Tag: keep going

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The Two Types Of Routine.

“Funny thing happens when you keep putting one foot in front of the other: you get somewhere.” — Marina Martin

 
Something you learn from doing the work: There are two types of routine.

There’s good routine: A process to help you get through tasks faster.

Then there’s bad routine: When things get dull.

Creating the first time of routine helps you get through your workday. The second makes you resent your workday.

Anyway, point is: We tend to talk about it in negative terms, but routine isn’t always a bad thing. And when you find the good routine, it actually helps keeps you moving forward.

Just something you’ll learn when you commit to the work.

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Building Big Things Never Happens Fast.

“Velocity, not speed.” — Siqi Chen

 
There is a funny misconception that exists in the general public about building big companies. They see something like Instagram, which sold for a billion dollars, and think: The path from A to B(illionaire) doesn’t take that long.

Wrong.

Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.

I work at BuzzFeed now. That photo at top is what our office looks like today.

But this is what it looked like in 2007, in the earliest days of BuzzFeed.

Not quite as exciting, right?

I remember those types of days at Stry.us. I remember sleeping on the floor in a small apartment next to a cow pasture. I remember that when I hit the “Sleeping On A Floor In A Small Apartment Next To A Cow Pasture” point, that was actually a big milestone for Stry.us.

Good things come slowly. You build with good people. You find ways to hang in the game as long as you can.

The road is slow and long and kind of boring sometimes. If that doesn’t sound like your idea of fun, that’s okay. Building big things isn’t for everyone.

But if that sounds like something you like? Well, start as soon as you can. You’re going to need all the time you have.

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The Easy Way Out.

“The journey is all. The destination is beside the point.” — Leo Babauta

 
Let me pose a hypothetical to you for a second. Tomorrow, I’m going to give you the chance of a lifetime:

I’m going to make you a lottery winner. You’re going to get $20 million. You’re never going to have to work again.

But there’s a catch: In exchange for that $20 million, you’re also never ALLOWED to work again.

You can take the $20 million, and never work another day in your life — never ever — or you can stay on the path you’re on, grinding it out, trying to make it in this world.

What do you choose? A life without work but lots of money, or a life with a lot of work and whatever money you can make along the way?

If it’s me, I take the latter. Yeah, the $20 million would be nice for a while. A few months on the beach somewhere, swimming and napping and drinking away the day. I could do that.

But after a few months, where would I be? What I’m doing matters to me. I want to make a big contribution to this world, and my work is largely how I make my stamp. Take away that, and what am I?

People say they want the easy way out, but I’m not so sure I buy that. The road ahead is tough. It’s going to suck.

But it’s also really rewarding. There is satisfaction in putting in the work, day in and day out.

So me? I’d reject the money and stick with the road I’m on. I know it’ll be rewarding. I know it’ll be hard. Maybe it’ll make me a little money along the way, or maybe it won’t. But it’ll my road to make.

I probably won’t get the months and months of drinking on the beach on this path, but if I do good work, I might get a few good weekends a year in a sunny place. That’d be alright by me.

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Too Late/Too Soon: The Break.

When do you know that it’s time? The sixth in a month of posts about how I learned to stop worrying, buck up and do the work.

 
The big break probably came in April 2011, when the University of Missouri decided to award me a fellowship to work on Stry.us. They gave me money to keep working on it, and they gave me time to work on it.

Finally, I felt like I had permission again to work on this big thing. I had the money, I had the time. I had new resources at my disposal. I had no excuses.

The problem, of course, was that I still had no idea what Stry.us was, or what I wanted out of it. Money? Experience? An opportunity to lead?

So the real break came later, when months of idling had brought me to a better realization: I had the time to do whatever I wanted, but I wasn’t going to do it alone. I wasn’t ready to do it alone.

Looking back, I’m amazed that I went so long without help. I can’t believe I tried to do it alone like that. I can’t believe I was crazy enough to try.

I just didn’t know any better, and I was stubborn enough to believe that I could pull it off by myself.

But eventually, time showed me that I had to have others onboard with Stry.us. If I really wanted to do the work, I had to bring other people on board and chase a single goal.

That realization was a huge, huge break.

I’m so thankful for what happened next. Without my team, I’m not sure where the heck I end up. Not here, I’d bet.

Photo of those two paths comes via.

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Too Late/Too Soon: The Wandering.

Ramas

When do you know that it’s time? The fifth in a month of posts about how I learned to stop worrying, buck up and do the work.

 
After I left Mississippi, I went through a long period of… well, nothing. I wanted to belong to something. I wanted to be part of something. I wanted identity.

Instead, I had these stories from Mississippi, and some business cards, and that was it.

What came next was this period where I couldn’t really tell people what I was doing, because I wasn’t doing anything. I could tell them what I’d done. Or what I wanted to do in the future.

But in the present? I had nothing. I was lost.

Part of the problem with doing the work is that you’re never really sure that the time is right for your work. And you use that as an excuse to avoid doing the work right now.

I know I did, sometimes.

But this period of wandering — and it lasted a few months — was really good for me. It showed me all the things I needed to do. It showed me what happened when I didn’t put in the hours.

It showed me that the difference between failure and success hinged entirely on my commitment to this work.

Without the wandering, I didn’t have anything to compare my successes to. I didn’t know how low I could go, and how quickly I could get there.

I’m not glad I went to that point. I’m mad I lost so much time there.

But because of it, I understand now. The time I had was the time I had. The work had to happen, now, and it had to be done, now, and if I didn’t do it, now, I was going to have to get myself a job at Arby’s or something — soon.

The time had come to stop wandering, and to start working harder than I’d ever done before.

Of course, I still needed a sign that the work was worthy.

Then came the break.

That photo of being lost in the trees comes via Yulen Zoom.

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Too Late/Too Soon: The Fear.

When do you know that it’s time? The fourth in a month of posts about how I learned to stop worrying, buck up and do the work.

 
The fear caught up to me on the flight to Mississippi. I remember looking out the window as the flight came over Gulfport. I didn’t recognize anything.

I was alone, in a state I’d never seen, in a city where I knew no one. I essentially showed up with nothing more than a dream and a name — and nobody had ever heard of “Oshinsky” or “Stry.us.”

And then I landed, and my cell phone didn’t work for two days. It couldn’t find the satellites.

I felt very, very alone. I was equal parts cocky and terrified.

I remember calling a friend in Kansas City. I was in my hotel room at the IP Casino in Biloxi. I’m moving to Mississippi to do some reporting, I told her. I don’t think she believed me.

I don’t think anyone really believed me at that point, actually. My bosses, my parents, my friends — they all knew that I had the ambition to do something as audacious as Stry.us. But no one knew if I actually had the drive to will something like that into existence.

And to do it solo! That would be a challenge in itself. I knew nothing about business, and only a little about how to report from a foreign place. This was, at best, an unreasonably large challenge for a 23-year-old to take on.

The fear really hit on the drive to Mississippi. I think it happened as I got close to Biloxi, somewhere along I-10. I started to realize: I’m doing this! I’m moving here! This is actually happening!

And scarier still: The only thing between this working and this failing is you. Only you can decide how big this can be.

Hoo boy. That’s a lot for a kid to stare down. And I really was a kid: An ambitious, hungry, dumb kid.

The timing was right, but I was scared. I had a big apartment with an IKEA table and a Target futon — and I never bothered to put the futon together. I just slept on the cushions all summer. I ate peanut butter and jelly and tuna fish all summer. There wasn’t anything stable about my living conditions.

And the reporting was as strange as anything I’ll ever do. I had stories to tell, but no one knew my name. I worried that they wouldn’t talk to me. I worried that they wouldn’t take me seriously.

I think one thing that saved me was the humidity. I was always sweating in Biloxi in that 100+ degree heat. But I would’ve been sweating if it was 15 below — I was so nervous!

The humidity masked the flop sweat, I think.

And after a few introductions to sources, I started to feel confident. When I got the first story up, I felt like I had something. I could show off my work.

Better still: The people in Biloxi were used to being interviewed. They’d all been quoted somewhere or another. But they all felt like they had more stories to tell.

All of that helped keep the fear at bay. It never really left. But I settled down enough to go out and do my job, and keep going. I knew I had three months to do this reporting. Every day I lost was a day I couldn’t get back.

That helped keep me going.

I also didn’t fully realize how insane I was to be living in Mississippi by myself and doing Stry.us. I wasn’t aware of how crazy this thing was.

That helped, too.

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Too Late/Too Soon: An Introduction.

When do you know that it’s time? Introducing a month of posts about how I learned to stop worrying, buck up and do the work.

I’ve had a song stuck in my head for a few weeks now, and it just won’t leave. It’s called “Too Late Too Soon,” and it’s by a Nashville musician, Will Hoge. The song is technically about love lost, but that’s not what I heard when I first heard it.

Hoge sings:

But you say that it’s too late too soon
And your eyes ain’t the only thing blue
I try and I try just to make one thing true
But sometimes it’s just too late too soon

But what I heard was this: You wanted something, and you worked for it, and the timing just never worked out.

There were a handful of points during my adventures with Stry.us where I realized the importance of timing. I’d be doing work that I thought was really great, but then I’d try to get the work out into the world, and I’d get pushback. Sometimes, they weren’t ready for the work I was doing. More often, I wasn’t ready for the work they wanted.

The cycles weren’t lining up, and I was frustrated.

I tried and tried, but you can’t change timing. Sometimes, it really is too late, and sometimes, it really is too soon.

So this month, I’m going to write exclusively here on the blog about the concept of Too Late/Too Soon, and walk you through the entirety of Stry.us. I hope that people out there who want to do great work read these posts and understand: We all go through this. We all struggle with it.

With patience, and hustle, and time, the work can eventually get out there.

Come along this month with me. Learn from my mistakes.

We have much to learn about our work.

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Seriously, Penny Lane.

“I always tell the girls, never take it seriously. If you never take it seriously, you never get hurt. If you never get hurt, you always have fun.” — Penny Lane

 
With all due respect to the immortal Penny Lane of the immortal film, “Almost Famous”:

That’s a load of crap.

Take your work seriously. Work hard. Throw yourself into what you do.

Overcommit to the work.

Yes, you get hurt doing great work. You get pushback. You run into haters. You struggle.

But if you never get hurt while doing the work, how much were you really putting into it?

You have to take it seriously. You have to get hurt sometimes.

Anything else is just work half-assed.

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Finding The Difference.

“When everyone has good players, teaching will be a telling difference.” — John Wooden

 
Assume, for a second, that everyone in your world is smart. That everyone in your world is talented.

So, here’s the question: What’s the difference between you and them?

For legendary UCLA coach John Wooden, it was teaching.

For you, it might be hustle.

Or teamwork.

Or focus.

And if you can’t answer this question — What sets me apart? — then here’s the bad news:

You’re playing on everyone else’s level.

And that’s okay. But if you want to do great work, you’ve got to figure out how to elevate your game.

Now’s your chance.

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What Is Long, and What Is Not.

“The NFL isn’t a career — it’s an experience. Most careers last 40-50 years, and people grow old in them.” — Alfred Morris

 
Two things got me thinking:

The first is that quote, at top. It’s from Alfred Morris, the rookie running back for the Washington Redskins. (That’s a photo of him sleeping on the couch. He still sleeps on the couch when he visits his parents.)

NFL players don’t usually have that kind of awareness, but Morris really seems to understand what’s happening in his life. The NFL is something most players have worked for since they hit puberty. It’s all they’ve worked for. The idea that it wouldn’t be forever is…. well, impossible.

Understanding what the NFL is — a job, an experience — and what it is not — a career, a lifestyle — is going to change everything for Morris. It’s going to let him make the most of this incredible opportunity.

But most of us can’t tell the difference between what is big, and what is not. We see a half an inch of water and we tell ourselves we’re going to drown. We hit a bump and think it’s a mountain.

We lack perspective, and that’s one thing we need most to understand the road we’re on and the places we’re headed.

There’s a second thing. I had a Latin teacher in high school, Miss Cherry. One of her quotes comes to mind now: Ars longa, vita brevis.

Art is long, but life is short.

And in high school, I remember thinking: What the hell is that? Art is long?

LONG?!

But that’s exactly what Morris is talking about, too. It’s this idea that some things are forever, and some things fade away.

The memories are long, but the job is short.

The ambitions are long, but the opportunities are short.

We work to build things that are long — but ultimately, the one thing we know is that the chances to make them are short.

Make things now, with the time you have now. To wait is to discover that now is very, very short.

Photo at top of Morris comes via the Washington Post.

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