Just Remarkable.

“What’s amazing about a leap of faith is how everyone around you is so sure it’s gonna work out, when deep down, you are so sure it won’t.” — Tess Vigeland

Back in July, I went to Portland for a conference, and I saw this talk. I have been thinking about it a lot.

It’s the story of an NPR reporter who quit her job because she wanted more. She wanted something else. She wasn’t sure what the something else was, but she wanted it.

But listening to it, I don’t really hear her story.

I hear her words, but I remember mine.

Because I, too, have felt ambitious. Really ambitious.

And scared.

And confused.

And lost.

And hopelessly broke.

On that journey, I spent a lot of time, too, just asking myself: What the hell am I doing?

I look back now on that point in my life. Yes, I had faith in my ability to do something great, and enough desperation to want to do something that wouldn’t suck. But at the exact same time, I had this overwhelming sense of terror. I was so, so scared.

Doing what I did — and what many others have done, and what you’ll see Tess Vigeland talk about in a second — was insane. It was crazy. But also: It was a fantastic thing that changed me, and changed how I think about everything.

And to see it echoed back to me? I felt all of it all over again.

It’s gotten me thinking again. I’ve spent the last few weeks wondering if I’ll ever find the courage to do something that crazy once again.

I hope I will.

Anyway, for now, just watch:

That image of Tess at top comes via.

08/08/201304/15/2018

We’re Talking About Practice.

“I’m not shoving it aside, you know, like it don’t mean anything. I know it’s important, I do. I honestly do… But we’re talking about practice man. What are we talking about? Practice? We’re talking about practice, man.” — Allen Iverson

There’s a new book out this week by a Sports Illustrated writer, David Epstein, about athletic performance, called “The Sports Gene.” One of my colleagues at BuzzFeed wrote about it. And this one thing from the write-up caught my eye.

In Jim Ryun’s first race on his high school cross-country team, in 1963, he finished 21st on his own team. The next year, as a junior, he ran a four-minute mile, only a decade after the first human had ever done it. Epstein writes that genes make us respond differently to training — in studies, people doing the exact same workouts every day improve their fitness at drastically different rates. Basically, some people are actually born to be better at practice than others.

Read that last sentence again: Some people are actually born to be better at practice than others.

Which means two things:

1. Yes, Allen Iverson, practice really can make a difference.

2. The way you practice makes a huge difference. There is no one universal solution for practice. Finding the right way to put in the hours can change everything.

Yes, you can get better — at running, at writing, at building something from the ground up. And yes, you have to put in the work first.

That photo at top comes from the SI archives.

08/05/201304/15/2018

Hours Mean Nothing.

I read a thing this week that really struck me. It’s from a CEO and founder of a few websites. And he wrote:

At the end of each day, I’m frickin tired. But like that buff dude in the gym, I’m stoked on the weight I lifted that day. I don’t see the tired when I’m looking in the mirror, I’m looking at my life’s muscles and I’m thinking, damn I look good.

Tired isn’t weak. Tired is hardworking. Tired are the champions because we worked our asses off to win.

This is a nice argument. It’s an argument I used to make myself, in fact. If you’re doing work you care about, and you’re doing it to the point of physical exhaustion, well, that seems like a good thing.

But the thing is, it isn’t true.

Some people have to work ridiculous hours to do the work they need to do. Some people can do their work in relatively few hours.

The hours themselves, though, are irrelevant. There is no special bonus that one gets for working 17-hour days. There is no penalty for working 4-hour days.

The hours don’t matter — only the fact that you put in the time to do the work.

But this idea that there’s glory in working absurdly long days? No, there’s no glory in that. And there’s no shame in being able to do your work in a few hours a day.

Again: All that matters is the work that comes out.

Work ethic is about what you get done in those hours, not the number of hours you accumulate. Sometimes, you just have to work your ass off and work yourself into the ground to understand that.

That clock photo comes via.

08/01/201304/15/2018

Otra! Otra!

“En la vida hay dos cosas ciertas // Son la muerte y el cambio.” — Ozomatli

If you ever go to see Ozomatli — and you really should; they’re an amazing band from LA that’s a fusion of all sorts of sounds and languages — then know this:

At the end of their set, they’re going to come into the crowd with drums. They might lead the crowd in the hokey pokey. Or the chicken dance.

But follow them. When they go, follow them.

Following them is how a friend and I ended up on a ledge on Saturday night, dancing with the band, as a few hundred fans screamed out “Ole!” chants back at us. Following them is how I ended up next to the horn section, losing my damn mind.

And when it was over, the crowd started cheering for more. Ozomatli’s songs are mostly in Spanish, so the encore chant came in Spanish, too. “Otra! Otra!” they cheered.

What an amazing response. A whole crowd of people, having just seen this band give them everything, having literally conga-lined out of the venue with them, and they wanted more. Refused to leave without more.

One more. Just give us one more glimpse of whatever you’ve got.

Something for all of us to strive for.

I took that photo at top from our vantage point on the ledge.

07/29/201304/15/2018

Are You All In?

“Only those with the courage to take a penalty kick miss them.” — Roberto Baggio

I was sitting on a park bench last week, waiting for a friend down by the Brooklyn Bridge. There was a man and a woman on the bench next to me. The man was hunting for a job. The woman was trying to offer advice.

And her advice was perfect:

I want to help, she told him. But I won’t be all in if you aren’t all in. I won’t be in more then you are.

I love that.

I’m in a funny place in my career: I’m 26, and I’ve had a few victories, and I’ve seen some stuff. I don’t have all the answers, but I’ve figured out a few things.

And one of those things is that I really do want to help people. That’s why I’ve got the Tools newsletter. That’s why I try to take time to meet and talk with recent grads looking for advice.

So many people helped me when I was right out of college, and I want to pass that help along to the next wave of reporters.

But I can’t help everyone, and there’s a reason: Not everyone is all in. Some people aren’t willing to bust their asses to do something, and I’m reluctant to spend my time on and throw my weight around for someone who isn’t really going after it.

Prove to me that you’re in, though, and I’m much more likely to go in, too.

That photo of someone going all in at a poker tournament comes via.

07/25/201304/15/2018

The Solo Mission.

“Oh and we end up in Brooklyn / It was rainin’ so hard / Come up all day / And the rain clears it off.” — Joe Purdy

I was on a solo mission.

That’s what my friend, Emma, calls it. Sometimes, you want to do something — see a show, see a movie, see a game — and you don’t have anyone to go with. So you go it alone.

A solo mission.

And I was on a solo mission to Brooklyn to see a musician named Joe Purdy. I’ve loved his music for a long time. He’s been the soundtrack to many a road trip, and even more rainy days.

And I step out of my apartment and look up, and for the first time in weeks, see dark clouds. Rain? I wondered. This was last Saturday. I run back upstairs to grab an umbrella.

And then I get on the F train to head to Brooklyn, and the train comes right away. I look up at the board to see how many stops I’ve got left, and I don’t recognize any of the stops. A woman looks at me. This is a C train on the F track, she says. I ask if it’s making all the F stops. Oh, no, she says.

So I start recalibrating my trip. I pick a new, random stop on the C and hope.

And I get off, and my phone can’t seem to find the satellites, so I just start walking semi-blindly, hoping that I’m headed south.

And it starts to rain. Hard. At least I’ve got my umbrella — funny that I even decided to bring it, I’m thinking.

And I walk past a bodega, and pop my head in, and there’s a roll of plastic bags for vegetables right at the entrance. I grab one and wrap my phone in it. It’s the only bodega I’ll see on my walk — nice of it to appear right when I needed it most.

And I’m walking through this hard rain, heading south. I hit the park, and then I keep moving, through the rain, through the trees. I walk for a long time.

And then I see the line. They are standing there, in umbrellas, in ponchos. They are waiting for Joe, too.

And then rain is coming down, and then it isn’t, and we look up at the sky, and the sun is peeking through.

And I hear a cheer, and then a voice on stage, and this whisper of a song coming through, and then I’m through the gates, and there is Joe, on stage, and he is singing.

And he sings:

But I know that I love the rain the most
When it stops
Yeah, when it stops

And I start thinking.

I start thinking about the stories we tell. We want our stories to be epic. We want the journey to be hard, but we also want the pieces to fall into place at the right moments. That’s how it works in the movies: The hero struggles, and struggles, and then breaks through. We want that, too. Everyone wants that hero’s ending. Everyone wants to be standing in the rain when a singer walks onto the stage and sings about how the rain should end, and then the rain ends, and the story gets the finish it deserves.

We want those moments — for ourselves, for our stories.

And we don’t usually get them. Most of our stories aren’t epic. That’s just how it goes.

But sometimes, you go on a mission. Sometimes, you do things that are big — or at least big in your life — and you get those stories.

And like Joe sings:

And you never look back at where you came
Swore you’re never gonna be the same

And you really do swear. The story has changed you. The journey has changed you.

We let ourselves hold onto those things. We just want to believe. Because we want to tell those epic stories again and again.

That photo of Joe in Prospect Park comes via.

07/22/201304/15/2018

Everyone’s A Hater.

“You can’t let praise or criticism get to you. It’s a weakness to get caught up in either one.” — John Wooden

This is Landon Donovan. He has scored more goals for the United States Men’s National Team than any other player in U.S. soccer history.

This is George Dohrmann. He is a reporter for Sports Illustrated. Here’s what he had to say about Landon Donovan during yesterday’s 5-1 U.S. victory over El Savador:

Two pts I've made over and over looking very true in 1st half: Landon not a great finisher, and Beasley won't start at LB in WC.

— George Dohrmann (@georgedohrmann) July 21, 2013

So to recap: Dohrmann feels that Landon Donovan — the greatest goal-scorer that American team has ever had — is not that good at finishing off goals.

Donovan went on to score a goal and notch three assists in the game, but Dohrmann kept up the hate tweeting.

Point is: Haters are always gonna hate. Even the very best in the world get have to deal with the haters.

So just do your work. If you’re getting the results you want, then forget about what they’re saying about you on Twitter. Some people just hate because they love to hate.

That image of Landon comes via.

07/18/201304/15/2018

The Search For The Secret.

“When you feel like your work is not that good, you’re right there — you have to keep pushing. — Ike Edeani

You don’t want to hear this, but… tough. You’re gonna. Deal with it.

When I meet people who are trying to do something new in the world, I hear one thing over and over: They’re looking for the one thing that unlocks their world. The thing that unlocks their creativity. That unlocks doors and unlocks opportunity.

And the dirtiest, scariest, most terrifying secret is this:

There is no one thing. It does not exist.

People matter. Work matters. The willingness to learn matters. An ability to put up with weeks and months and maybe even years of sucking — that matters.

But there is not a secret thing that successful people know. There isn’t.

Successful people do the boring stuff well, and successful people surround themselves with other people who want to help.

That’s all. No secret spells. No secret ingredients.

It’s no magic at all, really. Which is reassuring, I think. The gap between where you are and where you want to be isn’t nearly as big as you think it is. There is nothing you’re missing.

Just the work and the people to get you there. And that’s there for anyone who wants to find it.

That awesome photo at top comes via @zimagin2000.

07/15/201304/15/2018

Get Ready. Get Going. Get Yours.

“Life is a story, if you wouldn’t read the one you’re telling, write a different ending.” — Jonathan Fields

I went to the World Domination Summit last weekend. [1. Strange name for a conference, but powerful stuff.] And what I heard were a lot of great stories about how people do work:

I heard some people saying: Start! You have all you need to start right now!

I heard some people saying: Wait! Give yourself time to recover, to ripen, to grow.

I heard some people saying: Just tell me the secret thing that successful people do and I’l do it! Tell me! (There were, admittedly, a lot of these.)

And at the end of the weekend, here’s what I really heard: As long as you make time to listen, and make time for your community, you’re going to do just fine. The work follows people who are patient, persistent, and surround themselves with great people.

There is no right time for the work you want to do — just your time.

So get ready. Get going.

And get yours.

Ultimately, it’ll be there — something remarkable, something amazing — when you’re ready to put in the work.

07/11/201304/15/2018

The Magic Hour.

“The future is not some place we are going, but one we are creating. The paths are not to be found, but made. And the activity of making them changes both the maker and the destination.” — John H. Schaar

There’s this hour right before sunset where the light is perfect. Photographers call it the Magic Hour. The sun is going down, and the world is bathed in this perfect, almost sepia tone.

It’s the hour when conditions are just right for photography. It’s the time when photographers love to work.

Other professions have a Magic Hour, too. Writers and athletes have their own word for it: The Zone.

It’s that brief window where everything you need to work is just there for you. The work pours out, and just the way you always hope it will.

Of course, such magic hours don’t exist daily for most of us. Most of the time, the work comes out slowly. Progress happens slowly.

We wish for those magic hours, but we shouldn’t resign ourselves to waiting for them. Most days, the work has to get out — whether or not you’re feeling it.

The good news is, you don’t have to wait for the perfect moment to get started. You probably shouldn’t. Part of doing the work is learning to struggle. Part of doing the work is learning how to start before you feel ready.

That advice seems almost impossibly easy. But until you’ve actually tried to do the work when you’re feeling out of the zone, you won’t ever know how hard it can be.