Sidewalk math

5 years, 4 psychologists, and 3 days of SOAR

Hi! If you have a min to start by playing the audio recording above, I recommend it, but you’ll also be fine without it. Alrighty, let’s begin:

SOAR turned 5 in March and I would not have known without seeing ‘2021’ in the title of this post. It’s convenient timing, though, because we’ll have a couple of firsts this week to mark the occasion: SOAR’s first framework and a double feature (with another post).

Writing SOAR has never been a breeze, but today’s and Wednesday’s were a real bitch. Depending on how we count, it took 4-7 tries to figure out the structure, another to wander into the fun, and a couple more to weave in the ease and flow. Between these takes were also a few tears, which was another first, because as much as this newsletter is the outcome of a flow state, turning on my SOAR-writing brain has always required brute force, spurred by something that people often tell me — that I think differently.

I hear it as your compliment while equally absorbing it as a question — do I actually think differently? Because in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t tell you anything that you don’t already know.

This photo captures so much of how I see SOAR — a playful game of sidewalk math, where theorems and proofs are constructed from relatable emotions and experiences. I use hearts, ice cream, and fairy tales instead of the Adam Grant approach of citing studies alongside facts and figures, but we’re building similar castles in the same sandbox (albeit his is much, much larger than mine!).

Nearly everything I publish is in the spirit of encouraging two things:

• thinking critically and kindly, both irrespective of and inclusive of yourself

• showing up as your best self, which includes creating space for others to

When I put it like that, I don’t think I think all that differently, especially since parents ask this of their kids every day (albeit in other ways). But I’ve lived long enough to also know that I am wired a little differently, and the tricky part is that I don’t usually feel it in a good way, but in a lonely way.

This dynamic between difference and loneliness is what’s behind the brute force needed to write SOAR, because I’m (a) not trying to be different, but (b) eager to feel less alone in navigating the workplace with more intention and humanity. I’ve put a lot of thought into what makes me feel each and the easiest way to explain this is oddly with more psychologists!

what makes me different

When people’s behaviors are shaped by their consequences, per B. F. Skinner’s theory, mine are too, but also seem more rooted in values. I first decide who I am and who I want to be and then let opportunities unveil themselves to me. It’s why I was just as surprised as friends were to learn that I landed at Nike, LinkedIn, and where I am today.

So often, who people are and how they behave are a function of who they’ve set out to be — a C-suite, marathon finisher, homeowner. There’s nothing wrong with this approach; it just hasn’t been mine. And the tension is that the very approach that makes me feel like myself is also the one that makes me feel alone.

known, but still alone

“Loneliness does not come from having no people around you, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to you.” —Carl Jung

Unsurprisingly, I feel differently. My loneliness stems from being able to effectively communicate the things that are important to me, seeing others say the same (yay!) but behave differently (nay…) for the reasons we just discussed — people perceive that what they believe won’t necessarily help them achieve. In this sense, I don’t believe that they think all that differently, but understandably want to feel more conveniently (because leaning into outcomes often feels smarter and better than leading with values).

This brings me back to my original question — do I actually think differently? Or, do I simply choose to feel differently? I argue more of the latter, that I have a higher willingness to feel like shit for my right reasons (e.g., a 2.5-year job hunt to work for a good human for 2.5 years and counting). This is what Angela Duckworth calls grit. But my tolerance stems more from having seen my parents live the Chinese expression 吃苦 (translation: eat bitterness), where there’s a cultural expectation to do so stoically (that they kindly did not place on me).

the cost of authenticity

Two questions come to mind when I lead with my values:

• is it worth it?

• can I afford it? (not only financially, but holistically)

I’m not rich, but am well-situated enough to optimize for health and harmony. (Consider this an unsponsored plug for Angela Duckworth’s new book Situated coming out in September.)

As for whether it’s worth it, I’m going to answer in the context of SOAR. I’m five years in and sadly don’t feel less alone (which is not to say that I haven’t grown). But some of you have told me that you have, that SOAR has helped you think more critically and kindly enough to see a better version of yourself. Your willingness to not only see it, but be it is what will eventually make this worth it. I don't know when it will happen (and know things are going to get worse before they get better), but believe it will because 吃苦 (eating bitterness) is often tied to another idiom: 苦盡甘來 (translation: bitterness finishes, sweetness begins).

As for what gets me through, that’s what Day 2 and Day 3 dive into.