Curious.
The Salt & Straw ice cream store in Palo Alto has lines out the door. But if you stroll in fifteen minutes before closing you can avoid all that traffic, and sample whatever fancy flavors they have without feeling rushed. Sometimes I walk by just to smell the sweet waffle cones.
If you were there today, you’d have seen Valentine’s Day couples pecking at their cones and then at each other.
I was about to sleep last night when my dear college roommate sends me this message:
Snow doesn’t come to the Bay Area often. One whiff of a breeze and people start breaking out their fleece jackets.
The game plan: wake up at 4 AM, meet somewhere up Page Mill Road at 5:30 AM, and enjoy the California snow before driving back down the hill to work in Mountain View.
We took different routes and got stuck on opposite ends of a road enclosure. Whoops. Back to the
(Happy lunar new year, too!)
At the start of age 23, I was largely underemployed. No swanky job at a hotshot company, no grad school, no round-the-world romps or Peace Corps volunteering. But I did get to be a barista during the early mornings. If you were a frequent visitor to the Peet’s Coffee on Castro Street in Mountain View last year, there’s a good chance I made your latte or cappuccino and charged you four bucks for it.
In the afternoons and evenings, I held a part-time gig in research for mobile app & web designs, where I had a taste of remote work and the digital nomad lifestyle. Work anywhere you want! Work from the coffeeshops! Work from the beach! (Just kidding, San Jose suburbs for me). It ended up being a constant hunt for public power outlets. Then I found a research internship with a company that asked for animated GIFs in lieu of a cover letter.
All the while I was living at home rent-free with family. In the Bay Area, it’s considered the responsible choice to move in with family when you’re first starting your career due to the ballooning housing prices. I was too prideful to view it that way, but not so prideful I wouldn’t scarf down homecooked meals and enjoy Mom and Dad’s love and support.
One year later, my life seems peachy keen on paper. I’m living on my own in a cozy studio apartment above a bakery. I pay my own rent and utilities, which feels lovely and not-so-lovely at the same time. And my first two breakfasts as a 24-year-old were pumpkin pie and ice cream. I can thank Colleen and the Thanksgiving holidays for that.
Moving out to Palo Alto on my own was a good choice. I appreciate home visits to San Jose a lot more, and I’m grateful to still have the chance to spend time with Mom and Dad as an adult. Plus I save two hours each day on commuting to my new job in Mountain View.
In San Diego, Prof. Jim Hollan usually spends the first lecture of his classes with this presentation: “General Advice for Students”. One of my favorite lines: “Do what you love (that’s easy) and love what you do (that’s the challenge).”
Here’s a slightly different phrase: having what you want is easy, wanting what you have is harder.
Do I want what I currently have? I’d like to think so. I love the newfound independence, and the research work I do with Google Assistant + Maps is fascinating, all-consuming even. (Dealing with product lawyers, too. Although those dealings tend to come packaged with heart palpitations for me).
Most of my waking hours and thoughts revolve around my career and work. I’ve become a workaholic, even for Silicon Valley standards. I am less proud of this. It hasn’t affected any friendships and relationships yet, but I can feel my health deteriorating. Waking up with stomach acid is not fun. So uh, that needs to change.
My research contract ends soon. It lasts six months, and I’m already four months in. I don’t know what will happen next, but if I prioritize interestingness over stability and safety over the next year, I think I’ll continue enjoying the ride. Even if it is a bit bumpier.
I was watering the housewarming plant Colleen gave me when out popped this friendly ladybug. I didn’t know they hung around indoors.
National Geographic says ladybugs live 2 to 3 years on average. I can’t tell how old this one is, but we can be good neighbors to each other with the time we have left.
We might even become friends.
From the office in Mountain View — Halloween, 2018:
During the fires in Northern California:
And now the week after Thanksgiving, after several days of rain (dinky by international standards, but a cause for celebration/car accidents across the state):
I don’t know the mystery do-gooder who gave their air mask to the pumpkin, but I wish I did. Maybe they’re the reason why the pumpkin hasn’t turned to mush after four weeks on the ledge.
Last week the New York Times published an article about Google’s history of handling sexual harassment in the workplace (hint: it’s not good). Today there was an employee-organized walkout across company offices worldwide.
Here’s what it looked like at the Mountain View headquarters:
Many of my friends, colleagues, and mentors have their own stories. (And that’s only counting the people I know comfortable enough to share them). I know yours do, too.
Every third Friday of the month, San Jose hosts a bike party where you and hundreds of local bicyclists cram together in a 20-mile loop. The city’s infrastructure is built more for personal motor vehicles than bicycles, buses, and foot traffic, so whoever started it all was probably a textbook example of willpower and stubbornness.
The ride itself is a masterclass in organized chaos. Bicyclists take over three lanes on main roads, then squeeze into a tiny bike lane within the same minute. (Roads are not blocked off, you just occupy it). You’ll see customized bikes with flashing LED lights, oversized handlebars, and portable boomboxes. If the boombox is too big to carry, people will place it inside an attachable sidecar or baby carriage.
Funny when you have multiple boomboxes in one area and the sounds get jumbled up. Tori brought hers along and I got an education in all the musical hits from the 90s. (see: Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy“)
Gather your friends and stay close, but fear not if you get separated from the group. There are people along the way to guide you along the right path, so you won’t have to memorize the route entirely. This is the kind of event where it would be wise to lose yourself to the herd.
We started downtown near the Children’s Discovery Museum, rode close to my old high school, then back towards the San Jose airport. Along the way we made a stop at some burrito trucks parked in an empty grocery store parking lot, and again some sketchy dance party along the Guadalupe River Trail, where it’s pitch-black except for the glowing bicycles.
No public party is complete without the usual neighborhood hustlers: people selling shots of vodka and whiskey, and homemade colorful cocktails inside plastic bottles. Five bucks for any of the red, blue, and green ones. Tempting, but I passed this time.
One tip for success: be your own hype person! “Bike party” is pronounced “BIKE PART-AYYY” when you’re riding. Shout it whenever you want, and you can hype up your fellow bicyclists and anybody else cheering from the sidewalk. You can even do it at the stoplight and get friendly honks from the people unfortunate enough to be crossing your path.
Special thanks to Tori, Eric, and Josh for hosting!
I thought Valentine’s Day evening would be a good time for people watching, so I parked my butt inside my favorite hometown café: Big Mug Coffee. They’re true to their name and serve espresso drinks inside giant cups that are fun to look at and hold with two hands.
No first dates as far as I can see. (Then again, isn’t that a lot of pressure to have a first date during a manufactured holiday?) The cuddly couples I imagined are replaced by a sea of open laptops and notebooks. And pink and red heart-shaped balloons.