Hiiiiii Colin!

What's with all the paintings and other weird stuff on Instagram lately? I like them and I kinda want to buy one, but I’m curious about your thinking and how you’re deciding what to post these days.

Thankkkkksssssss!

—Mattie

Hey Mattie!

I’m glad someone asked about this, as it’s been on my mind a lot recently and your question gives me the excuse to think out loud about it.

Longtime followers of my Instagram account in particular may have noticed that I’ve been posting fewer travel-focused images and more random little tidbits, of late.

This pivot (which began a year or two ago) is the consequence of one primary observation:

Social media has just gotten a little boring, draining, and ultra-focused on things I don’t care about.

Some of the most interesting people I know have become perpetual self-promoters, the networks themselves have started incentivizing truly dull (and at times outright harmful) nonsense, and most people I know feel some combination of numb and overwhelmed about the exercise of performing for their audiences on this network—but can’t seem to set it aside.

It also feels like the networks themselves are just cluttered and convoluted, and are optimizing for outcomes that are antagonistic to everything (including their users’ wellbeing and success) except their own bare survival.

Which is fine—that’s part of how the economic system within which we live functions, I guess—but that doesn’t mean I have to participate in it; at least not in the way they want me to.

On the same note, I’ve started to feel used by these networks, which were once truly appealing and interesting tools for all sorts of conversations and connections, but which are now primarily a means of extracting free labor from users for the benefit of giant, wildly wealthy tech companies and their owners (this has arguably always been the case, but the balance of benefits has shifted more toward the companies and away from the users in recent years).

So when I put work into an Instagram post, the main beneficiary is Instagram (and its parent-company, Meta, which also owns Facebook and WhatsApp).

While I could theoretically throw myself into the project of sustaining a potent Insta-presence, then, there are frankly just other things I’d rather be doing, other places I’d prefer to focus my time and attention, and other work that’s more meaningful to me and the sort of things I’d like to make (and the type of social space in which I’d like to spend my time and energy).

Consequently, most of what I post on Instagram (and this is true of other networks, too, but Insta is the archetypical stand-in for those other networks for the purposes of this answer) is just random stuff I would generally share with friends and family via text message, rather than endless self-promotion, work that drains me, and content I’m creating (without compensation) to further enrich people and businesses that already have more money than they’ll ever be able to spend.

I still find value in some of these networks: Twitter has become even more of a dumpster fire than it already was, but I follow a carefully curated list of people on there and on Mastodon, and that continues to expose me to useful and inspiring stuff (I also enjoy sharing a curated feed of interesting things I discover via those two networks, and on my Facebook page).

Periodically, Instagram Stories are useful when I want to give a tour of a museum or the like, and Instagram Live, YouTube, and Twitch can be fun places to hold Q&As.

I also reference YouTube for instructions on how to do all sorts of things all the time, though I find that using it as anything but a library to be visited (as opposed to a TV station to just passively soak up) a little depressing.

Worth noting here, too, is that these are my responses and priorities and standards, and other people will (and should) find value in things I do not, and will not find value in things I cherish.

That’s okay and normal and as it should be.

Ideally, though, we all find the proper balance between creation and consumption, and (with that in mind) we take the time to figure out which platforms, tools, and networks are worthy of our effort and attention.

For me, right now, that means posting fun little paintings (which aren’t for sale right now—but I appreciate the implied compliment!) on a feed that I previously used for more professional purposes.

That could (and hopefully will) change in the future, though, as this period of social platform disruption plays out and new incentives, business models, and engagement options rise to the top.

Have a question you’d like me to answer in a future Ask Colin? Leave a comment or reply to this email.

So I’ve been talking to this girl that seems really cool, we met through IG and just kind of hit it off from there.

It’s kind of exciting but also a little weird, because I’m a girl who doesn’t normally like girls but she’s pretty great and I think I might like like her, but I also think I won’t know until I meet her in person, which shouldn’t matter but I think it maybe sorta does.

But it’s also weird because the coronavirus is keeping everybody at home, and she lives like an hour away, so it’ll maybe be a while before we’re able to safely just go out and hang out and see what happens.

Any advice on how to deal with this and survive the waiting and maybe think about the whole situation?

Thanks much!

Margo

—

Hey Margo-

Very glad to hear you’ve made that kind of connection, despite the distance and other hurdles.

A few things to think about:

First is that it’s wonderful you’re allowing yourself to reassess what sorts of people you might like as you’re presented with new data.

Many of us struggle because we decide who we are early in life, and that determination becomes dogma, rather than just a starting point to build on as we learn and grow and change as people.

Whatever happens with this new person you’ve met, good on you for maintaining a growth-oriented sense of self. That’s valuable not just in relationships, but in every aspect of our lives.

Second is that it’s common for relationships of any kind to change as the context in which they take place changes. Being under lockdown during a pandemic, for instance, is almost certainly shaping this dynamic you have with this other person to some degree.

This doesn’t mean that the dynamic between you will be better or worse when you finally meet up, it just means that there are subtle variables at play within all of our relationships, especially right now, and it’s worth keeping this in mind so we’re not caught off guard after things return to some semblance of normalcy.

It may be that you won’t notice any real change after that readjustment, but you might. And acknowledging the possibility that things will be different when your work and/or school routines are different, when you’re spending your days surrounded by different people, when you’re both spending different amounts of time on your devices, can help you be prepared so you read it as such—as the consequence of shifting variables—rather than as a problem with the relationship.

This is true, by the way, of all contexts and all dynamics, not just pandemic-related ones. You might be great friends with someone when you’re both on the road, traveling to some unknown place, and barely talk to that person when you’re back amongst your familiar routines. That, too, is okay—it’s just worth knowing about so you can categorize that change appropriately.

Finally, your outcomes for this relationship, but also, arguably, all relationships, will tend to be better if you’re open to them taking whatever shape best meets the needs and priorities of everyone involved.

If you enter a relationship with someone and are open to it being a friendship, but also maybe becoming something more, you’re less likely to be disappointed if it doesn’t end up being something more. You’ve tempered your expectations by setting a reasonable baseline, and then building atop that.

Opting for a moderate and stable baseline in this way means you can end up countless interesting places, while still being happy with whatever dynamic actually emerges between you.

Regarding the potentially long wait, and surviving it:

Remember that you have countless communication tools at your disposal, and the opportunity to learn a great deal about each other before you even have your first, in-person sit-down.

That’s an interesting opportunity, if you choose to see it as such.

Make use of that time, have fun with each other, and do your best to enjoy the anticipation rather than fixating on the delay.

Like everyone, or maybe just everyone I know, I’m feeling really stuck right now.

I’ve been working a job, the first one I took right out of college, and was planning to move to another job that would pay better and that I think I would like better, but now that job isn’t available anymore, and might not be again.

Even more scary than the job stuff, though, is that I feel like I can’t prepare for anything. Everything just seems so uncertain, and I feel like if I prepare for anything at all, even non-work stuff like taking a trip or something like that, it may all be pointless because the trip will need to be cancelled or the airline industry will shut down again or something like that.

I don’t know if you’ll have any answers or insights into this kind of thing, but if you do, I could use some perspective right about now.

Thanks,

Cindy

—

Hey Cindy-

Answers, unfortunately not. Insights, possibly.

Here are some ways of looking at things that have been helping me stay focused on investing both in the present and the future during these strange and in many ways quite frightening times:

Recognize that growth-oriented routines and rituals are beneficial unto themselves.

The eventual, longer-term outcomes of working out, of learning a new skill, of practice and routine and persistence are good and wonderful, of course. But there are benefits to be had along the way, too, from the flood of feel-good chemicals we receive after doing some push-ups, to the sense of accomplishment we can feel after solving a particular tricky math problem.

Investing in ourselves in this way, then, bears immediate fruit, alongside the long-term benefits we hope to enjoy, eventually. Thus, even when that someday seems blurrier than usual, these acts are not without meaning or purpose.

Consider that the future is always unknown, even when we’re not in the midst of a global pandemic.

There are vast realignments happening across all aspects of life right now, but these changes are just more dramatic and obvious versions of what’s always happening, all the time. We may be more away of these current shifts because of their newsworthy nature, but that doesn’t imply we’re operating in a predictable environment when there’s no pandemic to worry about.

All of our plans have always been made in a chaotic context.

So although the specifics of what we need to take into account are different right now, the relationship between our actions and their potential outcomes have not fundamentally changed. We shouldn’t, then, allow this amplification of life’s fickle nature to serve as an excuse to make no investments—in ourselves, in others, or in the world more broadly.

Remember, too, that change is inevitable and part of what determines our outcomes is how well we roll with the punches, adjust our plans midcourse, and, at times, fumble our way through a dark room without bruising ourselves too badly.

This means tweaking our plans and behaviors based on what’s happening around us, but also adjusting our thinking—our psychologies. Reworking our ambitions, expectations, and how we cope with grief.

It’s seldom pleasant to experience dramatic, un-asked-for change, and it’s not easy to make that change, with its unfamiliar scope, scale, and nature, work for you and what you hope to do with your life.

But it’s possible to recalibrate your thinking so that you’re ready and willing to make the best of whatever happens, to keep tabs on where things seem to be going next so that you can be prepared as is feasible, and to decide that you’ll do what you need to do to be okay: to be happy, to be healthy, and to help those around you do the same.

Everything is weird and oddly shaped and scary right now, and you’re not alone in feeling that way.

That said, it’s worth trying to see this moment through the lens of possibility whenever possible so that you’re able to make the best of things for the you of today, but also for the you of tomorrow, next month, and ten years from now.

How do you make money?

Sorry if that’s a weird or rude question, but I’ve read about how you travel the world and work on all kinds of projects and that’s something I’ve always wanted to do. Lots of different things, I mean, while also traveling. I have a lot of different interests that I want to keep chasing. But I don’t get how the things you do actually earn you a paycheck.

Please tell me your secrets!

Thanks,

Janine

—

Hey Janine-

The short answer is that I make some of my income from the few dozen books I’ve written, some from my podcast, some from speaking gigs, and some from donations, affiliate relationships, and other small but mighty-in-aggregate revenue streams.

The longer answer is that I have a career made up of a strange assemblage of projects that I’ve cobbled together over the course of the past decade-plus. It’s a motley assortment of things I enjoy and which sometimes work together decently well—and even amplify each other, at times.

Author Gretchen McCulloch did a brilliant job describing this sort of career in a multipart essay entitled What is a Weird Internet Career?, in which she defines a “Weird Internet Career” as consisting of jobs that are tricky to explain to your parents, utilize the internet in some way, and generally involve a changing mix of income streams.

In her case, this combination of elements has allowed her to build a career as an internet linguist: a term she coined, but which captures how she spends her time and earns her living.

My Weird Internet Career label would probably be something like “Platform-Agnostic Communicator” or “Maker of Learny-Things,” though truthfully any such label inherently leaves out a lot of specifics.

When people ask, I generally just go with whatever makes the most sense in context: I write books or I produce podcasts or I present talks, rather than trying to explain how they all fit together. But the more complete picture is that I do all kinds of things and wouldn’t have it any other way.

Part of why I’m able to commit myself to all these distinct projects is that I’ve realized, over the years, that I can combine lots of smaller revenue streams into an income that pays for my lifestyle.

Another part of what makes this possible, though, is that I’m careful to spend less than I make, and am very aware of what keeps me happy, fulfilled, and growing as a person. I invest heavily in such things, while spending substantially less on the things that are not as fulfilling and valuable to me, personally.

Ultimately, if you can figure out how to keep your costs low—whatever it is you hope to do with your time—you’ll have more options in terms of what you do for a living. Vital to making this work, however, is understanding what you actually care about.

Many of our goals are inherited from someone else, or derived from the great many marketing messages we’re exposed to over the course of our lives.

Take some time to deep-dive into your sense of what’s important, figure out how you’d like to spend your time—your everyday life, not just your vacations or weekends—and allow that to guide what you do to make money and how you spend the money you make.

It may be that working a more convention job makes the most sense for what you hope to achieve, and it may be that custom-tailoring something would be a more ideal option.

Either way, focus on the core of who you are, first, and work outward from there.

Constructing a career, especially an unusual one, isn’t easy. But it’s far simpler—and the results more resilient—if you build it atop an intentionally laid, you-shaped foundation.

Everyone is telling me something different, and I feel like you might have some good perspective on this.

Thank you,

Sydney

—

Hey Sydney-

Part of why you’re receiving so many different types of advice on this subject, I suspect, is that there are so many different ways to define “good life.”

There are also as many valid answers to that question as there are people on the planet, and that’s true for every possible definition of the term.

But in my estimation, many of these Good Life-definition categories can be bundled into just two, broad, mega-categories.

There’s a flavor of the Good Life that refers to aesthetic and sensual experiences, and there’s another that’s defined more by the degree to which our actions align with our values.

In the former case, the Good Life might involved lounging beside a crystal-clean pool on the balcony of a modernist home, sipping on expensive alcohol, wearing clothing bought right off the runway as you real the latest issue of Monocle.

It also might mean living in a kitted-out van, gazing out the wide-open back doors at the vast expanse of a National Park, slumming it in comfy clothing while sipping coffee with your favorite rescue pup, enjoying the birdsong and murmur of a nearby stream as you spend your time reading books, preparing your own food on a portable stove, and hiking with the aforementioned pup.

This version of the Good Life reflects our aspirations, to some degree, but particularly in terms of how we spend our time, energy, and resources.

In an ideal world, are you able to afford the most expensive of everything, curating a life of magazine-cover luxury? Or are you spending your days exploring the world, getting out into nature, abundant free-time your most vital resource?

Time, energy, and money are all valuable assets we can wrangle and direct in different ways. How we spend them when we have them speaks volumes about what we consider to be vital and important; as does what we choose not to spend them on.

One definition of living a Good Life, then, is defined by what we choose to do with each of these resources and how we free up and/or acquire them.

The other main definition of the Good Life is characterized less by our resources and more explicitly by our values.

If you care deeply about people and believe that helping others is a matter of vital philosophical importance, the quantity of resources to which you have access may matter a bit. But that you are working toward improving other people’s lives in some way, shape, or form may be more important to your overall well-being than the specifics of how much leverage you can bring to bear, and where, specifically, you choose to apply it.

That you’re doing things that align with your values, in other words, may be more likely to make you feel that you’re living a Good Life than spending some specific amount of your time, energy, and resources.

This is true of any ideological belief, whether you want to share books and other educational resources with the world, are keen to teach as many people as possible how to code, or want to share a particular way of thinking, believing, or living with other human beings—these are all opportunities to better the world, according to your personal definition of “better.”

Importantly, there’s no absolute, always applicable gauge for how successful we are in our attempts to live a better life, and there is an inherent impermanence to anything we might do. No possible definition for the Good Life is perfect, permanent, or satisfyingly accurate.

The main value of such a concept, I think, is not that it gives us a concrete, achievable outcome to aim for, but rather that it can provide us with direction and an excuse to think through what we believe, what we think is important, how we impact others, and what we might do to bring our actions into better alignment with our values.

None of which guarantees that we’ll always do the right thing or be happy all the time.

It does, however, does make it more likely that we’ll help more than we harm, and that we’ll appreciate the happiness we experience alongside life’s inevitable downswings.

So like a lot of people right now I’m at home all day with my housemate, and although we typically get along famously it’s beginning to wear on us both.

We got pretty angry at each other the other day, and neither she nor I are the type to actually fight or yell, but we were both pretty steamed and went to our rooms to cool off. It wasn’t even about anything important, but it still became a thing.

Any advice on how we can manage our situation, now that we’re both at all home day instead of at work and only seeing each other at night and on the weekends?

Cait

—

Hey Cait-

I suspect that a lot of people are navigating similarly murky, interpersonal waters at the moment, due to the shelter-in-place reality many of us are living through.

My main advice is to consider how you might adjust your communication habits so that you and your housemate are both able to address potential conflicts before they become issues.

What this might mean in practice is being willing to bring up things that are annoying to you, things that need to be done around the house, things you’d like to do but which you worry might impact your housemate in some way—and bring them up clearly and directly, so that everyone’s on the same page as much of the time as possible.

Saying something like, “Hey, would you mind keeping the volume on the TV a little lower in the evening? That’s usually when I like to write, and it’s pretty loud even in my room, which makes it tricky to focus,” can be difficult for many people, because although this hypothetical housemate’s behavior is hurting you, it’s also understandable to not want to rock the boat—to just put up with things because you don’t want to risk some kind of conflict.

In this hypothetical example, though, chances are good that your housemate didn’t even realize the TV was loud enough to reach your room, or they didn’t realize you were doing something that would be interrupted by the sound of the TV.

Mentioning such things to the other person before you start to internally simmer about them gives you, as housemates, the collective ability come up with solutions to problems before they have a chance to negatively influence your relationship.

Consider, too, that they may have similar complaints that they haven’t brought up, because they also don’t want to rock the boat.

Wouldn’t you prefer to know, so that you can adjust your behavior accordingly?

If you never bring up your issues, though, and never ask them to do the same, you may constantly, and completely accidentally, annoy the hell out of each other pretty much all the time.

Facing that understandable conflict-avoidance reflex, then, will often be an investment worth making, for both of you.

Something that I’ve found works well, in terms of making sure potential points of conflict are brought up when they arise, is explicitly agreeing that it’s okay to have these sorts of discussions, and that it’s not an insult or reflection on the other person’s character. If you bring something up, you’re doing it because you respect your housemate’s space and sanity, and want to ensure you maintain a healthy relationship.

It could also help, especially if you generally have disparate schedules, to set pseudo-formal check-in times, perhaps as part of another regular or semi-regular get-together.

Maybe you decide to have lunch together on Saturdays, and at that lunch, you make time for these sorts of issues, alongside other normal, housemate-related conversations.

So you have lunch, decide who will take out the trash that week, and then you ask if either of you has anything tricky to discuss, suggestions or tweaks to make, so that none of these seeds of conflict has the chance to bloom into something bigger and more difficult to extract.

Such lunches (or brunches, or coffees, or martinis) could be particularly beneficial right now as you navigate your own, and each other’s, situationally changed (and thus, more stressful than usual) needs, preferences, and concerns.

I’m struggling just to get out of bed in the morning, and I feel like the things that generally motivate me to get up and get going aren’t helping anymore. I don’t know, it’s probably just temporary, but I also feel like I’m wasting so much time and will be worse off when all this is over and done with.

Any thoughts on how I might looks at things differently? I don’t know if there’s really a way to pull myself from this funk, but I’m open to advice.

Ty

—

Hey Ty-

You’re not alone in feeling this way. It’s normal and okay.

A few things to think about:

There are a lot of very large variables that few of us have any control over at the moment. That’s true of governmental mandates, but also raw biological reality: we as individuals (most of us) cannot directly influence how a coronavirus spreads, how long it lasts, and so on.

Thus, it’s prudent for most of us to maintain a sense of environmental awareness—to ensure we’re keeping up with the best health advice from professionals—but beyond that, to perhaps recalibrate our expectations and goals so that they fit within the confines of what we can control.

Temporarily, that is: we should absolutely do what we can to influence laws and policies, and to think beyond the confines of our homes most of the time.

But when our reach is literally and effectively truncated, it may be prudent to pull back a bit, reinforce one’s mind and one’s body, and prepare for the moment when our range of potential influence increases, once more.

The benefit of thinking in this way, for a time, is that it gives us permission to focus on more concise goals like, for instance, keeping our homes clean, keeping our bodies healthy, and keeping our friends and family as sane as can be expected. It allows us to perceive these relatively simple and attainable action items as being sufficient to get us up in the morning, filled with a sense of purpose, rather than suffering under the sense that our temporarily truncated space and range of options aren’t enough.

Another way of looking at our present circumstances is that resting and recuperating in a stressful moment—during a genuine pandemic-based health crisis—is actually one of the more productive things you can do.

By typical standards, lounging around in bed all day, noshing on snacks and watching Netflix may not seem like a productive way to spend one’s time.

At a moment in which physical contact with other human beings is somewhat risky, and when a lot of our work is reduced or canceled, though? It’s nowhere near the worst way to spend one’s time, and it’s productive in the sense that it’s helping reduce the spread of germs, and, hopefully, keeping us calm while we do it.

Enjoying such moments, while they’re practical and available, could be just the thing to perk us up, catch us up on sleep and entertainment, and ensure we’re psychologically ready for all the work that’s on the horizon: the immense amount of effort that will be required to put our societies and economies back together, after this unprecedented shock.

Also: there’s some truly incredible work out there right now, from TV shows and films, to video games and books, to podcasts and newsletters and music. Taste-testing some of these offerings now, when you have the time, could help you build up a collection of artists and curators and genres and publishers to keep up with when you’re back on the job, with relatively less time to invest in media exploration at the end of the work day.

One other potential approach is to spend your time on activities that feel at least tangentially productive, in that they align somewhat with your typical goals, even if they’re a different sort of work than you’re accustomed to.

Education is low-hanging fruit in this regard, and in the modern world we benefit from an embarrassment of options when it comes to self-education, in particular: books, e-courses, MOOCs, podcasts, etc.

I’ve been learning Python in my spare time, using a combination of three books, a few online courses, a podcast, and gobs of online resources. The combination of these elements has allowed me to approximate something like a more typical educational experience, but I can spend hours on it each day, or just a half-hour here and there, depending on my mood, motivation level, and the other things I have going on.

Alongside longer endeavors of that variety, I also like to have another course going, usually on a less practical-seeming subject, so that I’m learning about broad concepts while also picking up some very practical, immediately applicable skills.

I recently finished up a free investigative journalism course through the Knight Center, for instance, and before that, I took a course on criminal law—because why not?

You can feel free to copy my approach—one main, multi-source educational path, supplemented by other, generally single-source classes on random things—or you can build your own curriculum, either following the pre-made paths set up by the abundance of educational resources available online, or cobbling together your own, based on your preferences, lifestyle, pace, and preferred method of learning.

The edX platform is a wonderful place to start if you’re looking for some inspiration as to what you might learn; I’ve taken several of their courses, and they tend to be very high-end, and are often from well-respected and well-known institutions, like Harvard, MIT, and Berkeley. They offer certificates of completion for many of their courses for a fee, but these are only necessary if you’re keen to prove you completed a course for future school or professional purposes—so if you’re just interested in learning, these classes are 100% free.

Consider, then, that rescaling your personal expectations might be prudent, for the time being.

Also consider that rest and relaxation—and a lifestyle that seems very different from the usual—could be one of the most productive things you can do, right now, to prepare yourself for what comes next.

And consider that there are other goals you can set for yourself that will be valuable in the long-term, both for professional development, and for personal development, helping you become a more well-rounded person while you wait for things to stabilize in the world around you.

I’m doing a lot better than many people I know right now. I work from home and I have great clients. What happens when I’m done with my present batch of projects is uncertain, but I’m feeling very blessed right now.

Even so, I’m also very stressed and am having trouble focusing a lot of the time. I’m worried that I’m not doing enough, that I’m trying to do too much, and that the world is falling apart and I’m just doodling around on my computer, doing things that don’t matter except that they help me pay my rent.

Any advice on this? I guess I’m mostly just hoping for some perspective?

In good health,

Patrice

—

Hey Patrice-

I hear you. I truly do.

I suspect a lot of other people feel the same, with varying specifics, but a lot of the same end results: stress, anticipation, worry, and silver linings that we try to focus on with unreliable levels of success.

I’ve been hearing from a lot of people around the world, of late, and even the folks who have suffered substantially more than you or me seem to be mostly keeping themselves together, watching out for the good stuff and latching on to those positives so that the negatives are more tolerable.

Hearing many of these stories, I also worry and wonder about what else I might be able to do, and the conclusion I’ve come to is that, for many of us, the best, most fundamental effort we can make is to stay healthy, help others do the same—through our behaviors especially, including avoiding becoming accidental vectors of disease-spread—and keep our wits and health about us so that we’re in a position to help if and when other opportunities to do so come along.

There are other things that some of us can do based on our skill sets and our circumstances: I’m attempting to double-down on providing resources and community to people wherever possible, and doing what I can to help out older and immunocompromised friends and family, locally, with their errands and such.

Others may be able to donate skills and resources to help spread important information and supplies, provide education and/or entertainment to those who’re under lockdown, or even just be a friend to someone who’s experiencing health issues, job issues, or loneliness.

It is important to recognize, though, that baseline survival—being well, mentally and physically—is the prime directive here, and managing that for ourselves and our loved ones should be our main focus. Lacking that healthful default, the rest of the system kind of falls apart.

And don’t worry that what you’re doing, how you’re spending your time, is meaningless.

Yes, much of what many of us do seems a little silly when compared to, for instance, healthcare workers taking care of patients, and folks stocking shelves and delivering food, helping to keep us individuals and our communities from panicking.

But everyday people doing their thing, contributing whatever it is they do well to society, is part of how we get through this.

Such work is good in the sense that it helps you pay the bills and provides your clients with something that they need, but it’s also good in that it keeps the economy ticking along, maintaining a sense of normalcy that might otherwise be lacking if we suddenly didn’t have good graphic design, blog posts, handmade jewelry, and all the other things that don’t directly influence a pandemic, but which do help solidify the foundations upon which our society is built.

So do what it takes to be well, individually, first.

If you have more to give, figure out what makes sense to share based on your resources, skills, and reach.

Watch for opportunities to help in the future, and continue to make sure you’re in proper shape to do so when such opportunties arise.

And remember that we’re in this together and that we’ve all got important roles to play: even when our contributions don’t seem to directly tie in to those frontline, disease-fighting efforts.

I am not personally interested in writing, but I love reading and I am curious about the publishing world.

I often wonder how difficult it is to make a living as an author. To my knowledge, an author can either self-publish (mostly through e-book platforms) or close a contract with a publishing house. While the former gives you a higher earning per sold copy, the latter may help you gain visibility and expand your audience, although offering you a smaller royalty rate. What's your experience on this?

Also, financially speaking, how much difference does the book format (paper, digital or audiobook) make to the author?

Thank you and take care,

Pietro

—

Hey Pietro-

The short answer is that it’s incredibly difficult to make a full-time living as an author, regardless of one’s passion and any advantages one might have when getting started.

Precise figures are tricky to find and vary by market, but some available data show that the average successful, publisher-published author in the UK will make about £10,500/year, which translates to around $12,390/year.

The Authors Guild 2018 Author Income Survey found that authors in the US are faring even worse, with a median income of $6,080 in 2017, which is down 42% from 2009.

And those are the lucky ones: most authors are paid average advances by their publisher (under $50,000, but generally closer to $5,000-8,000 for their first books) and will never “pay out” (the advance authors are paid must be earned back through their ~10% share of sales before they are paid royalties), which means they’ll never earn back their advance and thus, never earn royalties—what they get up front is all they’ll ever get from a particular book.

A truism I’ve heard repeated in the indie author world is that you’re one of the lucky ones if you manage to accrue over 100 lifetime sales of your book, because the market is so competitive, and the vast majority of authors will not manage even that. And though the financial side of indie publishing is a bit more favorable in the long tail than going the traditional route—if you price and platform appropriately, you can sometimes earn 70% of the sticker price of your books, rather than closer to 10% via the traditional route—you also then lack the implied credibility of having made it past the gatekeepers of the publishing world, which makes it trickier to get press, visibility, and respect.

My experience thus far has been limited to the indie world: I’ve had a few opportunities to take the other path, and it hasn’t been worth it for me to do so, yet, though the right opportunity may come along at some point and change my mind on the matter—neither option is inherently better or worse, just different.

That said, I’m in a relatively privileged position when it comes to having that option, because I’ve been building my online presence, my audience and reputation, for over a decade: which isn’t a guarantee of success for any particular book I publish, but it does mean I have a group of people who know my work and who are therefore more likely to give the books I publish a chance—not a luxury everyone enjoys, nor an advantage that’s quick or easy to establish.

I typically tell people who ask me about getting into publishing that they should make sure that they enjoy the work enough to do it even if they never make a cent, because there’s a significant chance that the book they write—no matter how brilliant and valuable it is—will never sell more than a few copies. Which is a frustrating thought, but a realistic one, unfortunately, so it’s prudent to ensure that the writing of the book is valuable unto itself, rather than being emotionally invested in the distribution of the book, if you want to make a career out of authoring.

There are still success stories, of course, and industry unknowns sometimes write a great novel, get an agent via some means, and then end up with a high-end, impressively lucrative career, essentially out of nothing.

This is not common, though. The majority of even the most brilliant works ever produced are never seen by more than a few dozen people.

It’s important, then, to write because you love writing. Attempt to make your work financially viable, certainly, but also infest in alternative skills and career options so that you aren’t relying on an incredibly unforgiving industry for rent money—even if that means working as a barista or coder to support your writing habit: there’s nothing wrong with becoming your own financial backer, your own patron.

Regarding your question about formats:

The popular format of the day changes semi-regularly, and can also change based on the genre in which you’re publishing.

My experience was that paperbacks were dominant when I started writing full-time, back in 2009, with ebooks on the rise and audiobooks still an expensive-to-produce novelty.

A few years in, ebooks became the most popular format (this was when the Kindle and its competitors were upgraded and rapidly gaining market share) with paperbacks in a slow decline and audiobooks gaining a tiny, barely noticeable chunk of the market.

Over the last couple of years, audiobooks have become the biggest sales channel for me and many other authors I know, with paperbacks gaining over previous years and ebooks becoming the still-substantial, but somewhat stagnant, incumbent format.

That said, most of my bestselling work is nonfiction, and I know people who write primarily fictional works who have seen different format-based ebbs and flows.

There are advantages and disadvantages inherent in each of these mediums, the larger movements of the overall market and technology sector influences what’s popular and when, and the work itself is a huge factor in determining who’s work sells in what format, and to whom.

The relative advantages and disadvantages, economically, have also shifted over the years, and will no doubt continue to do so.

At the moment, I personally make the most profit from selling audiobooks, but it does cost additional time and money to produce an audiobook, while formatting a paperback and an ebook is a relatively simple endeavor, once you’ve got a finished book ready to go. Those profits, then, will sometimes prove lucrative, but will sometimes barely, or fail to, cover the costs of that additional production work.

One of the major downsides of the audiobook world at the moment is that Amazon owns so much of it (about a quarter to a third, depending on the region) that they can demand exclusivity and tend to get it.

I sell my work through Amazon’s Audible platform, and if I’m exclusive with them I make 40% of the sticker price when I sell an audiobook, but if I go non-exclusive and am able to sell my work on other platforms, my share of Audible sales drops to 25%. Those numbers are partly reliant on the fact that I produce my own audiobooks: folks who have to hire narrators and producers sometimes pay a percentage of sales to those narrators and producers, and authors working with publishers often take home substantially less, as a dominant chunk of that income goes to them.

So to summarize, it’s not at all easy to make a full-time living as an author, and most of us, as a result, have other things that we also do to both increase our book sales, and make other sorts of income alongside those book sales.

The medium in which our books are purchased does matter, but the degree to which it matters, and the difference in profit between different formats changes over time and based on our expenses and relationships with publishers—so there’s no single, best format to buy if you’re hoping to make sure more of your money makes it back to the author.

Your best bet in most cases is to reach out to the author directly, via email or social media, and ask them if they have a preference. In some cases it won’t particularly matter to them, but I can tell you from experience that it’s nice to have people ask because it shows that they care enough about you and the work you’re producing to do so.

I’m new to the world of being responsible with money, and I’m told it’s a good idea to start investing when you have extra cash on hand, so that you’re more secure in the future, which makes sense to me.

The trouble is I don’t really know what that means.

Right now, I’m making an extra $500-or-so more than I spend each month, and I’ve got a few thousand from earlier months that I want to put somewhere. I have that money in a savings account, but it kind of looks like the stock market is on fire, so maybe it’s a good time to buy some cheap stocks? Or bonds? I really don’t know what most of these things are, so any advice you can offer on what to do specifically, or in general, would be welcome and appreciated.

Thanks!

Brandy

—

Hey Brandy-

First and foremost: I’m not a pro-financial advisor, so I’m mostly going to give you some general information and thoughts on the matter. There are as many potentially good investment strategies as there are people on the planet, and what works for me may not work for you.

That said, in general it’s a good idea to aim for diversity in your investment portfolio—your “investment portfolio” being the collection of things in which you’re invested: assets, in other words, which refers to things that store value, and/or earn you interest on the value that they store.

So money is an asset, a home is (potentially) an asset, stocks and bonds are assets, a business is an asset, intellectual property (like a book or music that you’ve created) can be assets; there are many types of assets, and in general, it’s an asset if it earns you money or stores value, but if it costs you money it’s a liability.

Liabilities are things like rent on an apartment, debts that you owe, and cars and other possessions that, rather than storing or earning you money, mostly just cost you money.

Some liabilities can become assets, at times: a car that you’ve paid off, and which helps you earn more money (or allows you to save on the cost of other modes of transportation) can be an asset.

Likewise, assets can become liabilities: a house that you own, but which is unoccupied—no renter to pay you each month to live there—but for which you’re still paying taxes and upkeep costs, can become a liability rather than an asset, depending in part on its overall and changing value on the real estate market.

A good heuristic here is to aim to accumulate assets of different types, and to lessen you collection of liabilities over time.

The diversity component of that mental shortcut is important, because it means that if the stock market crashes, you’re not looking at an asset portfolio made up entirely of devalued stocks. If you have some stocks, some bonds, some money in a Roth IRA or similar program, some money in practical assets (like a paid-off car, or tools that allow you to do lucrative work), some money in a savings account, you’ll be less likely to ever suffer a catastrophic event that knocks out all of your assets all at once.

So that’s a big-picture assessment of what to broadly aim for.

In your specific case, I would recommend, first, focusing on paying off debt, and accumulating three to six months of expenses—something many financial gurus and banks recommend, and a process that seems decidedly unsexy, but which makes a great deal of sense.

The debt is worth paying down as quickly as possible, because that’s a major liability that will cost you more the longer it exists. Credit card debt in particular tends to grow crazy fast, so $1000 in CC debt can explode to several times that if you only make the minimum payments.

Some debt might be a longer-term proposition, and there’s a chance that you’ll be able to pay it more slowly without accruing much or any additional debt on top of it (this is the case with education-related debt in some places, for instance). Focus on the higher interest-accruing debt, first, to avoid inflating what you owe as much as possible, and pay down the principle before hitting the interest, when you can.

After that, tucking away money in the bank—enough to cover your rent, groceries, and other basic living expenses for a quarter- or half-a-year, is an insurance policy, but also a stockpile that allows you to make better decisions in the future.

If you know that you have six months of expenses in the bank, that can allow you to quit a job that’s soul-crushing so you can go explore your other options, and it can allow you to avoid being bankrupted by an unforeseen medical expense. It can also allow you to take advantage of opportunities, be they investment-related or lifestyle-related.

In short, opting to pay off known aggregators of liability (debt) and accumulating a reasonable stockpile of liquid (meaning: accessible) wealth, will put you in a far more stable place to make future investment (and lifestyle) decisions.

From what it sounds like, you should be in a pretty good place to make these sorts of initial investments. And your efforts can be amplified, potentially, by other choices you make along the way that lower your existing expenses—being careful with money can allow you to pay down debt faster, store away more savings, etc.

Things get more complex after you’ve got your debt handled and your emergency fund tucked away, but one arguably quite boring, but also typically quite reliable option is to invest in some kind of managed fund: a mutual fund or some ETFs.

Mutual funds are programs that you buy into, and through them you basically park your money with a bunch of other peoples’ money, and professional investors often quite ploddingly buy up swathes of assets that do well over time.

Sometimes mutual fund managers actively watch the market and try to gauge what will do well and what won’t, but a lot of mutual funds are tied to indices—lists of stocks that are meant to fairly accurately track the performance of an overall industry or stock market—and these “index funds” are more coldly, rationally managed, scooping up only the stocks that allow them to keep your invested money aligned with the performance of those indices.

ETFs, short for “exchange-traded funds,” are similar in that they are funds made up of collections of other assets (most commonly, stocks), but they’re a little bit faster-paced, as you can trade shares of them like you would stocks (they’re available on the stock market). The main difference between ETFs and normal stocks is that each share of an ETF is actually a share of a bundle of shares of other stocks; you’re buying into an investment portfolio, rather than a single investment.

The benefit of both of these setups is that you don’t need to be an expert and spend tons of time attempting to figure out which companies are the right companies to bet on within each industry. That means you can reasonably expect to benefit from the broader movement of these markets: the stock market as a whole, or a particular industry.

As I write this, global markets are wildly uncertain, and though it’s tempting to buy low while a large number of typically reliable stocks are seemingly at sale-prices, it’s worth remembering the oft-repeated stock investment wisdom, “don’t try to catch a falling knife.”

There’s a good chance that things will go lower rather than higher for a while, and there’s always the chance that prices dipping in this way is not a momentary thing, but rather a realignment of the market with underlying economic realities: the stocks could go down and never again rise back up to where they’ve been—those higher prices may have been indications of a bubble, rather than the natural state of things.

If you’re really keen to get into stocks right now, consider, instead, buying things that you would gladly buy at full-price and then holding them for a while, rather than trying to time the market.

A bond is another type of asset that, instead of a share of a company, represents some kind of debt, either from a company or a government entity—an IOU, if you will, and that IOU typically pays out with some kind of interest if you hold it long enough.

Like any IOU, there’s also risk involved: the risk that you won’t get paid back by the debtor.

This risk is substantially reduced if you buy government bonds from stable nations or cities, or bonds from some other long-standing, unlikely-to-entirely-collapse entity. But the interest gained is also typically far less than you would get from some other, higher-risk investment, and thus, it’s often beneficial to hold some bonds alongside things like stocks, so that the two can balance each other out. This makes it less likely that you’ll either tie-up your fortune in bonds that cannot be liquidated for years or decades, or lose all your money in a stock market downswing; one counters the risks inherent in the other.

My advice would be to focus on debt and your emergency fund for the time being, and while you’re building that stable foundation for yourself, look into other very boring options, like Roth IRA and 401k programs you might be able to take advantage of (both of which help you keep more of the money you’ve already made, via different mechanisms).

During this process, do a lot of reading about stocks and bonds and anything else that catches you attention: I learned what I know through books and websites and forums, looking up any term I didn’t know, and then slowly but surely—after building up my fund and getting rid of all of my debts—making small investments here and there, to make sure my portfolio is diverse but also to make sure I understood what I was doing before making any more significant investment in any one place.

Get those fundamentals established, including some research to inform your future efforts, and you’ll be in a good position to build yourself a sturdy financial foundation.

I don’t know how worried I should actually be, and I don’t know if I should be preparing for the zombie apocalypse or laughing at my friends who are.

Any thoughts on this?

Safely,

Mattie

—

Hey Mattie-

A big caveat up front: I’m not an expert on this subject, and you should prioritize information from the CDC, WHO, Johns Hopkins, and other expert-focused resources (rather than ideologically slanted news sources or random YouTube channels flogging snake oil “cures”).

That said, here’s a quick jumble of thoughts on the matter:

It’s worth preparing for some very non-ideal scenarios, but panic doesn’t help anyone. Don’t buy all the toilet paper you can find, but do have a little extra shelf-stable food and other necessities, in case there’s a shortage at some point in the future.

This preparation likely won’t be a survival necessity: it’s a means of helping your local social infrastructure when it’s under strain, preparing your own setup so that people for whom it truly is a matter of survival will be more likely to have what they need, because you’re already in a decent spot.

It’s a good idea to take the precautions outlined by the aforementioned authoritative resources: wash your hands assiduously, use hand sanitizer with at least 60% alcohol content, and avoid touching surfaces and other people when you can, because the disease seems to be spread through droplets that don’t travel too far, and which are primarily disseminated via bad-luck direct coughs and sneezes, and picking up such droplets that’ve settled onto surfaces after being coughed or sneezed out.

Know that things will probably be weird for a while, and that there are a lot of reasons for this—but none of them represent a zombie apocalypse-like scenario.

That so many events are being cancelled is probably a good thing, even though in some cases it may seem like an overreaction.

The best-case scenario here is that we all feel a little foolish for avoiding concerts and conferences for a few months, or even a year, as long as that keeps everyone from catching a bad case of COVID-19, or becoming a carrier and transmitting it to people who are especially vulnerable to it.

And on that last item: all indications point to a whole lot of time and resources being invested in vaccines and treatments, but it’s unlikely that either will arrive in the near-future (vaccines in particular will likely take 12-18 months to hit shelves, if we’re lucky), and our best bet is to try to “flatten the curve,” which means slowing down the coronavirus’ spread so that—although about the same number of people will catch it, ultimately—we’ll catch it at different times. Which means we’ll be a lot less likely to tax our medical infrastructure to its limits, and those of us who do catch it will be more likely to benefit from the best possible treatment, rather than suffering through what a strained or broken system can offer.

If you’re feeling especially stressed by all of this, to the point of anxiety, consider focusing on the things you can control—behaviors, habits, and plans—and then looking away from the breathless news coverage as much as possible for a while.

We don’t know enough to truly know the shape of this thing, yet, or what to expect, and a lot of the prognostication that’s taking place is little better than guesswork—educated guesswork, but not super-useful beyond it informing the precautions we’re instructed to take by health organizations.

Keep your ears perked up for new, actionable information, then, but don’t worry that you need to stay up-to-the-moment with all the most recent virus news. There are a lot of political and financial incentives to keep everyone revved up about this issue, but a lot of what’s published and broadcast won’t be immediately relevant to you or how you behave.

I’m writing you because I’ve just been hired for a new job and after many years of working from home my wardrobe isn’t really suitable for what I’ll be doing (going to other offices and consulting with clients). So I need to buy some new things in the next couple weeks.

I’m looking at websites and stores, though, and I’ve realized that I don’t really know what my style is. I’m not a fashionable person, and have always kind of just taken free t-shirts when they’ve been given to me, bought some baggy jeans and worn them till they were too filled with holes to be appropriate, and left it at that. I have a suit jacket that doesn’t fit, too.

This sounds stupid even as I write it because it seems like it should be obvious, but how do I figure out what my style is? How do I use that knowledge to buy clothes that will work for me and how do I get past this fear I think I have about buying clothes for myself?

Sincerely,

Dameon

—

Hey Dameon-

I recently started using a few skincare products.

They aren’t anything fancy, and they aren’t a big investment—maybe $20 every few months, as the little bottles and tubes are used up—but they’ve made a big difference for my skin as I travel from climate to climate.

A very kind friend advised me on this topic, after bulling through some reflexive pushback from my end. I’ve always discounted the whole concept of skincare as some kind of money-grab and didn’t see the point. I knew in a general way that there was more complexity to it than “lotions and sunscreens exist,” but I never took the time to learn beyond that superficial and wildly incomplete understanding.

After trying a few little things that she had on hand, with her encouragement and assistance, I realized that part of why I’d always avoided the field was that I knew so little: I didn’t even know where to start. That fear of the unknown led me to believe that the whole industry was probably hokum, or something close to it, and that it was either too expensive or too nonsensical for me to care about, so I was better off just avoiding it.

There’s still plenty of room for skepticism when it comes to any industry, to be clear, but I’m glad I made it past that mental barrier. Not because skincare products are necessary for everyone, but because it was an aspect of life that I had psychologically blocked and decided I wouldn’t even look at, wouldn’t consider exploring; which is counter to the way I approach essentially every other aspect of life.

I bring up this recent, personal experience because I think there’s a chance that clothing might currently exist within a similar blindspot for you, and I think it’s wonderful that you’re considering taking a closer look, despite feeling like you’re starting from nothing and thus don’t even know what you don’t know, yet.

It’s not a silly question or concern, in other words: it’s a very valid one that gestures at a personal desire for growth, and the humility required to put yourself in the role of the student.

That said, some thoughts about learning to dress oneself:

One concept I’ve found to be illuminating in this space is that there’s a difference between style and fashion.

Roughly defined, style is a person’s individual aesthetic and fashion is a collection of trends and norms that determine, in part, what’s trendy, what’s on shelves, and what all the celebrities (and often, subsequently, the rest of us) are wearing.

Runway shows generally feature one-off designs (haute couture) that frequently go on to inform what’s in stores in the coming months.

The business model of the fashion industry is broadly oriented around seasons, with each season introducing a new set of styles, those styles partially based on what trendsetters around the world are wearing, partially predicated on the whims of fashion designers, and partially determined by environmental variables (weather, supply chain considerations, etc).

Seasons were originally meant to give clothing companies the chance to hit consumers with jackets and parkas and shorts and sundresses at the right moments, based on actual weather-related seasons. But the term has since become a mechanism through which such companies can refresh their offerings, hoping to sell more clothes and accessories to more people at a far more regular cadence, leading to a sales model that is often called fast fashion.

You can try to stay in fashion and adhere perfectly to the templates provided by your favorite brand, or you can try to ignore fashion and focus entirely on your own internally defined aesthetic sensibilities. In both extreme cases, though, you’ll almost certainly fail, as those templates will be selected based on your sense of style, and your own concoctions will be made of garments created by the fashion industry. Your sense of what looks good, too, will almost certainly influenced by what’s on shelves, who’s wearing what in movies and magazines, and so on.

These seeming dichotomous elements of the clothing world, then, are inextricably connected, and understanding that connection can allow us to be aware of where our clothing biases come from, how we’re being marketed to and manipulated, and how we might adjust our buying habits and other behaviors to avoid the most damaging elements (psychological, economical, and environmental) of this space.

A good place to start when sorting out your own sense of style is to do some active research: looking at the photos in relevant magazines, for instance, really paying attention to what people are wearing and taking stock of what you like in terms of aesthetics and vibe. It’s also worth noting what looks good on people with whom you share a similar frame and face-shape.

From there, do some online searching for similar items to assess your range of options, but look for stores that sell the kinds of things you like and that you think might look good on you. Go try things on, when possible. Keep your budget in mind, but also allow yourself to try things that are out of range, currently, to see how they suit you: there’s a good chance that a cheaper variation is available, elsewhere.

As you’re going through this process, think about what your clothing says about you to other people and how different clothes make you feel.

You may be naturally attracted to clothing similar to what you wear now, but something a little more fitted, a little more buttoned-down rather than casual, might look spectacular on you, and the social feedback you’d get wearing such things would help you feel more comfortable and confident, changing your perception and preferences.

It’s also possible that there’s a variation of what you’re doing now that can be tweaked a bit to be more socially acceptable in more situations, but which will still allow you to feel like “you.”

Just be careful not to accidentally lock yourself into one look forever, just because a more style- and fashion-ignorant version of yourself started out wearing such things. Think and experiment broadly, and try things even when you experience an initial psychological resistance to doing so (perhaps especially in those cases).

Since you’re looking for clothes that you can wear to work, there will likely be certain expectations and rules delimiting your range of options.

You can express yourself within those limitations, but it’s a good idea to try to do the fundamentals by the book, at first, and to make tweaks as you become more aware of your true preferences and become more comfortable with your overall relationship with your clothing.

Start out by learning the broadly accepted “correct” way to wear a suit jacket and tie, in other words, so that when you decide to break those rules, you’re doing so intentionally rather than accidentally.

As you go through this process, it’s also worth paying attention to what sorts of businesses and business models you’re supporting with your purchases.

A lot of clothing companies, particularly those that fit into the aforementioned fast fashion category, have inbuilt issues with their labor practices and their ecological footprint.

It may be that such companies are the only real options you have right now, geographically or financially, or that such issues are not a focus for you.

That’s understandable. But do be thinking about the structural integrity of your clothes (build quality and expected lifetime), what sorts of practices you’re supporting, and who might be hurt or uplifted as a consequence of you giving your money to one business over another.

We’ve all got different priorities and circumstances, and there’s no inherently correct or incorrect way to shop for clothes. But all else being equal, it’s generally a good idea to aim for less of better—a smaller, higher-quality wardrobe—over a sprawling-but-not-great version of the same.

Part of that “better” descriptor might be ensuring that you’re supporting positive causes and entities, rather than funding models that are immensely wasteful and which charge exorbitant prices to have the right logos affixed to them.

What’s most important right now, though, is giving yourself permission to be someone who is capable of appreciating, knowing about, and even liking clothes, even if they’re not something you plan on thinking about most of the time.

This change in mental stance will help you see past blind spots, making it easier to learn about the industry, what fits, styles, and colors suit you, and how to utilize that knowledge to build yourself a flexible, you-shaped wardrobe that aligns with your personal and professional needs, aesthetic sensibilities, and budget.

My name is Nadir. I am originally from Algeria, but I live in the US now.

Living in a new country has changed me. This change raised some concerns within me.

I am gay. This is an issue I struggled with my entire life and only became comfortable with lately. I am 29 now. I’ve never been in a relationship; you guessed why.

I am also a Muslim. Although I don’t regret the many-years I spent grounding myself in my faith, I do realize now, and thus regret, how far I was from particularly the physical self-esteem. Sometimes, I don’t even remember much from my early-twenties life, I feel like.

I got to know you through the Minimalists, Josh and Ryan. Minimalism resonated with me because I realized that I had been already living it, to an extent at least. I am no stranger to holding on to my values against whatever stands in the way. Back in Algeria, after adopting a deeply religious lifestyle at a teen-age, which broke the norms of both my family and my society because I chose to not be a generic Muslim, I made decisions that were thought to be off. I had to fight for what I was standing for, alone. It didn’t matter to me because I was happy and in peace with myself.

You know, Colin, I have family and friends back at home who named their kids after me. This is an honour. This also tells you about the responsibility I feel.

Anyway, my life has been quite a journey, and it’s hard to squeeze it in few paragraphs. I guess what I’m trying to get into is that I’m afraid of changing other certain things, after the changes that have already occurred such as accepting my sexuality. I am definitely open to making myself uncomfortable for it’s the way to grow; however, I don’t want to confuse discomfort with the product feeling of violating a value.

I am a bearded person. I’ve never shaved in my life for religious reasons. While I want to look good and see the still-young version of myself, I feel concerned of changing this part of me; I mean the beard. I feel it’s a reminder of who I am. I fear I would not recognize myself, inwardly.

I am gay. And religious. And a minimalist. And this person whose heart is filled with big dreams and ambitions. Between my fears and hopes I am trying to find the balance. I do not want to lose “Nadir,” myself, in the process of finding myself.

I would love to hear a word from you. I also want you to know that I love you, Colin.

Nadir,

PS: That last statement might sound weird coming from a gay man, LOL!

—

Hey Nadir-

That end-note is not weird at all: it’s a wonderful thing to share with another human being—I love you, too.

It sounds like you’re at something of a crossroads, having already traveled a great distance (literally and figuratively) to get to where you are now, and you’re trying to figure out how much further you can go before you start to leave some of where you’ve come from behind, perhaps causing harm instead of stimulating growth.

What’s important to remember, though, is that you are not your sexuality any more than you are your beard.

Yes, people are accustomed to you being a certain way, just as you’re accustomed to certain habits: beard-maintenance perhaps, dressing a certain way, eating certain things.

But you can shave your beard and still be you: it’s an adjustment to the overall entity known as Nadir, but it doesn’t fundamentally change you. You’d still be you, you’d just be you with less facial hair. The same is true if you change your diet, your job, how you dress, and who you love.

There’s a thought experiment called the Ship of Theseus, the conceit of which is that there’s a famous ship stored in a museum, and over the years the individual components of the ship begin to wear out or rot. Piece by piece, then, those components are replaced by the museum curators: a nail here, a floorboard there, patching one of the sails, and so on over time.

The question is this: after each piece has been replaced, one by one over the course of many years, is that ship in the museum is still the original ship, or some new ship?

Can the museum claim that this is still a famous artifact, or is it merely an assemblage of new parts cobbled together in the shape of the original vessel?

There are many different ways of answering this question, all legitimate by some standard of philosophical thinking.

I personally tend to think that because the ship is, from the beginning, a concept made up of a great many components, that concept of “ship” can remain true, can remain the same, even as the individual components are swapped out over time.

While the oft-quoted factoid that human beings have all their cells replaced with new ones every 7-10 years is not accurate, it is true that a great many of our cells are constantly regenerating at different rates: some stick with us from birth to death, but the majority are replaced, regularly or semi-regularly, throughout our lives.

Thus, while there are some parts of our brains and eyeballs in particular that stay with us forever—pieces of the human ship that are never replaced—most of what we consider to be “us” is shed and replaced at some point, perhaps many, many times.

This doesn’t make those components of us any less “us” than the pieces that stick around. What we think of as human beings are actually complex ecosystems called microbiomes—so it’s far more accurate that we think of ourselves as ever-changing relationships between things, than as unchanging, monolithic realities.

If all our skin flakes off and is replaced over time, in other words, that doesn’t stop us from thinking of our skin as part of us. Our skin is always in flux, a verb as much as a noun, and the same is true of our holistic, unified selves: ever-changing, but still “us.”

Change is an unavoidable aspect of being human.

Change is also what allows us to grow, both literally and figuratively.

If those pieces of our bodies didn’t die and grow anew, we wouldn’t grow; nothing would be changeable, and thus, nothing would change.

Change isn’t easy, and at times it’s even painful—even excruciating. But it’s necessary, and often we don’t have a choice as to whether it happens or not. It’s a fundamental part of the human experience, for better and for worse.

What we do with this information is up to each of us, individually.

We can decide to attempt to defy change wherever possible: to hold on to elements of tradition and convention—societal or personal—even when those things don’t necessarily serve us anymore, because the thought of leaving behind our previous perceived reality is too painful to consider.

We can also lean into change, embracing even the painful bits, knowing that if we take the reins we’ll be more likely to have some control over the next, new shape of things; not perfect control, but some control.

I think most of us (wisely) aim for a middle ground between these two extremes.

Changing everything all at once can be tricky to navigate and can leave us feeling ungrounded and rudderless.

Clinging to existing standards and habits because they are comfortable, known quantities can keep us from achieving our potential.

The right balance isn’t a straightforward formula, and most of us will intuitively opt for different spots on the larger spectrum. We can choose to aim for other locations on that spectrum, though, and at times it will be prudent to do so, even if it doesn’t come naturally to us.

Right now, you may be best served by taking a good, long look at the many facets of your life and figuring out which should be tweaked or changed, and which might best serve as points of stabilization, consistency, and comfort.

Seeing yourself as an entity that is naturally in constant flux, though, and as someone who is ever-evolving—whatever that might mean for you in practice—will almost certainly help you think through your potential next-steps with wide-open eyes, a fair bit of curiosity, and a good amount of enthusiasm for whatever comes next.

I read somewhere that you answer all of the emails you receive from your readers.

My question is HOW?

I don’t have any readers and I can barely keep up most days.

Yours truly,

Derek

—

Hey Derek-

Populous as it sometimes becomes, I set aside time to answer all the (non-marketing) emails I receive because it’s a meaningful exercise to me, and I enjoy writing sometimes quick, sometimes somewhat verbose messages to the incredible people from around the world who decided to take the time to make a connection with a stranger from the internet.

I love that. And I feel incredibly humbled by the time and attention folks invest in such messages.

In terms of how this is accomplished, there are a few ideas worth considering that I’ve found to be immensely helpful, for this and for similar tasks/habits.

Focusing on my inbox, rather than doing a little here, a little there, mostly when I should be doing other things and when my mind is elsewhere, allows me to get into the zone—into a sort of flow state—which allows me to approach the task more gladly, but also more effectively and efficiently.

This also allows me to benefit from what’s sometimes called “batch processing”: a sort of economies of scale for things that you do in bunches, rather than periodically throughout the day.

I also adhere to what’s sometimes called Inbox Zero. This means that I essentially I treat my inbox like a to-do list, and any emails it contains represent a to-do item. Once I clear that item (acting upon information in an email, and/or responding to that email) I archive it or delete it so that it’s no longer in my inbox.

This method is almost certainly not for everyone, but I find I’m less stressed when I can treat my inbox in this way, keeping it clear or close to clear most of the time, and it allows me to achieve a sense of productivity as I answer emails, rather than feeling like I’ve merely cleared a single pebble from an immovable mountain.

Perhaps most fundamental to my email philosophy, though, is being careful with how I curate my inbox to begin with.

I take the time (it generally only takes a moment) to unsubscribe from things I don’t want to receive, and I gleefully click “spam” on things I didn’t sign up for or cannot easily remove via other means.

I’m also careful to avoid signing up for things I don’t want to receive, and I delete non-essential emails (instead of archiving them) as soon as I’ve gotten what I need from them—which keeps my archive relatively unburdened, as well.

I do receive a decent number of newsletters, these days, as the quality of the work being delivered via this medium has been on an upswing. But those, too, I delete after reading, and I treat them like any other email: I read them in batches, treat their consumption like I would any other task, and focus on them when I do read them so it doesn’t become a passive, less-valuable activity.

If you’re keen to wrangle your inbox, consider adopting something like Inbox Zero, consider being more careful about what you sign up for (and unsubscribing from all the things you no longer want to receive, to truncate your future email flow), and consider answering you email in batches—perhaps even two batches: one for actual messages from people, and one for the messages/newsletters you’ll consume and discard.

I’ve recently gone vegan, and I’m trying to convince my family to go vegan, too, for the planet and because killing and consuming animals is morally wrong.

I’m having trouble getting them to even pay attention to what I’m saying when I bring up the topic, though, and they just kinda roll their eyes and keep making family meals that they know I can’t participate in as if I’m not even there.

I don’t think I’m wrong in trying to convince them to consider the value of non-human life instead of just human life, but I’m open to the possibility that maybe I’m approaching this wrong, since it doesn’t seem to be working, and the same is true with some of my friends that I’ve tried to talk about this with, though a few have been willing to try it out.

Any thoughts on this? Anything I could be doing better? Am I being a jerk here, or is this just what happens when you care about things and most people don’t seem to?

Sincerely,

Ms. Carrot

—

Hey Ms. Carrot-

Let’s start with a few bigger-picture thoughts on the subject, and then I’ll get into a few more tactical ideas you might consider.

If veganism resonates with you, and reflects your values, good on you for taking steps to align your actions with your beliefs: that’s unfortunately rare, and often not easy.

That said, although proselytization is encouraged in a great many sub-cultures, from religions to political parties to ideological in-groups (like vegans), pushing one’s ideas on others can backfire, often proving to be one of the least effective methods of spreading the philosophies and practices you think are important.

Think of it this way: if one of your friends started harassing you about eating more meat, saying it’s insane that you’re refusing to partake in glorious beef, that you’re denying yourself the obvious wonders of bacon, that you’re actually doing the world a disservice by trying to run milk producers out of business, how would you feel about that person?

You’d be unlikely to listen to their arguments, I suspect, because you’d be somewhat offended at their approach. They seem to be assuming that they have all the answers, that the conclusions they’ve come to are superior to the ones that you’ve come to, and that their subjective worldview provides them with greater access to the “truth” than yours does.

Flip that around, and you can understand how some of your well-intentioned conversion efforts might be coming across. You don’t intend to be pushy or condescending, but it can seem that way to the person on the other side of the conversation, regardless.

This has little to do with your arguments and the data you bring to bear. You could offer up the most incredibly convincing data ever seen, and your conversational target may remain unreceptive to all the points you make, because they’ve preemptively discounted you and what you’re saying.

It’s often better, therefore, to take a less aggressive approach, making information and arguments available to those who seek them out, but otherwise not being in anyone’s face about it.

You can then make it more likely that people will ask you about such things by living a good life, enjoying the food you eat, and having an overall good time.

If you are clearly fulfilled and happy, other people will generally want to know your secret: they’ll want to know where you got that delicious-looking plant-based burger and why you seem so together.

There’s a hint of what marketing legend Seth Godin calls “permission marketing” in this approach, the idea being that most typical marketing—TV commercials, billboards, things like that—interrupt something else that we’re trying to do and enjoy, whereas permission marketing invites people in, allowing them to choose to come to you. This makes it more likely that folks who are exposed to your message will give it a fair hearing, and they will perhaps even be predisposed to have a favorable feeling toward you and what you have to say: you’re sharing with them something they want, after all, as opposed to pushing on them something they didn’t ask for.

Importantly, the idea is not to be manipulative, and not to start viewing people as marks or targets or consumers that you need to nudge in the right direction, as if they’re mere lemmings and you’re the only person who can see the true, proper path.

Every single person on the planet is viewing things from a different angle, is perceiving the world through a unique collection of lenses—of experiences, knowledge, understandings, personal traits—all of which influence the way they see the world, what they believe, and who they are as people.

It’s possible, then, for very good, very moral people to have very different concerns than you, and instead of focusing on the problem that you’ve chosen to help solve, they’re working on developing and funding clean power, or trying to save children in war zones, or perhaps just trying to protect and raise a family under trying circumstances.

The point being that not everyone will be focused on the same fire that you’re trying to put out: there are a lot of fires, literal and metaphorical, and it’s prudent that we give people the benefit of the doubt when it comes to our chosen cause or causes, rather than deciding that we are righteous and aware, and everyone else is bad or blind.

None of which is to say that you’re succumbing to that kind of thinking, but it’s common to feel that way, regardless of what cause you’re fighting for and how you’re approaching that fight.

Scaling these larger ideas back down to the individual level, consider, in the case of your family, offering to make dinner from time to time, introducing your loved ones to some of your favorite vegan foods, giving them the chance to try such things in a non-pushy, non-judgmental context.

It’s also worth thinking about how you might make veganism more appealing to people who don’t feel the same way you do about certain aspects of the philosophy.

Many people like animals, for example, but also consider eating meat to be natural: something that happens throughout the animal kingdom.

As such, it might help to instead introduce a relatively forgiving and chilled-out bridge-concept, like Meatless Monday, as a means of lowering weekly food costs, enjoying some health benefits, and doing something relatively simple and low-sacrifice that still counts as a sustainability win. Benefits that they might be more inclined to care about, in other words, as long as the cost of entry is low.

It’s not the same as going meat-free, but a million people eating less meat will almost certainly be better than 100 people eating no meat, and there’s a chance that once people realize it’s not the end of the world to adjust their habits in this way, they’ll take the reins and make more changes that align with those same goals, in the future.

Almost always, delicious and accessible vegan food that isn’t pushy and which wins people’s hearts and minds will be more effective than shame or implying that your truth is superior to theirs.

This is true of absolutely any wonderful thing you might want to share with others. Be careful that, in your enthusiasm, you don’t accidentally push people away by becoming too tribal or purity-focused.

Consider, instead, inviting people in and being confident enough in what you have to offer that you don’t need to give them the hard-sell for them to see the value in what you’re sharing.

Should I cancel my trip?

I haven’t bought anything yet, so the main downside is that I’d be out the time I’ve spent researching and figuring out where to go, when to go, and how to get there. I’d have to start over again whenever I decide to go, instead.

I also worry that I’ll keep putting it off if I don’t go now, though, and that I’ll be missing out on something I’ve been looking forward to a whole lot, maybe because of something that ends up being nothing.

What should I do?

-Ant

—

Hey Ant-

This is something that’s been on my mind recently, as well. As someone who travels a great deal for work and pleasure, the news has been particularly alarming, and there are so many unknowns that I’ve been trepidatious about making any firm travel plans.

At the moment, it would seem that the COVID-19 coronavirus isn’t going anywhere any time soon, and that a vaccine likely won’t arrive until sometime in 2021—maybe sometime in late-2020 if we’re extremely lucky and if they remove some of the typical regulatory hurdles.

Reliable treatments, likewise, remain on the horizon, and although we’ve managed to do an incredible amount of research into the genetic structure of the thing in a very short time, there’s still a great deal of fundamental information we don’t have at the moment, making misunderstanding and misallocation of resources more likely.

What this means for human beings in general is that it’s prudent to stay aware and take care, and to adjust some of our behaviors.

The best information I’ve seen indicates that masks aren’t necessary unless you’re sick or in close contact with people who might be sick (so don’t go buying them all up if you’re just going about your day, lest you deny the supply to those who will actually benefit from them), washing your hands correctly and not touching your face are two of the best possible habits you can adopt (and this is true of all respiratory illnesses, all the time), and most of us don’t have too much to worry about in terms of dying from this disease, but that doesn’t mean it’s harmless, and it doesn’t mean that younger folks with relatively healthy immune systems shouldn’t take care to avoid becoming asymptomatic carriers of the coronavirus, spreading it to other people.

Does that mean we should avoid traveling completely?

I tend to think not, but with important caveats.

If you’re prepared to take immense caution in terms of where you go, how you behave (including the aforementioned frequent hand-washing), and how you engage with other people (less hand-shaking, more head-nodding and bowing from a safe distance), there’s a chance you could still take your trip and have an enjoyable time.

Please note, though, that you’ll likely have more trouble engaging with locals (who might understandably be a little more distant and closed off than they normally would) and that many places you’d hoped to see (museums, theaters, etc) might be closed to prevent people from gathering in large groups—an understandable measure, given the severity of the disease and its potential to spread quickly and widely.

Also worth noting is that the hassle of travel will likely be exacerbated quite a bit, with more screening and probing, more barriers at border crossings, and a decent likelihood that if you’re running any kind of fever, or if you’re coming from/have passed through a hot-zone, you may be denied access to the country, you may be quarantined, and you may be treated like some kind of plague-carrier by locals.

There’s also the risk that you’ll be prevented from traveling, internally and/or to return home, which could prevent you from doing the things you want to do, but could also be quite expensive, as you would need a place to stay, wouldn’t be able to get back for work, and so on.

The budget-traveler in me initially wondered if there might be opportunities to grab cheap flights and holiday services as a result of these same risks, but we’re already seeing many service-providers—including transportation providers—choosing to scale-down or close up shop to protect their employees, or in some cases due to government mandate, instead.

So while there’s a small chance for a budget-minded silver lining here, my suspicion is that any money you might save would be negligible compared to what you give up or risk in the process.

My advice—and this is advice that I’m taking right now, too—is to rethink your travel ambitions for now, perhaps exploring nearby areas instead of far-flung locales, at least until we know more and have a better understanding of what we’re dealing with.

Many governments around the world are still dragging their heels when it comes to their response, worrying (not without reason) about the economic and political ramifications of making too big a deal about this situation. But there’s a good chance that klaxons and quarantines are genuinely warranted, and that we should all adjust our plans and habits, at least a little bit, for a time, to make sure this thing doesn’t become even more serious than it already is.

Don’t shut down with worry and don’t give up on your desire to explore: just realign those ambitions to the circumstances we’re facing, and consider taking a road trip instead of a flight, visiting someplace closer to home instead of someplace on the other side of the planet, and maybe reconnecting with family and friends rather than aiming to mingle with strangers who may—because of circumstances, not because of unfriendliness—not feel particularly inclined to put out a welcome mat for foreign visitors at the moment.

If we take some basic precautions and don’t panic, this situation will likely settle into a more manageable state in the relatively near-future, and we’ll be able to feel more comfortable making globe-trotting plans, once more.

At the moment, though, it’s possible that the on-the-ground realities of our current global situation would negatively impact your experience, and could also be dangerous for you and those you encounter along the way.

Consider applying your travel-planning skills to a scaled-down trip for now, saving that larger trip to Moscow (or wherever else) for when the sirens have quieted, venues have opened back up, and the small business owners who will suffer greatly under these restrictions will be thrilled to see you—your patronage helping them rebuild and survive at a tenuous and stressful moment.

The cost is great for me, being on a student budget but the cost is much greater for the planet. I feel guilt, but these materials are “required.”

For my future career, I would like to create installations and design with as little environmental impact as possible. Do you think this can be done?

Kristina

—

Hey Kristina-

There are a great many requirements and standards that I suspect will need to change in the near-future, in every field, and although it's possible to change them by petitioning or protesting or otherwise changing the rules as they apply to you individually, these current realities are also sometimes unavoidable—at times you may just have to gut-check yourself to see if you're okay making that sacrifice in order to get to the next stage of things. Which in this case potentially means going with the flow so you can graduate.

It may be that it's worth ceasing your studies over these requirements, but it's also possible that it will be worth doing as instructed for now, perhaps under protest, so you’ll be in a better position to instigate change later, when you have more prestige/perceived legitimacy/resources with which to do so.

It’s also possible that, in the meantime, you can technically adhere to what’s required of you, but make tweaks that allow you to be less wasteful and thoughtlessly consumeristic as you work.

Making use of cast-offs or scraps, for instance, from other students or from public sources of such things, could help ameliorate some of what you might otherwise produce in terms of waste.

You might also see if there are resources available that lend or rent tools, so that you can utilize existing stockpiles of these items, either from someone else who isn’t using theirs or from a library-like piece of infrastructure that exists in some places, reducing the number of use-once-then-discard items you have to purchase.

Ultimately, there’s no right or wrong answer in terms of how you approach this situation: it’s wonderful that you’re thinking about it to begin with, but there are few 100% effective and accessible options when it comes to avoiding environmental costs at the moment. So try things, figure out what works for you, and then consider sharing what you learn so that others will be able to benefit from your experiments and experiences.

I've been following your work for a couple of years now and enjoy reading your blog!

Recently it has been on my mind to start a podcast...I have a FT job and have no intentions of leaving it, the idea of the podcast is more of a side passion project.

My concerns are:

I'm not sure how receptive guests will be to be on a podcast that has no following at the beginning and I have nothing (yet) to give them in exchange for their time. At this stage they are definitely doing more value-add to me than I to them.

I can't guarantee the sustainability of the podcast given that I have a full-time job. Even if I get help from friends, they too have families and jobs that are priority...it may well be a project that lasts for maybe a year and I'm wondering if it's even worth my time (and guest's!) + effort to start this for a short-term thing. On the flip side, it could work out really well and it lasts longer!

I think you started your podcast with an existing following, should I build a following of some sort before jumping in?

What are your thoughts? Thanks!

Sarah

—

Hey Sarah-

It can be tricky when your intentions for a project don’t line up with the established way of doing things. There are fewer step-by-step manuals that directly apply, and a lot of the available advice will aim you toward outcomes that aren’t necessarily appealing to you.

An important question to ask yourself, I think, is whether the project will be worthwhile unto itself.

Even if no one gets a good PR moment, even if you don’t make any money or establish any additional credibility from it, even if the guests are all people you already know, so you don’t even develop new connections from it—is it still worth doing?

If so, I think you can move forward somewhat more confidently, because you’ll be achieving your intended outcome, whatever shape the end-product eventually takes. The act of conceptualizing and producing a podcast can be intensive, and if that process and the things you’ll learn from it are enough, you will have won just by making the effort.

In terms of guest-receptivity, it will partially depend on the market you’re aiming for, and the types of people you’re hoping to have on the show.

I don’t have guests on my podcast, but as someone who is a frequent guest on other podcasts, I’ll usually make the time to be on someone else’s show as long as the ask isn’t big and the concept broadly lines up with something that I care about.

Generally that means finding 30- to 45-minutes somewhere on my calendar to hop on a Skype call and talk to someone who wants to ask me questions about what I do, where I’ve been, and that sort of thing. Sometimes the questions are about topics I’m relatively less interested in, but it’s still fun to have the conversation and to meet someone new.

Every once in a while I’ll get asked to do a bit too much (take way too much time, do a bunch of preparation, play a role that I’m not comfortable with) and I’ll turn the request down. But in most cases, if I’m able to find the time, I’ll do the show. And I know a lot of other people who treat such requests the same way, because of the opportunity to have such discussions, to meet someone new, to help someone who’s just getting started with a new project, and the chance (significant or minor) that having the resultant conversation out in the ether will, at point, bear professional fruit (encourage someone to buy a copy of your book, to listen to your podcast, etc).

Not everyone’s math is the same in this regard: it’s very schedule-dependent, and in some cases, your audience size will be a hurdle, because the person you’d like to have on the show can only really spare time for interviews that they know will give them a certain amount of exposure—a significant marketing boost.

I’m in that camp sometimes—when I’m on tour, for instance—and I know many people who have to make that kind of decision pretty much always, with very rare exceptions.

That being the nature of this industry, it’s probably a good idea to figure out the shape of your podcast, first, and then pitch people with the full understanding that this might be a limited-duration thing.

Rather than thinking of it as a “maybe I’ll keep doing this, maybe not” project, though, consider thinking in terms of seasons, like seasons of a television show.

Lisa Nicole Bell has done something along these lines, dividing her long-running (and wonderful) podcast Behind the Brilliance up into seasons, which allows her to maintain her jam-packed business schedule, while also producing a show in between, when she’s able.

Thinking about your show in these terms could be useful because it would allow you to produce a season at a time, focusing on production and then broadcast, individually, and then checking in with yourself at the end of each season to see what you want to tweak, and whether or not you want to produce another season.

This also potentially alleviates the feeling that a podcast needs to be a forever thing to be valuable. It doesn’t, and packaging it differently allows you to set a firm end-point, to reach that goal, and then to keep going if you like, but to step back, be proud of a job well-done, and move on to something else, if not.

One last point about starting out with an existing following:

I’ve seen it done both ways, but any project you start, be it a blog, a product launch, or a podcast, will be easier if you’ve established yourself somewhere already.

This might mean having some followers on Twitter or a strong group of friends on Facebook, or it might mean a solid network of friends, family, and colleagues in real-life.

Building up a podcast from scratch, with absolutely no means of megaphoning its presence to anyone would be tough: there’s very little chance that it will be discovered, early on, lacking that initial attention, and most of the algorithms that help people discover new shows favor those that’re already getting attention—a chicken and egg problem, if you don’t have anyone to help you generate that initial, algorithmically beneficial interest.

That said, if you do decide to develop a season of a show, and do most or all of the work before you release it, you can ask your interviewees to help you promote it when it launches.

Don’t be pushy, don’t make it sound like a demand or requirement, but if you ask interesting questions and give them a chance to shine, most people will be willing to at least retweet or share their episode to their followers, which can boost listenership numbers significantly. Your job, then, is making sure they’re aware of when the show goes live, and then making it as easy as possible for them to share it with their followers. Alongside making sure their episode of the show is something they’d want to share in the first place, of course.

Some interviewers create pre-written tweets and such, others just send links to their interviewees. I personally find that just a link works well for me, when I’m the one that’s been interviewed, but you mileage might vary with that. Try different methods and be accommodating, but definitely be sure to avoid pushiness at all costs: otherwise it can feel, as the one that’s given your time to be interviewed, that you’re just being used by the podcast host to build up their audience, and that’s not a good feeling (nor does it make you inclined to want to help them out or maintain that relationship).

Of course, it may also be that, once you get into the specifics of what creating and launching a podcast entails, it just doesn’t make sense for what you hope to accomplish and the time and energy you have available to invest in it.

That’s okay, too.

I would suggest that if you have some kind of story or some kind of perspective you’re hoping to share with people, you remain vehicle agnostic and open to doing a podcast, but also maybe a blog, a newsletter, a social media group, a book, an album; they’re all potential means of reaching the people you want to reach, in the way you want to reach them. And all of them have pros and cons, require different sorts of effort, and have different platforms and models underpinning their presence.

Consider all your options, consider what you want to say, and then enjoy the process of building your megaphone and learning to use it.

A few months in and I’m realizing these guys don’t want to be helped, and they hate me because of the color of my shirt. It’s become a very toxic environment full of threats and aggressive behavior from them towards me, which I don’t think is healthy for my mental health and know it’s only a matter of time before one of them assaults me.

That being said it wouldn’t matter to me as long as I knew I was making a positive change, but I don’t feel I’m making the difference I sought out to in the beginning.

Most of my time now is spent making busts that gets them either more time or moved to solitary which is in no way contributing to them changing their life, all while the dirty officers keep bringing things in. It feels like a battle I’ll never win, which brings me to my question.

When do you give up on what you thought was your passion?

How do you know if it still is your passion and just going through a rough patch?

I still have days where I’m fired up and enjoy what I do, but they are rare and far apart. I feel I invested too much time and worked too hard to graduate the Academy to simply step back, I feel if I give up I’ll regret it or see it as a personal flaw in my character.

-Michelle

—

Hey Michelle-

It sounds like you got into your line of work for the right reasons, and it’s wonderful that your ambitions center around wanting to help people.

That said, with any career choice, personal sustainability is key, and although it’s possible to stick with something that is draining—psychologically or physically—it’s also worth considering what the end-game might be, and whether things will ever change.

It sounds like you’re doing this math right now, and that you suspect things won’t change significantly, and thus, you’d better adjust something on your end; which could mean many things.

You could, for instance, attempt to change your mindset so that you find victories in non-obvious places, satisfaction in places other than where you initially planned, and essentially recalibrate your expectations to better suit the reality of your field as it exists in the real world (as opposed to an idealized or theoretical one; like the version of reality we’re taught about in school or the academy).

You might also consider stepping back and assessing your first-principles priorities to figure out what you should actually be doing with your time.

First-principles thinking means, rather than attempting to redesign a plane, realizing that what you really want to do is fly, and therefore also considering non-plane options, like helicopters, hang-gliders, jet-packs, and so on. You might still end up with a plane, but you’re allowing yourself to consider other options that don’t fit into that higher-order category, as well.

We have, for a variety of reasons, reflexive understandings of how certain problems are solved and certain itches are scratched, and although becoming a corrections officer was one potential way to do what you want to do, to make a certain type of change in the world, it’s nowhere near the only way to do so.

It’s possible you could find another career path that allows you to help people in that way, and to perhaps do so via a means that would allow you to see more productive outcomes—and feel good about those outcomes—while also being in less overt danger, and experiencing less continuous stress.

If you decide to start thinking along these lines, allow yourself to really abstract the situation and think beyond industry-silo possibilities.

It may be that a more suitable career can be found adjacent to what you’re doing now, but it may also be that you could accomplish more, and in a way that’s more sustainable for you, if you work in an entirely different field, approaching the problem asymmetrically. Working from the legal angle to change laws that reinforce underlying issues in the criminal justice space, for instance, could attain some of the same results, as could working to bring better grocery options to food deserts, which are thought to be one of the many civil engineering, zoning, and financial problems that reduce regional opportunities and, consequently, incentivize crime.

As for your specific questions:

What I would suggest is setting a deadline at some point in the relatively near-future—a few months, maybe—at which point you’ll give yourself permission to reassess everything. You’ll allow yourself to fully consider changing careers, changing lifestyles, approaching the problems you want to solve from entirely different angles, whatever it takes to do so.

In the meantime, though, consider allowing yourself to re-contextualize what you’re doing, currently, and approach the issues you see from as many angles as you can.

Look at your lifestyle and ask yourself if there are tweaks you can make so that the work component becomes more tolerable and sustainable, and think about how you’re approaching work, your expectations and behaviors, and see if there’s anything you can adjust there, as well—to make things better for you and for the people you’re trying to help.

It may be that in a few months you’re more certain than ever that this isn’t going to work for you, but that’s the point of taking this time: to focus with intention on the issue at hand, but also to give yourself the chance to prove that original thought wrong, and to perhaps make changes that would allow everyone involved to benefit more from what you’re doing, currently.

If you do find that you can make your current status quo work, that’s wonderful. Keep on evolving and changing things as you go, and reinforce the gains you’ve made along the way.

If that’s not the case, however, and you realize that something more fundamental needs to change, you’ll want to start building yourself a runway—an escape plan, so you can psychologically and financially make the transition to whatever you decide to do next. And ideally you also get a better sense of what you want to do next, so that you know where you want to invest your time and energy, moving forward.

That might mean acquiring new skills, new education, new training, new perspectives. In a lot of cases, it makes sense to acquire these things while you still have a paycheck coming in, but it may be that some will need to wait because of time- or energy-constraints. Do your best to plan accordingly so that you don’t put yourself in another type of unsustainable situation (an economic one) by leaving what you’ve got now before you figure out where you’d like to go, next.

It’s a lot to think about, I know, but you’re already on the right track and asking the right questions.

The next step is giving yourself permission to act upon what you learn from asking those questions, taking some time to make sure your assessment is correct, and then mapping out your next steps—whether that means an adjusted version of what you’ve got now, or something entirely distinct that allows you to achieve similar ends from a different angle.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be good enough at making music to do it as a job, though, so I’m also pursuing a bachelor’s degree in biology, so I can maybe work in a lab or something like that. I like science, and I think I could probably enjoy doing this kind of work, too, but I don’t know how I feel about giving up music for it.

Any advice on how to feel better about this situation? It’s not a terrible thing right now, but I worry that it could become worse someday if I focus all my time on my science work and never get to play music again.

Sincerely,

Spencer

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Hey Spencer-

There’s a term that I’m quite fond of—intertwingularity—which was coined by the technologist (and frequent coiner-of-words) Ted Nelson to refer to the interconnectedness of all knowledge. According to Nelson, the silos we’ve created to divide information and understanding into fields, professions, practices, and expertises are all illusory: they’re not real.

These divisions may help us figure out what specific knowledge we need to acquire to pass tests, to get jobs, and to understand individual topics deeply, but they don’t indicate that these knowledge-bits are actually, latently separate from each other: all knowledge is interconnected with all other knowledge, no matter how we might organize it for various purposes.

I tend to agree with this sentiment, and have found it to be immensely gratifying and useful to explore fields far beyond the bounds of those in which I ostensibly work.

Learning about music, for instance, has helped me do visual graphic work; graphic work has contributed to my understanding of writing; knowing how to write has helped me learn to code; understanding how to code, and how that code interacts with computer systems, has helped me better understand non-tangible social systems; understanding systems made up of people has helped me more fully grok economic systems; a fundamental grasp of economic dynamics has allowed me to perceive more depth in my relationships; a more rounded view of my relationships has allowed me to distinguish more patterns and nuance in my inner-life; and a more thorough grasp of what’s going on inside my own mind and body has reinforced my love of, and desire to get better at, making music.

This relationship between fields and bodies of knowledge extends far beyond seemingly interconnected bits and pieces, and connects the most diverse practices you can imagine, sometimes in obvious ways, and sometimes in ways that would be invisible from the outside—only becoming apparent once you know enough about both fields to make the required connections.

These relationships are important to recognize in your case, I think, because it sounds to me like you’re perceiving your education and professional development in biology as a siloed, single-focus path, and the reality is that you will likely benefit from having more than one focus in your life.

There’s a book called Range: How Generalists Triumph in a Specialized World that addresses this same issue through an abundance of data showing how diversification in one’s collection of experiences and knowledge actually benefits each specialization, because you’re able to bring understanding and perspective from one field into each of your other chosen fields.

Among many other revelations, that book notes that many Nobel Prize winners attribute their success in their field to their practice of botany, their cooking habits, or their daily music-making routine, alongside the field for which they actually won the award—physics or medicine or whatever else.

They were able to think differently from everyone else in their field—even those who were arguably further along then them in that field—because they gained insight from other, adjacent or non-adjacent areas of exploration.

Don’t be afraid, in other words, to pursue both music and biology. There’s a very good chance that these fields will inform each other, and you’ll be a better musician and a better biologist because of the presence of the other.

Achieving a broader breadth of knowledge can help you achieve greater depths of knowledge.

Also important to note here is that it’s okay to have hobbies: to spend your time, energy, and resources on things that will never earn you a cent.

Because most of us, these days, are brought up within capitalistic systems of some flavor, we tend to gauge the worth of things in terms of money, even when money isn’t necessarily the best unit of measurement to measure that particular thing.

In this case, it may be prudent to view biology as something you can enjoy, but which will also pay the bills, while music is what you do to keep yourself happy, healthy, and growing in a different way.

I know many people who work jobs that they don’t particularly love, but which are absolutely fine—and which earn them enough money that they can afford to spend the rest of their time doing what they love.

This model, which I sometimes think of as becoming one’s own Medici, or one’s own patron, can provide you with financial stability and security while also allowing you to fund your own work. This provides you with the freedom to pursue whatever ends you want to pursue, uninfluenced by the needs and priorities of some external entity—some other patron that wants you to make a certain type of music, for instance, or stick to a particular performance schedule or instrument.

There’s no single, correct way to plan one’s growth trajectory, or to organize one’s day-to-day lifestyle. But finding this kind of balance—where you get all the things you want, and where each piece supports all the other pieces—is worth aiming for, whatever the specifics of your intended situation might be.