A week ago today, I sat in a room and listened to Jerry Seinfeld speak. It was seven days ago.
It feels like months ago.
One of the things about working on the internet is that time moves in incredibly bizarre ways. News that blows up in the morning is forgotten by the afternoon. Things move fast.
And it messes with your sense of time. It makes the weeks difficult to track — there’s just so much you’ll come into contact with in the course of five days.
That’s why I’ve found it’s so important to set goals at the start of the week, and to spend some time on Fridays looking back at what’s actually been accomplished. I’ve discovered that on internet time, I’m capable of wasting lots of time. And if I’m not diligent about tracking my goals/accomplishments, I’ll get to Friday and discover that I’ve spent a week feeling busy, but really going nowhere.
I got to see Jerry Seinfeld get interviewed on Monday night. This quote from the interview really struck me:
“If you really want to make money, never make a decision based on money. If you chase money, you’re going to get less of it. If you chase a thing that you love that’s interesting, only because you love that thing, you’ll make more money.”
I love that. It’s something I’ve been thinking about (and writing about here) for a long time. I’m in my 20s, and it’s far too early for me to say where my career is going or what might even happen next. But I’ve tried to put great people and great projects first, and to focus on doing the work as best I can. Decisions — like the one to start Stry.us — came from a desire to make something great, not to make money.
Do I hope to make money some day? Sure! Better yet: I expect to.
But right now, I’m focused on making great things that people love to share, and I’m learning how to get better at it every day. These are decisions you make for the long run. Hopefully, in time, Jerry’s right, and the money follows.
I was listening to this interview with Chris Rock earlier this week. I recommend the whole thing, but one part stuck out to me:
It comes about 3 minutes into this interview with Alec Baldwin. Now here are two men who’ve done everything you can do in the world of acting. Rock’s one of the most successful stand-up comedians ever. He’s been an “SNL” cast member. He’s been in more movies and TV shows than you can count.
And Alec Baldwin’s resume is just as impressive — movies, TV, theater, radio. The works.
Anyway, Baldwin interviewed Rock in 2011, when Rock was doing a Broadway play. It was the first play Rock had ever done.
Baldwin asked what Rock was struggling with, and here’s what came next:
Rock: “Rehearsal’s the hardest thing I’ve gone through in my life.”
Baldwin: “I always tell people, it’s like having the Empire State Building shoved up your ass one brick at a time to learn the play.”
Rock: “Yeah. And you can’t believe there’s ever going to be a day when you’ll know these lines.”
A fairly graphic Alec Baldwin line aside, I love that. I love the idea that these two veteran actors still struggle with the day-to-day work of putting on a play. I love that it’s still a challenge for them — even though they’re hugely successful (and experienced) actors.
Earlier this month, I started looking ahead to all the things I want to accomplish at BuzzFeed in 2014. And it’s a lot. This will be a year filled with launches and A/B tests and speaking engagements. It’s going to be a busy year.
And looking at it from a distance, it was kind of overwhelming. I started asking myself: How the hell am I going to get all of this done in 2014 — especially when I’ve got so much on my plate each day already?
So here’s the idea I’ve come up with: I created a Google Doc, and labeled it 100 Big Things. That’s my goal for 2014: Knock 100 big picture things off my to-list in 2014.
And then I started labeling each week of the year, and under that, I added a 1) and a 2).
To get to 100, I’ll just need to do two big things every week. (And I’m subtracting the two weeks of vacation I get a year, which takes me down to 50 weeks and 100 things.)
That seems manageable, right? I don’t need to do it all this week, or next week. Just two things a week, and that’ll add up to something really big by the end of the year.
I still have my day-to-day stuff. But my Two Big Things are the things that are going to take me and my team to the next level by year’s end.
There’s this one thing that my Uncle Billy said to me about two weeks ago. It was after my grandma’s funeral. We were sitting on the couch, watching the game, eating chopped liver. We were talking about, I dunno, the Broncos or the chopped liver, probably. Doesn’t really matter now.
But somewhere along the line, Uncle Billy dropped this bit of life advice, and it’s stuck with me: “You get one swing.”
Uncle Billy’s 88 years old. He went to war, married a girl he loved, went fishing more times than anyone else I know, showed up for every birthday and bar mitzvah I can remember. As far as Great-uncles go, he’s been a pretty stellar one.
I’ve heard that bit of advice before, obviously. It’s there on fortune cookies. It’s there in self-help books. Hell, there are people at my office who’ve worn YOLO T-shirts before. (Ironically, but still.)
But none of that quite carries the weight that it does when it comes from someone like your 88-year-old Great-uncle, does it? (And at a funeral, no less!)
I went to a funeral last weekend. At 87, my Bubbe — my mom’s mom — died suddenly. Two days later, I found myself in her old house, surrounded by loved ones as we mourned. I’ve been in that house hundreds of times, but I’d rarely gone downstairs.
And walking around downstairs, I stumbled into a room I’d never paid much attention to. It was my grandfather’s office, and it was filled with diplomas and awards and pictures.
This one photo especially caught my eye:
It’s a photo from 1939. It’s from my Great-uncle Leon’s bachelor party. (Leon’s the big guy front and center.)
Look at that photo for a second. That’s not a wedding — that’s a bachelor party.
I write a lot on this blog about the importance of having great people in your life. They’re the people who will support your work, who will be there for the low moments and the high. It is almost impossible to do the work without those people.
But sometimes it’s tough to visualize how many people it takes to support someone doing great work.
So here’s your visualization. That’s the support system it took to help Leon Gordon do his work. (He was a scientists.) That’s one man, and one body of work. They were there when he needed pushing, and when it was time to celebrate, well, they were certainly there for that, too.
That’s Uncle Leon. What will it take to make your work happen?
I will confess that I once believed that I was madly in love because of something I saw on TV.
There are a lot of shows out there featuring tall men — some of whom were even Jewish! — falling in love with attractive blondes and attractive brunettes. If you watch enough of them (and I did), and if you’re in a vulnerable enough place (and I was), you can start to believe that the romance you see on TV is the romance you deserve in your life.
You can fall for the story, and fall for the belief that what you saw on screen is what will soon happen to you.
I will confess that I have fallen for this.
And I will confess that it’s not just TV romances that I’ve fallen for. I’ve fallen for tech stories about the next great company. I’ve fallen for TED talks about the life I could lead. I’ve fallen for ads and myths and resolutions, and every story imaginable.
But I’ve also lived through enough to know what can really be mine — and what’s on screen isn’t it.
When you’re doing the work, other people’s stories become distractions. They’re there to inspire you, and to get you excited about what could be. But the minute you start believing that their story is your story, too, you’re screwed.
Nothing is gifted to you. Nothing is scripted.
This is your story and your journey, and it starts as soon as you commit to the work.
When I really started writing this version of the blog, in the winter of 2012, I had one rule: I had to write a certain number of times per week. At the time, I wrote three posts per week, and I stuck to it — 3 posts every week, for an entire year. I wrote Monday/Wednesday/Friday. If I missed a day, I made it up as soon as I could — but I rarely missed a day.
And back then, I really needed the schedule. The schedule held me accountable at a time when I wasn’t strong enough to hold myself accountable. Without the schedule, I would’ve quit within days. Instead, I blogged that entire year. And then into 2013. And now into 2014.
On Thursday, I missed a day for the first time in a while. I was busy — seeing people, doing work. I wanted to blog, but I ran out of time.
I thought about writing an extra post this week to make up for it. I thought about how I would deal with missing a post so early into the year.
But I’ve decided to do something instead: Give myself permission to move off of the schedule.
I still want to write a few things per week. I want to write a lot here, and share the things I’ve learned.
But I don’t need the schedule anymore — I can hold myself accountable. That’s something I’ve learned over the 2+ years of blogging here.
And it’s okay to miss a day, at least if it’s for the right reasons. I’ve always said: You put people you love and the things you love first. And if they get in the way of a post, that’s alright. Sometimes, the work just has to take a backseat.
I saw something last week that I have never seen before, and will probably never see again.
I was in Park City, Utah, for the holidays. Mom had heard on the radio that Robert Randolph & The Family Band would be playing a free show at the base of Park City. We got off the slopes early and headed to the show.
I’ve seen Robert Randolph play a half-dozen times now, and he does a fun thing during some of his shows. During an extended jam, he’ll pick up a guitar and extend it toward the crowd. He’ll give the crowd a look: Anyone out there play?
Anyway, Robert picked up a guitar midway through the Park City set. A college-aged kid with a big fro came up first, played a few licks. Robert shook his head and sent him back into the crowd.
A second guy — maybe in his early 30s, still wearing his ski clothes — came up, and Robert let him play for two or three seconds before sending him back, too.
Then a third guy came up. Robert’s guitar tech came over with the guitar, and the guitarist whispered something in his ear. The tech brought over a chair, and the guitarist sat down.
Then he took off his right arm.
And then with the stump of his right arm, he began to play.
And Robert smiled. Because right away, you could tell: The dude with one arm could really play.
Robert jammed with him on a song. And then another. And then another.
When Robert finally said it was time to go, the crowd went insane. A one-armed guitarist holding his own with a dude considered one of the greatest guitarists ever — even a week later, I keep asking myself, Did I really see that?
So here’s to you, Jeremiah. I’ll see a lot of shows in my life, but I don’t think I’ll ever see something quite like the three songs you played with Robert Randolph. Thanks for having the guts to walk up on stage — and for the reminder that people can be pretty amazing, sometimes.
I heard the voice of my mother today while waiting in line at JFK to get through security. I’d hurried through work, and then hurried my way over to the train, and then hurried through check-in, and then… I waited. I waited for 20 minutes at airport security, because that’s how it works.
My mother has a saying for that: It’s the hurry up and wait.
When we were kids, she’d always point out how strange it was to watch people rush to be first in line for something. We’d be on a ferry, and people would rush to their cars. We’d wait on the top deck, holding onto the view as long as we could. What are those people rushing for? she’d always point out. It’s not like they can drive off until the boat docks anyway.
As I get to work with bigger teams on more ambitious projects, I find that the hurry up and wait rule applies there, too. Sometimes, you push and push on a project, only to find that the rest of your team isn’t ready to take the next step. Or that a key piece of technology or code isn’t ready. In the end, you’ve rushed through your work for nothing.
It’s certainly great when you can get your work done efficiently. But the people around you matter — especially the pace at which they do their work. If you’re not all moving together, you’re just hurrying up to wait.