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I love a good career pivot. The bigger the pivot, the louder I cheer. Probably because I’ve done so many 180 pivots in my lifetime. 

Pivots can be scary because it feels like your gonna burn the house down and start over. But, I promise, you’re only doing reno.

I watched Siobhan 180, from being an evaluator to becoming a realtor. You used to collect data! Now you sell houses! I love it! 

And, now that I think about it, I’d prefer a realtor that understands data and forecasts and trends. Wouldn’t you?

Coming from a data background is an asset.

A selling point. 

Let’s say you’re in academia and you want to start your own business as a personal trainer. That’s a 180 pivot. Rad!

I suspect you might feel scared to make such a huge move because (1) you think people will think you just failed at academia and (2) your reputation as a personal trainer is non-existent. You’re starting from scratch. 

But are you?

No, my friend. You have related experience. Lean on that.

See what I mean?

Your lunch time workouts in the student rec center, where the ventilation and air conditioning have always been so-so. That’s related experience.

Your “summers off” hiking mountains. Those become part of your branding.

All academics are essentially running their own businesses out of their tiny offices. You know how to budget. You know project management. You’re already used to putting in long hours, trusting that the far-distant payoff will eventually arrive. 

You’ll be fine.

Don’t hide your past like it never happened.

Put it on the front page.

Indeed, part of what makes my data visualization workshop so effective is what I learned from my early days as a kindergarten teacher.

Like classroom management skills, to get hundreds of people to stick with me at the same time.

And curriculum design, to know how to make the content engaging.

And emotional intelligence, to sense when a particular group needs an activity or a break.

AND OF COURSE MY TEACHER VOICE.

Part of what made me an effective teacher was what I picked up waiting tables at the neighborhood pub in college.

I got good at seeing what people need before they see it themselves.

I learned all about smiling on the outside while thinking “go f yourself” on the inside.

All waitstaff have outstanding multitasking skills – and all teachers need these, too.

And the talents I learned waiting tables, I use in my data visualization work now. 

Your pivots don’t have to be so big.

Maybe you’re thinking about just a 45 pivot – offering a new service. 

Let’s say you’re a social worker who wants to start a podcast. Awesome! 

You’ll pull from the patterns you’ve seen among your clients to develop the content.

You’ll get ideas for each episode’s structure based on the podcasts you already listen to when you take Pixie for walks. 

Yes, you’ll have to figure out a few logistics like what type of mic to buy and how to edit – but those are just logistics. You’ve already got the hardest parts under control.

No matter the size of your pivot, you have the skills and talents and experiences that’ll bridge you.

You aren’t ever starting from scratch. 

Sometimes we need help identifying our bright sides and how they’ll contribute to our next move. I can help. I learned how to pull out the best in everyone when I was a teacher. If you need an outside perspective on how to pivot, shoot me an email.

And enroll in Boost & Bloom. I’ll walk you through the logistics, step-by-step. And the whole community will cheer you on.

So, what did you learn from a past job that is surely contributing to your awesomeness in your current job? Email me about it. Then use that experience as your evidence. You’ll be good at this.

I made a very expensive rookie mistake. It started back in 2019, so I can’t even blame the pandemic.

I had my sights set on a new-to-me conference taking place in Europe. The conference theme was about climate change and I proposed a short talk on how data visualization can save the planet. (Of course, I’d have to fly across the Atlantic to attend the conference on climate change and the irony isn’t lost on me.)

The conference organizer pulled an unusual move – she contacted me directly, saying she loved the topic and wanted me to extend the talk to 90 minutes and then also give a second 90-minute talk on how to choose the right chart type. She promised they’d cross-promote both talks in the program and it’d be a big deal.

Here’s where I made the expensive mistake, one I didn’t even recognize until a few years later when the conference finallllllllly happened.

I added up her request – 2 90-minute sessions – and told the conference organizer something like “Sounds like you want me to give a half day workshop for free. No thanks. I’ll stick to my single paper presentation.”

If you aren’t a regular at conferences, you should know that a single paper presentation is going to be lumped together with a few other random papers and you’ll all share a 90-minute time slot, each person getting maybe 10 minutes to present. It’s crisp.

I should have told the conference organizer that I would meet her in the middle and present one 90-minute session.

Because when I got to the conference, after two years of postponement, I did what I always do: I scoped out the presentation room early. This is what I found:

It was pretty small. But ok. I guess. I was estimating maybe 30 people when the chairs get in place.

The next day I show up for my talk and oh child….. the conference had put up a divider wall in the room I’d scoped the day before. In actuality it had 12 seats.

5 of which were taken up by the presenters of the other papers grouped into my session.

Yes, I flew across the Atlantic in a first class lay down seat (a promise my CEO gave to all my employees years ago for overseas flights) to present to 7 people.

Such an expensive rookie mistake.

The hallway gathered people hoping to snag a seat. At which point, the conference organizers pushed out an incredibly timed notification to everyone’s phone saying you can’t sit on the floor or gather in the hall because of fire code.

Are you thinking this conference organizer had it out for me because I accused her of trying to milk me for a free half day workshop?

The thought also crossed my mind but rather than be paranoid, I’ve done a very American thing and pulled out the big time lessons I learned from this experience so that you don’t end up in this position, too.

Lesson 1

Always pitch a 90-minute session. Anyone reading this has the ability to pull off a 90-minute session. That includes you, Honeypot.

Now that I’ve gone through this experience, I can look back over my history at conferences and see that organizers generally put longer sessions in bigger rooms. I got so used to big rooms, I didn’t even consider anything else.

When you pitch a shorter, paper session, you’re lumped in with other papers, and people are less likely to attend because they may not be interested in sitting through a hodge podge.

And, at least for this conference, the only thing listed in the program is the name of the whole session, some mish mash of words the conference organizers invented. Which means it didn’t say the name of my paper. It didn’t even say my name. You’d have to know I was at the conference and go through the work to search on Evergreen in the conference program to find me.

Paper sessions get lost. Zero visibility. Go for 90 minutes.

Lesson 2

Ugh this one hurts to write down and hit Publish.

I was eating my feelings with takeout pizza and wine in a paper cup, canal-side.

When I realized: I had assumed I would be put in a big room because I’m a Big Name.

I keynote conferences FFS.

People pay me, regularly, to fly across the Atlantic and teach them the very things I was saying here, on my own dime.

Don’t these people recognize?

<insert sip of wine>

Oh crap… that’s my ego. Hi, old friend.

<insert big gulp of wine>

That’s the unexpected reality check I didn’t know I needed. I’m a Big Name to some people, but I’m a total stranger to others.

So now I know: Stay humble. And pitch 90-minutes.

What about you? What’s your conference strategy – as a presenter or as an attendee? What’s helped you make a conference worth your while? Write to me and let me know.

Scott used to be my boss. He was, to put it mildly, weak on vision, mission, and listening. Like – the things a leader has to do well.

It would be one thing if his tunnel vision and out-of-touch mindset led to new heights for the company. But he’s the one who told me data visualization was a quickly passing fad and that he wouldn’t support my budding interest in this new field. I quit pretty fast thereafter.

My friend we’ll call Meghan is the only one in the office who could navigate working with/around Scott. It’s been over a decade since I worked there and Meghan has been on his team every one of those days.

Me: “Meghan, I don’t know how you’ve survived all this time. He doesn’t listen. Isn’t that frustrating?”

Meghan: “I just figured out how to make it seem like my good ideas were his good ideas. And then I remind him about his good ideas later on when he gets distracted.”

Meghan is The Scott Whisperer.

She’s learned how Scott’s brain operates and devised a method for operating within Scott’s world.

(Hold on, I’m pushing aside my criticisms of patriarchy and power dynamics…. Whew. Ok.)

Meghan’s insight as The Scott Whisperer has reaped benefits. She’s the only one he can really partner with. He’s given her increasing responsibility and moved her up in pay and position. Being The Scott Whisperer has had its benefits.

What do you whisper?

You’ve got something you can do better than anyone else.

Me? I’m the Dataviz Workshop Whisperer. My workshops are better than anyone else. Other people might make better graphs or know the insides of Tableau better than I do. But my workshops are the best.

I know I definitely can’t be the best at everything. Though it took my perfectionism a minute to figure that out. So I focus on what I’m realllllllly good at and I dropped the other things from my suite of services.

Work in your zone of genius, however niche that might be.

You’ll find the most fulfillment here. You’ll be able to charge a premium here. You’ll have little competition.

Oh, you like fresh challenges?

I know some folks who think that sticking to what you whisper isn’t interesting enough. Not enough juice.

Those folks are Challenge Whisperers. Embrace it. That’s your zone of genius.

When I was a kindergarten teacher, I marveled at the folks in my district who were successful with high school students. Cliques and snark were not my thing. My 5 year olds thought I was a magic fairy princess and I liked it that way. Bless those who are High School Whisperers.

Fire Whisperers are the ones running into the burning building while everyone else is staying far away from the flames.

Hospice Whispers know how to find the words that choke up the rest of us.

What about you? Your personal combo of traits, experiences, and joys come together to make you the very best at something. And that’s why, even though it might seem like graphic designers are a dime a dozen, you’re different.

Even if you think there’s nothing new under the sun, as if it’s all been said before, you’ll say it in a new way, to new people, who can only hear it from you.

Write me with what you whisper.

Trish had been trying to land this dream client for over a year. In that time, she’d sat through many meetings, co-creating a scope and work plan. But, especially after a change in leadership, the group was adrift in thought and Trish was working without a contract.

Trish needed a three part pitch.

When you start to get the sense that you are being strung along – even unintentionally – take that as a sign that it’s time to propose a three part pitch.

When your clients can’t quite seem to crystallize their thinking, that’s your cue to write a three part pitch.

I’ve used this successfully in two different styles, so I’ll tell you about both. They have a common and important characteristic: The three part pitch is you taking control of the situation and suggesting a formal plan, in writing.

You bust this out when someone, anyone, but especially you pulls from your wisdom and experience to be a leader and set the ship on its course.

Pitch Choices

Choice A is the one the client thinks they want. You know what to write here because you’ve listened to them so much and those conversations include gentle (and not-so-gentle) suggestions for what they believe you should do to solve their problems. It’s usually incomplete or totally incorrect and you can say that, nicely, in your pitch.

Choice B is what you think they actually need, based on your previous work in similar situations and what you know, if anything, about their budget.

Choice C is what you would ideally do if money was no option. It’s more than they asked for and solves problems they didn’t even know they had. It’s a stretch. But it’s here to make Choice B look more reasonable.

Spend no more than 1 page writing up each choice.

Pitch Phases

Phase A is a first step on the project. Sometimes that involves just writing up the plan for the next phases. Sometimes it includes a formal assessment of the scope of the problem to be solved. Or a mini solution to a baby problem as a pilot to determine what to do next. It’s a small commitment to test the waters.

Phase B is an expansion of Phase A that is often to be determined.

Phase C is an even larger expansion of the above.

These often have time frames associated with them but costs may not be spelled out beyond Phase A because you don’t know what you’ll be getting into yet. But Phases B and C are in the proposal so your potential clients can see a road map without making a price- or scope-based commitment just yet.

I have used the phased approach when I’m not 100% sure the potential gig is actually viable, fun, or good for me. It gives me the option to back out if Phase A is a circus.

But it puts a future on paper so you have something to refer to later on when it’s time to talk next steps. It keeps folks from getting foggy again.

Trish went with the phase approach.

Why It Works

The pitch comes in three parts because people like options, but not too many. Too many options leads to analysis paralysis and that’s the LAST thing a group in this state needs, after they’ve already been in the fog for so long.

The pitch works because people need to see something in order to react to it. They need to see the shape of the idea (and the price tag associated with it) in order to make a decision, one way or another. Even if they reject all three parts, at least you got to an answer and can move on with your life.

The three parts of the pitch intentionally cover a range of commitment levels so that even if the group is only ready for a bite-size step, you can take it with them. Under contract. For pay.

The three part pitch puts you in a guiding, leadership role.

If you use one of these approaches, email me and let me know how it went.

Do you know someone who could use this advice? Send them this link to get on my newsletter list, too.

“Hi Stephanie, I’m Yan. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi Yan. Tell me, what’s the scariest choice you made in the last three years?”

Awkward, right? This is why it’s hard for me to make friends. The light, fluffy, small talk is a challenge for me. I don’t give a crap about the weather. I just want to dive straight into the deep end.

I once (accidentally!) made a new friend cry when I asked why she and her partner had chosen to never have kids. I admired their life of adventure. But, yeah, perhaps our second time hanging out was too soon.

My StrengthsFinder results are high on action and meaning. One of my very lowest strengths (ok, I guess that’s called a weakness) is Woo. I just can’t.

But woo is glue. It’s the stuff that cements connections and, in the business world, makes clients into friends. Or at least friendlies. Who want to work with you again and recommend you to others because you’re a freakin joy to be around.

Woo is how you make people feel special.

And I really do want that, even if I have to consciously strive for it.

So let me tell you about the new woo strategy I’m trying. Sorry for the sharp turn we’re about to make to get there.

My best friend’s father just passed away. He was a veteran with a purple heart. He started a police academy in a part of Michigan that needed standards and training. And even though we only saw each other a few times a year, he’d ask me about details in my life that I was surprised he remembered.

After his death, my best friend’s brother was looking through their father’s iPad. They found out how he did it.

He kept Friendship Folders.

There was one for me. It was called Stephanie Evergreen (Karen’s friend). In my folder, he had notes about my life. Things he’d picked up in the course of our conversations. Like

• Son is Byce. High schooler. Likes video games and science.
• Runs her own business. Travels a lot. Data stuff.
• Lives in Kalamazoo. Downtown. Historic home.
• Married May 2020 to Michael.

Even if six months had gone by, he would roll up at Karen’s birthday party and chat with me about historic home repair or where my travels have taken me while we down cake and ice cream.

He made me feel like he cared about me. He knew how to woo.

It might not be a tuck jump off the high dive into the deep end of life’s mysteries but it was way more meaningful and relevant than the weather.

I’m adopting Friendship Folders.

Especially for my business contacts. I can be so focused on the work that I forget to make human connections. My emails can be like “Contract attached.” LOL.

I know people are dropping little details about their lives because I respond to them in the moment but I forget them the moment we x out of Zoom. I believe I can build better relationships if I create a Friendship Folder as soon as I get off the call.

How do you Woo?

For some people, this comes so naturally they probably haven’t even really thought about how they woo. They just do.

Do you have some strategies that help you make woo glue? Write to me and tell me about them.

I’m gonna be honest, I crushed the start of 2022. I launched a new program. People swarmed my Data Viz Academy course. I was holding private webinars weekly. So by the end of the Spring, I was toast.

That’s when my therapist said these words, the ones that unlocked joy in my heart: Why don’t you take the summer off of writing newsletters? Rest, sister.

Look, I love writing newsletters and sharing my hard-won lessons and hearing all about yours. But too much of any good thing is gonna hurt.

Y’all wished me a wonderful summer and I spent it in the sunshine, going to concerts (New Kids on the Block / Salt n Pepa / En Vogue, Billy Joel, Lake Street Dive), singing Take Me Out to the Ballgame at minor league baseball, prepping the barn for my upcoming wedding reception, and traveling Europe while dodging COVID and monkeypox. Sure, I rested too, just like my therapist prescribed.

But here’s how I paid people to ruin my summer:

I’ve been struggling with one of my online courses. Enrollment numbers weren’t where I wanted them to be. The program is really labor-intensive, so even though successful students stunned me with their talent, I’d have to raise the price significantly to keep it in operation. I wasn’t totally sure how to fix it – or whether to just ditch it.

So I hired consultants.

Who took a day to audit my program and sent me ELEVEN FREAKIN PAGES of feedback.

Whew. Ok. I wanted this, I reminded myself. I asked for this. I paid for this.

Cause I know some of you are also interested in building online courses, here’s a quick, paraphrased, rundown of some of the feedback:

Change the name of the program

Rewrite the webpage

Develop freebies

Create an ad campaign to trade the freebie for emails

Create landing pages for the ad campaign

Create emails for people who got the freebie

Develop a free class to deliver when enrollment opens

Create ads for the free class

Develop incentives for waitlisters to enroll early

Write more emails to the waitlist

Create an application process for interested students

Change the onboarding process for new students

Open up enrollment for the waitlist weeks early

Start emailing the waitlist July 11

Those are the highlights, my friend. I’m not even getting into the details. Or the accompanying Loom video breakdown. They were, shall we say, thorough.

I have unwavering faith that I can do all of these things.

It woulda just killed my summer.

Email the waitlist July 11? That means I’m spending June on my computer instead of cold plunging into the Copenhagen canal.

Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you have to. Right now. Or ever.

Matter of fact, I decided to skip the revamped launch of the course this Fall. I’m postponing the next enrollment period for that course until next Spring. I’m gonna need all the time between now and then to implement the consultant recommendations without burning myself out.

And that Spring enrollment period will be do or die. If the changes don’t result in a profitable program with higher enrollment and happy students, I’m shutting it down. I promise to report back.

The Achiever in me was thisclose to figuring out a way to make it happen.

Writing emails from the beach or something. There are people to help. But there’s one more lesson in here I wanted to pass on to you.

I was discussing whether to rally around this Consultant To Do List with my family. We’re stuffing our faces with miso soup and boogie veggie rolls.

My partner shoves an entire piece of sushi into his mouth (as you’re supposed to do) and says:

“You busted your tail at the start of the year so that you’d have free time right now. You kept saying, to yourself and the rest of us, ‘I know I’m working all weekend, but this means I’ll have a lighter load this summer.’ And now you’re talking about filling up that space you created with more work.”

I woulda kissed him right on the lips, except his mouth was full of sushi.

He’s right. I had totally forgotten about the promises I made to myself when I was up to my elbows in January. It’s very much like me to fill my free time with more work – a habit I’m trying to unlearn, cause I’m tired of burning out.

Every one of us needs somebody in our corner, reminding us of what’s in our best self’s best interest.

So who’s in your corner, rooting for your success and your rest? Me, for one.

And how’d you spend your summer? Hit me up with your favorite non-work-related summer activity.

When you have the trazillion dollar marketing legacy of McDonalds behind you, your franchise does NOT need to find your edge. In fact, you want to be cookie-cutter-right-off-the-factory-line samesies as every other McDonalds franchise because customers expect a consistent experience no matter which McDs they roll into.

But when your town has more Mickey Ds than elementary schools, you’ve got competition. The franchise holder down the road is hoping the post prom crowd is going to use his spot for their Tik Toks and french fries and the corporate McDonalds doesn’t care which franchise they visit because it’s still cash in their pocket.

So, my friend, if you want to build your empire, you’ve gotta find your edge. Make yours a Rock-N-Roll Cafe.

You ARE Different

It’s just that you haven’t thought through exactly how you’re different.

It doesn’t matter what industry you’re in – you could be making bespoke broaches for cats – you have competition. Even if you think you’re soooooooo unique. Don’t forget: Sometimes your competition is your potential customer’s choice to do nothing. To not buy. Who actually needs a cat broach?

In other words, your market is crowded, whether you like it or not.

The way to stand out is to find your edge – the thing that makes you unique and different. The cinnamon caramel in a world of vanilla ice cream.

You won’t be everyone’s favorite flavor but you’ll be some people’s go-to, no-questions-asked, extra sprinkles top choice.

Edgy Can Mean Contrarian

Stirring the pot is one of my all time favorite activities. As early as third grade, I was organizing my classmates and mounting campaigns that questioned the status quo. That is, I was every teacher’s most troublesome student (sorry, not sorry Mrs. Jones ❤️) and student hero of the week for getting that English test cancelled in 11th grade.

Questioning the status quo is a part of my constitution. While it still takes some pluck and therapy, it’s what led me to publish blog posts like this one, this one, and this one, which get me emails of admiration and DMs of venom to this day.

To find your edge, list what’s accepted as “common sense” in your field and examine it through your own unique lens. Look for the holes. Talk about them.

It takes a good deal of privilege and a strong support system to buck a trend on Twitter. Some people don’t have the social safety to speak up like that.

But here’s the thing: Contrarian doesn’t mean you have to be cranky, snobby, and up late at night smashing out snarky responses in the depths of the comment thread on your blog. In fact, when your industry is full of cantankerous men cracking at each other online, doing the same makes you vanilla. The contrarian move would be kindness.

So, my Cinnamon Sweet, what’s your edge? Bust out your business journal and write down 5 things that make you different from the others in your field. Then write to me and tell me what they are. We’ll put bells on them and celebrate.

Tell me if you can relate to this newsletter reader who wrote:

“I really want to find ways to use my business skills to help my local community and neighbors instead of working 50+ hours a week so a bunch of rich guys in Connecticut can get even richer.”

!!!

I don’t know who the rich guys in Connecticut are, but in my mind’s eye, they look like this:

Is that how people in Connecticut dress? I don’t even know.

This dear reader was struggling to reconcile working for clients who can pay the big bucks while her heart belongs to the local nonprofits and small businesses.

The super pious among us might conclude that the only choices are to cast your lot with your community and commit to a low salary or sell out with Mr. Moneybags and beat yourself up with endless guilt.

Let me offer a third option.

Robin Hood Pricing

When you Robin Hood, you say yes to a few Connecticuts and use that income to subsidize your time working with your locals.

I know, I know. My cheeky “Robin Hood” name is a bit inaccurate. You aren’t stealing anything. You’re doing your job to the best of your ability. And getting paid handsomely.

Which gives you to the space to charge much less for those you want to help the most.

This means you charge higher prices for the work you do in the corporate world (where higher prices are expected).

Robin Hood Giving

To make this all sit right in my soul, I take my approach one step further. Robin Hood Giving.

When I work on one of these helping-the-rich-get-richer contracts, I take some of the profits from that project and give them directly to the local nonprofit that does the exact opposite thing as the big corporation.

Like, when I work with Facebook, I donate to local journalism efforts.

When I work with global credit card corporations, I give to an underground group here in town that provides cash seed money to launch baby businesses – no interest, not even a loan, just cash.

Every time I work with Chick-fil-A, I cut a fat check to Outfront Kalamazoo, my local LGBTQA+ resource center.

One way or another, you can Robin Hood your way through these seemingly irreconcilable duels in your heart. This isn’t an either/or proposition. This is, my friend, is using the power of AND.

Have you ever partnered up with someone slightly (or more) questionable? How did you make it sit right with your soul?

I hate learning painful business lessons when I’ve been around the block this long. But here we are.

It’s almost two years to the date. I was in Ottawa giving a workshop to a room full of very distracted Canadians. Their phones were buzzing with emails about mandates to work from home, starting pretty much immediately. Their childcare was closing, come pick up your kid.

In retrospect, we should have cancelled the workshop but you know how it was back then – everything was changing hour by hour.

I flew home through the quietest I’ve ever seen DTW, chatting up my verycloseneighbor about how weird life had gotten, as we bathed our seats in Purell, maskless.

There was just so much we didn’t know.

Like, what’s this going to do to my business?

Uncertainty is every entrepreneur’s enemy.

I used to spend at least a week a month jet setting from city to city, racking up Delta miles and teaching my heart out. If you wanted to get into my speaking schedule you had to book about six months in advance.

So in March 2020 I was looking at half a year of work that needed a Plan B, ASAP. Nearly every client was happy to shift to virtual work and I’m grateful. My online workshops are totally rock-n-roll, I knew we’d be ok.

But everyone else was at a standstill. I spent afternoons completing puzzles with my teenager instead of negotiating new contracts.

Though I didn’t know it at the time, as I was finding the corner pieces, anxiety about my future was on the rise.

So when the Are You Available emails started rolling back in, I made a rookie mistake.

I said yes to everyone.

Uncertainty breeds desperation.

When I launched my first business, I was definitely desperate to make it work so I said HELL YES to anyone, no questions asked.

You don’t realize it til later but the trouble with the Yes to All Approach is that you lose your focus. You don’t have a clear audience. Your marketing gets murky. And you backbend your offer to make it fit what each client wants, even if you aren’t actually flexible.

In other words, it hurts.

It took me years to finally trust that the work would come and that I could be choosy about my projects (just like I’d always wanted when I was dreaming about working for myself).

I thought I knew better. After all, this is the counsel I had given to the students in my business mentoring course for years.

Find your niche! Have self respect! Set boundaries!

But there I was, in late 2020, giving four talks in one day.

I was quickly back to booking six months in advance. Which meant that even in early 2021, when I realized I’d made a rookie mistake, it was too late. I already had dozens of workshops on the books.

Literally, dozens. In December 2021 I posted this on LinkedIn and then laid on the green shag rug in my office for 20 minutes.

Beyond the risk of losing your niche, saying yes to everyone is taxing to your soul.

Your girl was tired.

If I could rewind to the plane ride home from Canada, I would have (1) put on a mask and (2) assured myself that even if things appear uncertain, the best play is to honor the natural limit of my working capacity.

I 100% respect that this is easier said than done.

Too much business is definitely better than too little.

I’m profoundly grateful that things weren’t worse.

I need, like, just two days where no one emails me or wants anything from me.

^ All of these thoughts ^ co-exist, side by side, in my head.

Here’s to calendar caps and regular naps.

What about you? What was your pandemic mistake? Write back and confess.

I just made one of my dreams come true. I launched an online course while I was at the beach.

I’ve always wanted to be in such a well-prepared place that I could put some work on auto-pilot while I snorkel with sea turtles and lobsters.

I arrived.

I answered a few emails each day from prospective students who wanted to join the Data Visualization Academy. But mostly I drank mojitos.

You’d think it’d be all sunshine and starfish but I have had a teenager in tow, who was being very teenager-y. Why is it so hoooooooot? Why is there sand evvvvvverywhere?

My teen was (rightfully) irritated after an unexpectedly long and sweaty hike back from an unexpectedly amazing tide pool. How looooooong until dinner?

When I told him it would be another 90 minutes, his mood turned so sour, it would have aged me 10 years had we been making direct eye contact.

We diverted to a beachside bar and ordered pineapple juice (with added rum and mint in mine) to see if that would turn that tide.

It didn’t.

But while we sat on the top of a picnic table, watching the sun set into the waves, I spotted this week’s hero.

Just as the sky was starting to turn colors, this guy at the bar faced the water, turned up the tunes playing in his headphones, and danced in the sand.

He sang along, too – loud enough for us to hear him, even over the ocean waves. I couldn’t tell what song he was singing but let me tell you right now this man was doing something holy.

Even though signs from Kohl’s like “Dance like nobody’s watching” makes my guts cringe, that’s exactly what was happening here.

He didn’t seem to care about the cranky teenager brooding nearby.

He didn’t pay attention to the two young girls ripping around the courtyard threatening to put everyone in their Tik Tok video.

He didn’t get distracted by the cook and the bartender, who were married and in a screaming match.

Dude put on his red LED headphones and jammed.

Just him and the music and the sky and the water.

At the risk of romanticizing what was going on in this guy’s head, let me stop here and pull out the lesson for the rest of us.

Prepare for In the Zone time.

You know The Zone. It’s when you’re in that coveted state of flow, where it’s just you and your task/project/focus. Where time passes without you knowing it. That’s The Zone I’m talking about.

It doesn’t just happen by chance. Being In the Zone is a result of how you set up your circumstances.

Like, this guy needed to be at the beach. At sunset. With his headphones. And his playlist. He wouldn’t be singing into the ocean without those ingredients. He came ready.

What circumstances do you need to prepare for your In the Zone time?

For me, I need my mornings. After a cup of coffee and a meditation. With my phone on silent and my social media tabs closed. That’s when I’m at my best.

Because I know that about myself, I don’t schedule meetings in the mornings. I protect the time when circumstances are most favorable for being In the Zone. What takes me a half hour when I’m In the Zone would take me 90 minutes in the afternoon.

What works for you? Write to me and tell me.

I also gotta point out:

he didn’t over-engineer the circumstances. He didn’t demand to be surrounded by silence and good vibes. He didn’t sweat a lot of what could have been distractions.

It’s really easy to find reasons (excuses) for why you can’t just get to work. This is why people have the most beautifully decorated home offices but generate zero income. Time to stop shopping for succulents and publish that website.

We tend to prop up a goal of perfection so that we look productive without actually producing. Actually producing means that people will see our work. And they might point out our flaws.

Next time I find myself lacking the courage to do something I know I want to do because I’m too scared of what my peers on social media will think, I’m going to recall Jam Man on the beach in St Croix, doing his thing.