Tag: Frameworks

Clown school works

JulianLeave a comment

Today I missed ~8 serves in a row. This fact became comic fodder for my then-opponent and later-teammate Rocky. The rest of my game was good. My team lost 4-11, a respectable score for only having one server. It equates, approximately, to 8-11 if both teammates could serve. It probably equates to slightly higher, since my missing every serve hurts my team’s momentum. Somehow, through the whole experience, I laughed. The other players – despite being annoyed that my serve was failing – clearly enjoyed the experience more than they otherwise would. (Rocky made jokes; my partner Daphne kindly suggested adjustments; my opponent-whose-name-escapes-me offered suggestions after the game.) 

I wonder if today’s missing serves comes from today being a particularly heavy gym day.  Or the fact that today I didn’t eat much between the gym and pickleball. Or the caffeine-esque concoction I had today (I don’t usually have caffeine; today was an exception). 

There’s something nice about feeling incredibly nervous and uncomfortable, yet feeling a calm sense of humor underneath. At no point was my inability to serve frustrating. Sure, it was bad. Yes, my teammate and the opponents assumed I lacked skill. (One guy called out that a serve that hits the kitchen line is short. I replied that I knew it was short: my confusion was whether the ball had hit that line or the side line. My teammate also took a bunch of middle shots with her backhand, a bad team strategy that’s clearly compensation for expecting a bad teammate.) Amusingly, the rest of my game was excellent: I just couldn’t do the simple bit! 

When you can’t do the most important part of the game properly, people assume you can’t do the other parts of the game well. 

After game 3, my serve came back. My shoulder felt loosened up. I bet it’s the gym. I rose from the ~sixth-best player on the courts (still true despite my bad serve, lol) to the second or third. 

All the while, I enjoyed. 

Nice! 

Heart > Hard

JulianLeave a comment

At the pickleball courts today, a boy of around 10 years old approached me to play. I asked for a moment to wrap up my phone call, then we began to dink. His paddle: cheap and shoddy. His shoes: poorly gripping. His name: Arturo. 

We dinked for five-or-so minutes, then shifted into a singles game. He tracked the score with the vigor of a boy who cares about winning. I won the first game 11-4. We switched sides. He adjusted very little to my play. I won the second game 11-2. We approached the net. I asked what he’d like to do: drill, play another game, etc. He wanted a rematch. I won 11-1. 

We left the court to grab water. The foursome on our neighboring court had just disbanded. One had gone home; the remaining three were looking for a fourth. They asked me to join. I asked if they needed one or two. They needed one. 

We played one game. I ran less than I had with Arturo. I also, tellingly, enjoyed the game less. Arturo’s big heart overshadowed his lacking skill. In this one doubles game, we played maybe one good point. One of the guys hit a lob and was shocked I could run back to return it. I jokingly called it a “senior passing shot”. He didn’t find it funny. 

After the game, I mentioned wanting to grab water. Then, at the benches, I asked Arturo if he wanted to play more singles. He did. 

We played another two games of singles (11-2 and 11-1, or perhaps one of those was 11-0; I don’t recall). Then Arturo asked if we should try to join the other pair practicing down at the end: turn it into a doubles game. 

We did. They agreed. 

This game was fun. Not a good game, but a good time. Arturo wanted to win. Skyler and Nick played their best. But Nick has played fewer than 5 hours of pickleball in his life. He rapidly became the target. 

The game was worse, but the play was still much better. 

We laughed. I called out Skyler for “Unfair surprisery!” when he served a ball that my partner Nick missed. Skyler retorted that Nick had asked him not to go easy. Nick replied that the ball had been too easy: that’s why he missed it. 

I’d rather play with a heartfelt crew than a group that takes it too seriously. 

It’s a game that shares its name with a silly vegetable. Games are fundamentally silly. Be silly. Have fun.

Adverse selection and dental decay

JulianLeave a comment

Adverse selection means the lower-hanging fruit is likely to be worse. If it’s more accessible and others have elected against it, there is usually some reason. Since most people desire similar qualities in their fruit, the remaining low-hanging fruit is likely to be worse. Thus, adverse selection. (It’s also why that shockingly-available parking space is more likely to be a red zone than an actual parking space, and why stock traders accepting deals without knowing why they exist are more likely to lose than win.) 

Today I went to the City College in Brooklyn for a free teeth cleaning. I scheduled the appointment with Daynef yesterday. She told me there’s a $20 facilities fee, but she’s happy to pay that for me. 

Today, after three hours, my teeth are no cleaner than they started. 

At 5:58pm, I arrived to City College. At 6:03pm, Daynef ushered me upstairs. At 6:10pm, I began filling out paperwork. From 6:17pm to ~6:40pm, we waited for a supervisor to review my paperwork. At ~7:17pm, Daynef began examining my face. At ~7:45pm, she began examining the inside of my mouth. At ~8:16pm, Daynef began measuring my periodontal depths. At 8:56pm, Daynef discharged me with a referral. She told me that, if I come back, they can do the actual cleaning and the xrays. 

I will not come back. 

If this were actually what was promised (a free cleaning, the only cost being that it takes 3hrs of my time instead of 1hr), I would be very happy. I downloaded a new audiobook today and haven’t yet established care with a new dentist (I recently moved, and my insurance is likely to change soon). But three hours for no cleaning is an abject failure. 

Yet again, Brooklyn disappoints. 

I enjoy enjoying paying

JulianLeave a comment

Today I had a fun negotiation. My contractor said that he had invoiced me ahead of time for the plumbing because the plumber needs to buy materials. He asked if I could pay this ahead of time. (He usually invoices me at the end of the week for work that was completed that week, as per our contract.) 

I expressed my confusion. I asked a few questions: 

  1. What topics will he want me to pre-pay? 
  2. How does this work, considering I paid a larger-than-normal deposit (30% instead of the normal 20%)? 

He explained the position. 

Then, I said… no! 

It was a kind and friendly no. I was emotionally authentic and effusive. The best line was when I said, “I like paying you. I like looking at the things we’ve completed over the last week and feeling excited about it. This would be a different setup.” 

I also gave him an out. I said, “If it’s an emergency, I’m happy to re-consider this. But right now the process is working well for me, so I’d like it to continue.” 

I debriefed with Partner afterwards. Partner thought my “no” was just that we had a deal structured in a particular way, so continuing that way is good for record-keeping. The real underlying motivation is one of leverage. If I paid my contractor entirely upfront, who knows if they’ll actually show up to do the work? I like to think people take pride in their work and follow-through on their obligations, but good contracts make good working relationships the same way good fences make good neighbors. 

I once heard someone in therapy-world describe something like “Boundaries are the lines that enable me to love myself and you”. This setup is similar: these financial boundaries and processes allow me to feel excited when I pay my contractor. They allow me to gush about the work he’s doing, and to feel delighted by it instead of worried. 

We left it at “If it’s a problem, he’ll tell me.” And if it is a problem, I’m open to solving it. But this particular draw-down should be out of his account, not mine. 

So I’ll continue paying after completion, and I’ll continue enjoying paying him. 

Unambitious and okay

JulianLeave a comment

Partner asked me today if I wanted to do a one-person show. We had just watched a beautiful one-person show about ghosts and loss and intergenerational lessons. Partner asked me over a Georgian cheese boat: “Does seeing that show make you want to do a one-person show?” I told her: “No. Right now, I’m very unambitious. I’m building an apartment. I want to have a family. I’m enjoying working for [client x], [client y], and I’m interested in working with [client z]. I’ve even written a one-person show. And I like it – it’s pretty good. But not really.”

Recently, my life has been fairly boring, and that’s okay. I’ve enjoyed watching the Starcraft Brood War ASL Season 11 World Championships. I’ve enjoyed going to the gym.

If 17-year-old me could see 33-year-old me, I wonder what he’d say. In some ways he’d be disappointed: I wrote a 10-year-from-today day-in-the-life back in 2017. Now, it’s about to be 2027. I haven’t achieved most of the things on that list. I don’t really care.

A friend contacted me last week about publishing my book. I don’t feel motivated to do so. I’m fine not feeling motivated to do so. 

I remember reading Tim Kreider’s Lazy: A Manifesto. On my deathbed, I won’t regret failing to close a client. 

Today, Partner and I took two hours getting ready to leave the apartment. We ate sausage and peppers, inventoried lights for our apartment, lifted heavy, voyaged to a meal she had been wanting for weeks, watched a play, and then ate a cheese boat. That’s enough for today.

(Partner thinks ambition is an instrumental good: it makes one do good things. I used to have a lot of ambition. I used to do good things. Today I have less ambition. I still do good things.) 

Rest days, work days, and the Sabbath

JulianLeave a comment

Weeks don’t end, they loop.

I prefer working on weekends. 

Perhaps it’s the contrarian in me. I enjoy having free time on weekdays and working on Saturday. It’s certainly not respecting the sabbath. But today I ran through a bunch of necessary items for my apartment renovation. Lighting, mainly. Also contemplating a particular business situation. 

This gym session, I missed my bench press again. I’ve now missed it 4x in a row. After 3x, it suggests I deload. I did not deload. I should have deloaded. 

It turns out that the body decreases strength gains when it is too intensely stimulated. If you’re not increasing gains, you might benefit from another rest day, not another gym day. This is tough for me. So a program where I can still go to the gym, just at a lower level of intensity, is good. Better. Preferable. 

I’m learning about my body. Learning about intensity and how not to injure myself. Learning the value of pushing myself, but also the value of relaxing and resting. 

I like this style. I like this growth. I like this muscle. 

I can currently bench press 185lbs for 3 reps. When I can bench press my bodyweight, I will benchpress Partner. I might only be 12 weeks away. How nice it is to have a long-term goal. 

Humans experience beautiful variation. I like working on Saturdays and Sundays, and prefer taking some weekday afternoons off to compensate. Plenty of people (most, even) prefer the typical workweek. Maturity is a process of learning yourself. Plus I can get a pickleball court without waiting for 45 minutes. And weekday lunch specials / theater tickets are delish!

Then again, one friend of mine stays up until ~5am, then sleeps til the afternoon. He thinks it’s healthy. In his case, I disagree. 

The Bounty Hunter

JulianLeave a comment

On Tuesday, a friend told me they wanted to fire their therapist and felt uncomfortable about it. I asked how much they pays the therapist, and they said $350 a week. I offered them a deal: you give me a hundred dollars and I’ll send an email that fires your therapist. They laughed, then I said, “And the best part: then I’ll give you a hundred dollars back. So you get to have no therapist, and a hundred dollars!”

They said that they would go home and fire the therapist and that they wouldn’t come back to the office (we share a coworking space) until they fired him. 

For two days, I didn’t see her, which surprised me. 

Then on Friday, they text me saying:

  • “Okay, I have like 90% succeeded at firing my therapist, I am going to count that as enough success to return to the office today. I technically need to send a follow up email on Sunday confirming that today will have been my final session as we agreed I would think about it over the weekend but the groundwork is clear.“

I had thought she was joking! 

I find this very funny. Not only due to the amusing structure of someone wanting to fire their therapist but feeling unable to because they don’t want to hurt their therapist’s feelings (which is already funny). Not only due to the amusing financial machinations (paying for another session this week – at $350 – when I’m pretty damn sure the whole point of that session was to cancel), which is itself the sort of thing that a therapist should help someone upskill but apparently this therapist does not (lol at therapy financial incentives). But also due to the self-inflicted rule that was clearly some sort of self-enforced punishment to mandate a behavior, but which was quite possibly not good for anyone as it prevented them from working from their ideal location despite no meaningful connection between working from my living room and firing their therapist. 

Games played

I realized today what my job is: I’m a bounty hunter! I establish bounty-based contracts with people for achieving specific ends (often paired with a small retainer). I’ve now signed one agreement to this effect, with a ~70% chance of another coming in the next week. So far, I have happy clients. Now, ‘tis time for me to deliver. 

If only that friend had paid me the $100: she’d’ve saved $250 ($350 if she wanted the $100 back), and we’d both be better off. 

It’s hard to play the right amount of pickleball. 

JulianLeave a comment

It’s hard to play the right amount of pickleball. 

I think it’s the addict in me who seeks the previous high. And yesterday was a high! Even the first two games today were exciting and nurturing. I played well; I enjoyed the hits. But then my body just crumbled. I couldn’t control my muscles; my shoulder hurt; I cared less about winning and more about being done. 

But I played two more games.[1]

Who was I playing these for? Not for myself, for I would prefer a bath and a foot rub and an early bedtime. Not for my partners, for I’m not contributing my best to our team. Nor to my opponents, for my vibe isn’t ideal. 

I have a rule in New York City: when you need to use the toilet and a toilet is available, use it. Too many times have I wanted a toilet but not had one present that I established a rule. (NYC, unlike Seoul, is shoddy on public toilets.) 

I should establish a further rule about pickleball: If your muscles are no longer supporting high-quality shots and you’re not in a tournament, go home. 

Once, during warm-up for the last game, I thought, “This is not going to be a fun one. I could bail now, set them up with a different player instead.” But today I had friends willing to play with me. I didn’t grow up with many of those. I overvalue them now. 

“Something… something… therapy…” 

[P.S. I also set a personal record today for the incline bench press. Come on, Julian! Be intelligent, not just bull-headed!]

[1] Is it even fair to call these “played”? Nay: I suffered through two more games. I slogged. I trudged. 

Culture beats strategy

JulianLeave a comment

One of the players at the Riverside Park pickleball courts denigrates his teammates. He shouts “Come on!” when they miss a shot. He tells them how to improve. He’s the second-best player. No one wants to play with him. 

After my final match today, I hung back to chat with two of the players. Quickly, their comments changed to how awful it is to play with him. He’s good when he’s on. But what about those comments! And his complaints about the sun being in his eyes? Sure, it’s hard on lobs from the north side. But half of the shots he missed were groundstrokes! 

I laughed and listened and cracked a few jokes. I didn’t add to the opinions – gossiping about that player doesn’t help. 

One skill that clown school taught me: complicité. The ability to play with someone like they’re your best friend. The ability to know who’s minor (something like “follower”) and who’s major (leader). The ability to find joy and pleasure underneath suffering and failure and pain. 

This guy doesn’t have that. He’s not giving comments from a place of love. He’s not kind and gentle and light. His teammates suffer. 

His teammates don’t just suffer cognitively. They play worse. 

Pickleball is a team game. And it’s not one where a good player can cover their partner’s mistakes: The losing team is generally whichever team has the worst player. If you speak in a manner that makes your teammate worse, your team performs worse. 

There’s also an element of safety. Not only does your teammate perform mechanically worse when they’re self-conscious; they also perform worse as a teammate. There are plenty of circumstances where you and your teammate need to feel voids, fill space, and cover each other’s weaknesses. You also need to make macro-level shifts (if your partner doesn’t have a third-shot drop, you can’t close the distance to the kitchen). All of these improve when a player calmly observes the game. All of them suffer when a player feels nervous with their partner. 

Right before I joined this game, I felt nervous. After a few years off from pickleball, the rust was still coming off of my serve. I knew that I might miss some serves, which is a terrible sin (it’s a free win for the opponents!). But I also knew that I could make sure my peers enjoy the game. And in that case, even if I shank a serve or two, they’ll still want to play with me. Plus they’ll have a better time. Duh. 

My team won every game. 

You know how I said he was the second-best player? 

I’m the best.

My first gurgitation

JulianLeave a comment

Today, Partner and I rode the subway to Diversity Plaza in Queens for the annual NYC momo crawl. (Momos are dumplings originating in Tibet and Nepal.) 

When we arrived, the lines were long and the entry fee questionable. $15 for the passport, and then a half-hour per momo line? We walked to the end of the two-block festival. On the main stage, a woman announced the start of signups for the momo-eating competition. Immediately, I approached her. First name on the list. Partner scoffed at joining: she only recently shifted from soft foods to normal food after a medical issue. The competition was scheduled for 90minutes later, at 4:30pm. We both suspected we wouldn’t still be at the festival. Still, I signed us both up, following my sister’s sage advice: in New York City, grab the opportunity when it presents itself, and offload it later if you need. 

Partner and I ducked into a kebab restaurant that my foodie friends had recommended. We ordered a samosa and had a long talk about an important topic. When we returned to the world, it was already 4:10pm. We walked back to the mainstage. 

At 4:40pm, the announcer summoned me on stage. First to eat 6 momos wins. I arranged the momos on my plate. He counted down. Go! 

I stuffed the first momo in my mouth. Delicious flavor popped. 

Then the second. Third. 

1 minute 16 seconds later, the victor claimed his crown. I earned second place, at ~1minute 30 seconds. 

In the second heat, Partner competed in the very seat I had taken for heat #1. To spare her jaw the hard work, she ripped the momo into pieces, prompting the announcer to comment, “Very interesting strategy down here…” 

Partner received last place. I received second place. 

We both won, in that we both ate free momos. Even my sister won, since Partner brought her the two momos she didn’t finish during the contest.

My strategic update for my next gurgitation competition: 

  • Stuff my mouth with as much food as possible. Chewing is a planar force: twice the food in my mouth is chewed in less than twice the time. 

Next year, if I return, I’m winning that competition. 

Give me mo’. Give me mo’. Give me mo!