Category: Misc.

what happens when you’re the most clueless person in the group

Last quarter I found myself working with some incredible people. Older, disciplined, and with the skills & enthusiasm to bring their big ideas to life. They’re the kind of people you would look at and say, “yeah, they have it together.” In other words: you want to be in their group for a school project.

And I was! How exciting.

But then doubt started to settle in: I was the most junior out of the three. I had no experience. No intuition or previous exposure to the relevant subject. (Meanwhile, they both had years of research and industry experience). Intelligence and growth are not static, but I wouldn’t be able to match their expertise within a semester, let alone a year. This wasn’t pessimism speaking, just reality.

At first it felt more comfortable to put the doubt on them. Why did they ask me to join their group? They must have made a mistake in asking me.  How long will it take for them to realize that? All those questions were a way of dodging the underlying fear: that I would never measure up to their abilities, and that halfway through the semester, they would find out that I’m no good and boot me out of the group.

~

That never happened. They were both very sweet and encouraging, but I remember stressing a lot about that.

A better way to look at it:

When you are working with people who are, objectively speaking, out of your league — realize that there is still something you can offer, even if it is just a different perspective. Get three different people from the same discipline and position in life and you will have three different people offer the same solution to the problem. That’s why you’re in the mix: to put some fresh blood into the group.

Work less on judging on yourself, and work more on what you can give to the group and to other people. You’ll find that:

  1. The quality of your output will improve.
  2. The group dynamics will improve. (it’s exhausting to always have to affirm to another person that yes, they are wanted in the group, and that yes, they are doing a fine job)
  3. And you, yourself, will improve. (all that time spent judging is now spent on your growth as a human being, and on the well-being of the people you care about)

All this from a subtle change in mindset.

tax day, 2015 — a brief reflection

Despite being a legal adult, I’m still dependent on my family for taking care of the taxes — the same way I can be dependent on my family’s medical insurance until age 26 (thanks Obama!).

It’s still socially acceptable as a third-year university student to be dependent on parents or family members for financial support (especially when you’ve entered university straight out of high school). I am lucky. Many don’t have that extra layer of cushioning.

But cushioning or not — after graduation, I’d better get my crap in order.

Start now.

brown spots

Hannah wanted some bananas for banana bread, and I told her I had a couple to spare. They were a bit brown though.

The bananas weren’t rotten. They tasted fine earlier in the morning with my oatmeal, and they tasted fine earlier in the afternoon with my peanut butter sandwich, but they were brown and mushy enough for me to think twice about offering them to someone else. Good neighbors don’t give other good neighbors rotten crap, right? Would giving someone else a rotten banana suggest that I’m a rotten person myself? I show her the bananas.

“Oh no, that’s perfect! Thank you.”

Relief. (and now I get fresh banana bread)

venturing away from the food table

@ the faculty club in UCSD, where twice a quarter they host a guest speaker or panel to talk about interesting stuff:

I hid behind the food table instead of walking up to the speaker. That usually doesn’t happen, but this guy was one of those hot shots in the design community, and the people walking up to him were also hot shots in their fields.

Or at least that was the assumption I made. They were old and had white hair.

I wasn’t hungry, but the plate gave me a chance to hold something so I wouldn’t fidget, and the food gave me a distraction, so I wouldn’t have to focus on how I was chumping out and watching the world pass on by.

Up comes a man in a green collared shirt. About thirty years older, slightly balding. He was the only other guy eating the snacks on the table.

“Hey, go ask him a question.”

I tell him I didn’t know what to say, that he’s already got enough people kissing his ass and wanting something from him. I made all sorts of rationalizations, but really I was just scared and intimidated. Here are all these professionals lining up to speak to him. Who the hell am I? What would I be able to offer?

He tells me: “You know, he’s a human being, too. And he likes being recognized and knowing that his talk made a difference. Go talk to him and make a comment about something he said.”

He offered a handshake, then left for the parking lot. To this day I have no idea who he is.

~

~

Two slices of flatbread later, I lined up. I even wrote down a question in my notebook, for when I would forget in the ten meters separating the speaker, me, and every other person wanting to speak with the speaker in-between.

But I wouldn’t need to look at the notebook. A man in a suit ushered the speaker away.

 

…

Damn! 

a thought on reading habits

photo credit: Cup of Tea and a Book via photopin (license)
photo credit: Cup of Tea and a Book via photopin (license)

Someone was telling me that they read over two full-fledged books a week while juggling their own start-up venture and an undergraduate computer science workload. I felt like a chump sitting next to him. Is that even possible? I asked.

“Sure, I just make time for it.”

Whether or not he was exaggerating about his reading pace is beside the point. Reading is not a competition, despite my first desire to match his pace just to prove that, hey, I am productive and smart and worldly, too. Funny how envy and competition work, even for someone who identifies himself as not being overly competitive. Sometimes I wonder if I’m kidding myself.

There is something to be said about having priorities in life though, and whether or not your current actions match those priorities. I tell people reading is important to me, and that I enjoy it (and I do), so why wasn’t I dedicating more time to it?

“I don’t have time for it” is not a legitimate excuse. Everybody has 24 hours in a day. How you choose to spend that time speaks volumes about what is important to you — more than any words can do. It’s why neglectful parents have such trouble reconnecting with their children in adulthood. “If you’d loved me so much, why didn’t you spend any time with me?”

For them, it is too late — the damage stays. The possibility of death may speed the healing process, but they’ll never be able to recover the lost years and the pain it caused.

But I don’t think it’s too late for reading.

–

–

My father likes to tell me about his college days (“some of the best years of my life”), and how he juggled 21+ units (a lot) of engineering coursework as an international student to save his own father money for tuition, all while dating Mom at the same time. Every night he would read for at least fifteen minutes before going to bed. The only condition for proper reading material? Nothing related to classwork.

The more he read, the more interested he became in the world (and curiously enough, the more interesting he became himself). The more he read, the less shy he became in talking with other people. And the more ideas he exposed himself to, the more he had to share.

~

The writer has done her part. All you have to do is open the book and be open to what she has to say. Who knows, maybe you’ll have some words of your own to give.

The oddest compliment I’ve received thus far

Nich would leave for California in several hours, but not without some parting words and hugs for everyone. We didn’t know each other well, but he hugged me anyway and said: “Wesley, you are the most consistent person I’ve ever met.”

What’s that even supposed to mean? I never asked him, but eight months later I still remember this. Now I have to project my own meanings and interpretations onto his words. Is consistency a nice way of saying that you’re predictable? Boring? Or mature and emotionally stable? Is this too far back in the past to bring up in casual conversation?

Oh well. I may never know what he meant at that moment.

(Just a thought as I wait for the 202 bus to the grocery store in La Jolla Village Square)

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unsolicited feedback (or: rollerblading, day 7)

There’s a flat pathway that separates the dorms in the International House. Aside from the manholes and sidewalk cracks, it’s perfect for honing your skating skills.  I do it at night when the traffic is light, and I love it because I can stop and chat with whoever I please.

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I’ve skated on ice before, but the concrete is foreign to me.  Fall on the ice rink and I’ll slide until I hit the foam wall. Fall on concrete and I’ll have a red butt to remember it by. (Fall in front of a cutie in either arena and I can bask in sympathy).

The heel brake on the right boot provides reassurance. Knowing it’s there makes me feel confident to take on more risks and speed, even if the brake itself doesn’t actually work that well. Take it as a learning opportunity — the lack of a proper brake means you’ll have to discover better ways of slowing down.

~

A full week has gone by, and I could only go in a straight line. That is, until Armando shouts from the third-floor window: “Put your hip into it!”

So I did.

And wow, what a world of difference that makes. Instantly, too.

~

Do anything out in public and you are bound to get feedback. Which should you listen to, and which should you ignore? What role should familiarity play in such a decision?

Armando and I were strangers when he first popped his head through the window at 1 AM. And yet, without his advice, there’s a good chance I’d still be struggling to turn left and right.

love and care

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The parsley plant in the kitchen was dying, and it was my fault. The instructions said to water it once a week, and not too much at once. I thought I had done that, but the stems were already wilting after two weeks.

“That’s not enough,” said my roommate. “You need to talk to the plant. You have to sing to it. Love it.”

Play Mozart for the plant and it’ll grow more than a plant without. Plants may not have emotions the same way a human may (tulips don’t get jealous if they see you water the daffodils more), but they still respond to nurturing environments like we do.

So I talk to the parsley plant — about my day and things like that (but only when we’re alone). My father warns me that people will think I am crazy when I talk to myself in the middle of the day.

Maybe they won’t if they see me talking to parsley.