Competition as Learning Opportunity: A Frame of Mind

You know the feeling: Someone got a nod from the executive director for a good idea at a meeting and you think, "That could've been me!" Or, there's a dancer in your class or company who can seem to do no wrong *and* nail every triple pirouette.  These situations bring out your competitive spirit, which can grow from admiration to jealousy. You can let it eat you alive, or you can use it to help you be the best you can be so you can identify strengths, areas of improvement, and fire you up to form a game plan for continuous learning.  

In other words, what mindset you have can make a dramatic difference in your own personal outcome.  There's competition for the pure sake of it, and there's competition and progress.  To illustrate, the brilliant pianist Lang Lang's early childhood was dominated by the singular desire to be No. 1, whether it was to place first in every competition he entered, or to rank first at the conservatory.  When he didn't place in his second competition, the young Lang Lang beat up his consolation prize (a stuffed dog) in fury.  It wasn't until his mid-teens that his teacher, Gary Graffman, asked him to give up competitions and encouraged him to look inside himself and the music he played.  Until he could do this, the young pianist would not be able to learn the artistic depth required of a consummate musician.  Lang Lang is now considered one of the most exciting and engaging classical pianists in the world today. 

Whenever I feel that sense of urgency upon seeing excellence exhibited by another and that secret, terrible thought voices itself: "That could be me! ... Right?", I remember the below.  Give these a try when you're bitten by the competitive bug and see how you can grow!

Acknowledge the desire to be the best you can be.

It's natural to want to do well and to gain recognition for your talents and skills.  Understanding this and being okay with it is the first step on the path to learning!

Allow the performance, knowledge, and skills demonstrated by others light a fire under you.

Think about what you can work on - where does that other person shine?  What could you do to gain skill and/or expertise in that area?

Remember what you’re good at, and work on making these assets even stronger.

In doing so, people will see clearly where you shine!

For example, I have some significant shortcomings as a Chinese dancer in terms of technique and flexibility. When I'm in class, I always work on every aspect to try and improve where I am weaker to gain overall prowess as a dancer.  When I perform, however, I learn choreography that challenges me and yet allows me to show my greatest strengths - high energy, knee turns, and acting.  Similarly, in high school tennis matches I would try to set up plays so that I could be close to the net for low, fast hits since I regularly found myself noticeably shorter than my opponents. 

Use others’ competitiveness to your advantage. 

I don’t mean to go out of your way to hurt others; I mean to let the most negative parts bounce off you and to absorb the rest and convert it into positive energy for you.  That sounds remarkably new agey, so let me illustrate with an example.  

I was an underdog when I played competitive tennis in high school.  My opponents, usually tall, leggy girls, would see a short kid with socks pulled all the way up and a big hat my mother would make me wear so I wouldn’t get sunburnt.  In other words, I didn’t look like a tennis player; I looked awkward.  But the match would start and there would be surprise; I wasn’t a bad player, after all.  I would often face opponents who would grow frustrated as I gained points and won games in a set; I could feel anger searing me from across the court.  But, the more hostile an opponent got, the calmer and more focused I became.  I simply channeled her anger into quiet control on my part, and I would usually win these games.  I’d developed a way to take someone else’s negative energy and use it to help me focus.  

If you really have to compete with someone or something, compete with yourself.  

Accomplished something?  Set a new goal!  That way, you’ll drive yourself to achieve on ever higher levels, rather than allow admiration of another turn into envy or jealousy on dangerous levels (a little bit can be helpful to push you, though).  

Celebrate your successes.

Compete with yourself, yes, but remember to celebrate your successes when you reach a milestone; take a moment to stop and acknowledge what you’ve accomplished.  Otherwise, if you’re like me, you’ll just look to the next goal and risk driving yourself to exhaustion because you can ultimately never become a master of anything!  

For example, the last time I was promoted, I thought, "yes!" and then the next day it was, "what’s it going to take to prove myself, and what do I need to do to make it to the next level?"  In the dance studio, I hadn’t realized the extent of the progress I’d made towards executing a series of difficult "propeller" turns until my coach mentioned at the end of my rehearsal that even though I was far from perfect, I’d come a long way already.  I realized I could only see what still wasn’t working and had focused only on what lay ahead.  It was a lovely moment, to stop and realize that yes, I was no longer falling all over the place and feeling nauseous!  

Be aware that there will always be someone who can do something better than you, in some way. (And that's okay!)

We can’t be super or even proficient at everything, and that’s an incredible blessing.  When you feel that pang in your chest that someone is better than you, remind yourself that this person may be better than you at something - not that he or she is intrinsically better than you.  Therein lies the difference, and only when you believe this will you have the power to take a step back and assess what it is that person does well, and how you can learn from them.  That way, every situation is an opportunity to grow.  

That’s the beauty and mystery of life; if we could become absolute masters, we’d have to move onto something new lest we stagnate and lose that sense of possibility and learning.  Although I must admit that in my most down-trodden moments I wonder if I tell myself this only to assuage my bruised sense of self-worth, the tactic works.  Separate the self from the situation, as painful and difficult as it is, and seek to understand what you can gain.  In the end, I hope you’ll find, as I have, that a competitive spirit can be a surprisingly collaborative one at its heart. 

Daily Rituals

Chances are, there are certain things you do every morning when you get up.  Whether it’s drinking a cup of coffee, feeding the cat, or hitting the gym, these little rituals are what jumpstart you.  To get your creative juices flowing and ready for the workday whether you’re looking for a new way to spice up the steps in the piece you’re rehearsing or a new way to approach a solution with a client, it can be wonderfully grounding to apply some structure in your life.  

This structure can take many forms, and one of them is that of the daily routine, or daily ritual (the credit for this inspiration goes to Twyla Tharp, again!).  For example, a colleague of mine gets up at 5:30 every morning and swims for 45 minutes, after which he sits down and writes in his online journal.  It’s his way of getting in his exercise and clearing his mind, all before he gets to the office.  

Establishing a daily ritual can be especially important when traveling.  We work in increasingly global organizations, and sometimes we’re asked to travel to collaborate directly with our colleagues and partners in other parts of the world.  Perhaps you’re lucky enough to be touring with your performing arts organization or as a solo artist.  Being away from home can be stressful enough as it is, much less having to shoulder the responsibilities of preparing presentations for a meeting, getting bloated limbs to cooperate in rehearsal, and being your most productive when you’re fatigued and jet-lagged.

Figuring out your daily routine and sticking to it can give you the right rhythm to your days on the road.  When the environment is different and life presents greater uncertainties, your daily routine, if adhered to, can give you the psychological comfort of having at least one thing you have control over.  

During the past year I traveled to Beijing very frequently for my office job and spent several weeks at a time there.  Even though I became familiar with the area, being away from family and the familiar comforts of home (read: dance class, my piano) inevitably took a toll.  After a bit of experimentation, I figured out what I needed to do.  I got up every morning at 6:00 to do a full ballet barre and some center work, then headed to the office.  After work, no matter how tired I was, I exercised for at least another 30 minutes to sweat and engage my body after mostly sitting all day.  Then came my favorite part: the hot shower, then sitting in bed with my journal listening to music.  Sleep.

After I established this daily ritual, my energy levels improved and I felt that I’d finally added my own personal stamp to my life abroad.  

Of course, this can apply equally well to life without travel.  Life throws us surprises of all kinds, and it can be overwhelming to deal with them - work, family, friends, health.  But, if you have your tried and true daily ritual to return to, it can help remind you that you do have control over your life.  

Even if you wake up and wonder how you’re going to drag yourself out of bed and face your inbox at the office or engage your aching muscles at the dance studio, you know you’ll feel better after you’ve gone through your daily ritual.  You’ll be that much more ready to face your day and do what you need to do.  Who knows, maybe you’ll even exceed your own expectations!

Do you have a daily ritual that works for you?  Share a Comment; I’d love to hear from you!  

The Courage to Be Creative - Your Way

It may not be the fate - or even the desire - of each of us to change the world, to be the next Steve Jobs or Pablo Picasso.  That said, this shouldn’t stop us from doing what we believe in.  Unfortunately, the messages we receive are often conflicting, and creativity is not always encouraged.  In some cases there may be consequences for doing something in a different way, or to finding another way to go about it entirely.  This isn’t always the case, but if the end result doesn’t meet expectations, it can be like a door has been slammed on your creative idea.  You wanted to be creative, but it failed.  You’d better stick to the basics, buddy.  

The pressure to stifle creativity can begin in school.  As Sir Ken Robinson states in his TED talk, “Intelligence is diverse. Intelligence is dynamic. Intelligence is distinct.”  The irony is, many schools emphasize math and science and those areas that will ostensibly help us become employed when we become adults.  There may be those with a gift in a certain area, but for the rest of us average children, we’d better stick to the grain or risk mediocrity - or worse, poverty - for the remainder of our lives.  


But what about those people who are brilliant in their own ways, but who don’t believe their talents have merit because they receive constant reinforcement that they are not?  Their gifts may diverge from math and science and other conventionally “applicable” disciplines.  These students only know that they are average, or less than average, in those courses that promising students are supposed to do well in.  


Take the example of my mother. Everything about her is musical: her abilities of retention, analysis, performance, and interpretation of classical music are extraordinary (my assessment is not, I assure you, solely based on the fact that she is my mother). She should be an artist in some capacity. What's tragic is that she sees herself as a failure. 

Throughout my mother's schooling she was repeatedly told that her talents were useless, and she still believes it to this day.  She is plagued by the fact that she never mastered advanced math.  When I tell her how valuable her true self is, she beams for a moment, only to shake her head and say, “Yes, but what use is it?”  This firm belief is why she precludes herself from any possibility of starting an artistic life, even in her retirement.



It’s almost as if the message is: If you’re not innovative in a shortlist of pre-approved fields, you might as well give up. After all, how many George Balanchines and Paul McCartneys are out there?  

As Sir Ken Robinson put it succinctly and rather devastatingly, “We are educating people out of their creativity.”


How can we find a balance?  How can we do our due diligence, yet still find the breathing space to find our true talents?  If we don’t happen to have a supportive community be it family or school or workplace, we must find the courage to strike out in our own ways.  


First, acknowledge your talents and abilities.  Make a list and keep it handy, if it’ll help remind you of who you are and that you are valuable for your unique qualities.  In my mother’s case she can’t even bring herself to do this first step, so I’m writing a list for her to see what results.  I’m hoping my admiration for her will help her see just how valuable her talents are.


Second, find opportunities, no matter how small, to put your ideas into play.  Attach a concrete reason to work on your idea.  As I read once, “If you like something, find a way to call it work.”  Give yourself a goal.  Before I started this blog I knew I loved to write, but had never done anything about it.  I realized I’d never given myself a reason.  My blog was the vehicle through which I set my goals.  Every week I had to brainstorm ideas to write about. Even if I didn’t come up with anything I ultimately used, at least I’d done something.  Psychologically this reinforced the legitimacy of my project, and equally important, it became a habit.


Third, find a way to get some kind of external validation for what you’re doing.  It’s really difficult working in a vacuum after the initial groundwork is laid.  At some point, find someone to share your work in progress with (don’t wait for that perfect moment; it doesn’t exist!).  It could be a family member, friend, or a shot in the dark submission to someone in that field whom you admire.  If your idea is work-related, try to find a mentor or someone you trust to bounce your framework off of.  That person may point out aspects you’d never considered, allowing you to strengthen your work before you bring it to a bigger (or more crucial) audience.


It’s a cycle. After presenting to a confidant, it’s usually necessary to go back to your inner world and reassess, restructure, redo.  Hopefully this process will build on your confidence, even as setbacks give you reason to improve and/or bolster your belief in your work.  The key is not to lose courage.  If your idea means enough to you, you’ll find ways to carry on and fight for it.  It takes guts to try something you might have been told is impractical, will lead to a dead end, will cause you to lose your current job, will render you a pauper ... the naysayer’s list is endless.  

But as Steve Jobs said, why live your life for someone else?  If you don’t believe in your own particular kind of creativity, the only person who will be left asking “What if ...?” in the end, is you.

Progress and Results = ...?

I have never been a natural "turner", as we say in the dance community.  One of several important aspects of turning successfully is to spot, a technique in which the dancer rotates the body first and the head last. This allows the dancer to anchor him or herself to a direction, and prevents dizziness.  It's taken me considerable work to gain proficiency; in the process I've fallen out of turns, succumbed to severe bouts of nausea, the works.

But now, even as I am acutely aware of my shortcomings, I've discovered that I can execute multiple pirouettes (turns) with a much higher success rate than before.  Focusing on the basics is paying off; I see the results, I feel the results, and a feeling surges within me - I'm making progress!

How does 'making progress' happen in the office? The definition of progress can vary greatly depending on one's job function, obviously, but as a program manager in my current organization, I find I don't always know what this means.

When working on dance, on the base level of technique it's apparent when things aren't going well.  It feels terrible, both physically and mentally, because there's no fooling yourself if you're executing technique incorrectly.  Physics doesn't lie.  (This is not to say that there aren't subtle ways to cheat; that's another topic entirely - for the purposes of our current theme, let's assume that the dancer is conscious of clean technique.)

This in turn applies to making music.  It's not working if the sound that comes out doesn't align with what's on the page, or if the notes don't connect or the phrasing is broken due to poor fingering choices on the piano.  You can hear it, and you can feel it.

As in the office and in the arts, we are similarly driven by priorities and business needs - the choreographer wants to work on a Tibetan dance, and it's my job to study and learn how to internalize the traditional movements and culture of Tibet; the director of my organization at the office wants to launch X within 1 week, and my work as a program manager is cut out for me.

I suppose I could say that I'm making progress and seeing results when I'm nearing completion of my portion to make the launch of X possible.  But somehow, it doesn't feel like I'm gaining expertise - I've developed a strategy and labored away, but that's just it.  I'm making progress for the organization, but am I making progress for me?

That's the difference; when I work on executing a decent pirouette, learn how to shrug my shoulders with just the right insouciance for an Uighur ethnic dance, or finally master the intoxicatingly furious ending of Ravel's Valses Nobles et Sentimentales No. 1 on the piano, I know what I am internalizing.  I know when I am making progress, just as I know when I am not.  The results, or lack thereof, are clear.

This realization is startling, because this clarity contrasts deeply with my other life: I haven't figured out what it means to me to make progress at work.  Perhaps it's because I'm not operating at my forte, that I'm not in an environment or job function in which my path and growth flow innately and operate in harmony with the priorities and needs of the organization.

That leads to the greatest question: am I in the right place at all?  In my heart, I want to believe I'll instinctively know what it means to make progress when I've found work that truly means something to me.  I won't give up; I'll keep asking myself tough questions as I explore and find my way.

While I forge my path there, my labor at the dance studio and at the keys of my beautiful Steinway grand piano will remind me of the way it feels to find my way forward, naturally.  

I am Not a Robot

It's long been a point of pride for me that I can keep myself in check at all times: no matter what comes my way, what I show the world will be the picture of positive calm.  To do otherwise would be to show weakness.

At least that's what I learned in life so far, whether it was being admonished as a child if I showed any signs of unhappiness or contrariness, or quickly learning in the dance studio that one must work through all kinds of pain and frustration or risk getting nowhere fast.

I've been the recipient of gratitude more than a few times in dance rehearsals and meetings at work, as I was able to keep everyone working together in contentious situations. "How do you stay so even-keeled, Susan?" I'd get asked.

The truth: it isn't easy, especially when I'm keenly disappointed or frustrated about something.  I'm just so practiced that it comes unconsciously.  I think to myself, what can I do but to stay positive?  It admittedly exacts a toll deep within me, but I reason that it's worth it to maintain the harmony amongst those around me. I shouldn't bother them with my troubles.

Therefore, it came as a shock when I was told by a manager at the office that she thought my attitude seemed disingenuous.  That is a word that I don't associate with myself (who'd want that?).  "I don't know what's behind that smile," she went on to say. It turned out that to her, I came across as something like a robot, an automaton incapable of being affected by anything.  In striving so hard to stay motivated in an environment that has been a real challenge for me, my positive attitude made me suspicious.

It shook me to the core to see that my well-honed, punishing self control came not only at the expense of my own emotional and psychological well being, but hindered the development of a professional relationship.  Granted, this is but one (and to date, the only) significant feedback I've ever received on this topic so I will take it with a grain of salt. All the same, I felt betrayed. Betrayed by what I'd believed throughout my life, that to show anything less than shining would be a sure sign of weakness.

True to my nature, I'm moving on and doing my best to analyze and internalize learnings.  I now tell myself that it's okay to express displeasure or to show that things are not exactly sunny, if they aren't. I have to literally repeat this to myself because if I don't, my autopilot mode is to do exactly what I've practiced so carefully over the years - I can corral my own pain and spin things positively without a thought. It happens in the blink of an eye.

To illustrate: last week a senior manager I deeply respect asked me why I wasn't up for promotion this year. As I began to explain the circumstances, she interrupted me and exclaimed, "How can you be so positive about this?  You have to let it out sometime!  Be frustrated!"  Suddenly I realized, good heavens, I'm doing it again.  I hadn't allowed myself to acknowledge my own pain. At least I can identify this now. That's a first step.

I admit I don't exactly know how I will figure it all out, because I'm reassessing one of the major foundations of my understanding of interactions with myself and with others.  The silver lining is that it's dawned on me that by acknowledging my feelings and articulating them in the appropriate way -  rather than suppressing them and not conveying them to others - can I begin to truly accept myself. In refusing to accept all of me, I cannot bring my true self to those around me.

I envision my body opening, almost like a banana peel, and into the eternity of the blue sky and fluffy-white clouds of a Magritte painting. All parts of me are dispersing and merging into the universe that is me, however surreal, and I am accepting everything with the calm and surety of a brook flowing downstream.

This feeling is a start. It's hope.

A Healthy Dose of Inexperience

We spend so much of our days working.  Whether learning on the job to hone skills we need to smooth our path to corporate success or practicing scales or going through steps in the studio to become better performers, we are constantly striving to improve our skills.

But what happens when we have focused so much on gaining knowledge and working towards perfection?  It's entirely possible that a buildup of knowledge can actually hinder your ability to be spontaneous/creative.

One summer day, a six year old me was gallivanting by the waves on a Monterey beach, my family nearby.  One particularly vigorous reach of water crashed near me and snatched my shoe right off my foot.  I ran headlong into the wave, located my shoe in a vortex of seawater, and emerged triumphant (and sopping wet), shoe in hand.  My parents were shrieking and horrified; I was scolded thrice over for having been so reckless.

The truth was, I simply didn't have the experience to tell me that running into a large ocean wave might be considered dangerous. I felt perfectly justified to go right up to that wave and take back what was rightfully mine!

As children, we may not have yet experienced knowledge that cautions us again and again not to do something, or to think before we attempt something because we've been told the goal is foolish or not worth it. But what about us grown-ups? Can't we retain a healthy dose of fun and spontaneity in our lives?

Twyla Tharp wrote in the "Skill" chapter of her book "The Creative Habit" (if you haven't noticed by now, Ms. Tharp constantly inspires me with her straightforward wisdom), "In its purest form, inexperience erases fear. You do not know what is and is not possible and therefore everything is possible."

I try to maintain inexperience by putting myself in new situations.  This can mean riding the subway in Beijing for the first time and seeing that the way to get on the car is to run headlong into those who are trying to get off the subway (seems counterintuitive to me, but that's how it's done - "competition is the spice of life here," one native told me), or jumping into a new assignment at work despite not knowing how the heck I'm going to accomplish my goals (observe, learn, figure it out as I go).  Inevitably, I find I've gained perspective that changes the way I live my life, or at least dislodged something in my mind I'd always assumed was true.

That said, I like having an anchor to come back to, things I have loved for as long as I can remember. This can be a physical location (home), or an activity that helps me feel like I'm back in familiar territory (dance class).  Yet even in this state there are ways to find inexperience.  I love studying foreign languages, and I can always stretch my knowledge of those I already have a command of, or start a new one.  A different style of dance can teach me ways to use my body that I'd never known possible.

Each adventure comes with the thrill of the new, the shaky first steps ("Can I do it?"), and the eventual gaining of skill. The common thread that runs through each experience is the willingness to cast aside previous conceptions and assumptions of whatever you're trying to do.  Who cares how you did it before, or if you've never done it before?  How will you ever know what life could be if you don't try?

Let your gut guide you in the directions you take - even the paths that seem insignificant at first can bring immeasurable gains to your world.  Give it a try!  The worst that can happen is that you'll learn something new.  Take the leap, fall and get up again if you have to.  At the least, you'll gain the wide world of possibility.

My Own Worst Enemy

I've recently begun to see that I have a worst enemy. You may wonder, why even consider the concept of a worst enemy? Shouldn't we all work in harmony?

Yes, we should! But I came to realize that my own worst enemy is ...

Me.

I don't mean to be overdramatic; I only mean to emphasize that I am capable of thwarting myself even when I believe I'm doing everything I can to excel. The time this unexpected false friend tends to comes to life is when I feel the need to prove myself.

I am beginning to realize that this affects how I communicate with others and how I work.  It's most dangerous because it distracts me from my true goals and hampers my ability to focus on what really counts.  This phenomenon is two-pronged:

1) The desire to prove to others that I am good enough, that I can handle it
2) The desire to prove to myself that I am good enough, that I can handle it

These may seem similar, but there are slightly different consequences to each. In the first case, I may overstylize a movement in rehearsal to try to stand out when I'm supposed to blend in with other dancers, disrupting the harmony in the choreographer's eyes.  At the office, I may end up chiming into an email thread or discussion where I am not really an owner or stakeholder, but I feel the need to show that I know something about the situation.  Not only does this not add value to others, they're probably wondering why I said anything at all.

In the second case, more dangerously, I may take on more than I can do safely and risk depleted health and injury.  At the office, equally dangerously, I may subconsciously avoid asking for help because I want to show myself that I am capable of accomplishing something, unaided.

This brings me to an important point: Asking for help is not only okay, in many situations, it is the courageous thing to do!  Admitting to yourself that you need some guidance or support requires humility and collaboration - both good things.

In the end, I can't help but think back to the phrase "Get over it!", which was the title of an earlier post, but in this case I take it to mean that I am not that big of a deal. If I do my due diligence and reach out to others in collaboration, people will understand naturally what I'm good at and what they can come to me for.  There is absolutely no need for me to overdo it or try to hit people over the head with poorly targeted communications that seem to come out of left field.  This doesn't help anyone, and hurts mostly me!

It's more humble pie, and hopefully better awareness to a smoother and more fruitful working life. In the end, I hope this brings me more inner harmony. If I trust in myself, I won't feel the need to prove myself at all!

You're Missing Out ... Or Are You?

Have you ever felt like you had to do something, not because you really wanted to, but because you were afraid of what would happen if you didn't?

In his book "Predictably Irrational", Dan Ariely discusses how people seem to throw all rational thought out the door when confronted with a "FREE!" option. Basically, we tend to pick the free choice, even if we don't want or need it. He believes the reason is due to our fear of missing out on something: "... humans are intrinsically afraid of loss. The real allure of FREE! is tied to this fear."

Ariely's research brought to mind a watershed moment I had two years ago. I'd been dancing for a troupe, performing one or two numbers per show. One day, the artistic director asked me whether I could fill in for a group dance. And another. And, oh, there's another one, why don't you do that one, too?

Let's consider: I was working a full time job in corporate. I already rehearsed several days of the week, squeezing whatever time I could afford in my schedule. With several more dances, I'd have to give up precious family time and downtime. I knew I wouldn't get the same utility out of these additional dances because I was an extra body the director needed to fill space to round out the aesthetics - I would be growing less for the amount of time I had to spend waiting around in the studio while other parts were being rehearsed. To boot, I wouldn't even get paid for these long rehearsals!

The rational person (by this I refer to rational economic theory) would see that turning down these offers wins hands down. I'd keep my time with family and myself, and stay sane. But what did I do? I agreed to more and more numbers until I was in 7 dances in one show, completely stressed, injured and my dancing subpar because I wasn't able to focus my mental and physical energies well. Worse, my family felt pushed aside, which added to my stress.

Why did I do this? My watershed moment came to me in a cafe one morning when I suddenly realized I was a slave to my fear of Missing Out. Why go out on a limb for comparatively little benefit? Because I could be onstage! If I didn't do it, I would miss my chance to be onstage! That's why.

After this realization, once I understood my underlying motivation, I was suddenly able to see how I could maximize my benefit while balancing the amount of time in rehearsal. This way, I'd be onstage less but with more benefit with each dance, and I'd have more time with loved ones and myself.

I must stress that not dancing was not an option - rehearsals speak to my desire to move and to perform. There's nothing else in life quite like the adrenaline surge of being onstage - the give and take conversation with the audience - to deny myself this would be akin to lopping off a part of me.

Once I identified my fear of 'missing out', it transformed from a large, unnamable cloud of anxiety to a little thing I could define and encapsulate into a box, in my mind. And by acknowledging it, I could manage it. I still have this fear, but it's much easier to identify when it rears its head now.

To be sure, when your gut tells you to go for something (say, a risky but exciting project that you could learn much from), by all means pay attention. But, if you feel compelled to do something even though everything about it is a drag on your life without much gain to you, it may be that you're simply afraid of what it might mean if you *don't* do it.

If that's the case, it's probably better off reevaluating or questioning your impulse. I'm probably stretching his words here, but as Ariely seems to imply, there is a cost to giving into this fear of loss.

I think it comes down to keeping things in perspective. What is really important to you? So what if you don't go with something - you may be allowing yourself the freedom to attend to what truly matters. Only you know the answer.

(To learn more about Dan Ariely and his book, see this great interview from Infectious Talk!)

Get Over It!

I've made many messy attempts to get things right in dance or music, but I realized I don't always take this approach when it comes to the rest of my life.

This goes back to my earlier post about failing – to me it’s fine to fail at first when learning something in an art, but I find myself wanting to plan everything in detail upfront before beginning execution on a project at work, which can lead to paralysis. (How many slide decks does a team of stakeholders need?)

I’m a little better about it when learning a foreign language; I used to obsess about every sentence I wrote in my early Japanese emails, which was helpful at the beginning when everything was difficult. However, I quickly realized that there’s no way to actually learn a language unless you try actually speaking it. Even if you make awful faux pas (I’ve made countless - addressing a Fujitsu manager as if he were subordinate! - and still do), you’ll never get over the hump to that great feeling of semi-fluency that comes with usage.

This goes back to doing. Without doing, there is nothing. Well, admittedly there is an idea, a vision. But it’s not concrete enough to sustain itself.

If there’s anything I’ve learned from being a program manager in operations, it’s this: You can plan all you want but there is absolutely no substitute for going out there and doing. Otherwise, you have no idea what it actually takes to bring the plan out to execution, things you wouldn’t have thought of.

It’s like a fashion designer who has created the most gorgeous evening gown on paper. After the gown is made, the model puts it on. The model tries to sit. She can’t sit. Back to the drawing board! (Tomas Maier of Bottega Veneta told the New Yorker: “Beauty … should never come at the expense of function.”)

In this vein, the pursuit of The Perfect Plan or the Perfect Blogpost or Perfect Anything should never supersede the need to actually produce something.

(That said, have a plan, or at least an idea. But just don’t get stuck in that stage.)

I almost never started this blog because I feared I’d never be pleased with my writing, and that no one would ever want to read it. Well, I got over myself. I eventually figured I’d never make it to the next step if everything had to be perfect first.

So take a leap of faith (or, in my case, it’s often the admonishment: “Get over yourself!”) and just get out there (or in there) and DO. There is no perfect moment to start something.

Good Accidents

You've felt it before: Someone else seems to have the life you want - she's publishing that book while you're struggling with article drafts. He's 5 years younger than you and already an executive at a successful company. She chucked that office job and is now following her dream to be a pastry chef in Paris. And so on.

And you think to yourself: "What am I doing with my life?"

On a chilly evening in December 2007 in the lobby of the Grand Hyatt Wangfujing in Beijing, the pianist from the band that had entertained us sat down with me. He asked me about my journey from Nordstrom/hotel pianist (once upon a time) to high tech. “How are you so lucky?” he asked, smiling.

I was struck by this innocent question. I know I’m blessed in many ways – I have loving parents who worked hard to give me and my sister the opportunity to go to college and to build a future for ourselves. Although, I believe “lucky” also means being aware enough to know when an opportunity comes one’s way, and then acting upon it.

I feel that I’ve worked pretty diligently for any positive developments that have come my way. If something means that much to me, I’m pretty much willing to do anything (within reasonable limitations) to try to get there. Usually this means taking a leap of faith, trusting myself enough to know that regardless of the outcome, I have to try going down this path. Often this means that I run up against the wall and get a little banged up in the process, but it’s the only way to find out.

This is how I ended up working for nearly a year in Tokyo; this is how I quit my job and moved to New York City to dance; this is how I landed at my current job that has me splitting time between San Francisco and Beijing.

Do things turn out as I imagine? No, because there’s no way to even guess what things will be like. Do I always make the best decisions? No, and yes. I do make choices that have me run up against really tough situations, and they get brutal, but I know deep down that I’d rather go through it all than to never know.

You can only live it, and learn from it.

Most important, no one is going to set the wheels in motion for you. You have to see the opportunity and work towards positioning yourself. In other words, do something!

As an example, when I learned that the company I was working for was going to have a merger with our Japanese partner, I decided to teach myself Japanese because I hoped I could provide some sort of bridge between the two teams in my department. (It’s not fair that we tend to expect all others to speak English!) Even though my Japanese was beyond awful in the beginning, my efforts at reaching out to people worked; I became the de facto point person and one day my VP called me into the office and told me I was going on assignment to Tokyo. Voila!

Totally intended? Not quite. “Lucky” accident? Maybe. It depends on how you look at it. If you work pointedly towards something, those lucky accidents may come your way, too!

Before I close, let me say that I consider myself lucky for having been a part-time pianist - lucky to have made music I loved, helped couples feel romantic to the strains of Cole Porter and George Gershwin, and gotten paid for it! Luck, perhaps, is in the eye of the beholder.

Put On A Show, Together

The last post got me thinking more about working with others. No matter what you’re working on, ultimately you can’t do it alone. Even if you rehearse a dance for hours with nothing but the walls and mirrors, there are things you’d never know about your performance unless someone is watching you, telling you what they see. After all, isn’t a piece meant to be performed for others to see? (Yes, it’s for the creator and performer, too, but you get my point.)

In other words, we work with others. We collaborate. Sometimes I find myself falling into the “I can handle this all myself” attitude to prove to myself that I’m strong and capable, but then I realize that this is not the point. To carry anything to completion, to make a production (a performance, a software program, what have you), you need other people. If you’re an engineer and have written an amazing piece of code, you still need people to test for usability and for quality, and whether your product is viable. If so, you need people to help you market it, handle sales, etc.

I may rehearse for hours alone in the studio, but until a coach or friend comes to see it, I don’t have the helpful suggestions to know if I’m doing something that isn’t what I’d intended, and to do what it takes to really make the piece sing. I realized that it’s impossible to work in a vacuum, and more important, it’s not desirable to try to do so.

Last year, one of my peer reviewers for my annual performance review at work wrote that I could collaborate more with others, and that I have a tendency to work in isolation. I was surprised, since I’d thought of myself as rather communicative with other team members. (Talk about the importance of having someone else tell you what s/he sees about you!)

I need to stay alert and see who’s around me, and to involve them in what I’m doing. Every time I learn something new that broadens my perspective about how to do my work. Others have knowledge and strengths that I may not have, and when we share with each other, together we become a stronger entity. Every project needs this kind of openness and sharing.

So find people! Invite them into your circle, learn from them, share with them, and there may be a fruitful collaboration in the works.

Work For Your Performers

Whether in performance, or in the office, you give to your people, and you work hard to make them look good. It’s always made sense to me when putting together something with artistic vision: if you strive to cast your dancers in the roles that will show them off, they generally try to work hard for you, which in turn makes a piece that shines more. However, I hadn’t always made that connection to the corporate world.

Whatever I’m running is a show, whether there are costumes and lights or not. I can’t do it all myself: I’m the visionary, the organizer. My people are the performers. They do the meat of the work – they take center stage in the performance. I am behind the scenes.

I have to learn to give more to my team. Admittedly it can be hard: I have an idea to do something a certain way, or I feel compelled to just do it myself. It can be hard not to want to dance the piece myself, or to let someone else carry out the task at hand. It’s true that the planning and creating is indeed my work, but the entire piece is bigger than that.

Once I began to realize this, it has become easier to let go, and happily it saves me time and energy as well. I have to let people do things; I have to trust and verify. The satisfaction of seeing people learn and grow surprised me at first, but it is a wonderful thing and I am only beginning to understand how to be more generous.

In being more generous, your people will look better and hopefully try to do you proud. My goal is to be alert and conscious to when I can involve people in my work. If people are glad to work with me, and maybe even feel lucky to be around me, I will have done something right.

As Twyla Tharp sagely writes in The Creative Habit: “Without that generosity, you’ll always hold something back. The finished work shows it, and your audience knows it.”

She couldn’t have said it better. So let go, trust your people, and see what blossoms!

Falling to Perfection

Robert I. Sutton makes a very compelling point in offering that one of the most telling elements to the culture of a company or organization is the answer to the question, "What happens to people when they fail?"

This was brought up in the course "Converting Strategy into Action" taught by Johann Lindig. Sutton maintains that fear can paralyze people into inaction, or simply focusing on how not to expose what may appear to be failures rather than moving towards an actual goal.

Just about nothing in dance is possible with trying and failing, usually multiple times. One of my favorite stories is told by former New York City Ballet principal dancer Melinda Roy. She recounted that during her days as a corps dancer (read: ensemble dancer, those who work tirelessly and are not front and center in the show) she had her first chance to take to the floor.

"It was my chance; my moment to shine," she smiled, but each time Mr. B (George Balanchine, arguably one of the greatest choreographers of our time) sent her back, saying she wasn't giving enough. After the umpteenth try, she was starting to get annoyed. "... So the next time, I came plowing across the floor and I slipped and fell, right at his feet. I looked up at him and said, 'Is that it?' and he said, 'Yes, dear, that was it!'" I love the grin on Ms. Roy's face when she finishes her tale.

A rule in dance is to make sure that whatever you do, make sure you end it well. It doesn't matter how many turns you pulled off if you botched the ending. The ending is what the audience remembers. Cruel, but true. I believe this applies to anything, including the office. If you reach your goal, despite a few wonky developments that you then took care of, I'd hope it would still be considered a success.

So where am I going with this? In dance you're almost expected to fail before you get something. In the corporate world, it doesn't seem to be that way. Even though we may not have ever done something before, we're expected to get it right pretty close to toute suite. "Fail early and fail often" can be touted but how often is it a reality? To be sure, dancers need to "get it" after a reasonable amount of time, but it's ok to fail at first. Unless we are in an environment in which we know we can try things, we will never be able to fly off the ground, whether in the dance studio or in the office.

The Orchestra's Strategy Execution Framework

I completed the "Converting Strategy to Action" class today! You can imagine my surprise and delight when instructor Ms. Lindig gave us our last exercise to wrap up the class began with a video clip of the Berliner Philharmoniker playing the 4th and most famous movement of Beethoven's 9th Symphony ("Ode to Joy"). Ah, bliss.

What was the exercise? Apply the Strategy Execution Framework to the Berliner Philharmoniker! Please don't be fooled by the mass of bubbles and arrows if you clicked on the link. Once Ms. Lindig took us through it, I found it to be a simple way to gain clarity on a previously indecipherable organization and articulate some sense out of where it is, and where it should be. To do this, you systematically go through Purpose, Goal, Culture, Structure, Strategy, and Portfolio (not necessarily in that order, but it's advisable to start with the first two).

The exercise showed us that the framework can be applied to any kind of organization, not just the corporate kind. The fact that this exercise was used in the class was extremely gratifying to me. My experience dancing in New York City taught me that the performing arts is, after all, a business with a bottom line. Definitions of teamwork and what constitutes success may vary from that of the office, but each ensemble, whether it be a large company like the San Francisco Ballet or the freelance rockstar duo Jacoby&Pronk, there is a raison d'etre, goals, a culture, and a structure that aligns with the strategy ... and a portfolio of programs and projects through which to develop and sustain itself.

The point is, no matter what kind of organization you are (or are in), you can use this method to plan and build a new one, or to make sense of an organization that could benefit from reevaluation. I have already drafted up a version for the organization I am in, and feel a growing sense of clarity now. Although, I must admit it was much more enjoyable to apply the framework on the Berliner Philharmoniker!

Do Do Do

Today was my second day of the "Converting Strategy to Action" class, part of the Stanford Advanced Project Management series. The concept of the "Knowing-Doing Gap" by Stanford Professors Jeffrey Pfeffer and Robert I. Sutton was introduced by our engaging instructor Johann Lindig. In a nutshell, it says that despite a ton of classroom time, consulting, and research, people in business don't enact much change. You can't just sit in a classroom discussing things and then expect to be able to DO things that move a business.

Whoever built the slide introducing the concept is to be commended, since it showed an image of a ballet dancer. Dance was never brought up in the class, but yes, I thought, dance is a perfect example! You can't read books about ballet and expect to be able to just get up and show the world 32 fouettes, much less a beautifully turned out and pointed foot.

I realize I take for granted that everything in dance and in music I have to attempt to do before I can do anything. Without doing there is ... well, nothing. You can just stand there and think about how you are supposed to engage your muscles and align your hips and on and on and ... there you are, still in the same place. It's happened to me lots of times when I think about a movement excessively; I'm literally paralyzed. I can't move. I have to get over myself and just try it. It'll take many wonky tries before I even start getting it, but that's part of the process.

For the office, though, I've never thought about it quite the same way. Sure, there's no way you can know everything before you try something, but there's so much planning, analysis and re-analysis, and consensus building going on that individuals and teams are often similarly paralyzed into inaction. Talking is no substitute for action but it can be like a sedative; it makes us feel as if we've done something. Think about it this way: A dance isn't going to create itself from a lot of discussion. At the office, often it's simply a time constraint that forces us to action.

But what if we can see it as trying out a new step, or a new, difficult passage to play on a musical instrument? There's nothing until you do something. It may not be right the first time, so for this approach it's important to be in an organization that supports doing and doing again, with learnings from the first time. Google often encourages teams to "launch and iterate" and yet in some organizations we try so hard to avoid any "failures" at the first attempt due to significant resources on the line. What's the balance here?

I don't have an answer that satisfies me yet, but I do know that going back to the dance and music parallel helps ground me. I'll remind myself: Without doing, there is nothing.

Perhaps that is enough for now.

Innovation? Observe, and Copy!

So often we are told that creativity and innovation are the hallmarks of successful people. It's ironic: if we were all innovating, who would do the execution? Can you imagine producing (much less choreographing) a full-length ballet without any dancers? Would that awesome feature available on Google have been possible without a group of product/program managers, engineers, and user experience folks who then planned and built it to spec and user need?

As dancers and musicians, we watch our teachers and others we admire rehearse and perform. We are right behind them, trying to copy their footwork, the torque of their bodies, or marveling at the way another musician plays a phrase just so - oh! I'd never thought about it that way! - and we absorb. We try it on ourselves. We learn.

What does this accomplish? This builds a vocabulary, as Twyla Tharp put it in her wonderful book "The Creative Habit" (I highly recommend reading this). Without all the observing and copying, trying to get it into our brains and muscles, we wouldn't have the rich tools with which to draw upon when we ourselves branch out and try something new for ourselves. "What would Martha Graham have done here?" "How might Yundi Li phrase this passage?"

In other words, to be creative, we first need to study, to emulate, to copy. As my mother always said, "Even Picasso started out practicing 'normal' art before he got all crazy with his own style!"

In the office, what does this mean? It could mean finding someone in your organization whose communication, planning, or execution style you find works well - someone you admire - and observe them in meetings, email exchanges with groups, and in other interactions. Have them mentor you, if possible. Observe, study, and emulate. Try it on for size, see if it works for you. Keep the parts you like, discard those that don't mesh well with who you are. But be sure to try it! You'll never know if you just think about it without actually doing anything.

As you build your vocabulary, you'll acquire a greater arsenal of skills and approaches to draw upon when faced with various situations. Just like when you're listening to other musicians, or trying out a step that you've seen another dancer do, seek out what intrigues you; watch, and give it a try.

The Crossroads and the Moment

My life often seems divided between how I approach work, and what I do for dance and other more artistic pursuits. When I read articles for businesspeople about how to be effective or innovative, they are sometimes inspiring but don't tend to resonate with me. When I turn to guides for artists on how to be improve technically or be creative, I get it more but am usually at a loss on how to apply that to my work life.

Ne'er the twain shall meet? comes to mind each time I meet the crossroads.

The beauty of life is that sometimes, suddenly I get something. All my experiences and thoughts up until that moment have prepared me, and with the right trigger, I just get it. At least, I get the tip of the iceberg, the one realization that opens my eyes and thus the possibility of understanding.

Yesterday, I woke up sick, really sick. It had been building for some time - too many long hours at work and the stress that comes with it. After visiting the doctor, I decided to stop briefly at the local library to pick up some Dance Magazine back issues. What better time when stuck at home feeling awful to catch up on the dance world, the part of me I put aside all too often for the highly prioritized Work?

In the December 2010 issue, I glanced at "Ideal Gifts for Dancers: Three books and one set of films" from the column "dmrecommends". The first was "The Collaborative Habit: Life Lessons for Working Together" by Twyla Tharp. The review by Mindy Aloff was brief, but this led to my moment of clarity. Aloff lifts these two quotes from Tharp:

• "In a good collaboration," she writes, "differences between partners mean that one plus one will always equal more than two."

• "I learned with Robbins [Jerome Robbins, choreographer] that there is no ownership in a successful collaboration."

Immediately I thought of the struggles I'd been experiencing in my most recent project at work. I am working with a brilliant colleague, but we have very different styles. Plus, ambiguities about roles and ownership led to tense situations and confusion amongst stakeholders. Not good for the overall success of the project, much less for either of us as individuals.

Tharp's simple insights, gained from decades of amazing work in dance and theater, helped my brain click right at the crossroads. Suddenly I realized: I'm one of the people creating a new work. I can't do it alone. I have directors and investors. I have a co-choreographer, and a whole slew of dancers I already have and am hiring right now. When all is said and done, we have a show to put onstage, and it's not about me. It's not about my co-choreographer. It's about The Show.

Of course, I'm not putting on a show at the theater. My colleague and I are program managers, and our dancers are office workers. We have a team to build, an operations to run: The Show.

So instead of figuring out who owns what, I will think about how to use our differences towards united strength. Don't get me wrong; identifying roles is important. What I mean is, stop obsessing with the ego ("mine!") and instead focus on how we can divide the responsibilities such that we each play to our strengths.

My colleague is a real techie: I'll trust her to drive all engineering and product aspects, while I, a strong executor and less techie, will work out the operations side. Sure, we are capable of doing the others' area, but would we be as effective? Nope. Plus, if we try to do everything at once, by ourselves, we not only:

• spread ourselves too thin
• annoy the other ('Hey! I thought that was my job!")
• confuse everyone else involved ("Who's responsible for this project? Who's our point person?")

This makes for the perfect opportunity for politics, shadowboxing, and lack of trust in the integrity of the project. But now that I have a new frame for seeing this collaboration, I feel I'm in a better place from which to continue setting up this show.

Thanks to Dance Magazine and Twyla Tharp, I can honestly say that I had a moment of clarity. This in turn made me get up and start this blog, so that I can keep track of the inspirations, frustrations, and thought process for joining the artistic and business perspectives towards a healthy Working Spirit.