The Niceties That Matter

This is Yet Another MAEKAN Briefing Intro.

I’ve become a regular at a nearby restaurant thanks to my friends' recommendation and my subsequent visits, where I've tried to bring anyone who would let me. When I say "visits," it means at least once a week for the last 8 weeks, so not too bad.

Besides the food — which is excellent — the thing that keeps me coming back is the people who work there and the relationships that we've developed. I'm greeted by name and can greet most of the front of house staff by name as well.

We recently had a friend's birthday dinner there, originally making a reservation for 6. A few more people joined, so I called and asked if there was room to expand, bringing us to 9. Later, even more joined, so I went early and apologized profusely for being those customers. They took it in stride (probably because they are professionals), and turned the tables on me, asking more about who else was joining and how they could help us best celebrate.

Last week, I went for a solo meal and was feeling terrible after something I had eaten for lunch. Noticing I was in weaker spirits and the terrible look on my face, the waitress brought me a house-made digestif, unprompted.

Both of these experiences left quite an impression. This restaurant and these relationships have been a constant reminder that businesses are just people — which should be obvious to someone who is a single-person business, but alas. It's encouraged me to look for the humanity in all of my interactions, whether it's adding a smile to the end of the thank you, or letting the new tailor know how well-loved she is on Yelp.

These little things (being a good person?) seem to go a long way, especially as many of us crawl out of the anti-social COVID cave and have to learn how to engage with others again. But I recognized how easy it was to write off any organization as a faceless group and how I really don't want to live my life that way. We have limited time here and there's really no reason not to make it a little better for everyone you interact with.

What does digital patina look like?

This is Yet Another Maekan Briefing Intro (Thursdays’ Briefings are for subscribers).

There's something magical about a well-worn object. The wear marks tell a story about its life; where it has been and what it has done. Patina — to me — is a visible indicator of love. The more worn, the more appreciated.

If you pick up your favorite book, the pages it naturally opens to are probably the ones that have been read the most. The spine and creases acknowledging the importance over time. But what does that look like in a digital world? We don’t see the wear in files the way we do in books.

Perhaps that's okay, because the file is as good now as it was when it was created. But are "favorites" or "date last modified" really helpful proxies for how much something is loved or referenced? What's the digital equivalent of a torn page?

In some ways, I wish my files wore down, reminding me of their age and their use — letting me know that they've been seen and appreciated. I know this is a silly thought, because it's the physical hard drive, not the file, that actually wears down and in many ways our files outlast our devices.

I wonder how this disconnect between the physical things we use and the digital objects that we rely on impacts our psyche when it comes to our perspectives on what we own, collect, and discard. Given that it's nearly impossible to modify an iPhone to survive multiple (software) generations, have we been conditioned to treat our digital access points as temporary goods but the digital goods themselves as eternal? Have we all become digital hoarders? Looking at the stack of hard drives next to my desk, I know my answer is yes.

Resilience and Growth

This is Yet Another MAEKAN Briefing Intro.

This month, I've rejoined Nitzan Hermon's Critical Business School (I originally participated in January) and during our first session had a fantastic discussion about resilience - for many definitions of the word - which inspired today's intro.

In the conversation, one of the definitions of resilience that was used was "the capacity to navigate uncertainty" and I posited that resilience is very much contextual. While we describe people as "resilient," we often mean emotionally resilient, financially resilient, physically resilient, or some combination of these and more. As we talked, I realized that resilience in some ways can be a double-edged sword, both helping you deal with difficult situations that arise, as well as shielding you from the friction around you.

If you're incredibly resilient and the "impact" of something is very low, you may not even register that an event occurred, compared to being not as resilient and being dramatically shocked by something. We wade through many of these "low impact" moments during our weeks, often thanks to resilience, but by ignoring them, can't prepare for the effect of them compounding.

Case in point, I'm in decent physical shape, but I'm absolutely terrible at stretching and mobility work (there's no Family Form in Seattle... yet). Running a 5K here and there doesn't impact me much physically, but running a few of them in one week really took its toll recently. It was a good reminder to be more intentional about interrogating where my own resilience may be "protecting me" from opportunities to grow or be more self-aware. It's also a good reminder to stretch a bit more - both my body and my mind.

Wishing you a week of resilience as a shield from unnecessary difficulty, but not growth.

Fragmented Photos and Forced Viewing

This is Yet Another Maekan Briefing Intro (Thursdays’ Briefings are for subscribers).

I always appreciate the thought that artists and creators put into the presentation of their work. Whether it's a chef with good plating or a writer with a well type-set and laid out book, I love knowing that they thought about how I would engage with their creation.

One of the places that I was initially a curmudgeon about this, but have since come around, is with fragmented photos on Instagram. I'm talking about those half-cut photos where you have to half swipe over and hold your finger there so that you can see the whole image. (If you aren't familiar with these, here is an example from @photo.pace or check out the Series App on iOS.)

When I first started seeing these, I was pretty annoyed that my viewing experience required a half swipe and a hold, and that I had my fat fingers blocking part of the image. But then I was able to step back and check myself, realizing that the people who were doing this were controlling the experience of how their work was being viewed by forcing me to pause, swipe, and hold the image in the frame. 

This forced viewing wasn't a disruption, it was an invitation and a subversion of the typical one image per frame norm that we see on Instagram. Recognizing this quashed my grumpy attitude, helping me to see that this was, in fact, part of the viewing experience. It also caused me to step back and ask where else I may have written off an experience as frustrating, when it was actually a new (to me) form of meaningful friction.

Now when I see these fragmented photos, I get excited because there are two layers (or more) for me to engage with - both the photos themselves and the presentation. I feel silly that it took me this long to come around, but c’est la vie.

Intellectual Honesty in Fashion

This is Yet Another Maekan Briefing Intro (Thursdays’ Briefings are for subscribers).

With record-setting temperatures here in Seattle, I’ve found myself spending quite a bit of time at the lake. My newest companion is one of Outlier's latest experiments, the grid linen beach hole (yes, that’s its name) — a blanket that converts into a bag of sorts. 

I'm not a minimalist, but I do appreciate and seek out objects that not only do their core jobs well, but also invite me to expand my understanding of how to use them. I think beyond the idea of being “well-designed;” I instead consider these things to be “intellectually honest.” Two of my favorite examples are Acronym’s JacketSling and the drawstring in Outlier’s New Way Shorts.

Both the Acronym jacket and Outlier shorts do their jobs incredibly well, unhindered by the (arguably necessary) additions, while simultaneously helping the wearer realize that every prior version of a similar object lacked the recognition that an alternative future was possible. A better future.

You know what’s better than carrying your jacket? Slinging it across your back. You know what's better than wearing a belt (most of the time)? A drawstring.

In some ways, this honesty is empowering — what an incredible thing to have objects (and their makers) that see more in themselves than you do and invite you to realize their full potential. But in another way, it’s a damning indictment of the many other things out there which are strictly worse on so many dimensions.

Just like the double zipper before them, the JacketSling and drawstrings have set a new standard for what I want in my clothing.

Microdosing Friendship

If you have any friends or follow anyone in NYC, especially single people, you know that “nature is healing.” People are out and about, mask mandates in the states are being relaxed (rightly or wrongly), and we’re starting to move towards a post-pandemic reality — whatever that means.

There's a lot about the pre-pandemic world that was broken, and while the last 18+ months have done incredible damage — especially to already marginalized communities and peoples, I'm optimistic that we'll rethink so much of what we do and how we do it as we move forward. One of those things, for me, is the way I engage with people.

As an introvert, I draw so much energy from my time alone. Caveating a ton of privilege, the necessity of being indoors throughout this crisis has helped me develop a newer, more sustainable relationship with myself, especially as I renegotiate my time and relationship with others.

In that vein, I came across an amazing post from my former colleague Kat Vellos on "microdosing friendship" — a call for us to intentionally weave these moments of engagement back into our lives as the world opens again. I'm a big fan of her work, including her suggestions for better questions than "How are you?" and her recent book on developing adult friendships “We Should Get Together.”

Besides friendship, what relationships have you reconsidered, redesigned, and redefined over the past 18 months?

Energy Surfing

Yet Another Maekan Briefing Intro.

Over the last few weeks, I've had wide fluctuations in my energy. Some days I've struggled to focus, other days the world has melted away and I've forgotten to eat for hours as I tunnel into the work. 

Initially, this was frustrating and hard to deal with as I tried to balance work, friends, family, and my own needs. I was hoping that energy would align to the events on my calendar and that I could summon my attention when I needed to. It just so happened that I caught up with a friend during the same period who had also struggled with this earlier in his life, similarly in a switch away from a corporate role into an independent career. 

This friend happens to be surfer, which led him to share the advice I needed to hear: "You have to ride the waves you're given." He reminded me that while there are definitely things we can do to better manage our energy, lots of things are outside of our control. Some days - especially over the past few months - we get news that throws us off course. Or some things just don't click. Other days we're in flow when we want to rest. Rather than fight it - or trying to surf a wave that isn't there - he encouraged me to harness it. To breathe in the present moment and do the work that was in front of me. 

While hearing that - and saying it to myself over and over - was helpful, it hasn't been easy to put into practice. I'll regrettably want to make progress on a project, only to find myself with too much physical energy at my computer and choosing to run instead. 

As I learn how to be a better energy surfer, I'll pass on the advice to you, in hopes that it may help with the current tides in your life.

Small Acts of Support

Written for the 4/1 MAEKAN Briefing.

As we come into the second year of this new, unsettling reality, I've been reflecting on some of the emerging practices that have been most enjoyable. One that stands out above nearly all else (besides not having a commute) is sharing music with friends.

I grew up playing in bands in a time when PureVolume links were a form of social currency. Sharing something you discovered with a friend was like opening up a part of yourself that you didn't know how to express.

Early last year — before Zoom fatigue hit — I did some "coworking" with friends which was effectively us working silently with video on, while someone had music running in the background.

We'd chat occasionally, but the goal was to simulate the environments we used to be in - offices, coffee shops, each other's apartments, etc. As the pandemic crept on and I wanted to show my face less, a different habit emerged - sharing music recommendations.

This is not the typical "check out this album that just came out," but something that felt more akin to making a mixtape for each other - friends would recommend me a song or artist based on an activity that was coming up. "I have to head out to cook" was followed by "here's something I've enjoyed playing in the background at dinner." "I need to really focus on this project" was met with "this playlist has been the best thing for me late at night to hit a deadline."

Sharing music became a way to support each other when the options felt limited. It's a small gift in a time where gifts feel anything but small. It's something I've come to treasure and try to practice more on my own.

If you want a rec, or have one to share, visit us in #music on the MAEKAN Discord.

The Disorientation of Being Home

Another piece I’ve written for the MAEKAN Briefing.

I recently moved back to Seattle, where I grew up and spent the majority of my adolescent and adult life. Being back here and out of San Francisco — has been a strange experience on a number of levels.

On one hand, it's the first real "travel" I've done in a year, except for the prior visit up here to find an apartment. I enjoy traveling because it disorients me just enough to make me reflect on my life. The flight home from any trip inevitably finds me asking questions about what I missed when I was gone (and what I didn't) and what I want to bring home with me.

When leaving San Francisco and returning "home" to Seattle, I thought a lot about what I was leaving behind (and had made peace with) and what I wanted to bring with me. I also thought about what I was "coming home" to, given that I hadn't lived in the Seattle area in almost a decade.

The other strange thing about being back is how much of myself I see reflected back at me from the city. While I "did less" of my favorite things when I moved away from Seattle — some by choice (photography), some by circumstance (I didn't have a drum set anymore) — being back has invited those parts of me back out again. I live within walking distance of the venue where my high school band opened for our then heroes. I can bike around the campus where I went to graduate school and stop by the first classroom I taught in.

Being back - and having these parts of me invited out — makes me wonder to what extent I let my environment shape who I was when I was in San Francisco. I think it's easy to blame things that are external to us - our friends, our jobs, our environments — rather than accept our own role in change. But what I'm realizing now that I'm back in Seattle, is that while the city has changed, I am the thing that is both foreign and familiar. Seattle is simply a catalyst for that realization.

Accepting that I muted parts of who I am is the strangest feeling of all, because I don’t necessarily want to accept that I could have been fully me the whole time. Being home, I feel as though I'm reacquainting myself with myself. Maybe this is all a function of growing up, and now I can think even more intentionally about what I want to leave behind and what I want to bring with me in the months and years to come. Maybe being "home" is just enough disorientation for now.

Meaningful Friction

I wrote this piece as an intro to today’s MAEKAN Briefing - a patron-only email that goes out on Thursdays.

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For the last decade plus, probably thanks to the thousands of pages of academic papers I consumed earlier in my life, I've preferred reading digitally. My favorite way to read these days is with my iPad on the couch, where I use an Apple Pencil to highlight passages, and I take notes on my iPhone.

Yes, I literally switch devices to take notes.

I'm sure many of you who are productivity-oriented are shaking your head at me right now. Even though I have the exact same apps on my iPad, I lovingly put down the device and pencil and pick up my iPhone to tap (or swipe, more likely) together my thoughts. I do this because I want meaningful friction in the process of taking notes. I'm reading a book to read the book, not to have read the book, so I'm in no rush to finish it. Taking notes is, for me, an act of conversation.

By switching devices, I'm creating a moment of intentionality in which I ask "What is worth making note of here?" Doing this has made reading more enjoyable and helped me remember things better. It's also encouraged me to ask where else meaningful friction may create more intentional habits in my life.

Because no one relies on me to respond immediately as a part of my job (and because I check my phone often enough throughout the day), the search for meaningful friction has nudged me to enable "do not disturb" across all of my devices. In the same way that I ask myself "What is worth making note of?" I find myself asking "What am I drawing my attention to?" when I pick up my phone, since it no longer summons me on its own.

I recognize that this is an incredible privilege, and perhaps it won't stay this way forever, but it has been a wonderful experiment over the past few weeks - a recalibration of sorts where I've learned to listen to myself a bit better.

While I'm in no way encouraging any of you to join me on this adventure, I would leave you with the question: "Where might meaningful friction be welcome in your life?"

I’d love to hear from you on Discord — even if you don’t hear back from me right away!