Trying New Things

Pre-post

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This month’s post was supposed to be about how I’ve managed to narrow my focus to a few key areas, one of which is writing.

Instead, I’m writing to confess that I’ve run out of time.

I came up with the original idea for this post about midway through the month. I didn’t do any serious writing until a few days before my submission deadline. I rewrote the intro a few times. I got into a wrestling match with a metaphor. I developed a skeleton for the body, but every time I tried to add meat to the bones, it felt messy and wrong.

As it turns out, it’s pretty difficult to write about focus when you’re unfocused.

What I have figured out is that my current lifestyle isn’t good for my mental health. I’m too unstructured, too distracted, and too tired.

I’m about to take a much-needed vacation out in nature. The timing couldn’t be better. I hope to come back with a clearer head. I hope that clarity will carry me through the post I plan to share with you next month.

Reflecting on my first year of consistent blogging

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Several weeks ago, I told a group of fellow writers that I was having trouble coming up with a topic for this month’s post. “Why don’t you write about writing?” one of them proposed. At that moment, I wondered, how many months in a row have I been posting? I checked the history. Since I started my blog back up, the first post I published was on August 31, 2020: exactly one year before I’d click “Publish” on the post you’re reading now.

On this monumental occasion, I decided to reflect on what I’ve learned after a year of consistent blogging.

One post per month is enough.

This is actually the second incarnation of “Trying New Things.” Nearly a decade ago, after years of telling people, “I work in Information Technology, but my real passion is writing,” I was part of a “workforce reduction” (a.k.a. laid off). I decided it was time to try writing for a living, so I conducted a one-year experiment as a self-employed copywriter. This blog was supposed to be a vehicle to help me promote my business.

That year sucked almost all the joy out of writing for me. I spent a lot of the time trying to promote myself with little response. I did land a couple of good clients, which was fun. However, most of my prospects had unreasonable demands: some wanted to pay me a fraction of my rate, while others wanted me to basically lie about what their product could do in order to lure in more customers.

Then there were all of the “experts” out there with infallible formulas for generating blog traffic. One of the keys, many insisted, was to write as often as possible so subscribers would be perpetually bombarded with new content and my high activity level would boost my ranking on search engines. The notion of constantly churning out new content felt like a chore, and I only published two posts on my blog that entire year.

When I restarted my blog a year ago, I decided to give myself a clean slate: I archived my posts and rewrote my “About” page to focus on helping people with no strings attached. Knowing my tendency to overcommit, I decided to start with the humble goal of publishing one post per month. But as I went along, I realized once a month was perfect for me: it alleviated the pressure of “publish, publish, publish” and instead allowed me to take my time with each topic. If I wrote every day or even once a week, I wouldn’t have time to really process what I was writing. But after a month, I’d not only have a more thoughtful post, but it might even change my own life for the better.

This leads me to my second realization.

Writing helps me learn.

When I was in school, I always did better in classes that favored writing essays over taking standardized tests. I assumed this preference was due to my love for writing. But this blog helped me realize there’s more to it. When I write about a topic, it forces me to put ideas into my own words and to relate new ideas to things I already know. It’s these mental connections that make the difference between storing information in short-term memory (i.e., just long enough to pass a test) and in long-term memory.

For example, I wasn’t a very good student in science classes. My grades were average at best in biology, chemistry, and geology. I always found either the teachers or the subject matter boring. The one exception was a particular assignment in my physics class. We had to measure the relationship between the slope of a ramp and the speed of a marble rolling down the ramp. In retrospect, it seems like it should have been tedious–setting up the ramp, measuring the angle, measuring the time the marble took to roll to the bottom, tweaking the angle slightly, and starting again, and again, and again. But because our main assignment was to write an essay on our findings, I was able to turn the experiment into something personal. I wrote a thorough analysis and my teacher gave me a perfect score along with one of the most glowing evaluations of my academic career.

As with that paper, every blog post I’ve written in the past year has been a learning experience.

I’ve been trying to “hack” my clutter problem for most of my life, but it wasn’t until I decided to write a blog post about it that I took the time to dig beneath the symptoms and unearth some of the root causes.

Before I wrote about my experience climbing Half Dome in Yosemite, all I could focus on was getting lost in the woods on the way back down. But once I drafted my post and shared it with some colleagues, they showed me what I couldn’t see: reaching the summit was a big accomplishment, regardless of what happened afterward.

The 3-part series I wrote about exploring career paths taught me more about how to find fulfilling work than I got out of decades of job hunting and reading self-help books.

But as rewarding as writing these posts has been for me, that has never been my main motivation.

I’m a people pleaser, and that’s OK.

I’m much more likely to get something done if I feel like I’m accountable to someone else. Ever since I recognized this tendency, it’s bothered me. Why does something have to benefit someone else in order to be worth doing? Why isn’t doing it for myself enough?

For years, I’ve seen this as one of my deepest flaws. But recently, I decided to just accept this weakness and use it to my advantage. As much as I enjoyed writing, I had never managed to stick with a writing project for more than a few months. Then, late last year, someone introduced me to the concept of a “writing mastermind group.” Think of it as a support group for writers: we get together, share our writing goals, and then hold each other accountable and help each other overcome whatever obstacles we might be facing. My goal was to maintain a habit of publishing a post per month throughout 2021.

My group checks in once a week, and each week we share how much progress we’ve made and help each other get “unstuck.” We all feed off of each other’s momentum, so I feel like I need to stick with my commitments in order to help the rest of the group stick with theirs. I think a big part of the reason I’ve managed to publish a post every month this year is because I don’t want to let my group down.

Even the “trying new things” theme, at its core, is based in accountability: I believe that in order to persuade you of the benefits of trying new things, I need to lead by example. This drives me to not only stick with my monthly publishing schedule but to really think every post through before I click that “Publish” button. I spend almost the entire month thinking about my topic, drafting ideas, challenging them, learning about the subject, and learning about myself. I make sure every post I share is about something I strongly believe can help my readers.

But as with every other post, developing this one helped me discover a valuable lesson. Yes, I’m a people pleaser. But doing things for other people feels good. It validates me as a writer. It helps me feel like I’m able to do something meaningful, and possibly even leave a positive legacy someday.

This blog is my gift to both of us. Thank you for making it worthwhile.

Breaking my addiction to Amazon

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I like to think of myself as a supporter of local, independent businesses. I refuse to shop at Walmart, and I was furious when one showed up across the street from my favorite, independent grocery store and put them out of business in less than a year. I rant incessantly about the “Big Three” beer brands (Budweiser, Miller, and Coors) and how buying their products helps fuel their efforts to wipe independent breweries out of existence. And I go out of my way to support independent bookstores: one of my “bucket list” items is to read every book on the Modern Library 100 Best Novels list, and I’ve vowed to only buy them directly from used bookstores (I only have 2 left to buy).

Yet after my rent, the next largest percentage of my income goes to Amazon, one of the largest companies on the planet.

For years, I was able to ignore my hypocrisy. That all began to unravel when I visited a local, anarchists’ bookstore with lots of books on topics like fighting “the system” and giving a voice to underrepresented groups. There was one book, prominently displayed in the center of the “staff picks” table, that I snatched up the moment I saw it: How to Resist Amazon and Why by Danny Caine, owner of the Raven Book Store in Lawrence, Kansas.

I read a few pages and curiosity, combined with my desire to help local businesses, propelled me to make a purchase. I strode up to the cashier, a weathered, slouching man wearing the sort of punk rock attire you might expect of a volunteer at an anarchists’ bookstore. I proudly set the book in front of him: I’m on your side, I thought.

Then I opened my wallet, saw my Amazon Prime credit card, and joked, “Can I pay with this?” His scowl told me my attempt at humor was in poor taste.

As I walked out of the store with my new book, I finally began to question whether owning an Amazon Prime credit card, and using it to rack up hundreds of dollars per month in support of Amazon-owned services, might possibly be harmful to the same businesses I was trying to support.

With my small piece of anarchy tucked into my man purse, I headed home and mulled over the topic for my next blog post: spending a month without spending a penny on Amazon services.

Here’s how it went.

Books

I love used bookstores; the knowledgeable and quirky people who tend to work at them, and the mystery surrounding each book’s journey to its present home. When a new book is more practical, I buy them from the nearest independent bookstore.

There are, however, a few cases where I often turn to Amazon for books: gifts, ebooks, and audiobooks.

When someone’s birthday is looming, I often buy them a book as a gift, but the idea for the right book rarely comes to me until the last minute. By that time, Amazon is the only service I know of that I can trust to deliver in time.

This is a lame excuse to rely on Amazon. If all it takes is a sense of urgency for me to come up with gift ideas, that sense just needs to come a bit sooner to accommodate potential delays in shipping. I haven’t bought any gifts this month, but at least I have a plan: when I want to send someone a book, I’ll look up their local bookstore and have the store order (if necessary) and ship the book. I feel like the gift will be that much more meaningful to the recipient if they know the purchase supported a local business rather that resulting from a few clicks on Amazon’s website.

As for audiobooks and ebooks, although I love physical books, I’m not a purist. I have an eight-year-old Kindle Paperwhite that’s been very reliable, and particularly when I’m traveling, having access to so many books in a compact format is a luxury I don’t care to give up. I also enjoy audiobooks; I listen to them when I go for walks, and sometimes when I read something challenging, it helps me to hear it read aloud while I follow along in the text.

That still doesn’t mean I need to rely on Amazon. This month I’ve only downloaded ebooks from my local library. Even if they don’t carry something, there are other ebook formats that can work with Kindle with a little technical knowledge.

Audiobooks have been a bit more of a challenge. Amazon’s Audible service have a clever model where for $15/month, you get 1 credit per month, good for an audiobook of any price. I was fooled into believing I was saving money by spending a $15 credit on a $25 audiobook, but as with most “deals,” there’s a catch. If I canceled my membership, I’d lose all of my accumulated credits. Audible thus became yet another out-of-sight, out-of-mind subscription (like those neglected gym memberships you don’t want to cancel because you’ll never get that monthly rate again) where I just keep paying for it based on an irrational fear of sunken cost.

This month, I used up my Audible credits on books I couldn’t find through my library but knew I’d like to listen to someday. In the future, I plan to get my audiobooks from two sources: my library system and a service called Libro.fm. The latter offers a similar pricing model to Amazon’s but instead of the money going to Amazon, Libro shares their profits with the bookstore of my choosing. That’s likely why I learned about them when I spotted a stack of Libro flyers next to the cash register at my local bookstore.

Groceries

Groceries were a tough puzzle to solve. Since well before COVID-19 broke out, I’ve been getting my groceries delivered through Whole Foods, which is owned by Amazon. I feel anxious at grocery stores, especially when they’re crowded, so I decided to avoid the unnecessary stress. I’ve tried other delivery services but due to issues with their inventory, timeliness, and/or packaging, I became loyal to Whole Foods.

For me to give up Whole Foods, I either needed to find another delivery service that met my needs to suck it up and go back to a brick-and-mortar grocery store. I was ambitious at first: I found out the hours of operation for my local, independent grocery store and showed up at 7 a.m. on a Sunday to avoid the crowds. The experience wasn’t too bad, but I’ve never quite managed to go back, as meetings got in the way during the week and I slept too late on the weekend.

Then I received a possibly life-changing flyer in the mail from a service called “Hello Fresh.” Their model is simple: I choose the meals I want, they send me portioned (i.e., nothing goes to waste) ingredients and recipes, and I prep the food. As far as I can tell, the cost is comparable to what I’d pay at a grocery store and certainly cheaper than eating out. In the past three weeks, I’ve prepared ten different, two-serving meals, all of them delicious. I’ve scanned every recipe into my digital recipe book with the expectation that I’ll someday try to reproduce it. I’ve also taken pictures of each recipe alongside the finished product and proudly shared them with family and friends. I even convinced a friend of mine to sign up for their service; we compare notes on how each recipe turns out. All in all, it’s made cooking fun and helped me develop the patience to set aside time to prepare a meal and savor the results.

This is not an ad for Hello Fresh: it’s not for everyone, and there are other services like this. My point is that by removing Amazon/Whole Foods as an option, my quality of life in the food department has actually improved.

Prime Video

This one won’t be hard to give up. I don’t stream movies and TV shows very often. I’ve tried many other streaming services, including Netflix, Hulu, and YouTube TV, and I quit them all fairly quickly because I spent as much time trying to find something I wanted to watch as actually streaming. The main reason I’ve stuck with Prime Video is because I get a lot of free content with my Prime membership.

Guess who else has a lot of free video content: the library. In addition to books, ebooks, and audiobooks; my local library gives me access to a vast inventory of digital movies and shows through services like Hoopla Digital and Kanopy. They may not have nearly as many blockbuster movies and popular television shows as Amazon Prime, but I can get my entertainment from their independent films (including many selections from the Criterion Collection), learn from documentaries and the “Great Courses” series, and work on my Spanish comprehension through their extensive Spanish-language content.

Miscellanous

With a little bit of homework and patience, I’ve been able to find viable alternatives to many of my most common uses of Amazon’s services. The most challenging category is everything else. For the same reason many people shop at Walmart and other “big box” stores, I continuously turn to Amazon: they have just about everything I need (or think I need). If they don’t keep it in their own warehouses, they can leverage their relationships with a huge network of third-party vendors. Not only does this allow me to find virtually any product in one place, but because so many other consumers buy from Amazon, I can often use dozens or even hundreds of customer reviews to steer me towards a reliable purchase.

Since I don’t want to simply replace Amazon with another one-stop shop, I’ve had to make some compromises.

When I decided to buy a second computer monitor, I tried researching ethical electronics manufacturers and burned about an hour before I accepted that “ethical electronics” is basically an oxymoron. I was, however, able to find a provider called “Back Market” that deals exclusively with quality-controlled, refurbished electronics; a practice that dramatically cuts down on e-waste. My monitor looks and performs like new.

In other instances, I simply haven’t been able to find what I need outside of Amazon. But do I really “need” ballpoint pens imported from Japan or 24-packs of a particular, premium brand of canned tuna? Surely Mr. “Trying New Things” can find another option.

Amazon Prime

I’ve been a card-carrying Amazon Prime member for at least five years. But when I look at the main benefits of this membership, there are really only two I take advantage of: faster shipping and “free” video content. I have other video streaming resources that cost me nothing, and with a little patience and planning, I’ll rarely need 2-day shipping. Worst case, even if I decide that Amazon is my best option for a certain item, I can pay the extra, one-off shipping fee.

On the afternoon of July 31, 2021, I canceled my Audible subscription. A few hours later, I canceled my Amazon Prime membership. While I haven’t yet officially boycotted Amazon, this is a huge milestone. It means I’m no longer paying a recurring fee to Amazon. It also means that every time I make a purchase from now on, I’ll remember that it almost always feels better to put in the little bit of extra effort it takes to buy from someone else.

Making peace with my clutter war

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When I got back from a 3-week trip to visit friends and family, I envisioned coming home and relaxing. Instead, as I rolled my bulging suitcase inside, I realized I didn’t have anywhere to put it. My living room looked like a landfill. There were loads of clean laundry scattered across my couch, and my floor was covered with miscellaneous debris including an empty storage bin, a pair of shoes, a backpack, a pull-up bar, and a partially unrolled yoga mat. (Side note: I haven’t practiced yoga in over seven years.)

My instinct kicked in and I immediately set to work . . . turning on my computer so I could vegetate on YouTube videos and pretend the mess didn’t exist.

I opened my browser to check for video recommendations. “This site can’t be reached.” I tried another site. Same message.

After going through my usual troubleshooting routine, I eventually gave up and called my Internet provider’s customer service department. It turned out the wind had knocked some cables loose while I was out of town. A technician was on his way–in about four hours.

By the time the worker got to my place, I had folded and put away all of my clothes; cleaned my living room; unpacked my suitcase and put everything away; and even washed, dried, and folded a load of laundry.

By the time the workers (now two of them) had left and my service was back up, I had also cleaned my kitchen and bedroom and rearranged my bedroom furniture.

I was so proud of myself.

Within about two weeks, my place was, once again, a disaster area.

I’ve probably had these jolts of inspiration to clean over a thousand times in my life. Sometimes they last for 15 minutes, sometimes a few hours, sometimes over multiple weekends. But without fail, like the zombies in Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” video, my stuff begins to crawl out of its hiding places and close in around me.

Why does this keep happening?

I feel like I’ve tried everything, from Marie Kondo’s “spark joy” philosophy to “Swedish death cleaning” (yes, that’s a thing) to intentionally renting a smaller apartment in the hope that it would force me to downsize everything else. Nothing worked for me.

But after my most recent, temporary success and subsequent regression, I realized I needed to try a new approach. Instead of trying to fix the symptom by cleaning up my messes, I decided to try to figure out how the messes got there in the first place.

Over the course of a couple of weeks, as I stumbled upon belongings that were out of place or just sitting there collecting dust, I started building a list. Here’s a small sample:

  • Three magazine pages my mom tore out and gave me to take home (they now live in a pile of papers on the seat of my office chair)
  • Two large “inboxes” stuffed with more papers
  • A to-do list containing over 70 unfinished tasks, half of which I highlighted to indicate they’re “high priority”
  • Dirty dishes, including a fancy Japanese kitchen knife with hardened cheese along the blade
  • Clean dishes that had been sitting in the dishwasher for a week
  • Several bottles containing solid clumps of expired spices
  • Two beers from 2004 that I’ve been saving to share with a friend who lives 400 miles away, even though I tried another bottle of the stuff years ago and it was disgusting
  • A motion-sensitive light that no longer senses motion
  • Over 100 unwatched video recordings and unread transcripts from my virtual Spanish lessons
  • Thousands of digital photos I only see when my phone gives me the occasional, “remember this day from 3 years ago” notification
  • A four-month-old reimbursement check that says “VOID AFTER 90 DAYS”
  • A box containing a model based on the 1980 film, “the Empire Strikes Back,” that is almost as old as the movie itself, unwrapped, yet never assembled
  • A post-it note stuck to the floor with a shoe print on it and a strand of my hair stuck to the sticky part

Filled with new self-knowledge and shame, my next step was to descend my skyscraper-high list of itemized clutter and, for each entry, ask myself one, simple question: “Why is this here?”

Through this review, I detected a number of themes. These were my top 5:

Theme #1: Distracted before done

Examples: unfinished books, open tabs in my browser, multi-step activities with wait time in between (e.g. laundry, meal preparation/dishes)

I often think of the Pixar movie, “Up.” There’s a recurring theme where a dog will be engrossed in some activity, a squirrel appears, the dog shouts, “squirrel!” and he immediately forgets what he was doing. I probably have over 100 “squirrel” experiences (metaphorically speaking) every day. I might set something down to respond to a text message and then get engrossed in the conversation. I might throw a load of laundry in the dryer, watch a movie while I wait, and then fall asleep during the movie. Every new squirrel leaves new, unfinished business.

Theme #2: Out of sight, out of mind

Examples: Papers in my physical inboxes, messages I’ve moved from my email inbox to other folders; digital notes, photos, and recordings; food in drawers/cabinets

In the first chapter of Marie Kondo’s “the life-changing magic of tidying up,” she has a section entitled, “Storage experts are hoarders.” I am far from a storage expert, but I get the sentiment. I have “homes” for different categories of stuff, but the more removed those homes are from my field of vision, the more packed they get and the more overwhelming it becomes to go through them. This is why I have multiple inboxes for papers, my online storage now costs me a monthly fee, and my vegetables keep going bad before I finish them.

Theme #3: Too much work

Examples: E-waste, sensitive documents, and other complicated disposables; old laptops, “miscellaneous” items

I don’t want to throw e-waste in the trash, but I also don’t want to lug it halfway across town (with no car) to properly dispose of it. Old laptops require work to transfer the data, wipe the hard drive, and then find a place to donate or dispose of the laptop. Then there are all the “miscellaneous” items for which I can’t find a memorable place to store them, so I just put them wherever I can find space.

(I had an excuse for my sensitive documents—I don’t want to throw them in the recycling bin whole, but if I shred them they’re no longer recyclable. However, I just read that shredded paper is generally compostable, so problem solved!)

Theme #4: Negative associations

Examples: to-do items I don’t want to do, weeds in the yard that trigger my allergies, a reimbursement check that should have been for more money

These are items I keep running into but don’t want to deal with because they involve an action that makes me uncomfortable. The longer I put them off, the more uncomfortable I get and the worse the situation gets: the to-do list gets longer, the weeds get taller and more menacing, the check expires.

Theme #5: Inflated value

Examples: random power cords, mementos, that Star Wars model

“What if I need this later?” “This is irreplaceable.” “Maybe I can sell this.” I keep so many things because I believe I’ll regret it if I get rid of them. Instead, I end up dedicating closets, the underside of my bed, my garage, and other regions to rows and stacks of boxes. Many of these boxes have moved with me from residence to residence for decades. I end up paying more money to live in a large enough space so I can store all of this stuff and still have room for the things I actually need.

The beginning of the end

I’ve now identified some of the major causes of my clutter problem. I still have a lot of work to do, but I’m much more optimistic that I can break the cycle of making messes and cleaning them up. I can now begin to find a permanent solution.

Do you also struggle to conquer your clutter? If so, before you go through another weekend cleaning spree or buy another self-help book, take some time to evaluate your situation. What habits and thought processes got you to this point?

How I escaped my sheltered life after “shelter in place”

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The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention made a recent announcement: those who have received their COVID-19 vaccinations can, with some restrictions, resume a mask-free life. Since then, it seems like everyone around me has been trying to make up for lost time. Restaurants are packed inside and out with people lined up, waiting to get in. Traffic is brutal. Flights, rental cars, and ride-sharing options are scarce and their prices seem to have at least doubled. My “virtual” groups are all trying to get back to in-person gatherings as soon as possible.

Of all these changes, that last one has made me the most uncomfortable. I’ve grappled with social anxiety my entire life, and the longer I’ve stayed indoors, the harder it’s been to imagine being around people again.

As weird as it may be to pretend to grab or throw an Aikido partner over Zoom, it feels much more natural to me now than the idea of making actual, physical contact.

Most of the members of my writing group are hundreds of miles away in the city where I grew up, and I worry that the longer they meet in person, the more I’ll feel like an outsider.

I’ve even been hesitant to see old friends. After all this time, will we still have anything in common? Or will we end up just watching TV so we don’t have to struggle to find something to talk about?

Everyone around me has seemed anxious to be out in the world again. I’ve just been anxious.

Then there’s work. I’ve heard that many people who now work from home end up putting in a lot more hours than they used to. It can be hard to set boundaries when your office and your home are in the same place.

I didn’t really have that problem until I took on a new role a couple of months ago. Since then, my work has become my life. I start my workday before the sun comes up and am often still going when it’s about to disappear. Meanwhile, I stopped showing up to Aikido classes for over a month, scheduled Spanish lessons half as often, and barely touched my last blog post until the night I published it. I’ve simply lacked the time and energy to invest in the things I used to enjoy.

But as easy as it’s been to let social anxiety and a crazy work schedule control me, I know I can do better. The only valid reason I’ve had to stay home was COVID-19. Once I was vaccinated, I could no longer justify being a hermit.

Instead, I decided it was time to visit home.

The day after my two-week incubation period was over, I rented a car and drove down to the city I grew up in to stay with my family. I’m no longer attached to the city itself, but ringing that familiar doorbell, seeing the door open, and being able to hug my mom again made me feel like I was home.

Soon, it was time to start seeing friends. I could have easily brought my problems with me, continuing to hide indoors and working myself to exhaustion. I knew that if I waited to make plans until a day when I had a lighter workload, that day might never come. So I planned ahead. I contacted several of my old friends and scheduled time to meet with them. I let my writing group know I was in town and planned a get-together with them. I was worried I’d feel awkward and that my job would suffer, but I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to reconnect with people I care about.

On the day of my first hangout , I somehow managed to get all of my important work done within eight hours. For the first time in two months, I was able to tell my coworker, “I have to go and probably won’t be back online until tomorrow.” 30 minutes later, I was in a sports bar watching a basketball game with two friends, all of us without masks. I was too busy having fun to feel uncomfortable. A couple days later, I met another friend at a brewery and once again had a blast. A third friend had me over for dinner with his family, after which he, his son, and I bonded over video games for an hour.

Then came the big test: meeting my writing group. Ten of us met at a local park. I quickly realized that of the nine of other people, I had only seen one of them in person before. Normally, the larger the group, the more self-conscious I get and the quieter I become. But every time another person showed up, I found myself smiling, excited to finally get to see them face to face. We stayed at the park until the cold became too much for us. I could have used the weather as an excuse to go home. Instead, we decided to go to a restaurant and spent the evening sharing food, swapping stories, and laughing.

It’s almost time for me to say goodbye and head back to my place. But now that I’m getting used to being around people and scheduling time away from work, I have a feeling I’ll be in a much better place than I was when I left.

Have you been able to start experiencing an unmasked life? How well have you adjusted to the “new, new normal?”

Career change: how far is too far from your comfort zone?

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“If you feel safe in the area that you’re working in, you’re not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel you’re capable of being. Go a little bit out of your depth, and when you don’t feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.”

David Bowie

A month ago, I decided I needed to go a little deeper into my career. I wanted more room to grow, more opportunities to make an impact with my work. An opportunity came up, and I took it.

Within a day or two of starting my new role, I felt like I was drowning. I had a ton of work, so much to learn, and a huge responsibility with major consequences if I messed up.

A few days later, I was in a one-hour, virtual meeting with an important customer. By the halfway point, I began to zone out. I had no idea what people were talking about. I started to panic, and I felt the urge to shut off my computer and cry. I managed to make it through to the end, but I was convinced I had made a huge mistake and was ready to quit.

Normally, I blog about experiences in retrospect, so I have the benefit of knowing that things came out OK.

I started writing this post weeks ago. I thought by the end of the month, I would once again be smiling into my rear-view mirror. But I’m not OK. I still feel overwhelmed. I still have a lot of self-doubts. I’m still scared.

However, I’m gradually starting to feel better thanks to a few important decisions I’ve made along the way.

Work-life balance is a choice, not an obligation. I’ve written a lot about all of the different activities I’ve become immersed in over the past year or so–blogging, Aikido, Spanish lessons, etc. Soon after I entered my new role, I felt like the life I had built was falling apart. If I kept all of those other commitments, I would never be able to catch up on my work and would feel like a failure. But if I put in the time I needed to at work, I would feel guilty about all of the other things I’d have to sacrifice.

My solution was to give myself permission to let my life be out of balance for a while. Not only did I have more work, but I had to learn how to do it. That takes time. Once I made this decision, I could just tell people I might not be around as much as I used to be. They were all very understanding, which took away a lot of the pressure. Now I can put in the extra time and hopefully, at some point soon I’ll feel like I know what I’m doing and can get it done faster.

I don’t have to know everything. In my old role, I often felt like I could follow my instincts and I’d be able to produce quality work. Now, not only do I have a lot to learn, but I’ve been afraid that if I admit to some of the things I don’t know, people will think I’m not qualified for my job. This is a classic case of “impostor syndrome.”

But I’ve decided I’d be better off asking for help than pretending I don’t need it. And every time I asked someone for assistance, I left the conversation feeling a little more confident and self-sufficient.

I also learned that there were some things I simply wasn’t expected to know. For example, in that meeting that sent me into a panic, there were plenty of experts on the subject matter. My function wasn’t to be an expert on the topic but to set the agenda and make sure we accomplished what we set out to do by the end of the meeting.

This realization was a huge relief. By leaving some responsibilities in other people’s capable hands, I started to become more comfortable carrying my own load.

Quitting is always an option. Although it can be difficult to try something new, I often find it even harder to stop. Whether it’s a job, a relationship, or some kind of volunteer work; the more I put into it, the more I feel like I need to keep going even if I’m no longer enjoying myself.

This notion is sometimes referred to as the “sunk cost fallacy,” the idea that once you’ve invested money (or time or emotion or something else of value) into something, it would be a waste to let it go.

I’ve already sacrificed a lot by taking on this role. But if I keep pouring myself into my work and things don’t get better, it would be much like continuing to bet money on the same number on a roulette wheel even though I keep losing. Sometimes the best way to stop losing is to walk away.

I’ve heard that it typically takes about 90 days to transition into a new role. I’m still not convinced that I’m in the right place, but I’m beginning to feel a bit more optimistic. I hope that by the time I’ve reached that three-month milestone, I’ll feel more in control of both my work and my life.

If not, I think Mr. Bowie would have understood if I decided to towel myself off and find a new place to swim.

If you’ve gone through a significant career change, how did you feel when you started and how did it turn out? If you’re thinking about making such a change, what can you do to improve your chances of success?