Illustrated, issue 162.

There’s a particular thrill of coming home, tossing off the work jacket, rolling up your pants and heading out into a garden. Digging in dirt must be native to our humanity, somehow, because every gardener I know finds weeding, shoveling, planting, watching, and waiting undeniably stimulating.

For some, the garden is an extensive oasis of land and rolling hills in a backyard; for others, particularly city dwellers, our landscapes come in kitchen pots, terraces, outdoor containers, urban streetscapes, pocket parks, and the shared landscapes of our city parks. Accidental spaces – forgotten streets, community gardens, or volunteer efforts to reinvigorate a derelict space in the city- make up our shared garden spaces in the city today.

My current garden in the San Francisco bay area is a series of unfortunate mistakes and blunders: I’ve left pots out in the cold, put sun-loving plants in the bitter wind and chilly fog that takes over the city, and more recently, I’ve been battling an onset of critters that threaten to wipe out my entire summer garden. After setting up a garden spot in Sausalito (north of San Francisco), I’ve found that this new spot, while sunny, attracts deer, moles, voles, raccoons, cats, dogs, slugs, birds, and even an occasional human footstep – all of which painstakingly eradicated my eight large tomato plants, herbs, and bush beans before the 4th of July. As a result, my increasingly empty garden is starting to feel like a series of mistakes. I don’t have the luscious, delicious garden that I had imagined in my mind. I have a small spot of under-watered grass, some herbs, a few zucchini, and only leftover dreams of large tomato plants for next summer. Frustratingly, I have to question myself: what can I, as a landscape architect in my day job, possibly offer as words of advice to other gardeners in other cities, when I am failing to even succeed in my own garden (or job, for that matter)?

Our views of our careers undergo the same stress and critique. Some days I wake up and I look at myself in my career and lament that the virtual “work garden” seems empty. Some weeks are filled with incredible efforts that feel under appreciated or slide into the wayside.  We have plans and visions for our success in the workplace: we want to climb the career ladder, strike out on our own, and notch success ticks on the virtual measuring stick, allowing us to reflect on our accomplishments over time.  We don’t want to be the same people tomorrow as we are today: our hopes and dreams of bigger salaries and more responsibility reflect our need for growth and accomplishment as people.

So I can’t seem to grow a few plants. This frustration hits close to home, however,  because I would hope that my green thumb might shine a bit brighter. In the end, though, it’s not what the garden (or the work landscape) looks like today – for the raw components are constantly changing and my strategies for success at work continually evolving.  It’s not just the plants that stuck with me (thankfully some zucchini are still growing strong!) that make me smile. Even the disappearing tomato plants make me laugh as I refer fondly to them as my “sunk costs” – for the most difficult plants to grow are often the most valuable teachers.

I have to remind myself as I stare out across the yard and at my pile-ridden desk at work, that the work efforts are not in vain unless I give up or fail to learn from the mistakes; today’s empty dirt lot is a blank canvas rich with learned lessons for tomorrow’s garden. (I know more about voles, moles, and raccoons than I would care to admit. I’ve installed fences, gates, placed garlic in the ground, sprayed deer fence, and even contemplated installing a night camera to identify the critters that wreak the most havoc.)  At work, I may not have projects built (yet) and I am not a published author (yet) and I am still *just* a staff member, but the learning never stops.

For Hubbard’s words on gardening, above, rings true for both my plant palette at home and at my borco-board covered drafting table at work: it should be enjoyable (it is, for the most part) and beyond that, I still can dream, and dig, and water, and play – and it all makes me smile, no matter how many plants keep disappearing. Don’t take gardening (or life) too seriously – even the best-laid plans sometimes fail.  Right now the table is a series of paper piles; I hope in a few years’ time I have built landscapes to share with you, a wider blog audience for my writing, and possibly (although no promises) a decent backyard landscape to sit in and contemplate my next venture. Or just have a barbecue.

Last Child in the Woods: Richard Louv on Nature Deficit Disorder

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Picture “Go and play outside.”

This statement, a way for parents to get their children out of the house, used to be a popular command. Some time in the last few decades, however, it became a relic of the past. In a world where we take escalators to the gym, play video games for leisure, and diagnose people with “internet addiction,” parents and children are not making time to explore the outdoors.

In Richard Louv’s book, Last Child in the Woods, one fourth-grader describes his play preferences: “I like to play indoors better ’cause that’s where all the electrical outlets are.” Today, many children no longer experience the natural world and many suffer from “nature-deficit disorder,” a term coined by Louv to describe “the human costs of alienation from nature, among them diminished use of the senses, attention difficulties, and higher rates of physical and emotional illnesses.” Depression and higher crime rates can be linked to the absence or inaccessibility of parks and open spaces.

Computers, televisions, electronics, structured education systems, an increased “fear of others” or homogenization of neighborhoods, and a lack of access to natural areas make it difficult for children to spend time outdoors. Increasingly, government, planning, and neighborhood organizations place restraints on open space and park hours, making free play impossible. As a result, nature has become an icon, a thing to look at, or a place to visit — not an inherent part of our being.

Louv argues that the experience of the natural world, in the time and rhythm of the outdoors, is essential for human well-being, learning, and development, and that nature is a powerful remedy for many social, psychological, and health disorders. “Healing the broken bond between our young and nature is in our self-interest,” he declares, “not only because aesthetics or justice demand it, but also because our mental, physical, and spiritual health depend upon it.”

Louv notes that the antidote to nature deficit disorder is simple: Get children back into the wild. For planning organizations, this requires rethinking the structures and institutions that make up our neighborhoods, cities, and organizations beyond the family unit. Access to nature is a societal issue, not a private issue. “In the United States,” Louv writes, “a challenge remains to overcome the polar distinction between what is urban and what is natural. Perhaps because of the expansiveness of our ecological resources and land base, we have tended to see the most significant forms of nature as occurring somewhere else — often hundreds of miles away.”

Throughout Last Child in the Woods, Louv, an expert storyteller, weaves anecdotes together with factual information to create a powerful message that motivates environmentalists, designers, and parents alike. Yet despite his message, the methods for action he presents are less clear. At the end, the reader is left with nostalgia for the past, but without a clear idea of what must be done, today, in this world, to implement new strategies.

Note: This is a re-post from a book review I originally wrote for the American Planning Association in 2008. The messages and information from the book are continuously relevant, so I wanted to share the post with a wider audience.

Last child in the woods: Saving our children from nature-deficit disorder
Author: Richard Louv
Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2005
(originally published in The New Planner — Winter 2008)

Work life balance: do you fill up all of your tanks?

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

What is work-life balance, anyways? Jenny Blake (author of Life After College) and Lindsey Pollak discuss work-life balance and ask whether or not you are happy in your job, and what that means. During the conversation, my favorite tidbit was the idea that your work may only fill up some of your tank and that it’s okay if your job doesn’t satisfy all of your needs as a person. Perhaps your job gives you roughly 50% of the satisfaction that you’re looking for in work and your career. This can be distressing – you’re probably asking, ‘is this the right job for me if I’m not always happy with it?”  Instead of viewing your job and your work as “half empty,” perhaps it’s time to start looking at our jobs as filling us up to to half full.

Perhaps your current job only fills up one of your “tanks.” This does not mean that your job is something that won’t work for you – it just means you have to recognize that you are multifaceted and complex, and you may need to seek work or activities outside of your day job to really “fill up your tank.” It’s a hard sell to find a job that is everything you want it to be – a creative engine, an artistic place, filled with challenging problems, a place where you have oodles of responsibility, something that balances your athletic needs, a place of rest and relaxation. Often, we’re afflicted with a “grass is greener” approach (also known as job envy) when we think that other jobs are more fulfilling. In reality, they probably offer certain areas of satisfaction – but may leave you craving other outlets.

For me, I find my day job fills me up about 50% – more or less during any given week, depending on the projects and the level of responsibility I have. After struggling with a corporate job for the first year, I realized that I can’t expect my job to fulfill all of my needs as a person – and more importantly, that it’s up to me to find other activities and tasks that satisfy my irks and quirks. I love the creativity, challenge, and artistic components of being a landscape architect. However, I also crave person-to-person interaction, thoughtful reflective writing, and (to others) inordinate amounts of athletic exercise. Sitting at a desk all day long, for example, does not give me the active, athletic outlet that I’m looking for. (not to worry: I’m already campaigning for a walking workstation at my office). Making my job something I love requires some extra effort – and for me, a strategy. My main strategy for making my job something that I love is to fill up my other tanks so that I can go back to my job each day fulfilled. (Suffice it to say, writing is also one of my favorite extracurricular activities).

The good news about having a 50% job? You’re already at 50%! Also, looking critically at what your job IS (here’s to looking at the positives!)  and identifying what your job is NOT – can help you figure out what type of jobs and work make you happy. Discovering what you don’t like about your job reveals a lot about you as a person: it tells you what else you need to be satisfied. It teaches you the direction to take your current job, whether or not you should leave your job for something more fulfilling, and how to add activities to your life that help balance out your needs. It’s our task to look elsewhere for the rest of our “life fuel.”

 

Johanna Lelke: on Chiropractic Medicine, starting your own practice, and perseverance

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

This interview delves into the world of Chiropractic Medicine with Johanna Lelke, DC, of Innersport Chiropractic in Berkeley, CA. Johanna earned her Bachelor of Science in Biology from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst. While contemplating an advanced medical degree, she learned about chiropractic medicine and “took the plunge” in starting and creating her own practice with Innersport. In this interview, we talked about the risks associated with starting your own practice – and how perseverance, determination, and a passion for your career choice are key components for cultivating a successful career.

What did you study in school and how did that lead to your current profession?

I earned a Bachelor of Science in Biology from University of Massachusetts, Amherst. I spent two years post-grad working in a prestigious neurogenetics lab in Boston, enjoying the twenty-something lifestyle that the city offered. I was exposed to chiropractic in my final year of undergrad, and then took the time to investigate the profession while I worked in Boston.

Tell me more about Chiropractic: how did you decide to get into this field?

Chiropractic is so specialized, unlike traditional Western medicine, that I had to commit to it before the program began. That’s what felt hard at first, thinking that I had limited myself in some way. In hindsight, I am hardly limited as a chiropractor. I get to run my own business, continually develop my clinical skills, and work at the art of the doctor-patient relationship.

Did you have any doubts about having to select your career path before you gained experience?

My doubts did not not outweigh my convictions in choosing this particular career path. Very well-intentioned friends suggested I consider physical therapy or genetic counseling, but these careers lacked opportunities for autonomy and directing my own business. Although I had no experience working inside a chiropractic office, my science laboratory work experience had shown me which path I did not want to pursue. My enthusiasm made up for what I didn’t know about working inside the chiropractic world.

What does your typical daily schedule look like?

I treat patients three half days and two full days a week according to my self-directed schedule. At most, there are 5 other practitioners in my office at once. Each of us has our separate business entity under the same roof, also called independent contractors. When you run your own business, “office hours” are really 24-7. You’re always networking and building relationships with potential sources of referrals. There is an incredible overlap between personal and professional life. For example, as an avid climber I train at the gym a few times a week. I’m always meeting fellow climbers and athletic folks who have nagging injuries, even though I’m not directly marketing to them. The same goes for my running club.

What was the transition like between undergrad and graduate school?

I made the work force to grad school transition when I was 25. I admit, around age 24 I read Quarter Life Crisis! The transition was hard, but not impossible. The program eased us into 1st Quarter coursework like children into the Gingerbread House. There were multiple layers to adjusting to my grad program: transplanting to a West Coast city when all I had known was Massachusetts for 25 years; developing new friendships and romances; and the increasingly demanding work load of a full-time job plus evenings and weekends of studying.

When did you actively begin job searching (while in school or afterwards)? How long did it take to find a job?

I started in my 11th quarter to investigate job opportunities. I learned through colleagues that you rarely get paid well as an employee chiropractor. I knew that starting my own practice as an independent contractor was potentially the lowest-cost and highest-reward scenario. I had a new niece in Oakland, so I moved close by. Luckily, because of a family-friend connection, I was offered an associateship by a chiropractor in Concord, CA. Then, a friend who was searching for chiropractic jobs also in the Bay Area found Innersport for me. And it just fit.

When thinking about the transition from College to Professional life, what took the most getting used to?

This transition is very fresh. The uncertainty of success was daunting at first. But when I started to build a good patient base, my confidence increased. Then the momentum started to pick up, and I got the guts to keep trying new strategies to reach out to your potential clients. You win some, you lose some.

Do you have any specific tips for people with regards to gaining career confidence?

I had questions like: “Can I afford rent every month? Would patients return? Would colleagues in other healthcare fields respect me?” You have to keep in mind that any well thought-out career plan takes these risks into consideration. I looked at the risks and benefits of beginning my practice in this particular set of circumstances and envisioned the best possible outcome. I took action without allowing the doubts to paralyze me, and that’s my experience of how success happens.

What does “work-life balance” mean to you, and how do you maintain a work-life balance?

The balance means maintaining low stress, keeping ample energy for myself, and giving enough to my patients. Fitness and good health are priorities in my life. I combine many fitness and social activities through climbing and running with friends and my sister. I do not hold office hours on the weekends. This creates freedom in my life for taking a climbing trip, going to a new yoga class, marketing at sports events, taking seminars, or just relaxing.

You’re very lucky to be able to create your own schedule and, in many ways, be accountable for your own business. What advice do you have for other people carving out their own career paths?

Make friends fast. I’ve learned the hard way that colleagues matter a great deal when you are in charge of your own business and patients. I came to my East Bay community as a stranger amongst other chiropractors and everyone else. I had my first sick day last week, and I was reminded that I lose potential income very fast when I am not present. There are no “sick days” allowed. This is one instance when I need chiropractor friends close by and ready to help out. Luckily, and I really mean that, my Innersport colleague had a few openings in her schedule and that allowed some of my patients to be seen without cancelling on them. You always need a few willing friends in the corner ready to back you up when you need it!

Think back to the moments in the very beginning of your career, before you had the benefit of hindsight. How did you stay positive? What were your strategies for learning and growing?

I continually reminded myself that career situations are temporary. Like most relationships, the one you have with your business is adaptable. I knew that I would give my best effort to build a practice in Berkeley, but I had the freedom to navigate elsewhere if it didn’t steadily grow or if I was unhappy. I never let myself feel like I am trapped in a career situation. I also had many small clinical successes in school and received powerful complements from school faculty, friends and colleagues. Their encouragement had given me a long-lasting confidence boost.

What advice do you have for recent college grads and new employees?

With confidence in your vision, you can accomplish anything. Really.

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To learn more about Innersport, visit the company website. Johanna can be reached at this address for further questions.

“Career Focus” is a series of interviews with young professionals in San Francisco exploring different job fields and professions and the journey from academia into the working world. Previous interviews have covered Project Management at BACR, Sports Medicine, and Web Development and Technology Consulting.

Thoughts on failure

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about making college and career choices. It was a response to an email I received from a previous student resident of mine, asking my opinion about making college decisions, choosing a major, and building up a life plan. In my response, I talked about failure:

“Failures are not failures, they are successes. If you spent five years learning about something and trying it out and realizing that it’s not for you, it is NOT A FAILURE. You’ve learned, analyzed, grown, deliberated, decided – and chances are you have acquired some useful skills along the way. A failure means that you’ve tried. Appreciate the opportunities you have to explore, learn, and practice. Even if you change your mind again in five years, you’ll still have learned about how to communicate, practiced business, budgeting, managed projects, made friends and new contacts, etc. The list never ends.”

I want to expand on this idea of “failure.” Wikipedia defines failure as “the state or condition of not meeting a desirable or intended objective, and may be viewed as the opposite of success.”

I find myself wondering, why is failure such a bad thing? Why is there such a stigma regarding failure, and why do we discourage ourselves from starting, trying, or fixing things because we’re afraid that in doing so, we might fail? I tend to disagree with latter half of the Wikipedia definition – a failure may result in not meeting our desired objectives, yes, but it is most certainly not the opposite of success.

Some further thoughts regarding the idea of “failure,” in no particular order:

The only failure – ever – is a failure to try. The most lingering disappointments, I find, are from opportunities that I’ve ignored or challenges that I’ve declined to embrace. The tough stuff is what teaches us about ourselves, expands our life experiences, and allows us to change and grow.

To try – and to “fail” – is to FALL, not to FAIL. To try, no matter how unsuccessfully, is to learn.  You might consider the opposite of failing rather as “falling.” That is, sometimes we fall flat on our face. We go all-in, back to the wall, in-it-to-win-it to succeed. And we fall short. Way short sometimes. This is not a failure. The more gutsy the attempt, the more admirable the fall.

Falling is hard. It’s embarrassing, discouraging, and scary to fall — and it can be downright hard. But being in the trenches, learning, is what leads to future successes. Every step forward gives you the chance to learn and to grow. We get feedback on how we are doing, we learn more about ourselves, and we discover our capabilities. And, if we’re lucky, we know better (albeit somewhat painfully) what steps we need to take to improve our performance for the next time.

Learning takes time. A friend of mine had the best advice – it’s now a favorite quote of mine:  “When you learned to walk and talk, it didn’t all go well at first .. at least for a while. We’re silly human people and we need to practice things before we do them well.”

The concept “failure” happens when our expectations are not in line with our effort. We feel “failure” most poignantly when our expectations are not in line with our effort. At times, you may find yourself faced with the harsh reality that what you’ve expected or anticipated hasn’t turned out how you thought it would.  The bigger the discrepancy, the more uncomfortable and disappointing the failure can be.  By not recognizing the steep learning curves around us, we can become discouraged by our lack of expected success.  “Success” takes more than belief, courage, and hope: it also takes hard work, effort, and often incredible amounts of perseverance and energy.

Focus on the positive, even during downturns. Be thankful for chances, opportunities, and challenges. Even if you hate your job, are stuck in a terrible relationship, are a million miles away from your home, or undergoing an arduous challenge, there are still positives. You have your job. You are exploring and you are learning. You are meeting new people. You are stretching the bounds of what you know, how you perform, and what you can be. And thus, my last random quote on failure:

“There’s nothing more to live your life by, that wake up each day and say yes, this I will try.”

And thus, I am thankful for failure, thankful for falling, thankful for opportunities. I’ve learned to walk, talk, and read. For now, I can only ask: What’s next?