Explorewell

As I prepare to head home for the holidays, flying alone with my one-year-old (my husband will come a week later), I am admittedly a bit nervous. We have already crossed the Atlantic and Pacific with him, but since he was still a baby, it was quite easy. Now that he is moving into toddler stage he is basically a constant tornado, hard to contain even in a half hour lunch out, much less an airplane seat for 14 hours. But on top of this, flying in general always makes me a bit tense. Since I am married to a Spaniard and we live in Japan, we travel a lot. But this doesn’t mean I actually like the travel part—the getting there.

I have probably done my most fervent praying ever while on airplanes. Maybe there is actually something healthy in this periodic consideration of death every time I fly. It helps me keep things in perspective. No matter how much I try to remind myself of statistics—that I am much safer in a plane than a car—it still doesn’t help very much when we hit pockets of turbulence and all I can think about is that I’m in a metal tube flying through the air, totally unsuspended, with zero control.

Upon moving to Fukuoka, the city office provided us with a few packets of information, one of which was a garbage guide. Japanese garbage sorting is quite the chore, but the non-optional recycling set-up is good motivation (obligation). It explained that when throwing away sharp, broken objects, to wrap them in newspaper, therefore, caring for the safety of the person who will collect or move the bag next. There was a little speech bubble aside noting that this is practicing the Japanese spirit of wa: looking out for the good of the other.

It doesn’t take long to sense this spirit in Japan.

My husbands’ co-workers go above and beyond to accommodate us and facilitate our lives here. We have sensed the ripples of Japanese hospitality from day one when a group of his co-workers rented two cars for us and took us around the city for an entire day to buy all of the basics to make our house live-able—ALL day, on their Saturday off. They then proceeded to stay and help assemble when we said, “No, please, kudasai, go enjoy your night.”

We later experienced yet another moment—the kind that humbles you with gratitude and pushes you to evaluate the extent to which you consider others. While washing dishes at 10:30 the other night, I heard a gushing sound when I turned on the water. We ran outside to see if a pipe had burst, and our 80-year-old neighbor (who has already helped us in many ways despite the language barrier and made us lovely wooden craftsman pieces for our home) was already there tending to the issue. After he and my husband wrestled with pipes and knobs they finally got the water turned off. At 6:30 the next morning we heard the first bang of his hammer. And mind you, this is after two of my husband’s co-workers have been in touch with plumbers and the real estate agency on a Friday night at 11:00 p.m. Before we could call them in the morning to alert them that the issue was being fixed, at 7:30 a.m. a co-worker, the president of the real estate company, and a plumber—the co-worker with a large bottle of cold water and the real estate agent (8 months pregnant) with a balloon of congratulations for our baby.

“He always thought of the sea as 'la mar' which is what people call her in Spanish when they love her. Sometimes those who love her say bad things of her but they are always said as though she were a woman. Some of the younger fishermen, those who used buoys as floats for their lines and had motorboats, bought when the shark livers had brought much money, spoke of her as 'el mar' which is masculine.They spoke of her as a contestant or a place or even an enemy. But the old man always thought of her as feminine and as something that gave or withheld great favours, and if she did wild or wicked things it was because she could not help them. The moon affects her as it does a woman, he thought.”

― Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

You have got to grow gills to live in Galicia. I knew it from my time here a few years ago but today re-confirmed it. Just hours before having to walk through the street-turned-river (above), I had to run an errand and grabbed a taxi due to the conditions. My accent immediately gives me away. The sweet older taxi driver began to say, "Yes, well, in Galicia it rains a lot." Also very Galician: to state the obvious.

I replied, "Yes, yes, my husband tells me that here in Galicia there is a phrase 'Rain is art.'"

"Oh yes, yes, they say that. Rain is art. But you would think the city could dedicate itself to another art."

The natural next connection from Megan Deal (see yesterday's post) was Amanda Buck. It couldn't be better timing to reflect on our meeting because today is her day of birth! We are all closing out our "twenties" after meeting on the front end of those promising years. They are exciting because you have a blank canvas before you and are set free, often from the University for many, to start the adventure of piecing it all together. They are also treacherous years of self-engulfing introspection, desperation from feeling lost, not knowing how to commit or in what direction, being easily molded by any school of thought, having to learn to sift through those teachings and decide things for yourself. The worst of times, the best of times. 

I met Amanda on a hot, sticky, Southern afternoon in the old schoolhouse where PieLab served its first customers. She had recently traveled through South America and we made our first connections over travel recollections, agreeing that train and bus travel is when you get in your best thinking time. 

We worked side by side for months trying to carve out what the heck we were actually doing in Greensboro. We were granted government money to teach classes about small businesses (of which we knew almost nil, though quickly learned or found people who did know and could teach while we "facilitated"); we painted Charles, the barber, a new sign; we taught a group of students studying for their GED how to develop a product from local resources and sell it. We baked pies galore, scrubbed dishes, looked out the window on rainy days with Bon Iver stanzas floating in the background. We planted a mega garden, only to realize our hose didn't reach the whole thing and that we would have to haul the watering can back and forth to fill it in order to water the other half because we were too cheap to buy a new one. 

She, like Megan, was more of a midwesterner which often created comical contrasts in our sensibilities, even vocabulary. One day she told me, "I think I've picked up on saying 'might can' like you do." I had no idea that phrase was noteworthy because it wasn't until then that my little Alabama self had realized that "might can" is a very incorrect conjugation of to be able. What can I say? You live, you learn.

A little less than a year after leaving PieLab, after I had been in Spain almost the whole year and Amanda stayed in Greensboro to freelance (because she too had met her now-husband there who was still working one more year with Rural Studio), we rendezvoused in Madrid. We wandered the Sunday morning Rastro, had a very stressful moment in the bus station trying to figure out the best time to head south to Granada; arrived there in the middle of the night, wandered the old cobble-stoned streets of the old Moorish neighborhood to our hostel that turned out to be hippi-central—not sure what else we would expect from Granada—complete with a treehouse in the courtyard. We dreamed of the glory days of the Alhambra while craning our neck to take in all of its arabic-patience-made intricacies. Ate some of the best olives of my life for breakfast in Sevilla (not a Spanish tradition—they were in a big vat on the counter so we asked the waiter for some samples, two days in a row). Saw Easter week processions with throngs of pilgrims and saint statues, and solemn music from local bands. She returned to my corner of Galicia for our last few days where a friend (now my brother-in-law) took us to a cliff to take in the vast Atlantic views. I had come very near death right before moving to Spain when I had a clot in my lungs. I remember thinking in that moment looking over the ocean, "I am alive." I have air in my lungs with each new breath, which is your one of few main requirements to keep on living. And I was immensely grateful. 

Amanda has gone on to work on staff with the Obama campaign design team, and is now at one of the top design grad schools in the country. Making it work. 

(photo credit: I stole it from Megan's facebook)

If I learned anything early on in my professional life (let's be honest, it wasn't anything but a typhoon of one lesson after another), it was that it never hurts to send an email. The worst thing that can happen is someone can say "no" or simply ignore it. Big whoop. 

While job searching after college (badly positioned in my hometown in Alabama and only looking everywhere but there), a bit more than I wanted a job, I wanted an adventure. I came across Project M and that there would be a session in Alabama coming soon. It was too late to apply, but I still wanted to check out what they were doing. I stalled my email to John B. directly because I was a bit intimidated (turns out I shouldn't have been). Then on Swissmiss a few days later saw a post about a young designer, Megan Deal, selling everything that didn't fit in her car and moving to Alabama with a Project M initiative, PieLab (among a million other projects she worked on that year). She had launched goodbyewafflemaker.com where she was selling her belongings. I thought it was brilliant and decided that since she was a girl and young she would be more accessible to email (though one, still a really dumb thought, and two, I had her pictured as older than me and having everything figured out, but I'm actually a few months older and we have navigated together the treacherous waters of the 20's together as we "figure it all out"). She graciously emailed me back and we briefly met her first week in Alabama at a design talk presenting what Project M was. I was enamored by the whole shebang and we made plans for me to head to Greensboro for the weekend and check out what all would be happening there. 

I made the three hour drive, met her and a whole crew of folks on the porch of PieLab, at the time, an old wooden schoolhouse tucked on a side street. We connected immediately—I found her sensibilities quite different and interesting, her being her midwestern and me very southern. I loved her analytical mind and how reflective she is, always asking the hard questions; but also her attitude to get the work done no matter what it required, be it a literal shovel or a laptop. 

That weekend visit turned into me going home, packing my bags and returning for several months of helping develop PieLab, exploring new depths of design, and delving into the joys and trials of rural life. One perk of living in the middle of nowhere with a small group of young people from all corners of the States and a few from abroad, is that you have time and space for long dinners—potluck, where everyone happened to be a great cook. The wine would flow in the hodgepodge glasses from the thrift store; the back door open letting in a breeze. Dusk would turn to night and the conversations would roll on. Naturally anyone working on this kind of project (and those of Rural Studio nearby) is a bit of a dreamer. I'm sure we had some notions so idealistic that to hear them repeated now we would probably keel over with laughter, but there were also lessons and revelations, processing and dreaming, from that era that have molded very important strands in all of our formation as designers and citizens, for which I am very proud and thankful. 

We all got a bit antsy after things began to change and all went on to new ventures, an often criticized characteristic of young designers, but at that age I think it's also a natural cycle. However, our friendship remains and we continue to share our developments from across the oceans. She's the one who has suggested continuing a blog as a "practice platform" and sticking to action plans—hence the very random posts the last few days. Having creative community to push you is absolutely fundamental (another spot-on Swissmiss/99u find recently quoted the fantastic Seth Godin: “Association: Who you hang out with determines what you dream about and what you collide with. And the collisions and the dreams lead to your changes.And the changes are what you become.Change the outcome by changing your circle.”).

"My freedom thus consists in my moving about within the narrow frame that I have assigned to myself for each one of my undertakings. I shall go even further: my freedom will be so much the greater and more meaningful the more narrowly I limit my field of action and the more I surround myself with obstacles. Whatever diminishes constraint diminishes strength. The more constraints one imposes, the more one frees oneself of the claims that shackle the spirit." 

This was a recent reply to a project quote I sent to a potential client. A few years ago I would have maybe pouted, or shook my fist at my screen in anger, or touted an attitude of "well then, skip you!" 

This time I surprisingly had no such reaction, rather only thought, "No worries, that's the natural weeding out process." I don't have time to spend on this project for any less than the estimated quote. And it's a simple fact: they don't have it in their budget for custom design work. No big deal. But it does lead to a point to consider. 

Working with a designer of any type is working with a professional. They offer a service—a creative, intellectual service. This client I'm sure has had to pay a caterer for an event for which I'm sure they allotted money and knew it would cost a professional service fee. I assume by the scope of their work that they print lots of collateral, again, for which I suppose they understand that the printer has prices and charges them according to how he charges all other customers based on his time and expenses. It baffles me sometimes why when it comes to design, people think you will charge pennies, or "do them a favor" or that you can somehow cut your price, when in reality you estimated the time it would take, multiplied that by your hourly rate and quoted them a fair rate. 

The smell of incense is drifting in my small apartment door—someone down below must be burning shrub. But the smoke is laced with something different than the typical smell of burning autumn leaves. It instantly takes my mind to Mass. I think that's one of the purposes of incense use in Mass—that it helps engages all of our senses and recall things to memory. As a Catholic convert, this seemed to me at first too mystical, too showy. But I've come to have an affinity for how Catholic liturgy doesn't forsake that we are humans—physical beings with senses. There is something very grounding to me in the acknowledgement of my flesh and bones. That yes, we are spiritual beings, but even my eyes and nose help me engage in Mass.

Check out the new podcast episode up today! You may download it in the iTunes store—search Explorewell, or listen here. 

In this episode I am joined by Josh Lafayette, illustrator and designer based in Boston, MA (that's his fantastic art above!). He shares super helpful insights on the creation process, illustration tools, the business of freelance and how to get work.

Second in our series on the implications of the new network-based economy: Hyper-globalization meets Hyper-localization.

In the massive spread of connectivity hatched from the network-based economy, we are experiencing a paradoxical result of hyper-globalization and concurrent hyper-localization. While there are larger industrial networks revolutionizing the global market, social media is one obvious example of connectivity that touches individuals and industries: we can seamlessly filter through intimate personal messages laced with global data streaming to us on the same feed. Social media platforms allow a local bar to promote open mic night and simultaneously, an international brand to advertise a new pair of shoes. These networks empower mom-and-pop flower shops to publicize and the in same capacity provide a medium for rebel groups to organize nation-wide government coups. The implications can be dizzying but amazing if embraced.  

In the initial waves of globalization, the pendulum swung toward conformity among markets, goods and cultural endeavors. Now that the novelty of having quick access to the entire planet is no longer new, people are pivoting—revelling in the actuality that they live in a real, local place. Though we can easily connect globally, we corporeally occupy the same space and environment. While keeping one foot on the global stage and an eye on the cues signaled there, we act on the local stage, carrying out the cues given there. What happens in local innovation and cultivation is what most directly impacts and improves our lives; but the extent to which local systems are connected to global networks will determine their ability to scale solutions and services. 

Modernism tried to box us into one-stop-shop solutions for everyone, everywhere. The new era (TBD on what "-ism" history will coin it), takes into consideration the complexity of cultural layers and local assets, allowing for more localized solutions, informed by globalized data. While we cannot pretend suburbia and small cities are not falling victim to one homogenized development after another, at least urban centers are flourishing in local identity. Portland feels specifically Portlandish; Madrid beats with its characteristic Madrileño traits, and Tokyo bustles with its "Tokyo-ness." You may travel on a physical street or possibly in a metro or bike lane, enjoying or despising how clean or dirty your surroundings are; you may stop to sit in a café made possible by reasonable rent; or run an errand to a local store whose owner keeps a good watch on the street, making you feel safe. Local leaders understand needs on a deeper level. Nations are often too colossal to create palpable change within the daily lives of constituents. They can lay the groundwork of legislature to protect freedom and agreements, promote business and build inter-state networks. On the contrary, a city's responsibilities are much more pragmatic: sidewalks, parks, affordable housing, a fertile scene for entrepreneurship, cultural centers and businesses. Cities are more agile, less idealistically polarized and can accomplish ventures faster. The beloved Jane Jacobs stated decades ago, "The economic foundation of cities is trade." City-sized trade economies succeed based on local networks that are enhanced by their connections to global networks. As cities flourish, so will the macro system of inter-city trade, creating a healthy global economy.

Within city trade, there is renewed value placed on craftsmanship and creating. Beth Comstock, CMO of General Electric, in a Monocle podcast blurb, sheds light on the current environment: "There is an interesting convergence happening right now—this moment of coalescence where you have craftsmanship, the making of things, a rediscovery of the value of the tactile, and at the same time, this incredible speed and unprecedented innovation in the virtual and digital world." This coalescence is creating more access to resources, linking industrial products to virtual platforms, giving businesses admittance to more markets and connecting people to more goods and information. Access is created by expanding non-hierarchical entry points, creating a more democratized marketplace which leads to more diversity and cultivates a healthier economic ecosystem—locally and globally. Networks often proliferate on virtual platforms and innovation in daily objects often mean more digitization—both resulting in a more buttons and screens. It is interesting, though, that in a world where it can feel like endless reflections in a house of screens, the hand-made, the DIY, the artisanal products of the world are thriving. There is a new emphasis among consumers to understand the process of how materials for a product were sourced, the method in which a product was made, and in addition, by whom it was fabricated and where—often the closer to home, the more desirable.

Almost every time I've headed through the city center for the last few weeks I have passed by this little shop building out its interior making me antsy for the day it would finally open so I can add another coffee shop to my list (nothing says getting some good research time in like a great coffee shop). And today was finally the day! Charming atmosphere, and even more delightful people.