Interpreting feedback

"Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life."

Steve Jobs

When I was in third grade, I had a teacher, Ms. Hendershot, who was challenging. She motivated her students through the fear of public humiliation, spoke to me condescendingly, and had a clear idea of what an ideal student should be—one I didn’t fit into. At the time, I couldn’t diagnose all of this. I just knew she didn’t like me, and I didn’t like her either.

My mom loves to tell a story about a parent-teacher meeting she had with Ms. Hendershot. Ms. Hendershot told her that I didn’t pay enough attention in class, but admitted that every time she called on me, I knew the answer. After listing ways I could improve, my mom asked her a simple question: “Has he ever told you a joke?”

Puzzled, Ms. Hendershot said no.

“Well then,” my mom said, “You don’t know my son.”

That night, instead of telling me what Ms. Hendershot said, my mom asked me why I didn’t let her get to know me. I responded, “She doesn’t need to know me. She needs to teach me.”

I’ve always had a bit of rebellion in me. But the real takeaway from this story is that my mom was my advocate. And as my advocate, she knew bad feedback when she heard it.

That’s something I’ve learned to appreciate as I’ve grown older. Throughout my career, I’ve received so much feedback. And what I’ve come to realize is that good feedback comes from people who actually know you—who understand what makes you tick and what drives your success.

Sometimes, feedback resonates with the person giving it more than the person receiving it. It might be what worked for them, or what they wish they’d heard. Or it might be feedback that’s meant to push you into a mold you’ll never fit.

For me, one example was when I was told to become a more charismatic, commanding presenter. But that’s not me. It’s not what I’m good at, and even if I worked hard at it, I’d never excel. It wasn’t until a friend gave me feedback that really clicked: lean into your strengths—present like a storyteller, gathering people around the proverbial campfire.

So I did. And it worked.

Find your advocates and listen to them. Or listen to your best advocate—yourself. But don’t listen to your version of Ms. Hendershot.

As you go through life, people will give you feedback. I hope you listen to it all but only act on what truly resonates with who you are. Don’t try to be a lesser version of someone else. Be the best version of yourself. It will take you further than trying to become someone else’s idea of success.

The power of representation

“You can’t be what you can’t see.”

Marian Wright Edelman

Wednesday mattered.
 
In 17 years in media and advertising, I've worked for four agencies—holdco and independent, media-only and full-service—in Chicago, Austin, and Dallas. As a part of that, I've worked for so many truly outstanding managers. But there was one commonality: none of my managers looked like me. Not my manager's managers. Not my manager's manager's managers. Not a single one was a South Asian man.
 
However, I never considered it. I had excellent mentors to help me along my path.
 
Early in my career, my director told me Rishad Tobaccowala would help us with a client project. I never met or spoke with Rishad, but that's when I learned about him. I've "followed" his wisdom since then.
 
Rishad's book, Restoring the Soul of Business, has many great lessons, but one tale struck me. Rishad’s director told him, "“I am sorry to say that you are unlikely to be as successful as your skills and drive should ideally make you, because you are too different and people will not be comfortable with you.” The implication, of course, was that my dark skin and Indian ancestry would work against me as I attempted to move up the career ladder."
 
Reading this section of his book, I felt seen. I was seen by someone who had never met me. I was seen in a way that I feel no past manager of mine has ever seen me. It made me think back to all my past managers and realize I never had a manager who looked like me.
 
I feel incredibly lucky to be where I am in my career and often wonder how I even got here. I often remind myself that I am "just a guy," understanding that I am one person working with brilliant individuals to generate incredible solutions for our clients. I dread introducing myself by title. I tell people I learn a lot about someone by how they treat me without knowing my title or position. But what is unsaid is self-promotion is discouraged in my culture. The group means more than the individual. I battle with the fact that modesty and humility are ingrained in me, but in my field, self-promotion is required for advancement. Many cultures value humility, but it's nuanced, and I wish I had a mentor early in my career to help me navigate those nuances. When success required changing ingrained values, talking to someone like myself would have been good.
 
In the moments when I questioned if someone like me could make it in this industry, seeing Rishad’s success helped me push past the mental hurdles required to achieve my own. I recognize that Rishad’s strengths, struggles, and story are different than mine in so many ways – but the point is that each of us has pieces of ourselves that can inspire. When people are generous enough to spend their time and share their wisdom with a community they might never meet, it creates possibilities that might not otherwise be possible.
 
Never underestimate the extraordinary power of mentorship, representation, and generosity.
 
Wednesday was my first time seeing Rishad speak in person.

The power of perspective

“One moment the world is as it is. The next, it is something entirely different. Something it has never been before.”

Anne Rice

On February 19th, 2016, when you were still seven weeks from being born, I thought was going to die.  It was a sensation I had never felt before, and even thinking about it now haunts me.  

The sensation was debilitating. Completely overwhelming my body and mind.  I could feel my heart beat through every part of my body.   Simultaneously crushing my chest inward, while seemingly being ripped out of it. It caused me to be delirious. My mind was in full tailspin, circling uncontrollably.  

For someone who has never been afraid of dying, I was beyond terrified.  In bed, I lied completely and utterly still to try to calm myself.

Let's rewind to weeks prior, where I had first started feeling "heart palpitations."  I didn't really know what they were, but I had been having light chest pains.  Mind you, I am not a "healthy person."  I am significantly overweight and previously diagnosed with both high blood pressure and high cholesterol.  And while the chest pains were concerning, they were often short lived, non-severe, and given everything that was happening in life at the time, they were inconveniently timed.  I told myself that there wasn't enough time to worry about this with everything happening at work, trying to prepare for what became a maddening move, and also managing the deceptively ambiguous "parenthood preparation."

Spoiler alert if/when you ever become a parent: preparing for parenthood is like trying to do a "color-by-numbers" piece of art but being told the picture will be completely ruined if you pick the wrong hue of blue. But the instructions just say "blue" and then you are handed the below:

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"Blue"

Oh yeah. And you don't even know what you are coloring... and there are a thousand people making a case for each damn crayon. And then you have to do the same thing for every other color. It's so much fun.

Fast-forward back to Friday, February 19th. I walk out of one of the most infuriating meetings of my career, and then the above sensation starts.  Yes, this started at work.  I knew I was upset, I knew that my heart was racing, I knew I couldn't focus.  And while I had never felt heart palpitations of this intensity in the past, it was always short-lived, so I did what any stupid person would do: nothing.  It only got worse as the the afternoon turned to evening and only partially subsided about eight hours after that meeting.

The next day, your mom and I started out early, looking for a place to live due to the unexpected move I previously mentioned.  And after hours of visiting places and having absolutely no luck, my heart began to race again.

That afternoon we had planned to go to a baby class (all about how to take care of you!).  We had a lengthy discussion that it might be best for me to go home and rest given what had happened the day before, but this class was important.  We ended up going to the class and when we walked in, the nurse/teacher smiled cheek-to-cheek and said "I'm so glad you guys are here, I know you guys have a lot going on with your move."

Her statement made me pause.

Because while she somehow knew that the timing of the class wasn't as convenient as it seemed when we signed up weeks before, she vocalized our prioritization of why we were there that day.

I replied with appreciation and let her know that despite what was going on with the move (and what she didn't know had happened at work), there was nothing more important than our family and being at that class, learning to be good parents, was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

This might not seem powerful to you.  You are probably thinking, "...you didn't already know that?" But the truth is, while I knew it, I had lost sight of it.  And until that moment, I was lost in the meaningless and trivial.

But the second my perspective shifted back to what is most important to me in life, my chest pains stopped.  It was like someone flipped a switch and everything changed.  The stress and anxiety that had plagued me for the previous two days ceased.  And to think, all it took was some perspective.

As much as I wish it wouldn't, at some point life is going to get rough.  And in those moments, I would implore you seek perspective.  Whether it is understanding a new perspective, or in my case, remembering an old one, understanding an experience's relationship to your values and beliefs can completely shift your interpretation of said experience.  Seemingly monumental objects can become minuscule and vice versa. Seemingly insurmountable odds can become attainable. 

And I'll end this by reminding you that while you might perceive this to be easy and unnecessary, it is entirely too easy to lose your perspective.  Because while I was fine by that Saturday night, the following Monday morning I was visiting the emergency room.  But that is a story for another day.