tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90702976999553394242024-03-05T09:14:39.143-08:00notes from a coffee shop.Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.comBlogger305125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-46985633888627942872023-01-08T00:46:00.006-08:002023-01-08T05:32:55.993-08:00'Just Say What They Did'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmd0KSKhuSgBsPmInSqiZe0OZOBMMHx6P6QL3aV2b7RNubyHv90ibo8MdMXqbVm90A6cp7zQzhTRZnJDo84DAGMn0deCT3U7OMxAC07dF-Qk84SZyMh5aYhdefn1rbQNzsZtq2N1r_RC23E_o6GaiaD01qOLtT7GAmDsj4t1dMEwsXYUKnmW14jBoM/s1280/blog%20post%20header%20(1).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmd0KSKhuSgBsPmInSqiZe0OZOBMMHx6P6QL3aV2b7RNubyHv90ibo8MdMXqbVm90A6cp7zQzhTRZnJDo84DAGMn0deCT3U7OMxAC07dF-Qk84SZyMh5aYhdefn1rbQNzsZtq2N1r_RC23E_o6GaiaD01qOLtT7GAmDsj4t1dMEwsXYUKnmW14jBoM/w640-h360/blog%20post%20header%20(1).png" width="640" /></a></div><p>In journalism, they teach you that when somebody dies, the proper words to use are just that: "<i>So-and-so died," </i>and here's what you need to know about their death. No need for "passed away" or any other euphemisms of the sort. Just say what they did, what happened to them: they died. </p><p>We were taught this in our journalism classes. I was told this over and over again at NPR, where I spent the final few weeks of my internship cataloguing and updating obituaries. I was reminded again at MSNBC as we reported about tragedy after tragedy until I finally reached NBC and was the one telling the younger reporters just that: <i>Just say what they did, what happened to them.</i></p><p>But despite all of that, I have always struggled with it outside of my former profession. In 2015, <a href="http://www.seetraciwrite.com/2015/08/thank-you-for-being-friend-nablopomo-7.html" target="_blank">when a good friend from college died</a>, I sent an email to our former newspaper colleagues to let them know of his passing but couldn't bring myself to use the word. In 2018, <a href="http://www.seetraciwrite.com/2018/02/we-were-lucky-ones.html" target="_blank">when one of my best friends died</a>, I found myself again in a position where I was telling people the news – but that word continued to elude me. And for the last couple of days, I'm once again scared of that word because it's so final, so real: <a href="https://twitter.com/traciglee/status/1611219083546234881" target="_blank">another person who I loved so deeply and so completely is gone.</a></p><p><i>Just say what they did</i>. Here's an exhaustive, yet still non-comprehensive, list:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Greg had a respect for work that began in college (and probably even before that): I met Greg in 2010 when I interviewed and hired him for a staff job at the New University. He walked into the interview wearing a suit and we made fun of him for it later because what 20-year-old kid shows up to a college newspaper in a suit? Greg did. </li><li>Greg painted pictures with words: Greg was quiet and reserved, but the first time I edited <a href="https://newuniversity.org/2010/06/01/by-the-touch-of-a-hand/" target="_blank">one of his articles</a>, I knew he had so much to say. <i>"A world of color unfolds behind the museum’s drab brown walls. On their individual platforms, the clay blends a thousand times over: red, green, brown, purple, blue and yellow cease to be separate, mixing into a single entity as each person leaves their mark." </i>I loved it and loved it beyond college, even when I was mercilessly editing out his descriptions of tumbleweeds years later in an NBC feature I sent him to Manzanar for.</li><li>Greg was the life of the party: The life and, more often than not, the source of chaos. I won't go into the exact details (if you know, you know), but after the infamous Night of the Living Groog, we knew there was no going back. A party without Greg (and Groog) definitely felt more boring. Years later at a bar in New York, we were cleaning up spilled popcorn off the ground and I was slightly annoyed, but then I looked over at Greg's face and he was grinning and laughing, and it instantly made me laugh too.</li><li>Greg made time count, even if time wasn't on anyone's side: I graduated in 2011 and Greg stayed at UCI a fifth year. One morning in DC, I was up and getting ready for work and saw a Facebook Messenger message pop up from Greg, who was pulling an all-nighter across the country. I called him and we talked for less than 10 minutes, but it was nice to hear a familiar voice before I began my commute. It became a regular thing when he'd pull all-nighters to hear from him as I was waking up, but I think it was one of the things that kept us close when we were 3,000 miles apart. </li><li>Greg didn't just make <i>an effort</i>; he always made <i>the</i> effort: No matter how far Greg needed to drive, he did it to see and to help the people he cared about. In 2013, he drove almost 200 miles (and that's just one way) to visit with me when I was in Albuquerque and he was in Farmington. If that isn't an expression of care, I don't know what is.</li><li>Greg loved journalism: He loved writing the news, reporting the news, reading the news – and even in those times he was exhausted by it, he never doubted it was his calling. Some of my favorite parts of my visits to his cities were seeing the newsrooms he called home. He was so proud, and I was so proud of him.</li><li>Greg loved Los Angeles: Greg <i>is</i> Los Angeles. Even when he was living away from it, the two were so intertwined. When I was re-learning how to drive, I was in a car with Greg panicking about the 101 and he kept pointing at the buildings and the sky and saying, "Just look! You can see the city! Look at LA!" And I screamed at him, "I CAN'T, I'M LOOKING AT THE ROAD." (Today, I drove down the 101 in the car Greg helped me choose, and I looked at LA and I saw Greg in the beauty of it all – and I know that will always remain.)</li><li>Greg loved people. Full stop. If you knew him, you felt it.</li></ul><div><i>Just say what they did.</i> </div><div><br /></div><div>Greg made an impact on the people he met, the profession he thrived in, the spaces he moved through. He filled rooms with the sound of his laughter and the scents of the delicious meals he cooked. He listened when you needed to vent and he checked in when you had a hard day. When something good happened and you told him, he'd go, "Hey-o!" and beam at you. If you needed a favor, he'd be ready to help before you could even tell him what you needed. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Just say what they did</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>I could go on and on, and I'd never reach the bottom of the box in my heart labeled "Greg." Instead, I'll leave you with <a href="https://newuniversity.org/2012/06/06/a-year-of-infinite-dreaming/" target="_blank">his own words</a> – from 2012 when he was graduating college: </div><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">"In the words of the Russian poet Boris Pasternak, 'Let’s scatter our words as the garden scatters amber zest, absentmindedly and generously bit by bit by bit.' I hope now that as I scatter my words, they blossom and bring me into a world beyond my imagination — a beautiful flowering of the infinite." </blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"> </blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYxsSkx39PbSsexDAuUzd2R9nZqYWeOdNBRjC3UYXtpL1h_sgKN4TcEyTk1N5grO6KwhXpPCUHkydM47nBx58J1MrDUovHVshGoepes4EqI8zE-XN1dQlnEI257EmOwe9lgkaqzyY-XqN0mzbimJ3hS9rNflgIyuJNMTTOuhMIyCTJY3i58iNU43x8/s1280/blog%20post%20header%20(2).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYxsSkx39PbSsexDAuUzd2R9nZqYWeOdNBRjC3UYXtpL1h_sgKN4TcEyTk1N5grO6KwhXpPCUHkydM47nBx58J1MrDUovHVshGoepes4EqI8zE-XN1dQlnEI257EmOwe9lgkaqzyY-XqN0mzbimJ3hS9rNflgIyuJNMTTOuhMIyCTJY3i58iNU43x8/w640-h360/blog%20post%20header%20(2).png" width="640" /></a></div>Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-47430587453406210672022-07-20T23:59:00.007-07:002022-08-24T16:14:32.863-07:00Living On Record<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq1Tf7fVKlpfIHTbVGkH9BkrM50tnMdENO0eFo-ebAxVcfx1LUL00TvTkNjGzGJniIbZQN_djFrT86_Mqn8tnrDtu2zQz9FKWlYM-NmEK-YIErZeN4Qu-Av3ysnd8c6MWqazG9ul1L6rZulvWZvA_J7zhjsG2YvBYr3UE1CykoyDAYnWgsFNaWNHG0/s1280/blog%20post%20header.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq1Tf7fVKlpfIHTbVGkH9BkrM50tnMdENO0eFo-ebAxVcfx1LUL00TvTkNjGzGJniIbZQN_djFrT86_Mqn8tnrDtu2zQz9FKWlYM-NmEK-YIErZeN4Qu-Av3ysnd8c6MWqazG9ul1L6rZulvWZvA_J7zhjsG2YvBYr3UE1CykoyDAYnWgsFNaWNHG0/w640-h360/blog%20post%20header.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>We're almost eight months into 2022, and I never set a "new year's goal" for myself. Not a "resolution," per se – but every year, for the past few years, <a href="http://www.seetraciwrite.com/2021/01/after-chaos.html">I've picked a word to live by for the year</a> as a sort of philosophy for how I wanted to approach life. Last year was "encourage" with the goal of maximizing the ways I show up to support others. </p><p>As this year began, I thought a lot about what word I wanted to "live by," and I came up with ... well, nothing. "I'll think about it later," I told a friend who also did something similar. </p><p>Later came and went, and I still didn't come up with anything. It's now July, almost August, and I still have ... nothing. And "nothing" is not a good word to live by: it's a feeling, an emotion, a state that I've been finding myself in lately. I can't figure out if I haven't been able to come up with anything because I'm burnt out or tired, or if there's something greater at play here: my own mental health.</p><p>A few years ago during a leadership program, we took these tests<a href="https://sg.wantedly.com/companies/wantedly_sg/post_articles/265976" target="_blank"> to determine the types of birds we are in the workplace</a>. The goal was to understand our own strengths and weaknesses, and also understand the strengths and weaknesses of our colleagues (while also recognizing that the strongest ecosystem is made up of a diversity of birds). We took these long tests, and were presented with results that reflected both the type of bird we were in the workplace, as well as the type of bird we were in our non-work lives. I was identified as an eagle and a dove, which I was told at the time was an odd combination. It made sense though, when I really thought about it: I'm decisive at work (by nature of the work I've done, I didn't have a choice), and could also carry a bit of a temper when my expectations wasn't met. But outside of work, I tended to be a dove: introverted, a team player, a peacemaker – the perfect reflection of a <a href="https://www.enneagraminstitute.com/type-2" target="_blank">Type 2</a>. </p><p>The challenge was to find a way to melt the positive attributes of both sides into all parts of my life, and while I think I've been successful in being more dove-like at work, I am pretty sure I have no idea now to be an eagle outside of the office.</p><p>I have this weird sort of insecurity of never having fit into cliques growing up. My alopecia, as a child, made me withdraw from the world quite a bit, and by the time I hit high school and was actually making friends, I was always worried that people wouldn't stick around ... so I focused on quantity over quality. When I look back at the friends I made in high school and who I'm still friends with today from those days, it's clear to me that I should've invested more in maintaining those relationships at the time.</p><p>But because of all of this, I can see where my dove-like tendencies stand out. I try to be a peacemaker because I don't want to upset people, but sometimes that comes off as being apathetic – which also can upset people who assume I just don't care. When I sense I've upset people, I am pulled back to those times as a child where my dad would yell and we'd be encouraged to apologize rather than stand up for ourselves. It was always easier, I was told, to just say sorry and accept I was the problem. </p><p>All of those things have re-enforced bad habits in me as an adult. I find myself, especially lately, shrinking to the point of disappearing – all while wondering how I should ask for someone to be a witness to my life (or whatever is left of it). And then I think: maybe that's it. Maybe "witness" is the word to live by – how do I move through the world in a way that would make it impossible to disappear? At the end of the day, isn't that something we all sort of wonder? <i>Who will be there to witness my life? </i></p><p>I don't have an answer right now.</p>Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-83699809269515030342022-05-31T10:05:00.005-07:002022-05-31T10:15:32.167-07:00Being the Subject<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhifpxIWYSeZg4Y6KJmJA0t6Sixcko_7xOndYXLRcPnY-aOHLv3w0r8XazRrtzMlKZihjvOWJZY5aTI5C5V5PICDO0eXm27urO5pETrAAnc6p7E3NNhwOlVtafaJv8AYf4TGIPLcvICvf6WjkBQtEgIEv10jy8U2kcxOMUcQrrLvHdmatS_BJJ5MogN/s1280/blog%20post%20header.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhifpxIWYSeZg4Y6KJmJA0t6Sixcko_7xOndYXLRcPnY-aOHLv3w0r8XazRrtzMlKZihjvOWJZY5aTI5C5V5PICDO0eXm27urO5pETrAAnc6p7E3NNhwOlVtafaJv8AYf4TGIPLcvICvf6WjkBQtEgIEv10jy8U2kcxOMUcQrrLvHdmatS_BJJ5MogN/w640-h360/blog%20post%20header.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><i>“Why, when you look at news about our communities, is it all just so negative these days?”</i><div><br /></div><div>I’ve thought a lot about that question since someone asked it to me a few weeks ago. It’s a tough question, to be honest: on the one hand, we’ve faced an increase in hate crimes these last couple of years; on the other hand, my 8 years in building digital spaces in newsrooms taught me that outrage leads to clicks (and traffic is king).</div><div><br /></div><div>I won’t pretend like my time leading NBC Asian America didn’t fall prey to that mentality. We could see, in real-time, what clicked and how long people spent on the page. We saw what got shared (and how and where it got shared).</div><div><br /></div><div>Our bosses could see it too, and then you get sucked into the mentality that you’re suddenly in competition with everyone else in the newsroom for more traffic, higher homepage placement, more social engagement. So you do the stories that give you the advantage to show your work is “worthy.”</div><div><br /></div><div>The secret, unfortunately, is that it doesn’t always make a huge difference in the long run. I quickly learned that it didn’t matter how many awards you received or how high the social conversation was around the content; the short-term validation we received either internally or externally would never lead to a long-term investment in the initiative. I was explicitly told that in so many words.</div><div><br /></div><div>And honestly … once you stop caring about retweets and unique visitors and going viral and appearing “above the fold” X-number of times in a week, it’s kind of freeing.</div><div><br /></div><div>The philosophy I adopted was something my colleague Sandra lived and worked by as she built and grew NBC Latino into the powerhouse it is: Our communities should be the subjects of the story, not just the objects. In other words, we shouldn’t only be writing stories or producing content that puts our communities as the victims of a narrative. While it’s important to cover those stories and angles, at the same time, how are we centering our communities’ voices in the storytelling process? Who are the heroes and change makers that are driving the narratives? How do we contribute to changing how we are represented?</div><div><br /></div><div>It’s a burden. It’s a privilege. It’s a never-ending fight. I won't be so arrogant to think anything I've ever done has changed the world, and I recognize how it was perceived when I walked away. I can only hope that I’ve positively contributed to the canon of work created over the last few decades that tried to make a difference.</div>Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-49173190593893760512022-04-13T22:07:00.004-07:002022-05-03T19:16:58.819-07:00The Privilege of Time<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqqcWYIGQHH0jRLUhYIdsvwpnvSuqoPdslX_FzCFhiLnHLBmUsm7-WKjTzbGChcnt-vf5xbQ3XYfv6DZnxAGIKVoiWB3Xc8EKnS1QjiuiiwuXfGWyNWwQh-8_fuVY9TaFfsyjE0LBlgDzmGG72ASVpiCJveu32_olVChs2_ZpGL2fTED0dDdwhYdOf/s1280/blog%20post%20header%20(1).png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqqcWYIGQHH0jRLUhYIdsvwpnvSuqoPdslX_FzCFhiLnHLBmUsm7-WKjTzbGChcnt-vf5xbQ3XYfv6DZnxAGIKVoiWB3Xc8EKnS1QjiuiiwuXfGWyNWwQh-8_fuVY9TaFfsyjE0LBlgDzmGG72ASVpiCJveu32_olVChs2_ZpGL2fTED0dDdwhYdOf/w640-h360/blog%20post%20header%20(1).png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>When we launched José's show in 2014, I recall a meeting early on where he was adamant about his sign off: "Thank you for the privilege of your time."<p></p><p>"Why are you thanking <i>them</i>?" I asked. Isn't he just doing his job? Shouldn't the viewers be thanking <i>him</i>?</p><p>He shook his head. "But without them, I wouldn't have a job and an opportunity to bring them the stories that deserve to be told."</p><p>That conversation is one of those moments that sticks out in my mind as a significant lesson I've learned in my career: that no one person can exist in a vacuum, even if you find yourself in a position of authority where you get to call the shots. Without the people around you, you cannot succeed. If you keep that in mind, then you will always be the kind of person who leads with empathy.</p><p>I’ve carried that conversation with me, no matter where I’ve gone. Recently, the content of my character came into question, and as a result it’s caused me to think a lot about the kind of person I am — the kind of person others know me to be, and the kind of person I know I pride myself on being. </p><p>“You’re harder on yourself than any other person I’ve ever known,” someone said to me the other day. “It’s how I know you’re self aware, almost to a fault.”</p><p>I know how hard I am on myself. I've always been that way. I had an ex once who told me he thought I was <i>too</i> ambitious and that I needed to "be realistic." At the time, I believed him (I was young); in the immediate aftermath, I was angry. I wanted him to apologize, to regret it, to admit he was wrong. </p><p>But what I really needed was time: time away from the situation long enough to know I didn't need anything from him, or from others who looked over or past me as somebody who deserved to have a voice.</p><p>What I needed was to stop shrinking myself to fit into other people's boxes of who they thought I should be. And at the end of the day, despite all of my flaws, I know there’s one thing about my character I am confident in: that I will never apologize for speaking up for myself or for championing, supporting, and defending the voices of those who may not find themselves in the position to speak up. </p><p>This self-reflection is one that has also been made possible because of time. Over the last decade, I've had the opportunity to do all of those things, to be that person, and to build the kind of reputation that I — and the people who really know my character — know cannot crumble with a single setback.</p>Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-88167964157871718322022-03-02T08:00:00.009-08:002022-03-02T08:00:00.213-08:00What Can You Do?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEitqgYJoTfWJFKQb8C3ByNcReWDM_wfpdkw1SedyaD--P02i5uwKo1Dzaqrv74B6RLdUVSMFa3hpdkrj-_AwI3Ly-6gtr-XeV0olPrtW2Z1jtG3iG9u8wU7H0-sV4iVWYxno_BVDJj0-XiZYnVlhs7Ff7rhL7LI0RjTekzomRZrKHtIQOEiC-FBEjKj=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEitqgYJoTfWJFKQb8C3ByNcReWDM_wfpdkw1SedyaD--P02i5uwKo1Dzaqrv74B6RLdUVSMFa3hpdkrj-_AwI3Ly-6gtr-XeV0olPrtW2Z1jtG3iG9u8wU7H0-sV4iVWYxno_BVDJj0-XiZYnVlhs7Ff7rhL7LI0RjTekzomRZrKHtIQOEiC-FBEjKj=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>When I turned 25, I asked friends and family to share wisdom for that "quarter life crisis" everyone jokingly told me I was about to enter. I created a Google Form and sent it out to people to tell me what I should know about being in this "new" chapter of my life. I took some of the responses and wrote them on pieces of paper that decorated my bedroom walls in New York: They were reminders at a time when I was feeling particularly lost and just a little bit sad.</p><p>Recently, I came across the Google Form in the depths of my Drive and went through the responses again. There were letters from people I still talk to every day, and letters from people I haven't spoken to in years. The advice is filled with humor and love and kindness – and if there's one thing I've really been blessed to have learned, it's that people are just so inherently kind.</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p><i>"Let life come to you as much as you strive to live."</i></p><p><i>"Be kind to strangers!... No matter how often the city feels brutal and rude, I never feel like I'm contributing to it. And that's a great feeling."</i></p><p><i>"Scream into the pillow but always turn around and rest on it."</i> </p></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/3zLwV8EnL9M" width="320" youtube-src-id="3zLwV8EnL9M"></iframe></div><p><br />I've been thinking a lot lately about those moments in my life where I was sure I had it all "figured out," or I had agonized about how I would never be certain of who I was or where I wanted to be. It's always been hard for me to recognize when I'm happy because I've lived my whole life under a cloud of anxiety and fear. There was always something waiting around the corner to remind me of who I was and where I belonged (or, rather, didn't belong), and so moments of joy never stood out to me as something to hold on to. </p><p>Every "coming of age" story Hollywood tells us takes place in middle or high school, but I'm about to be 33 and I still feel like I have no idea what I'm doing.</p><p>Which is...fine. It's right. It, oddly, makes sense. Because I am comfortable now, more than ever, in admitting when I don't know something – no matter how big or small. By admitting I know nothing, I've learned to become open to everything. </p><p>* * * * *</p><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhocSHJEx9rrmLtQjG1i6lAVFnI03T9aZNSaDkM-lNpOwh5B9jwDu6ExGHbAX0QjNxAqhl3Vn4aF8Yc45SlEVoWWnT6sNlmQiC0n3QJzIR0xSgAyDJSqv5xTQCqm1y2Ldc_tDpu1PZcwDPKvr5xk7iWh9KnbEbFtuq8ICTkoyr9gFuHmvnNdrePaZ9H=s828" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="813" data-original-width="828" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhocSHJEx9rrmLtQjG1i6lAVFnI03T9aZNSaDkM-lNpOwh5B9jwDu6ExGHbAX0QjNxAqhl3Vn4aF8Yc45SlEVoWWnT6sNlmQiC0n3QJzIR0xSgAyDJSqv5xTQCqm1y2Ldc_tDpu1PZcwDPKvr5xk7iWh9KnbEbFtuq8ICTkoyr9gFuHmvnNdrePaZ9H=s320" width="320" /></a></div>Finally, a check-in on <a href="http://www.seetraciwrite.com/2012/03/manifesto-for-23.html" target="_blank">10-Years-Ago-Me</a> (that photo to the right is from 2012!): <p></p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li><strike>I will sleep more.</strike> I think I'm sleeping <i>less</i>.</li><li><strike>I will walk slower. Unless I'm midtown.</strike> By nature of not living in New York anymore, I definitely walk slower. All bets are off once I'm back in the city though.</li><li><strike>I will not let social networks define relationships.</strike> I've pulled <i>way</i> back on personal social media use (although the pandemic did suck me back in).</li><li><strike>I will smile more, despite the annoyances of day to day life.</strike> Did this, still doing it (or at least trying to).</li><li><strike>I will close my ears to potential negativity. I will not take things so personally.</strike> I still take things personally, but less so than I did back then. I've also learned that not all negativity is intended to be a personal attack. I think there are layers to that, and sometimes criticism is warranted and worth learning from.</li><li><strike>I will do more of what I say and say less of what I do.</strike> I'm working on this, every day. I want to continue to be someone who acts and spends less time telling the world what it is I'm doing. Not all actions need to be broadcast.</li><li><strike>I will network (ugh).</strike> 23-year-old me would roll her eyes pretty hard. I network all the time, but I do think all the negative associations with "networking" needs to be removed. Networking isn't a bad thing, especially if you can truly build connections that are both personal and useful.</li><li><strike>I will focus more on the positive.</strike> Always working on this!</li><li><strike>I will read more, and I will read slower. I will take time to digest words.</strike> Yes, yes, and yes.</li><li><strike>I will learn new things and new skills every day.</strike> Yes! Learning new things is great.</li><li><strike>I will drink from the glass, rather than analyze whether it is empty or full.</strike> I've always had a hard time "seizing the day," and so this is a continual work-in-progress. I don't think I'm there yet, and I'm still quite the overthinker. </li><li><strike>I will pick up my phone more often.</strike> There are too many spam calls.</li><li><strike>I will not impose my thoughts on others, and vice versa.</strike> What did I mean by "impose"? Because I have a portable soapbox for the things I care deeply about, and am not afraid to use it.</li><li><strike>I will spend less time on the outside looking in.</strike> The pandemic has made me forget what I was like in my social interactions before 2020, to be honest.</li><li><strike>I will not force myself to be somebody I think I should be.</strike> This continues to be my superpower: constantly throwing my authentic self in people's faces.</li><li><strike>I will let love be louder than my emotions.</strike> I have. I've lost too many loved ones over the last 10 years to let my love for others be kept behind closed doors. </li><li><strike>I will not keep reopening doors that closed themselves for a reason.</strike> Phew. Yeah.</li><li><strike>I will let go of those who have let go of me, or are in the process of doing so.</strike> Yeah x2.</li><li><strike>I will not be scared to speak up.</strike> YEAH.</li><li><strike>I will celebrate others as much as I can.</strike> Last year, my resolution word was <a href="http://www.seetraciwrite.com/2021/01/after-chaos.html" target="_blank">"encourage,"</a> and I do remain committed to it. I continue to be grateful for the privilege to support my friends and community in their work.</li><li><strike>I will apologize. I will forgive. I will always forgive.</strike> Forgiveness does have its limits, and I recognize that. Forgiving doesn't necessarily mean forgetting, and so drawing the line between those two things has been important.</li><li><strike>I will put my dreams into words and I will pursue them harder.</strike> I think I'm doing this. I feel like I am – or at least trying to.</li><li><strike>I will actually believe in myself.</strike> It's a process. We're getting there.</li></ol><p></p>Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-53508334753034300052021-06-14T12:42:00.008-07:002021-11-01T18:28:17.163-07:00The Job Hunt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmY2qxfEgkfXp44xylGpETyX7Kffe4mflNJSTtRSAGOsdTXPhNMeCRkf-9dFiZokzPXYfxiZntfyOcS241LHsKiD0qgT25sfWI0pwzfKJjv4OY7y6y-n3_gerEm_wpIwjF1BUvSWjkuKI/s2048/towhomitmayconcern.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmY2qxfEgkfXp44xylGpETyX7Kffe4mflNJSTtRSAGOsdTXPhNMeCRkf-9dFiZokzPXYfxiZntfyOcS241LHsKiD0qgT25sfWI0pwzfKJjv4OY7y6y-n3_gerEm_wpIwjF1BUvSWjkuKI/w640-h360/towhomitmayconcern.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>This is incredibly overdue, but I've been having conversations with friends and new connections about the process of job hunting, particularly in a virtual world, and it reminded me that I've been meaning to share my own experiences from last year. I don't know how helpful this will be, and my experiences aren't going to be the same as yours or anyone else's you might talk to, but hopefully this can help someone out there going through the stress of finding that next role.</p><p>When the effects of the pandemic began to set in in the U.S., I knew the job hunt I was anticipating would only become harder. My fellowship was ending in May, but I had begun applying for jobs and speaking with potential hiring managers in March – but that all came to a stop by the end of March as hiring freezes took over. All through the last 2 months of my fellowship, I continued to apply for jobs, but it was rare to hear back from anyone. I was convinced throughout the second half of 2020 that I was going to be out of luck until 2021, so I focused on freelancing instead, hoping it could keep me afloat until companies started hiring again.</p><p>Part of it is that I don't think I had a clear idea what it was what I wanted to do next. I <i>thought</i> I did thanks to fantastic guidance during my fellowship, but the pandemic really threw that off. I got to a point in applying for jobs last summer where I was willing to throw my hat in for <i>anything. </i>Looking back, I do think that was a mistake though because I wasn't really thinking about the skills on my resume as key building blocks to my career journey. I was throwing those skills into a box and shipping it to companies with a note that just said, "Hey, hire me!" But there's more to the application process than just that.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUvTjzfd1BQo-s8yGJxr6707hUY6XJKGxBiN2g3gCcnJCJirXwSwbf7IZpXoKxpSXaiBj4DA3S91zF9mNZycq-W6p0VIPEopVDl8oKsBrPTeL6hJRma9CGHJcJ_RDPoB9ZAHq_vna23KU/s620/img.jpg.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="467" data-original-width="620" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUvTjzfd1BQo-s8yGJxr6707hUY6XJKGxBiN2g3gCcnJCJirXwSwbf7IZpXoKxpSXaiBj4DA3S91zF9mNZycq-W6p0VIPEopVDl8oKsBrPTeL6hJRma9CGHJcJ_RDPoB9ZAHq_vna23KU/w400-h301/img.jpg.gif" width="400" /></a></div><p>I don't need to bore you with my resume or past work (you can find all of that yourself <a href="http://traciglee.com" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://linkedin.com/in/traciglee" target="_blank">here</a>), but I don't think it's arrogant of me to say that I've worked hard and built a substantial career in the last decade. I've done a lot and I feel like I've accomplished quite a bit, but that doesn't make me immune to the struggles of job hunting. Here are some numbers, just to add context...</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Jobs I applied for between March and October: 118</li><li>Interviews I got: 24 (that's a 20% interview rate)</li><li>Rejections received: 51 (this includes auto-generated emails where I didn't get an interview, and there were a number of interviews I completed where I've still never heard back)</li><li>Places that ghosted me after 1 or more interviews: 7</li><li>Hiring processes I withdrew from for various reasons: 7</li></ul>I kept track of all of this in a very detailed spreadsheet (the template for that is available <a href="http://traciglee.com/resources" target="_blank">on my website</a> for free). <p></p><p>Before I continue, I just want to say: I am <i>thrilled</i> to have landed at Sony. Throughout my entire job hunting process, Sony was one of the only companies where I felt like they had actually read my resume and cover letter <i>before</i> talking to me, and not once during any interviews was it unclear why they were talking to me and what their vision was for the role I ended up accepting. The entire process took about 6 weeks in total, and they were transparent every step of the way about how long it would be before I would hear from them for the next step. Sony was also one of the <i>very few</i> places where I got an interview where I had just applied through the website and had no other connections. </p><p>When I say all this to people, they're surprised because that feels like a normal interview process, right? Well if you've been applying for jobs lately, you know that's not always the case. So... let's talk about what <i>else</i> happened, featuring 5 different interview processes...</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9JpjwCvrxRzpX0_kLoO7_-ZeS5yMTpP-rHNfZgYzILcSjBKRzQD4QI1pz9ZtQ26uE20UjVBfMRM6X4STF9ZZQc-sIJWp6rvBjTw3k_24ZZsyvCBVs5fOTHx0q1t7gxs8xP-Jsuy4Z7iA/s480/job-interview-get-it-1513185714.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="480" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9JpjwCvrxRzpX0_kLoO7_-ZeS5yMTpP-rHNfZgYzILcSjBKRzQD4QI1pz9ZtQ26uE20UjVBfMRM6X4STF9ZZQc-sIJWp6rvBjTw3k_24ZZsyvCBVs5fOTHx0q1t7gxs8xP-Jsuy4Z7iA/w400-h206/job-interview-get-it-1513185714.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><b>Story #1: </b>At the start of June, I applied for a digital role at a very well-known magazine. It was a role that I knew I fit the requirements for, as it was listed on the careers site, and 2 days after applying, the hiring manager reached out to schedule an interview. We chatted, they mentioned that they felt my experience was more senior to what the role was, but that having the magazine on my resume could also be a bonus if I was looking to grow in that area of journalism. I said I was, and I wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to be considered for a role at a company I had long admired. After our interview, they told me they would send an edit test that was expected to be returned within 48 hours. The test would take about 3 hours to complete, they estimated. I set aside a weekend to do it and the test, which had 3 parts to it, took me 4 hours. I sent the test back, they confirmed receipt and said I'd hear from them soon. After 2 weeks, I followed up with no response. The following week, I followed up again and was told they were still reviewing. I continued to follow up in 2-3 week increments, but never heard a response again. As of today, 1 year later, I still technically haven't received a "no" from them. <p></p><p></p><p><b>Story #2: </b>I reached a point at the end of May where I was casting an enormous net, even outside of journalism. I ended up applying for a project manager role at a company that was well-known in its industry, and the job description indicated they were searching for someone with an editorial background. Although I had no professional experience in that industry specifically, I had a deep personal interest in it and was familiar with the space. I applied and heard back a few days later to set up an interview. I did my usual research and prepared some talking points, but when I got on the phone with the person representing the company, it became very clear to me that they had misrepresented the role in their listing (they described what sounded like an executive assistant role), and then I was asked the question: "What trends have you been following in [this industry]?" I listed a few based on newsletters I was subscribed to and YouTube videos I'd been watching, and was interrupted to tell me what answer they were looking for – an answer that was, frankly, problematic and slightly racist. Before I could push back, the person on the phone said to me: "You sound very poised and experienced, but you don't have a lot of vision. So why don't you do some research, and then email me and we can reschedule and try again?" After we hung up, I thought about it for a day and then chose to withdraw my application entirely.</p><p><b>Story #3: </b>Mid-June, I received a LinkedIn message from someone who was hiring for an editorial leadership role at a start-up news organization and asked if I would be interested in applying. I asked some questions about the role and the company, and decided to apply. I did an initial interview with the hiring manager, and then was asked to send a "memo" outlining my interest in the role and my vision for the organization. After sending it, I was scheduled for a 2nd interview with the hiring manager a few days later. I had a 3rd interview a couple days after that with two additional members of the hiring team, followed by a 4th interview round that consisted of two separate group interviews. (I didn't note this in my spreadsheet, but I think somewhere along that process, I was also asked to send story pitches.) Two weeks after the 4th interview round, I saw on LinkedIn that the person who had initially reached out to me had updated their LinkedIn title to reflect a promotion to the role I had been interviewing for. I sent an email inquiring about any updates, but didn't hear back. A week later (this is now August), I sent another email and was told that they were making an offer to another candidate but that it wasn't finalized, which is why they hadn't responded to me yet, but that they wanted me to apply for future editorial roles that would be coming up. I considered the job closed, and put it out of my mind, but then mid-August received an email from the hiring manager saying they were rethinking the job description and hadn't made a decision would "get back to me soon." I didn't hear from them again.</p><p><b>Story #4: </b>In August, I saw two job listings at an extremely well-known (and well-funded) national media company for editorial leadership roles that I was interested in, and felt confident I fit the requirements listed in the descriptions. I applied for both, and a week later found the listings in the AAJA Careers Center portal with an email address for the recruiter who submitted the listings. I reached out to them via email, and they responded saying they would pass my resume and cover letter to the hiring managers. At the same time, I also reached out to someone who tweeted about the job openings from the company and scheduled an informational. By the start of September, I hadn't heard anything back, so I sent an email follow-up with the recruiter and didn't hear back. Mid-September, the recruiter emailed to set up an interview... but when we got on the phone, it felt like they hadn't looked at any of my materials. I had questions about both roles, but every question was met with the response: "I'm not sure. I can look into it and let you know." At the end of the "interview," they said they would pass my information along. I followed up twice by the end of September, but never heard back. In mid-October, suddenly, I received an email with an edit test for one of the roles. I emailed the recruiter to ask them for more information and ask if I could speak to the hiring manager for the role because that would help give me a better idea of what they were looking for and what the role was (especially since the recruiter hadn't actually given me information about either role when we spoke). They responded and said this was how the process was, so I did the edit test and then got an auto-generated rejection email mid-November after I had already accepted and started my current job.</p><p><b>Story #5: </b>At the start of 2020, before quarantine measures began, a recruiter from a national news organization had reached out to me about an executive role. At the time, I said, "Thanks, but no thanks," because the role would've required a move and I wasn't looking to move cities at the time. By July though, I saw the job was still open and decided to give it a shot. I applied and emailed the recruiter, letting them know that my situation had changed (I was open to moving for the right role at that point), and a few days later I was scheduled for an interview. On the day of the interview, I got myself ready and clicked the video meeting link that had been emailed to me a minute before the interview was scheduled to begin, but when the video meeting popped up, the recruiter was in the middle of talking to another candidate. I quickly left the meeting and sent an email apologizing for joining early and asking them to let me know when they were available for me to join again. I waited a few minutes and they didn't respond. I joined again about 10 minutes after our interview was supposed to begin, but the video meeting was empty. I waited and sent another email letting them know I was on and ready to chat. It wasn't until about 15 minutes later that they responded to let me know they were on another call and asked to push the interview an hour and a half. I agreed, but when I was about to get on at the new agreed time, they emailed again to push another half hour. We finally spoke, but the whole thing felt rushed. In the middle of my second answer to their question, they interrupted to ask me to give them a moment, and either they forgot to mute or intended to do this, but they answered a call on their cell phone that was clearly a personal call. After they hung up, they were texting almost the entire rest of the interview. I did follow up twice throughout August with no response, and then eventually received a rejection email at the end of September.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM06JF3HQ6M2F3BhLO67C-NeKbmvPM4zXVljvrsPDMZBJDhfNbsP9UuIN1jXElaLg2hQxj2-YOYPJW0rH-1iCBY7-4_06IgsJnJuic0ascAjepZHmIS-b91M9Mn6V8-BcPtNnFGaXO45c/s500/giphy-5.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="230" data-original-width="500" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM06JF3HQ6M2F3BhLO67C-NeKbmvPM4zXVljvrsPDMZBJDhfNbsP9UuIN1jXElaLg2hQxj2-YOYPJW0rH-1iCBY7-4_06IgsJnJuic0ascAjepZHmIS-b91M9Mn6V8-BcPtNnFGaXO45c/w400-h184/giphy-5.gif" width="400" /></a></div><p>I will say that I did have a number of positive experiences and encounters, so it's not all doom and gloom out there. But I shared those 5 stories as examples of some of the types of interviews and recruiters you might encounter during the job hunting process because, unfortunately, not every experience is going to be positive. There are going to be moments where you feel frustrated and broken and like you don't even belong in the industry you spent so much time and effort working for or working toward. You might spend hours preparing for interviews and talking to people and completing edit and pitch tests (I did <i>so many </i>of those), and then it might all just go...nowhere. <b>But don't let that discourage you.</b> It just wasn't meant to happen at that time, and I firmly believe that.</p><p>So what <i>can</i> you do then when it all feels like you need luck to even make it to the next round? There are things you can control – namely, how you're representing yourself online. And I do think that the pandemic has forced people to be more active and creative online when it comes to job hunting.</p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Update your LinkedIn. </b>Although you've got your resume saved on a PDF or DOC, sometimes that won't be enough to get your info seen. But your LinkedIn profile is searchable if someone were to Google your name. Having an updated LinkedIn that reflects all of your skills and background that maybe didn't make it to your resume can also be helpful too because you never know what a hiring manager might actually be looking for. </li><li><b>Use your networks.</b> I used to be stubborn about this because I had this need to prove to myself that I could "make it" without connections. But throughout the last year, I was very fortunate to have former colleagues and peers put in good words for me with various companies which led to interviews. LinkedIn is a great resource when it comes to reaching out to potential recruiters or hiring managers. Don't feel shy about taking up someone's offer to DM them about open jobs. At the end of the day, the worst thing that can happen is someone just doesn't respond. But that doesn't mean you're out of the game. I know "networking" sometimes gets a bad reputation, but there's a way to do it where you're not taking advantage of someone's time or kindness. (That might be a future post though.)</li><li><b>Don't just say your skills; show them.</b> Instead of just telling people what I could do, I did my best to put that into practice. I kept <a href="http://traciglee.com" target="_blank">my website</a> up-to-date, with links to my best work and a <a href="https://traciglee.com/hireme" target="_blank">"reverse job listing"</a> where people could learn everything about me (and see possible references) filled with stories about projects I've done. I created <a href="https://youtu.be/CVzpXedbDxc" target="_blank">a video resume</a> where I could talk directly to the camera and explain who I am and what I could bring to a role (in case a recruiter or hiring manager felt like they didn't have time to talk to me). I had multiple versions of my resume ready to go in different formats – which brings me to my last point...</li><li><b>Have multiple versions of your resume ready to go.</b> A design-heavy resume might look great, but is it <a href="https://www.topresume.com/career-advice/what-is-an-ats-resume" target="_blank">ATS-friendly</a>? Unfortunately, many companies <i>are</i> using applicant tracking systems that filter out resumes at a high volume. I had moments last year where I reached out to a recruiter or hiring manager (or they reached out to me) and it turned out my resume had been filtered by an ATS. If I hadn't spoken to a recruiter directly outside of those systems, my information would never have been seen. (That's why reaching out to recruiters and hiring managers is always worth it!) I made sure to always have an ATS-friendly resume and a very-designed one that I could send directly to recruiters and hiring managers, when necessary. </li></ol><div>One of the most important things about this whole process is <i>patience</i>. That's also the most frustrating thing too because when you're ready to jump into your next role, the waiting game can feel so incredibly painful. If you're going through this right now, remember that it's OK to take a day off from applying for jobs too to recharge. If you know people going through this, support them by offering connections and cheering them on (but be careful too about saying things like, "But you're so qualified!" because that might make someone feel worse).</div><div><br /></div><div>This is as comprehensive as I think I can be right now. Sending you all positive vibes as you go through your search, and please <a href="http://traciglee.com/contact" target="_blank">reach out</a> if you have any questions!</div><p></p>Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-91714585315449550442021-01-05T22:51:00.005-08:002022-03-01T20:13:59.435-08:00After the Chaos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCDU7Uw3bSaYqfNWfBNikMX5_u5ioPeoDN01NBjhOQAbdx5_8XpaWrecVic1flKAGC6FkAmUqO60mZcirmgOOsn5LrNcfKUhQmtGHSuAUdlBcnpeZQ6ZTXirAkWDQaKlfumug3vlsQHlg/s1280/encourage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCDU7Uw3bSaYqfNWfBNikMX5_u5ioPeoDN01NBjhOQAbdx5_8XpaWrecVic1flKAGC6FkAmUqO60mZcirmgOOsn5LrNcfKUhQmtGHSuAUdlBcnpeZQ6ZTXirAkWDQaKlfumug3vlsQHlg/w640-h360/encourage.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>Since 2017, I've picked a word to inspire the coming year – a philosophy, if you will. In 2017, it was "create," which led to weekly blogs, <a href="http://dawsonsspeak.com" target="_blank">a podcast</a>, and a burst of creativity across my professional career. "Reclaim" was 2018's word, which served as a reminder to be attentive to my own needs and desires, and not to sacrifice my mental health to please others. I chose "align" in 2019 to try and re-center myself after a year of personal pain, and in 2020, the word was "build" because I wanted to focus on building better and healthier habits, and also building a present that would transform my future.</p><p>As chaotic as 2020 was, I hope I did my best to hold "build" in my heart while walking through such a tough year. I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be a good person as an adult because I grew up with the idea – as I'm sure many others did too – that adulthood was something entirely removed from adolescence; that being an adult meant the child I was and the lessons learned were put into a box and set aside as a memory once I crossed that magical bridge into "independence." </p><p>Maybe it's more obvious to others, but it took me awhile to see it: growing up isn't about the things we leave behind, but rather about the people, places, and moments that've helped build us, and learning how to carry those things wherever we go. As I packed up my apartment to move last month, I thought about the devastation associated with the space where I lived for 3 years – the corners I cried, the ceilings I stared at, the places I sat to receive bad news. </p><p>But I also thought about the hope I found that was built by the people and the things that have changed my life in both big and small ways: the mirrors where I learned to love myself, the rooftop where I gathered with friends, the card on my dresser sent by a friend at my lowest point. Those are the things that helped me build in 2020 and see that my "word" for the year didn't have to be something I took on alone.</p><p>So for 2021, the word I'm choosing is "encourage." I want this year's personal philosophy to be less about myself and more about others. I jokingly <a href="https://twitter.com/traciglee/status/1345459910557880321" target="_blank">tweeted</a> the other day that I wanted to exude "best friend character" energy to the rest of my friends, but there's absolutely truth in it: I don't think I have the energy and charisma to be the main character right now, but I damn well can put whatever I have into hyping up the people around me – especially the ones who've been there for me too. </p><p>I also want "encourage" to serve as a little "note" to myself to continue being gentle with my head and my heart when I'm struggling, both personally and professionally. If I'm going to live my life believing in others, I should remember to also begin the day with believing in myself first.</p><p>Happy New Year, everyone. Thanks for being on this journey with me in whatever way you have.</p>Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-4914749484317180552020-11-20T12:12:00.010-08:002022-03-01T20:03:13.769-08:00A Virtual Goodbye<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiywA-kyhgsOIg5MeUMQ-KTrjfleHGTxvX5akgogK8jwClZd8Xdq1cpGzTiLKUwC0KczkSISdC2G5TiScpBjuxr2vyNfi04olPtnRS4HEzm_mW2VquQV1PjGxd8PtsJhuXBjNZiqWKSezs/s1401/IMG_0133.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="994" data-original-width="1401" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiywA-kyhgsOIg5MeUMQ-KTrjfleHGTxvX5akgogK8jwClZd8Xdq1cpGzTiLKUwC0KczkSISdC2G5TiScpBjuxr2vyNfi04olPtnRS4HEzm_mW2VquQV1PjGxd8PtsJhuXBjNZiqWKSezs/w640-h454/IMG_0133.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p>My grandfather liked beautiful things. As a kid, I would follow him around the kitchen while he cooked, watching the way he'd assemble plates. "It has to look good," he would tell me in Cantonese. See, the green bell peppers were too bland because they blended in with the other vegetables. The yellow ones (or "gold," as he liked to call them) looked the best.</p><p>Every memory I have of growing up and running around my grandparents' house involves me trying to get <i>yeh-yeh</i>'s attention – and he always gave it to me too. We'd watch the laundry dry on the clothesline in the backyard. We'd walk around the backyard while <i>ma-ma</i> gardened. We'd sit in the living room and watch <i>Jeopardy!</i> and <i>Wheel of Fortune</i>. On weekends, he'd take my sister and me to the grocery store, and sometimes we'd get on the bus and go to the mall. At Macy's, he would point out the clothes that were the best quality and he would pick out new shirts and pants for <i>ma-ma </i>too. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjioYJzkOrOlHzoeVNQDCnw12-HWxexLYzhem0JhphXNExDH_bQS8EfPvlhNzH6uZSzS_FJpTBTWdLR1zsPz7hbxJj9ewIOInQOhv8XGtW3kafV8uiDk5jb3OS24oZXDClbM3UzwvAglVs/s498/125795056_283447563077335_2112130645748149867_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjioYJzkOrOlHzoeVNQDCnw12-HWxexLYzhem0JhphXNExDH_bQS8EfPvlhNzH6uZSzS_FJpTBTWdLR1zsPz7hbxJj9ewIOInQOhv8XGtW3kafV8uiDk5jb3OS24oZXDClbM3UzwvAglVs/w181-h320/125795056_283447563077335_2112130645748149867_n.jpg" width="181" /></a></div><p>Our conversations were limited due to language, and I always wondered what our relationship could be like if I knew more Cantonese or if he knew more English. He spoke English better than <i>ma-ma</i> because of his years working in kitchens, but it was never enough for us to have long talks about anything substantial. <br /><br />Thirteen years ago, <i>yeh-yeh</i> had a stroke. It was my first year in college, away from home, and I remember getting the call about it. It was the first time I ever really faced the idea that he may not be around anymore. For my whole life, he was always there – stoic and dependable in his armchair with me sitting cross-legged on the floor next to him. During commercial breaks, he would tap me on the head and laugh when I batted his hand away. Sometimes he would sneak me extra snacks ("shh" he'd say, raising his eyebrows) or a quarter or dime from his pocket. We sat like this even well into my teens and 20s.</p><p>That Christmas, after surviving the stroke, he greeted everyone who came into the house with a hug and a smile. It was unusual for him, but it was clear that he was grateful he got to see everyone's faces again. For us, we were grateful it was at least one more dinner together. </p><p>We'd have many dinners again after that. Every health struggle, he battled – and won. "All you need to do is change out his batteries, and then he's good to go," my dad joked after <i>yeh-yeh</i> – at 98 years old – recovered from pneumonia and a COVID scare in the spring. It would take a couple days, but then he would be back to his old self, laughing and teasing. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTgTvAVHU6ps5TeZMbljGctpC8JJs-gF0HErSlKictXh-HrgzS0GTtXA243MJ1reDiYAPZH0HVTBGoWkDvWP87pK0sGw7FEa2p_bcRNkNhyk9jeXFVncvb5_RqupJwiDV3lg61xt6_Mo/s604/200317_1003286236807_2885_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioTgTvAVHU6ps5TeZMbljGctpC8JJs-gF0HErSlKictXh-HrgzS0GTtXA243MJ1reDiYAPZH0HVTBGoWkDvWP87pK0sGw7FEa2p_bcRNkNhyk9jeXFVncvb5_RqupJwiDV3lg61xt6_Mo/w640-h480/200317_1003286236807_2885_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>The last few years in the nursing home changed him. Before, he was so independent and strong; but seeing him confined to a wheelchair was hard. Whenever he saw his grandchildren or great-grandchildren, though, seemed to light him up. He liked the staff at the nursing home and they liked teasing him right back. "This is my granddaughter," he would say to everyone we passed while I chaotically wheeled him around in circles through the lobby. A volunteer who came to take residents out for walks around the building outside stopped us once to say hello. </p><p>"Mr. King's gotta lot of energy!" he said to me. </p><p>"I hear he's a troublemaker," I responded. <i>Yeh-yeh</i> scoffed and told me to shut up while I poked him in the face. </p><p>Over the last few months, since <i>ma-ma</i> passed, my uncle set up regular Skype calls through the nursing home so my cousins and I could see <i>yeh-yeh</i> and say hi. Every session, <i>yeh-yeh</i> would tell us not to waste time or money calling him, but I think he was secretly happy he could see us all. </p><p>We buried <i>yeh-yeh</i> this morning, the majority of us via FaceTime. With him in his casket was a green vest he wore regularly over the last few years, one of <i>ma-ma</i>'s knit hats, and the UCI baseball cap I bought him one year. </p><p>Today would've been <i>ma-ma</i>'s 97th birthday. I guess he just couldn't wait to see her again to celebrate. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwHRg8UPm679pfzOmA6wp3fCMQrWQQBmREYnlIwhUr1mpqLDYv9ajuUakhM1-VMMV2RQjXmRKZ63ObHLO00EhqHEy1R9mmlpcu8N0DM7f18vd9a7w2zKJtTCd3l8wbUEXv05gm9MAPVG0/s827/125498840_683479905873094_67864566545642699_n+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="827" data-original-width="827" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwHRg8UPm679pfzOmA6wp3fCMQrWQQBmREYnlIwhUr1mpqLDYv9ajuUakhM1-VMMV2RQjXmRKZ63ObHLO00EhqHEy1R9mmlpcu8N0DM7f18vd9a7w2zKJtTCd3l8wbUEXv05gm9MAPVG0/w640-h640/125498840_683479905873094_67864566545642699_n+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-17043220881984363872020-09-01T06:00:00.008-07:002022-08-22T18:40:28.491-07:00Confessions of a 'Bad' Alopecian<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRUeMexBY44MQtjlw9VcmRpih7N8ClVsHcD1lLDPD6c86Cp7bKXUTXw-buzXww4P4wNU8U1dhI7g_vmU_HFjST7nTC2G1LMuIIPU5kVC4P0_CCPn9aqX5-i5BHx7PXkkM5FvBWdqUuHoM/s1280/blog+-+bad+interview+-+no+text.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRUeMexBY44MQtjlw9VcmRpih7N8ClVsHcD1lLDPD6c86Cp7bKXUTXw-buzXww4P4wNU8U1dhI7g_vmU_HFjST7nTC2G1LMuIIPU5kVC4P0_CCPn9aqX5-i5BHx7PXkkM5FvBWdqUuHoM/w640-h320/blog+-+bad+interview+-+no+text.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="text-align: left;">The thing about losing most of your hair before you become a teenager is that nobody tells you what to expect. There are a lot of conversations about how to stop it from continuing to fall out, how to make it grow back, how to hide it and go on "living normally," but I can't remember ever talking about my feelings. To be fair, I can't remember </span><i style="text-align: left;">wanting</i><span style="text-align: left;"> to talk about it because – well, I wasn't sure how I was supposed to be feeling.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Those words: <i>"supposed to."</i> I was always waiting for someone to tell me the "right" way to respond to my hair falling out, but because no one ever did, I was convinced that however I felt was incorrect anyways. And because I never figured out how I was supposed to feel about having alopecia growing up, I never really figured out how to exist in the world as someone with alopecia. It wasn't just that I was insecure about my hair loss. I was insecure <i>about</i> my insecurities because I didn't necessarily feel "bold, bald and brave."</div><div><br /></div><div>There's not a lot of pop culture/media representation out there for people with alopecia. What does exist often comes in the form of positive, empowering messages – and there's nothing wrong with that! I'm part of that "positive, empowering" ship <a href="http://instagram.com/alopeciamua" target="_blank">with my alopecia-focused Instagram account.</a> I've found a lot of inspiration from friends and fellow alopecians that I've met and interacted with through social media. But I'll admit that sometimes seeing those things have made me feel worse. Hearing someone tell you that "bald is beautiful" isn't necessarily enough to make you feel the same way. On the days I feel depressed about my alopecia, I then immediately feel guilty because I'm not thinking positively or acting empowered enough. </div><div><br /></div><div><center><blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-permalink="https://www.instagram.com/p/B2PAtbnAkjX/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" data-instgrm-version="12" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border-radius: 3px; border: 0px; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.5) 0px 0px 1px 0px, rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.15) 0px 1px 10px 0px; margin: 1px; max-width: 540px; min-width: 326px; padding: 0px; width: 99.375%;"><div style="padding: 16px;"> <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/B2PAtbnAkjX/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 0; padding: 0px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; width: 100%;" target="_blank"> <div style="align-items: center; display: flex; flex-direction: row;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; flex-grow: 0; height: 40px; 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font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 550; line-height: 18px;"> View this post on Instagram</div></div><div style="padding: 12.5% 0px;"></div> <div style="align-items: center; display: flex; flex-direction: row; margin-bottom: 14px;"><div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; height: 12.5px; transform: translateX(0px) translateY(7px); width: 12.5px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; flex-grow: 0; height: 12.5px; margin-left: 2px; margin-right: 14px; transform: rotate(-45deg) translateX(3px) translateY(1px); width: 12.5px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; height: 12.5px; transform: translateX(9px) translateY(-18px); width: 12.5px;"></div></div><div style="margin-left: 8px;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 50%; flex-grow: 0; height: 20px; width: 20px;"></div> <div style="border-bottom: 2px solid transparent; border-left: 6px solid rgb(244, 244, 244); border-top: 2px solid transparent; height: 0px; transform: translateX(16px) translateY(-4px) rotate(30deg); width: 0px;"></div></div><div style="margin-left: auto;"> <div style="border-right: 8px solid transparent; border-top: 8px solid rgb(244, 244, 244); transform: translateY(16px); width: 0px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; flex-grow: 0; height: 12px; transform: translateY(-4px); width: 16px;"></div> <div style="border-left: 8px solid transparent; border-top: 8px solid rgb(244, 244, 244); height: 0px; transform: translateY(-4px) translateX(8px); width: 0px;"></div></div></div> <div style="display: flex; flex-direction: column; flex-grow: 1; justify-content: center; margin-bottom: 24px;"> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 4px; flex-grow: 0; height: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; width: 224px;"></div> <div style="background-color: #f4f4f4; border-radius: 4px; flex-grow: 0; height: 14px; width: 144px;"></div></div></a><p style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 8px; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 7px; text-align: center; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/B2PAtbnAkjX/?utm_source=ig_embed&utm_campaign=loading" style="color: #c9c8cd; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">A post shared by Traci 💋 (@alopeciamua)</a> on <time datetime="2019-09-10T14:46:20+00:00" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Sep 10, 2019 at 7:46am PDT</time></p></div></blockquote> <script async="" src="//www.instagram.com/embed.js"></script></center></div><div><br /></div><div>I guess there's a part of me that's always felt like a "bad" alopecian. I wear wigs when I'm out in the world (though, lately, I've just been throwing on a beanie because I can't be bothered during quarantine – and it's been really hot). There are times I feel ashamed or embarrassed about how I looked. I used to lie about why my hair was falling out. I don't always see my alopecia as a "blessing."</div><div><br /></div><div><div>Since I began <a href="https://www.thecut.com/2018/11/alopecia-doesnt-make-me-any-less-feminine.html" target="_blank">publishing essays</a> about my alopecia in 2018, I've heard from friends and strangers who've experienced alopecia in some form with questions and insecurities. </div><div><br /></div><div>"I wish I had your confidence," someone once said. </div><div><br /></div><div>I quickly corrected them. "I'm not that confident," I admitted, following up with all of the things that I wasn't doing "right" as an alopecian.</div><div><br /></div><div>But that's when I realized: there can't just be <i>one way</i> to have alopecia. Alopecia comes in so many forms and it affects people in different ways, both physically and mentally. If the condition itself wasn't confined to one definition, why should anyone's feelings about it be confined to one emotion? </div></div><div><br /></div><div>There will be good days, and there will be bad ones. It's impossible to be positive about anything all the time, but that doesn't necessarily make me (or you) a negative person or "bad" in any way. It just makes me human – and that's all part of the journey.</div>Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-75287001683806530552020-08-13T21:55:00.002-07:002020-08-13T21:55:56.057-07:00Knocked Around<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ZpakxmMqp4bvKTjNxBJrrpYTmG7WZLDlSCmc8KfZ9NCRsCDjEs0H9Y9tBEp0T5RyPoqwqw7uTZnkb-ugbDLEO9XdTZoFN3eyM5IWWYVksmMEU8J11YQrz0Ql0omq94yUE-keh-nEcXs/s1280/blog+-+bad+interview.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ZpakxmMqp4bvKTjNxBJrrpYTmG7WZLDlSCmc8KfZ9NCRsCDjEs0H9Y9tBEp0T5RyPoqwqw7uTZnkb-ugbDLEO9XdTZoFN3eyM5IWWYVksmMEU8J11YQrz0Ql0omq94yUE-keh-nEcXs/w640-h320/blog+-+bad+interview.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>The first time I made a direct hire at work was in 2015 – and there's a moment during the process that I still think about a lot. </p><p>I had been working with a wonderful recruiter at NBC who had identified the resumes and cover letters of about a dozen candidates to interview. She did some screening calls and then set up in-person interviews for me with the candidates (and phone calls with those based outside of New York).</p><p>There was one day we set aside where most of the interviews were scheduled to happen. That morning, with my makeup and hair on point, I pulled on my royal blue Calvin Klein dress I wore for my most professional encounters and a pair of nude pumps. Because here's the thing: I was 26 years old, and I knew I looked – on average – 5 years younger than that at first glance. But here I was with an important job and title and looking to hire for an important second-in-command. I wanted to make a strong first impression. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinoz4LMpUh9cEF1H_4wo_EW17vvlAqweytfQnVf-aD6LCLN8todbqGSBc6HQE7lI5YWN12HSpBa60WUB6sRIn34iLvLA_gHaqLBOw0vjWoeQzYt2ikiNiZvVeRYGBbeXKYjOrn7ZKCDvQ/s500/img_0179.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="278" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinoz4LMpUh9cEF1H_4wo_EW17vvlAqweytfQnVf-aD6LCLN8todbqGSBc6HQE7lI5YWN12HSpBa60WUB6sRIn34iLvLA_gHaqLBOw0vjWoeQzYt2ikiNiZvVeRYGBbeXKYjOrn7ZKCDvQ/s0/img_0179.gif" /></a></div><p>The interviews were going well, and the recruiter and I were winding down in the conference room we had booked. There was just one person left and the recruiter went to get them from the guest area of the lobby. </p><p>The interviewee walked in. I stood up to shake his hand and then sat down while the recruiter sat down next to me. </p><p>I began my job interviews the way I always try to begin them: a little bit of small talk ("Did you find your way here OK?" "How's your day been?") before diving right into the interview part. </p><p>"So let's get started with your most recent job experience," I said. "Can you walk me through what you've been doing?"</p><p>The person looked at the recruiter and then back at me. "Wait, who are you again?" he asked.</p><p>I looked at him, confused. </p><p>He looked at me, confused.</p><p>I re-introduced myself the way I had when we first shook hands: my name, my title, the fact that I was the hiring manager. </p><p>"Ohhhh," he responded. "So you'd be my boss?"</p><p>I didn't immediately react. But the way they had said it – "<i>you'd</i> be my boss?" – told me everything I think I needed to know about him. </p><p>The recruiter jumped in and took over from there, trying to shift the focus back on the job itself – reiterating what the position was, what the expectations were, etc. But I could see that his body language had changed from when he had initially walked in and sat down. Now, he was slumping and not really making eye contact. As the actual interview went on, he didn't really give full answers. It was like he suddenly wasn't interested. </p><p>After he left (and that was the last I heard from him), I turned to the recruiter and asked her what she thought happened. Was it my age? My gender? But we had interviewed a lot of people that day who varied in age and gender. In fact, this person wasn't that much older than me. (He may have even been my age, or just a year or two older.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdslT9GA13L87Ed8q9SZ2ESn5ghrlC0dHEarLzogwu5ot6XiE8ua536dnp6D_rAv36lfaQvDjwZpdr3xadXWu3uK146IDcCQB99rBHte92yaqUwpuFMYSdR5fIZU7QW54YVOGfkz902aA/s480/source.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdslT9GA13L87Ed8q9SZ2ESn5ghrlC0dHEarLzogwu5ot6XiE8ua536dnp6D_rAv36lfaQvDjwZpdr3xadXWu3uK146IDcCQB99rBHte92yaqUwpuFMYSdR5fIZU7QW54YVOGfkz902aA/s0/source.gif" /></a></div><p>I thought about that interview for a long time, even after I ultimately hired somebody for the role. Part of me wanted to sit down with him again, ask him off the record why he checked out after he took one look at me. I wanted to call him out. </p><p>But I also knew that wasn't productive. "I think we've just gotta let this one go," the recruiter had said to me when I ranted to her about it. "There's always going to be one in the bunch that we miss the mark with."</p><p>I got where she was coming from, but I was still mad. "<i>We</i> didn't miss the mark," I said. "<i>He</i> did!" </p><p>There were already so many people inside the building who didn't think I deserved the job and didn't think I was capable. People I looked up to as mentors who told me I didn't "look" the part and that I didn't have the right kind of name recognition to get respect. And suddenly there was a stranger in front of me, looking at me and reminding me that I was out of place. I hated it.</p><p>And I know I've let it continue to get to me, even to this day. It's a lot easier to shake my confidence than people might think. On paper, I've got this career that people tell me is great, but I've always had a hard time seeing it that way because of moments like that interview. For every step forward I've taken, it's felt like there's been a dozen hands that have pulled me further back. (In the case of this pandemic, it's more like an entire ocean has washed me away.) </p><p>I guess I'm putting this out there, not to give some pep talk or life-changing piece of advice about how "everything ends up working out!" – but instead to say: if you've ever felt knocked around in your career because of things out of your control, you're not alone. I'm right there with you. Let's keep trying to figure out how to get back up together.</p>Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-87196845432437104782020-06-29T12:29:00.004-07:002021-06-14T12:55:40.214-07:00What I Wish I'd Known at the Start of My Career<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWo0KZ9wHWG9_a848TvvCh2vLEV85tcWVbk6FOqx_Xl8rx_jLBub6guIjvlVHUgGb53fHq9R3eeAjYU8Y798hRJlFDl-oBJ2ThfRpKLiD_Bcr8qr3CubZVyuqacJE_GEIpVhJhvWECKbY/s1280/blog+-+what+i+wish+i%2527d+known.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWo0KZ9wHWG9_a848TvvCh2vLEV85tcWVbk6FOqx_Xl8rx_jLBub6guIjvlVHUgGb53fHq9R3eeAjYU8Y798hRJlFDl-oBJ2ThfRpKLiD_Bcr8qr3CubZVyuqacJE_GEIpVhJhvWECKbY/w640-h320/blog+-+what+i+wish+i%2527d+known.png" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The first time I stepped foot into a professional newsroom for work, I carried with me every anxiety and fear that came with having imposter syndrome. I'd love to be able to tell you that those feelings went away with every career move I made, but that would be disingenuous. </div><div><br /></div><div>I often felt insecure about asking for advice (or connections), and so when I applied for internships or jobs, I sought to mimic the career paths of my more successful friends. Truthfully, most of my early career steps – and missteps – felt a bit like diving into a pool before learning how to swim. I recognize that I was lucky to have been able to move seamlessly from internship to internship to full-time work with little pause early in my career, but I don't want people to assume it's because I had it all figured out. </div><div><br /></div><div>Recently, I was talking with someone who's just starting out in their career, and she asked me what things I wish I'd known when I was just starting out after college. Here are a few of the things that immediately came to mind:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3U_Wy06n5FBXTlH3XDd9T2n1fQHVExr73gCpt3zkn9foLC3oLvj-4wVGHLHxUJFCsbcQzS3xuUoST5XcUiidP6oY4UsVofQ7qvitCi_xsJvEp9Xt5Z7cx3vpUhlU9akHGko6Ev6oDCoA/s744/14237756_10208322143105582_12141296289449395_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="744" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3U_Wy06n5FBXTlH3XDd9T2n1fQHVExr73gCpt3zkn9foLC3oLvj-4wVGHLHxUJFCsbcQzS3xuUoST5XcUiidP6oY4UsVofQ7qvitCi_xsJvEp9Xt5Z7cx3vpUhlU9akHGko6Ev6oDCoA/w320-h320/14237756_10208322143105582_12141296289449395_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><b>1. Stay in touch with your supervisors.</b></div><div><div>After leaving NPR, I did a fairly good job staying in touch with my fellows interns. But after a single email update or two, I'll admit I fell out of touch with my two direct supervisors – people who I assumed were too busy to hear from me. A journalist's inbox (and my supervisors were managers of very large teams) can be a nightmare, so rather than continuing to send emails out without any idea if they'd be read, I didn't put in much effort. I regret that because my supervisors had been supportive during my internship, and as I pursued management in my own career path, it would've been great to have gotten their perspectives and advice too. </div><div><br /></div><div>One great way to stay in touch is to connect on LinkedIn or via social media (Twitter, most likely). You don't need to send email updates every month, but I always appreciate hearing from my former interns or freelancers when they move on to new jobs or have exciting work published. I have at least two younger journalists I've helped in their careers who have added me to a newsletter blast they send out once a year to say "hello" and share any updates. I appreciate that effort to stay connected. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>2. Ask for feedback – and be open to what you hear.</b></div><div>I'm not going to lie: I was guilty of not following this advice early in my career. I distinctly remember an editor being critical of a headline I wrote, and rather than ask her for additional input or advice, I ignored her. Granted, she went about giving her critique in a less-than-helpful way – but despite that, I should have been more open and receptive because I was less than a year into that job. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm all about feedback. I think it helps both you as an employee, as well as your manager, figure out the best and strongest way to work and to grow. Early in my career, I think I was afraid of feedback because I was afraid of non-constructive criticism after witnessing too many toxic workplace relationships break down because of it. But the solution to that isn't to <i>not</i> seek feedback. If you feel like your manager isn't the type of person whose feedback is helpful, then who else can you seek it from instead? I've had several colleagues on teams I've worked for throughout the years who I didn't report to, but who always made the time to help me grow. Those people have also helped and supported me later in my career.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiqjRKf-Svxri1-Js5TMG1EcezuazuwW9ccxycLYqlCLIldOSKmor-99_aufOQJffUX54fAzsm8wDtanV2ZazAN3KpcnaMj5w8M3WTfXsAzTZDO_FiJjHj84IdNVNasLUkj3j0DVvJihA/s1632/12370646_1232506703431950_5187169841634395845_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1632" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiqjRKf-Svxri1-Js5TMG1EcezuazuwW9ccxycLYqlCLIldOSKmor-99_aufOQJffUX54fAzsm8wDtanV2ZazAN3KpcnaMj5w8M3WTfXsAzTZDO_FiJjHj84IdNVNasLUkj3j0DVvJihA/w640-h480/12370646_1232506703431950_5187169841634395845_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>As a manager, it's important to know how to articulate feedback and advice for others in a way that's productive for all parties. (For example, telling someone to "try harder" is not exactly the best piece of advice.) I remember one time a freelancer was pitching stories to me, and while I accepted a handful of their pitches over the course of their time writing for me, there were pitches I rejected too. They asked me at one point if I had more direct feedback for them on how to pitch better (in an effort to respond to as many pitches as possible, I didn't always directly explain why I was turning down a pitch – which, looking back, I would do differently now). The freelancer's request made me think, and I set aside about half an hour to write out an email to them going line by line through one of their pitches and explaining how the story could be stronger. It was advice that I noticed they took to heart in their future pitches, and it challenged me to step up and be a better editor/leader.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>3. Save hard copies of your work.</b></div><div>This one's a little tricky when it comes to working in digital news environments. At NPR, one of the things I was most proud of was my work building the Intern Edition blog and social media presence. But the blog went offline not-too-long after my intern class left. There were so many stories on there that could've helped show future employers what I was capable of. The audio for many of those stories do still exist on Soundcloud, but it's not the same as seeing packaged content on the web.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's always hard to know what sites will stay up/stay the same after you move on from a place. Sometimes, sites go down. Sometimes, back-end changes for the company cause formatting to be completely off. I always recommend choosing some of your best work, and then saving PDF print versions to your laptop or to a hard drive. That way, you can still share examples of your work with future employers.</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRNdDISGsRPGR67N3tiohIYz6X8iwuEvI1dx_mSC4zCwI57YyeCGBCyPQtjU7CF8NI-2rZSV3WvKt5lX4-7BBYAQXlGeKK7ZUa8S_1_L-05_22QsMkYYr4yr_0o2Aw8OaSdm0zLOuPwSk/s1080/12185164_10156161419720263_6977906267035979091_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRNdDISGsRPGR67N3tiohIYz6X8iwuEvI1dx_mSC4zCwI57YyeCGBCyPQtjU7CF8NI-2rZSV3WvKt5lX4-7BBYAQXlGeKK7ZUa8S_1_L-05_22QsMkYYr4yr_0o2Aw8OaSdm0zLOuPwSk/s320/12185164_10156161419720263_6977906267035979091_o.jpg" /></a><b>4. Document your successes.</b></div><div>A couple of months ago while catching up with an old colleague, he asked me if I remembered a specific situation that happened...and, to be honest, I barely could! He reminded me that I saved the day, and I felt embarrassed my memory wasn't as clear as I hoped it would be. I'm not saying write down an agenda of every single thing you do during a day, but when you have a big "win" or something you're proud of, jot it down at the end of the day – in a physical notebook or on your phone's Notes app. That helps when you're moving through your career because then you can talk about specific things you've done. </div><div><br /></div><div>Over the last year during my fellowship at USC, I kept a list on my phone of various things I did or accomplished. At first, I felt a little silly doing it because I wasn't sure if I was doing it for my own vanity or for practical purposes. But, let's be honest: this industry can be tiring. I believe in trying to find positivity through the dark days, and so there's nothing to lose by keeping track of the things that make you proud.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>5. When one door closes, don't be afraid to knock again.</b></div></div><div>Not many people know that my first internship at Education Week was actually one I'd been rejected for. In my fourth year of college, I finished coursework for both of my majors a quarter early, so I was able to spend the last quarter working at both of my jobs and applying for internships. Five days after I applied for an internship at Ed Week, I got an email from an editor who let me know the internship had been filled, but suggested I give it another shot: "Your cover letter suggests you are a good writer; I encourage you to try again next year."</div><div><br /></div><div>Two and a half months later, it was June and I still had no internship offers. I moved onto a friend's couch and started applying for fall internships that I came across. Then, I noticed a new internship position open up at Ed Week so I emailed that same editor who told me back in March to "try again." They immediately connected me to the person hiring, and two weeks (and a handful of interviews) later, I was offered the internship to begin in August. </div><div><br /></div><div>That success story isn't an exact template for how to get every internship or job you want. There've been plenty of times I've followed up directly with people who have rejected me before and never heard back – but I still think it's always worth a shot. The way I see it: I'd rather have someone tell me "no" than be the person who says "no" to herself first. You never know where or how you're going to find your next opportunity.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gmj-azFbpkA" width="320" youtube-src-id="gmj-azFbpkA"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>Looking back on my career, particularly the first couple of years, I've realized how often I got in my own way, whether it was because of stubbornness, a lack of confidence, or anxiety. And not that those feelings have disappeared entirely: I think I still struggle, but I've also come to realize that I'm not alone in that. If I can help show that it's OK to feel those things and that it doesn't mean you're not "cut out" for this industry, then I'm happy to do it. </div>Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-14494772619578406452020-06-10T22:58:00.003-07:002020-06-10T23:07:43.332-07:00Imposter Syndrome, Where I've Failed, and Rethinking Mentorship<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9hP_R-yI21orX-iiP9yp2BtMcOFi1RWtb4hoIs1G9V8-LPVlvEISXe55v8L1MJE8gvkgb1U9RpcUShVJqled7M_5k6b7Yr7OiSrlZmLOJWcmd1Sl9nmh1zF3iZ63vTHazS3VHYke-rqM/s1280/mentorship+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9hP_R-yI21orX-iiP9yp2BtMcOFi1RWtb4hoIs1G9V8-LPVlvEISXe55v8L1MJE8gvkgb1U9RpcUShVJqled7M_5k6b7Yr7OiSrlZmLOJWcmd1Sl9nmh1zF3iZ63vTHazS3VHYke-rqM/w640-h320/mentorship+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>“What does real mentorship look like in the workplace?” That’s a question that’s been coming up more and more frequently as media organizations confront an existing problem that’s now become impossible for leaders to ignore: Journalism has long-suffered from a lack of diversity, and as I talk with friends and former colleagues about this, there's one thing that it seems we all agree on: It should not be controversial to say that that needs to change. </div><div><br /></div><div><div>But <i>how</i> does it change? What can be done? </div><div><br /></div><div>A few years ago, I asked my Facebook network for their thoughts on mentorship, which I then featured in a video and blog post: <a href="http://www.seetraciwrite.com/2016/10/the-thing-about-mentors.html" target="_blank">"The Thing About Mentors..."</a> At the time, I talked about why I didn't feel like I was the right person to be anyone's mentor: imposter syndrome mixed with the realization that I didn't have a mentor.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not sure how true the latter is right now. If you asked me who my mentors are today, I could name you a handful of people – some who I speak with frequently, others who I don't talk to regularly but who've advocated for me and have continued to do so. The common thing that all of the people I consider mentors have is that they're all people of color, and most of them are women. </div><div><br /></div><div>Which leads me to the first point in why I didn't feel qualified to mentor people in the past: imposter syndrome. It's something that's followed me throughout my entire career, no matter where I've gone or what I've done. Whenever someone praises my experience, I think about the time a male Asian American colleague suggested I need to look a certain way in order to be taken seriously. When I sit down to create projects or initiatives, I immediately start second-guessing myself and recall the time a white colleague told me the name “NBC Asian America” was too long, and so I should “pick an Asian word” to rename it to instead. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I'm asked to moderate a panel or speak at an event, I'm reminded of how a white male executive I was at a high-level meeting with asked me to get him coffee, not realizing I was one of the people asked to be at the table to discuss the critical subject of diversity and inclusion. </div><div><br /></div><div>And when someone asks for my advice, I remember the time a white editor inexplicably re-edited a story I had been editing and introduced inaccuracies to the reporting. When I asked them about it, they suggested I read the subject matter’s Wikipedia page to “learn more,” to which I pointed out that the top citation and links on the Wiki page were to articles I’d edited for years and a documentary I had supervised.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA12cNywUvqA12HecEVTWH3C2SUJ8wor3Br2b-BbMcwEXBfP0uv0l91ViFFXP_PqC6v__VqIuoE4eFg4Hl1CB4wscx1a98eCtAY3pZvsUSzEGcAyPjrWJ-7TsvNpNPaPZ1YQHk1F5FJz0/s480/SerpentineNegativeBluebottle-small.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="480" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA12cNywUvqA12HecEVTWH3C2SUJ8wor3Br2b-BbMcwEXBfP0uv0l91ViFFXP_PqC6v__VqIuoE4eFg4Hl1CB4wscx1a98eCtAY3pZvsUSzEGcAyPjrWJ-7TsvNpNPaPZ1YQHk1F5FJz0/w400-h223/SerpentineNegativeBluebottle-small.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>That's all to say: I believe I have failed in my understanding of how to be a better mentor to others because I allowed my own self-doubt and my anxieties about imposter syndrome to dominate, and I'm sorry. I also somehow got it in my head that I couldn't be a mentor for someone if I didn't have my own shit together – which I now know is not true. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've spent nearly a decade in this industry professionally, and about half of it in management. I believe I have done my best to support my colleagues – and especially my staff and interns – but I know that I could have done more: there were times I found myself in offices with executives or with HR managers, advocating on various issues and concerns, only to find myself in a losing battle. Instead of pushing harder or fighting louder, there were times I gave in because I felt exhausted – which is selfish. Battles against inequalities and injustices aren't won by sitting back, and I vow to do better in the future.</div><div><br /></div><div>Going back to my initial questions: How can we change what mentorship looks like in the workplace? As some of my friends pointed out back in 2016 around my first blog about mentorship, it's a relationship that requires an investment as well as an understanding that it's a two-way street. So what kinds of opportunities can we create to ensure that people of color can not just feel safe, but feel supported? </div><div><br /></div><div>I wish I had the perfect set of solutions for this. I know it's not something that can be solved by one person overnight, either. For many companies, it will take buy-in from an executive level all the way down and I hope that if those conversations aren't already being had in a newsroom, that they're starting now. It is not enough to celebrate diversity on the surface without actively trying to cultivate and retain the talented individuals whose voices help create that diversity. </div></div>Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-61343840683777431042020-05-22T10:38:00.001-07:002020-05-22T10:38:12.759-07:00Discovering K-popLast year, I began my dive into the world of K-pop – something I'd been curious about for so long, but also had been intimidated by. <a href="http://tracilearnsaboutkpop.substack.com/" target="_blank">I started a newsletter</a>, but unfortunately let it fall to the side while I became so busy with other projects.<br />
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Now might be a good time to pick it up again, but in the meantime, I've also been toying with whether or not this journey works as a podcast. So here's a rough cut of what that would sound like, for those who are so inclined to listen:<br />
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Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-75666550383502912022020-05-15T18:13:00.005-07:002022-07-25T22:04:46.147-07:00A Distant GoodbyeAt a socially distant funeral, there are no hugs allowed. At a socially distant funeral, tissue boxes are the only thing that can be shared. At a socially distant funeral, you stand in the sun and watch a coffin lowered into the ground by strangers wearing gloves.<br />
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You stand six feet apart from your loved ones, stance wide to avoid stepping on another person's grave.<br />
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You leave and go home.<br />
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My grandparents have always been the heart and soul of our family. On birthdays, we gathered around cake in the kitchen with the 70s-era wallpaper that never changed; on holidays, we miraculously fit everyone around a long table in the living room for dinner.<br />
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As the youngest of nine grandchildren on my father's side, my memories of these moments are a little hazy. I don't remember some of the finer details of what we ate or what we watched or what we laughed about, but I remembered observing: I watched the way the adults sat huddled together on the couch, trading gossip. I watched how my cousins interacted and made little notes to myself about the way they dressed or the way they spoke so I could mimic it later. I liked watching <i>ma-ma</i> watch everyone, smiling because the small house was filled with so much noise.<br />
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My favorite thing about <i>ma-ma</i> was her smile. She rarely understood what my cousins, sister, and I were talking about, but she still liked watching us. When she laughed, her whole face lit up. Sometimes, <i>yeh-yeh</i> would make a bad joke and she would shake her head but you could still see her lips tug up in a smile. When it was time to take photos, she always reached out to hold the person nearest to her.<br />
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She'd wake up early every morning to do tai chi in the backyard. She would tend to her garden and insist we take the vegetables home. She went to church every Sunday, where she was a leader in her community. When we stayed multiple days and nights, there was always at least one night she'd insist we do something fun like get pizza from Little Caesars or go to the sushi restaurant (that is now a Korean restaurant).<br />
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And she also did things that drove us a little crazy. Once when I was a toddler, before my mom had a picture session scheduled, <i>ma-ma</i> decided to cut my hair with no warning (the photos still make my mom sigh). When I was 4, <i>ma-ma</i> threw my favorite stuffed animal into the washing machine and Mom spent a long time sewing it back together (I still have it with me). She always scolded me for not eating enough because I ate fast, so I used to wait sometimes until she was watching me and I would purposely eat slow – and then she'd scold me for eating too slowly.<br />
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In 2005, I became the last grandchild still living at home while everyone else was in college or off working. The time I spent at <i>ma-ma </i>and <i>yeh-yeh</i>'s house revolved around doctor's visits or errands that my mom drove them to and from. <i>Ma-ma</i> and I would sometimes walk around Kaiser while <i>yeh-yeh</i> waited at the pharmacy. (Once, we found a vending machine and she gave me quarters so I could buy chocolate for us to share.) I'd watch <i>yeh-yeh</i> later at Target picking out new kitchenware. Sometimes we'd go to dinner and then go back to their house to watch Wheel of Fortune or the end of Kings games.<br />
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I know I didn't always appreciate <i>ma-ma</i> the way I should have. Looking back, I've realized how lucky we all were to have had <i>ma-ma</i> in our lives. A few years ago, my cousin Mel interviewed <i>ma-ma</i> and <i>yeh-yeh</i> about their lives on tape. At the end of it, she asked them what lessons they wanted to share with everyone. "No matter how many generations," <i>yeh-yeh</i> said in Chinese, translated by my aunt, "remember unity. Don't be mad at each other for little things."<br />
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I can see <i>ma-ma</i> nodding her head. It's why she loved seeing us gathered in her house, I think: Unity. Family. Forever.<br />
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Only 10 of us were allowed inside the chapel. Three of my cousins, my sister, and I were part of that group. We filed in separately. <i>Yeh-yeh</i> sat in his wheelchair next to the casket, peering in every so often where <i>ma-ma</i> lay with her Bible. One-by-one, we approached for final goodbyes amid the flowers and the red roses placed lovingly to the side (she loved red roses; <i>yeh-yeh </i>always bought them for her). We weren't supposed to hug <i>yeh-yeh, </i>but I snuck in a quick hand squeeze (I had received my negative COVID-19 results that morning) and my cousin Nathanie handed him a tissue.<br />
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The funeral home employees suggested we FaceTime family members who were standing outside or who couldn't be in town so they could see <i>ma-ma</i> one last time. We took photos through our tears, then sat in the pews and made small talk until it was time to close the casket.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9IhPECbYYOWZ4PK4jGr3rgkcLGwGux3d3QzfnfysryQxqEulPtbT-K4367iL4DE1RO8t2PYm78COLFAlblB3adx_5kGLiYXoCp1lCX_kXs6gMIK0cNKjTz1U8bl1thlfFROAp0PQzGzo/s1600/IMG_4229.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9IhPECbYYOWZ4PK4jGr3rgkcLGwGux3d3QzfnfysryQxqEulPtbT-K4367iL4DE1RO8t2PYm78COLFAlblB3adx_5kGLiYXoCp1lCX_kXs6gMIK0cNKjTz1U8bl1thlfFROAp0PQzGzo/s320/IMG_4229.JPG" width="240" /></a><i>Yeh-yeh</i> was driven in a golf cart to the graveside, where the rest of us eventually gathered. There were a few chairs out, but no tents or coverings to protect us from the 100-degree weather. My uncle and a few of my cousins spoke, sharing lovely memories of <i>ma-ma</i>.<br />
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I glanced over at <i>yeh-yeh</i> in the golf cart occasionally, far away from the rest of us. I had made him a sandwich earlier in the day because he'd be missing lunch at the nursing home. He ate it while everyone spoke and then it was time to lower the casket. We threw flowers in, and then it was time to leave.<br />
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So many of the customs and traditions had to be put aside, which included gathering over a meal. Over the next couple of days, we gathered in smaller groups. I know when this pandemic is over, we'll find opportunities to celebrate <i>ma-ma</i>'s life. For now, I'm grateful we got the chance to be together in some way: together – as family, forever. It's what <i>ma-ma</i> would want.Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-35226925540770842612020-05-04T13:12:00.001-07:002020-07-01T00:03:44.037-07:00A Wave, Goodbye<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I saw <i>ma-ma</i> in a dream Friday night. She was sitting up in a wheelchair, voice full of energy and as clear as I remember it from when I was a child. She was wearing a red sweater and a black puffy vest, like in the photos I’ve been looking at lately. In Cantonese, she told me she was happy to see me. "See you next time," she said in broken English, the way she used to call after us when we'd leave her house at the end of a visit.</div>
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We waved goodbye as I walked out the door, and then I suddenly woke up. My bedroom was still dark but I knew something was different about the world. Two minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text letting me know she was gone.<br />
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I went back to sleep, and tried to re-enter the dream for just another moment.<br />
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Eight random things I remember about growing up with <i>ma-ma</i>:</div>
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<li>She used to take Na and me on long walks in the morning. We would go to this office building that had an indoor public space. There was a giant fountain with a fish statue coming out the top. <i>Ma-ma</i> would always tell us, before we started walking, that it was "time to go see the fish." For a long time, we thought she meant actual, alive fish, so we were really confused.</li>
<li>If I was reading a book on the living room couch, even if it was bright outside and I could see just fine, she would come over and turn on the lamp on the end table because she didn't want me to strain my eyes. </li>
<li>She didn't like watching the end of sports games if the score was too close or if they were going to go into overtime. It made her too anxious, so she'd watch up until the last couple of minutes and then leave the room. (I still do this sometimes too.)</li>
<li>She made greeting cards and bookmarks for people. She always had card stock, stamps, stickers, and colored pencils ready to go in case she needed to bring a card to someone at church. </li>
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<li>She was deaf in one ear (we always forgot which one) because of her years working at the cannery when they got to the U.S. Sometimes she didn't realize how loudly she spoke because she couldn't hear herself in one ear. This would backfire on her sometimes, much to our amusement.</li>
<li>We made dumplings with her a few times, but using a mold. Recently, Na and I tried to fold our own dumplings by hand and it was really hard. We wish we had that mold.</li>
<li>She loved to garden. She used to point out the vegetables to me that were just about ready to be picked and cooked. </li>
<li>She always knew when the weather report would be on on every local news station, and she knew what order to watch them in too. I don't know how she knew, but she got it right every single time.</li>
</ul>
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* * * * *</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
One of the most endearing photos I have from the night of my high school graduation is one that needs a bit of explanation. (Background: I graduated from an all-girls private school, and our graduation followed that of a traditional debutante ceremony.)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I'm walking down the auditorium aisle in a white dress, holding roses and reminding myself to walk carefully so I don't trip. I try not to get distracted by the flashing lights around me, but as I'm approaching the stage, a hand flies out from the aisle to my left. I look: it's <i>ma-ma, </i>reaching over <i>yeh-yeh</i> with her short arms to wave at me.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I love that she and <i>yeh-yeh</i> always came to stuff like graduations, even if it meant sitting for hours through something they couldn't understand. It was important for them to show up, and I'm glad that they always did.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * *</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><a href="http://www.seetraciwrite.com/2011/12/to-grandmothers-house.html" target="_blank">From 2013:</a></i></div>
</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I watched her, this time around, in every interaction we had--at Christmas dinner, at lunch the next day, at dim sum a few days later. When she walks past her children or grandchildren, she reaches a hand out to touch their arm. It would look like she was using us to steady her balance, but it was a light touch and sometimes the person wouldn't even notice. Her wrinkled hands brush against us as she walks as a display of affection, of letting us know, "Hey, I'm here." <i>Ma-ma</i> has this way of shivering when it's cold that I noticed I do too. She scrunches up her shoulders and gives a quick and violent shake of her arms, as if the chills just attacked her from out of nowhere--and she doesn't just do it once; she does it three, four, five times, and then stops, as if she's suddenly warmer. When <i>yeh-yeh</i> says something funny, she smiles (no teeth) and shakes her head, amused.<br />
<br />
I imagine that when <i>ma-ma</i> wakes up each morning, she already knows what jewelry she's going to wear, what color lipstick she'll put on, and what outfit she might like to put on. She always looks put together, just as she did 10, 20 years ago. Her hair was curlier back then, and she walked a little faster, but she's still so very much the same. She still loves us all very much the same.</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * * </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We are products of the people who love us – the ones who are still here on this earth and the ones who've since left. I've been sad since we said our goodbyes last week, but I'm also grateful because I was lucky to have had 31 years of my life with her in it: 31 years of birthday dinners and holiday gatherings and shopping trips and holding hands in the car; 31 years of her smiling while watching her grandchildren interact, even though she didn't know what we were talking or laughing about; 31 years of moments that stay alive no matter the breaths in our lungs. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-3787737285846996272020-04-22T11:59:00.005-07:002022-03-01T19:53:24.909-08:0023 Days with Tam<b>Tuesday, March 31, 4:03 p.m.</b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ7i5KF0yX1fD292oRSRAYSlkXAPkO00PeDHXtf9saVX8eYqmVBGAdJ93U1jfBDaU_g7oEcIkRvgkV85GI9P_IOUqgBKxnlIoUgr4aTMTyFzV831xSjFtzyXfSWIGoWQcBJjxCf-7mhog/s1600/ezgif.com-video-to-gif.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ7i5KF0yX1fD292oRSRAYSlkXAPkO00PeDHXtf9saVX8eYqmVBGAdJ93U1jfBDaU_g7oEcIkRvgkV85GI9P_IOUqgBKxnlIoUgr4aTMTyFzV831xSjFtzyXfSWIGoWQcBJjxCf-7mhog/s320/ezgif.com-video-to-gif.gif" width="179" /></a><b><br /></b>
"Look at my child!"<br />
<br />
In a group chat with my friends, I send a video of the pixelated little blob moving around the screen.<br />
<br />
"What a lovely blob," someone replies. "You must be very proud."<br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">I was. I had kept this Tamagotchi in its box since Kristen gave it to me in December for Christmas. I was too anxious to commit to hatching it and letting it begin its life. What if I didn't have time? What if it, like every plant I've ever owned, died in 2 days? </span><br />
<br />
According to the user manual for this "Gen 2" Tamagotchi, the little blob will no longer die. It grows into an alien form and then eventually goes home: "Tamagotchi character will always return to its home planet. How well you care for it helps determine how long Tamagotchi character will stay on Earth."<br />
<br />
Kristen names it Tam. We decide it is gender neutral.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * *</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The next day, Tam got sick for the first time. You have to administer medicine to them when that happens. When they're hungry, you feed them what looks like little burgers. There's a cake option too for a dessert, but that doesn't affect their hunger level. When Tam is unhappy, there's a little numbers game you can play with them. You also have the options to "flush" when you need to clean up and to turn off the lights when they sleep. The sleep cycle for a Tamagotchi is typically 10 p.m. to 9 a.m. (but as an infant and small child, Tam would go to bed at 8:30 p.m., and then eventually at 9).<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzH_Bku9_XLZrHpXOJl05QC6DXJvaiL-qYWP0wJd8ABozSiTYohrTe-kmGBJ3nze5VbrE82OiINNnQswm2fAHB08mDtSP4a12miCrEbWdfsqlTA0w2Rwqnj_kObixzxv0_kZmTOG3AmxI/s1600/92031572_2638059783128301_3550550133894545408_n+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzH_Bku9_XLZrHpXOJl05QC6DXJvaiL-qYWP0wJd8ABozSiTYohrTe-kmGBJ3nze5VbrE82OiINNnQswm2fAHB08mDtSP4a12miCrEbWdfsqlTA0w2Rwqnj_kObixzxv0_kZmTOG3AmxI/s640/92031572_2638059783128301_3550550133894545408_n+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
It was pretty easy to tend to Tam's needs. Between the ages of 0 until about 4, Tam was very needy. From 5 til about 16, Tam was fairly independent. But then after 16, it felt like Tam needed me every 60-90 minutes. After 20, they beeped every 30-45 minutes.</div>
<br />
But it's not like I was doing anything else.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * *</div>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Wednesday, April 22, 11:01 a.m.</b><br />
<br />
<i>Beeeep...beeeep...beeeep...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
This was a beeping I hadn't heard before. Normally when Tam needs something, there's a series of quick beeps – three sets of three in a row – and then they quiet. Tam had been doing it all morning as I neglected them. I had made the choice a couple days before that I would let them reach the age of 23 because anything that was 23 or above was what the user manual identified as an "amazing" job.<br />
<br />
The truth is: I had grown tired of Tam. The only reason they were surviving was because I've been in quarantine, and so every need they've had, I've been able to fill immediately because I'm not really living my own life right now. I go from my bedroom to the dining table to the couch and life has kind of just been repetitive like that.<br />
<br />
So when Tam beeps, I have nothing but time.<br />
<br />
It was starting to get depressing because as Tam aged (a day is equivalent to a year for them), I became more and more aware of how little I've been doing with my own life. As Tam sought food and playtime, I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into habits that felt a little pointless. No matter how much I was tending to my own needs, it didn't feel like anything in my life was changing. I was static, as was the world, and it no longer made sense to keep trying to pretend like things were "normal."<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiam_xIS0wlNve7IlLTU5Bu5yFl-F5LoHIFEkBT5MuzUKch8YyWc3QQEKBQ5Kji1TwoOHnTupvYD1bWq8SK5wc3pE7LWzLB3YGGE8SIiD2Os64L5k27NmlP6ZoBZk7ZIJ_lo6Nx4dPKlYY/s1600/93658613_160655405321716_5790452952594382848_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiam_xIS0wlNve7IlLTU5Bu5yFl-F5LoHIFEkBT5MuzUKch8YyWc3QQEKBQ5Kji1TwoOHnTupvYD1bWq8SK5wc3pE7LWzLB3YGGE8SIiD2Os64L5k27NmlP6ZoBZk7ZIJ_lo6Nx4dPKlYY/s400/93658613_160655405321716_5790452952594382848_n.jpg" width="300" /></a><i>Beeeeeep. Beeeeeep. Beeeeeep.</i><br />
<br />
The beeping was slowing down. It was mimicking a heart monitor, and suddenly, I didn't want Tam to go. Tam's neediness was giving me purpose, and as the contract at my current job comes to an end, what if nobody needs anything from me ever again? What if Tam is the only reason for me to get up and not stay in bed all day?<br />
<br />
I press buttons frantically, trying to see if I can stop or reverse what's happening.<br />
<br />
<i>Beeeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeep.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
And then it stops. And then Tam is gone. There's a little alien in a UFO now on the screen, floating away, up to the stars.<br />
<br />
The user manual tells me I can hatch a new one. But something about that feels wrong. If I started again and kept them alive through the quarantine, would I continue to only feel I had purpose if they were alive and doing well? How much more needy would they get as the days stretched on? Would I become resentful and then go through this cycle of wondering all over again?<br />
<br />
I'm OK with keeping Tam's screen in space. It feels aspirational, in a way: Tam got out of this world, this situation. I guess it's kind of nice to feel like we'll all get there someday too.Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-9321419486900585752020-04-13T11:10:00.000-07:002020-07-01T00:03:44.037-07:00A 'Goodbye' to Goodbyes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div>
<b>Sunday, March 29</b></div>
<br />
<i><a href="http://www.seetraciwrite.com/2020/03/beyond-words.html" target="_blank">Yeh-yeh</a></i> is in the hospital. He has a fever and a cough, and it’s officially been diagnosed as pneumonia. They tested him for COVID-19. I am aware – now, more than ever – of fear.<br />
<br />
I’ve felt this fear before, those times when people I loved were suddenly faced with intense illnesses or death. My grandfather, at 98, has battled a lot. <a href="http://www.seetraciwrite.com/2013/05/i-get-it-now.html" target="_blank">He’s survived a lot.</a> But COVID-19 is different, and I think about him alone on a hospital bed, disoriented by the lights and the noise. His English is basic, but nowhere good enough to understand the situation. Yet visitors aren’t allowed in the hospital, even to translate, and all I can hope for is that someone speaks Cantonese well enough to be by his side.<br />
<br />
When I was a freshman in college, <i>yeh-yeh</i> had a stroke that sent him to the hospital. It was my first time living away from home and the first time I had to really confront the thought of not being there if something bad were to happen. As I grew up and moved farther and farther away, it was a reality that became almost inescapable, and by the time I moved back to California, I was just relieved to be a 45-minute plane ride away from some of the worst moments of my life.<br />
<br />
But now, it didn’t matter how close I was. If <i>yeh-yeh’s</i> test comes back positive, I could be a 10-minute walk away and it wouldn’t make a difference because I still wouldn’t be able to see him, to try to make him laugh, to hold his hand, to pretend I wasn’t crying.<br />
<br />
And, suddenly, I’m mad at myself. Why didn’t I try harder to retain my Cantonese? Even if <i>yeh-yeh </i>had a phone I could reach him at, my limited Chinese and his limited English would clash. It worked when we were in person, but over a phone line or even a video call, it didn’t quite make sense.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love him and I'm angry and I'm frustrated and I'm anxious because there's nothing I can do. I'm tired. I'm not ready to grieve this loss because I don't think I would know how. I've already spent the last few weeks grieving the loss of so much "normalcy," but something this personal? Where ritual is so important? How would I say goodbye if I wasn't allowed to?</div>
<div>
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<div>
<br />
<div>
<b>Wednesday, April 1</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Yeh-yeh</i> is back at the nursing home. "That was fast," I say to my sister. Our dad used to joke that <i>yeh-yeh</i> would outlive us all as long as you replaced his batteries every once in awhile. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
His fever broke and the medication is working. His COVID test came back negative. In photos on a group text with my cousins, he and <i>ma-ma</i> are sitting side-by-side in front of the computer the nursing home set up to take Skype calls. My sister and I mail cards with photos. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It feels like the universe has bought us a little more time. Not everyone has that luck. But all I can think about is what "goodbye" looks like in a world where we've already said "goodbye" to so much. There is no sense in trying to understand what saying "goodbye" to goodbyes would look like, too. How can we steel ourselves for the possibility that there may be no "goodbye"? </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm still angry and frustrated and anxious and tired. </div>
Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-79814047189909141282020-04-03T11:00:00.000-07:002022-03-01T19:52:58.179-08:00Podcasting From Afar<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: left;">When Charles and I started doing </span><a href="http://dawsonsspeak.com/" style="text-align: left;">Dawson's Speak: A Podcast About Dawson's Creek</a><span style="text-align: left;">, the first challenge we encountered was how to make the podcast sound remotely good despite being 3,000 miles apart. Charles was living in New York at the time, and I had just moved back to Los Angeles.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span>
Now that the podcast is over (<a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/dawsons-speak-a-podcast-about-dawsons-creek/id1233548691">we're still blown away that we finished it!</a>), we've joked that this period of quarantine due to COVID-19 would've been the perfect year to continue doing a podcast that's always been done from our own separate homes. But one thing that our 3 years of podcasting has done is given us the tools to talk a little about how we even did it – and as many podcasters have started tooling around <a href="https://gimletmedia.com/shows/reply-all/v4hm2z/159-the-attic-and-closet-show">with their own home set-ups</a>, I thought it could be helpful to share what worked (and didn't work) for us!<br />
<br />
Some background: We started working on the podcast in March 2017, it blew up about a year later thanks to <a href="https://ew.com/tv/2018/03/28/dawsons-creek-reunion-ew-cover/">this Entertainment Weekly reunion</a>, and we just published our last episode this past Monday. I published <a href="http://www.seetraciwrite.com/2018/01/why-we-started-dawsons-creek-podcast.html">this blog post</a> in January 2018 about why we started the podcast, if you want to learn more about how that happened.<br />
<br />
As the primary producer/editor of the podcast, I went through a pretty long journey to figure out the best way to make this work. When we started, I was using my Zoom H1 recorder (with a wind sock!) as a USB microphone, and we were also publishing to Soundcloud. But because Soundcloud didn't have an option for us to schedule episodes, we realized it ultimately wasn't the best option, so we switched to <a href="http://libsyn.com/">Libsyn</a> and used it as our host and website for awhile. (Ultimately, we launched <a href="http://dawsonsspeak.com/">a full website</a> – more on that later.)<br />
<br />
I'm also not proud to admit it but... I couldn't get Audacity to work at first on my laptop, so I was editing the audio in FinalCut Pro. Ouch!<br />
<br />
So if you went back to our early episodes, you can hear the quality isn't that great. We also tried once early on to record in-person together and that didn't work out. (The only success we had with an episode in-person was doing it in a professional studio, but that's not something readily available to us.)<br />
<br />
But eventually, we grew...we learned... and here was the final set-up:<br />
<br />
<b>Step 1: Cutting soundbites from episodes</b><br />
<br />
Each one of our episodes includes moments from the Dawson's Creek episode we're talking about. To do that, I downloaded <a href="https://rogueamoeba.com/loopback/">Loopback</a>, an audio routing software from Rogue Amoeba onto my MacBook Pro.<br />
<br />
<i>Note: I use two laptops (one is my old MacBook Air from college, the other is my 13-inch MacBook Pro I got in New York for video editing) in the process of producing/editing the podcast.</i><br />
<br />
In Loopback, I set up two Devices that are key for the podcast. The first is a QuickTime device:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgig81rzFOZCc7wlZga_EbcKu9KK1RMuUSe1PV03FFjpjbqS0-chEViDiTUYYlP7xh8_oGXV4FdufcH89NF2maEF2PB_uCRF57HYOdTcvMQ1ScyFYifa1oheYdpnVfHnTUt7YqOakfDCWw/s1600/Screen+Shot+2020-04-03+at+10.03.03+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1021" data-original-width="1600" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgig81rzFOZCc7wlZga_EbcKu9KK1RMuUSe1PV03FFjpjbqS0-chEViDiTUYYlP7xh8_oGXV4FdufcH89NF2maEF2PB_uCRF57HYOdTcvMQ1ScyFYifa1oheYdpnVfHnTUt7YqOakfDCWw/s640/Screen+Shot+2020-04-03+at+10.03.03+AM.png" width="640" /></a><br />
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Because we were graciously gifted all of the episodes of Dawson's Creek with the original music by an anonymous listener (I originally had purchased the entire series on iTunes), I open the episode in QuickTime, and then also open a "New Audio Recording." Make sure the input source for the New Audio Recording is set to QuickTime (the device I just created in Loopback), and now it'll record anything that's playing in QuickTime.<br />
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<i>Note: If you are watching the episodes in your browser or in iTunes, you can create Loopback devices for those so that QuickTime will record from those sources instead.</i><br />
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After watching an episode, I go back through and select scenes/quotes/moments to clip the audio from. I then save all of those clips into a folder and drag it into an iTunes playlist I made for the podcast. (Make sure you select all of the clips, right-click, and click "Uncheck selection" so that the clips don't automatically play one after the other.)<br />
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I make a note of each clip I recorded in a shared Google Doc Charles and I use to outline the episode. It includes a summary of the episode, links to things we want to talk about, Charles' Paula Cole facts, etc...<br />
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<b>Step 2: Setting up to record</b><br />
<br />
Charles and I both use the <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B002OO18NS/">Blue Snowball USB Microphone</a>. I also use <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B06XJ19VWG/">this pop filter</a>, which attaches onto the neck of the Snowball stand, to soften those harsh-sounding plosives. (If I'm not mistaken, Charles just put a sock – or two – over his Snowball and it produces a similar effect.)<br />
<br />
In his apartment, now in LA, Charles usually sits at his desk to record. In New York, his room gave more of an echo, so he occasionally sat under his desk with a blanket over it. In my first apartment in LA, I used to sit in my walk-in closet. In my second – and current – apartment, I sit on the floor of my living room, facing sofa cushions and using a coffee table as my work station.<br />
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From my Pro and with earbuds in, I call Charles on Skype. On my Air, I plug in the Snowball, open up Quicktime to record, and make sure the recording input is set to the Snowball. (He does the same on his laptop with his Snowball.)<br />
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On Loopback, I set up a second device called PCAST setup:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56jrZVeTnzyLYamMHyWSHIJnNAGdK8HglKGJMNO_QBWt_UQDOkVLsKeYHXrAMHvMQb3r7xmq71d4qIVxlsJdPMPOhrzLHjTRu1b6pNMhNVwXrG1ENELbGdLM6YlaCzI0eICI3GbM-s1Q/s1600/Screen+Shot+2020-04-03+at+9.57.03+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1015" data-original-width="1600" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56jrZVeTnzyLYamMHyWSHIJnNAGdK8HglKGJMNO_QBWt_UQDOkVLsKeYHXrAMHvMQb3r7xmq71d4qIVxlsJdPMPOhrzLHjTRu1b6pNMhNVwXrG1ENELbGdLM6YlaCzI0eICI3GbM-s1Q/s640/Screen+Shot+2020-04-03+at+9.57.03+AM.png" width="640" /></a><br />
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In Skype, I change my audio preferences so that the input is PCAST setup. This way, Charles can not only hear me talking through my headphone mic, but he can hear when I play the audio clips off of iTunes as well.<br />
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<b>Step 3: Recording (This is the easy part!)</b><br />
<br />
...And we start! We start recording at roughly the same time and sit in silence for about 15-30 seconds. This helps us record the environments of our rooms (audio folks, you'll know it as "room tone").<br />
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<i>Remember: I'm doing all of the talking and playing clips for us to talk about on my Pro, but I'm recording on my Air. Charles is doing everything on his one laptop.</i><br />
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When we're done recording, Charles uploads his audio to Dropbox and sends it to me to download. I save my recording from my Air and AirDrop it to my Pro.<br />
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<b>Step 4: Editing (This is the hardest part!)</b><br />
<br />
I use <a href="https://www.audacityteam.org/">Audacity</a> to edit. (The thing that had tripped me up in the beginning was <a href="https://manual.audacityteam.org/man/faq_installing_the_lame_mp3_encoder.html">this add-on</a> to export the final product as an MP3, which is a smaller file size than a WAV.)<br />
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The first thing I do is import my own raw audio and adjust the audio. That means Noise Reduction (that's where the "room tone" came in handy!) and adjusting volume. I do the same with Charles' raw audio, and then I add a Label Track where I can make markers. Next, I drag in our opening theme, and use that track to put all of the Dawson's Creek clips and music throughout the episode.<br />
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Here's an example of how our final episode looks, for instance – at least how it looked about 3 and a half hours into editing. Don't be scared off by the length of the episode, this was an anomaly!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjbEMLT05UC9uq8jv5bhFnOV3ccGoKisJzbZlK8fuZtY60i4wXWXYD1OjqWJM708q5jH3r0OEEcd5kPIpGKaZdaJueUcLh5K0TrpqHsoFg6Ce5c8VsrpW_ThzCe8UUr5AEjKDOGyf4Wpo/s1600/91335480_2535225736715403_202928318448664576_n.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1055" data-original-width="1600" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjbEMLT05UC9uq8jv5bhFnOV3ccGoKisJzbZlK8fuZtY60i4wXWXYD1OjqWJM708q5jH3r0OEEcd5kPIpGKaZdaJueUcLh5K0TrpqHsoFg6Ce5c8VsrpW_ThzCe8UUr5AEjKDOGyf4Wpo/s640/91335480_2535225736715403_202928318448664576_n.png" width="640" /></a><br />
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I spend the most time on editing, I think. About an hour of raw audio takes about 90-120 minutes to edit because I'm cutting out pauses, trains of thought that didn't pan out, "ums," and other things that don't make for a pleasant listening experience.<br />
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When it's done, I export it as an MP3. When we started, our episodes were under an hour, but by the end of the podcast, the episodes were averaging between an hour and an hour and a half. We definitely tried not to exceed 2 hours, with the exception of the series finale and then, of course, our final episode.<br />
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<b>Step 5: Uploading</b><br />
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After I upload it to Libsyn and schedule it to go live, I grab the embed code for the player and then head over to Blogger, which I use to power <a href="http://dawsonsspeak.com/">our website</a>. (It's a custom template so it makes it look less "bloggy.")<br />
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Each episode gets its own post, which includes links to anything we talked about in the episode and any extra thoughts we didn't get to during recording. I schedule that to go live and grab what will be the live link to schedule social media posts. I also take this time to try and respond to emails/comments that I didn't have time to get to throughout the week.<br />
<br />
And that's basically it! Was the podcast time-consuming? Yes: From cutting clips from the episode to uploading, I probably spent about 8-10 hours a week working on it. And yes, there were costs associated with at the end of the day (the mics, Loopback, fees associated with Libsyn and our domain name host), but we loved doing it and we're glad we did it too.<br />
<br />
Let me know if you have any questions, especially if you're interested in moving your podcast to a remote set-up. Good luck!<br />
<br />
<b>An abbreviated summary:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Equipment: 2 Blue Snowball USB Microphones, laptops</li>
<li>Software: Loopback, Skype, QuickTime, iTunes, Audacity</li>
<li>Websites: Libsyn, Blogger</li>
</ul>
Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-54774117005280077942020-03-31T15:26:00.001-07:002020-05-21T13:35:04.360-07:00Grief and Pasta<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN9G0xV3f9aXRs5XxrE1odGXFTt7Iib-v-o2yGM5384MycQ4H4R729l6vs5-QqXRzySMEM6a65JACZHHCRb0qNZfr7AJZfycDqt1Mxg34qdxdmaXDByYoaMn6DbW0EFKELXxK63ShJTG0/s1600/19590327.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="129" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN9G0xV3f9aXRs5XxrE1odGXFTt7Iib-v-o2yGM5384MycQ4H4R729l6vs5-QqXRzySMEM6a65JACZHHCRb0qNZfr7AJZfycDqt1Mxg34qdxdmaXDByYoaMn6DbW0EFKELXxK63ShJTG0/s1600/19590327.gif" /></a></div>
<br />
Today is Tuesday. I don't know what day it's supposed to feel like because, frankly, I've stopped keeping track. It's hard to sort out the days – and my emotions – around a global pandemic. Remember those cartoons where someone would go rolling down a hill of snow and start to get balled up into a giant snowball? That's how each day feels and I'm covered and surrounded by feelings of anxiety, stress, sadness, and occasional bits of peace.<br />
<br />
It's odd to grieve the lives we were used to. I now wonder if I took it for granted too: chasing after the bus, walking down the street to the coffee shop, being able to see my grandparents. I try not to think too much about the people I shared my daily commute with on the bus or the funny staff members at the cafe who liked to make people smile or my grandparents alone in a wheelchair or hospital bed.<br />
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It's all a bit grim, isn't it?<br />
<br />
Anyways. Here's an audio story I did about making pasta:<br />
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<iframe allow="autoplay" frameborder="no" height="166" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/787834525%3Fsecret_token%3Ds-Q8xVLookpsw&color=%23ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true" width="100%"></iframe><br />Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-52843483361512661172020-03-17T10:50:00.004-07:002020-07-01T00:03:44.037-07:00Beyond Words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>Po-po</i> is turning 86 next month. We had planned a large gathering, as my family often does for these kinds of celebrations, but it's been postponed.</div>
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We say postponed, I think, because "canceled" is too harsh. In reality, I think we all know the truth.<br />
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Three-hundred and fifty miles away, up north, <i>yeh-yeh</i> and <i>ma-ma</i> are in a nursing home that's been locked down from outside visitors. At 98 and 96 years old, I wonder if they're wondering why the daily visits from family have stopped. I think <i>yeh-yeh</i> must know, at least. He's still sharp and has been reading the Chinese newspapers frequently, when he gets them. Last month when I saw him, he told us there were people dying in China and we should be careful.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsGjKE-4x8K5xWj35CbTk5zw8Iu7q0XDLKnqtpYJEPnYzivDa3bA-MhNYixH33IrcrEucHtClyAPxllxgOpWYoZIuMe5kdWv4rXbwxsvAXsrosH0Pj2LbOW_xXHhqKFzu-OguLFoJqMrE/s1600/beyond-words.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsGjKE-4x8K5xWj35CbTk5zw8Iu7q0XDLKnqtpYJEPnYzivDa3bA-MhNYixH33IrcrEucHtClyAPxllxgOpWYoZIuMe5kdWv4rXbwxsvAXsrosH0Pj2LbOW_xXHhqKFzu-OguLFoJqMrE/s640/beyond-words.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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One of the hardest parts about this new reality we've found ourselves in is not knowing how long it will be before we can all see each other again. It isn't just the physical distance that keeps us apart right now; it's also the technology barrier – the lack of means to even communicate – and, most importantly, the language barrier.<br />
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I used to envy my friends whose relationships with their grandparents were built on conversations that extended beyond, "Have you eaten today?"/"Yes." But my poor Cantonese and my grandparents' broken English ... We've always struggled to really communicate.<br />
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And yet I know, without question, that we love each other as much as people who can speak to one another every day. During last month's visit, I showed <i>ma-ma</i> pictures on my phone of Disney trips and my life at USC, and in between drifting in and out of consciousness, she would nod and smile and point to the familiar faces she knew.<br />
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<i>Yeh-yeh</i> is more talkative because, <a href="http://www.seetraciwrite.com/2013/05/i-get-it-now.html" target="_blank">by nature of his life</a>, he's had to be. We still joke around in small ways and he remembers how old I am. But he doesn't know what I do for a living or how I spend my days or what music I listen to or what foods I've decided I like and dislike.<br />
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But none of that really matters. What matters is that I miss them.Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-57100743113155933612020-03-12T23:03:00.000-07:002020-03-16T21:19:57.874-07:00'Slow Down'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
First thing's first: Wash your hands.</div>
<br />
Now, onto the post:<br />
<br />
I haven't been writing so far this year. Actually, this blog has kind of slowed down a lot in the past two years. So much of it, I now know, was because I had given up. Somewhere between my year of creating and now, I found myself unsure if I really had a voice.<br />
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But this can't be a post about what I've lost. It has to be about finding it – whatever that is: voice, faith, agency, trust – again.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm8XLUIF5wJmRXDXzTCctP7jUrRKir4F0MYUJQuYuNAw97TlTpJzkBAaKilPr0a_28gCUlZptGh6d-5g5N5oyTg-I4iigY2pwZ6y8F-qVqBear-jRf9EQh-w_RNovSoVX4c1duJvxawVM/s1600/IMG_6532.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm8XLUIF5wJmRXDXzTCctP7jUrRKir4F0MYUJQuYuNAw97TlTpJzkBAaKilPr0a_28gCUlZptGh6d-5g5N5oyTg-I4iigY2pwZ6y8F-qVqBear-jRf9EQh-w_RNovSoVX4c1duJvxawVM/s640/IMG_6532.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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When I was in college, people knew me as a bit of an Energizer Bunny. I couldn't stand seeing a blank space on my calendar. If I wasn't in class, I was at the newspaper; if I wasn't at the newspaper, I was filling my time with friends and friends of friends.<br />
<br />
But it was exhausting, and I felt guilty about feeling exhausted. It wasn't until senior year when things came crashing to a halt because my anxieties merged too deeply with the stress of...well, everything. And suddenly I changed from someone who liked keeping busy to someone who <i>needed</i> to be busy in order to feel worthy.<br />
<br />
"Slow down," my friend Jason would say to me, over and over. I started forcing myself to paint my nails at odd hours of the evening so that I couldn't do anything but sit there and watch them dry. No multitasking allowed. It worked. I still do it to this day (although now you can tell how anxious I am by how often I change my nail polish).<br />
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But isn't that a problem? In the 9 years since I've graduated, I still have trouble slowing down. If I'm not physically running around, my mind is bouncing from one worry to another – all things that I typically have no control over.<br />
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When that happens, I try to remind myself: Take a breath. Slow down.<br />
<br />
The most recent journal I kept regularly updated has entries marked at late hours of the night. To remember what I turned to in order to keep my anxieties at bay then is somehow remarkably comforting right now. I know the answer. I've always known the answer. <i>"Sometimes the mountain that needs moving is inside you."</i><br />
<br />
We're in a storm. And we've weathered them before, and there will continue to be more storms. The world is filled with so much uncertainty right now, and so many things that can end up being out of our control. But what I know can control is how I walk through this storm. The rest is out of my hands.Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-56863904247558872592019-12-27T13:41:00.000-08:002019-12-27T13:41:11.797-08:00Another Decade<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It's surreal that the decade is ending. This might be the first year (at least, that I can recall) where I didn't even realize a new calendar year was right around the corner, let alone an entirely new decade. I've been thinking about how to reflect on the last 10 years, but it's been tough. So much has happened – so much that I've forgotten – and ultimately what I want to focus on is how <i>right now</i> feels: challenging, hopeful, peaceful. And I'm grateful for it too.<br />
<br />
After all... This was the decade I graduated from college; the decade I lived in six cities (and once on an air mattress in a living room) and ate $1 pizza on weekends because it was all I could afford.<br />
<br />
I traveled abroad for the first time, hiked a world wonder in China, and climbed the tallest church in Amsterdam. I saw tulips and cheese wheels and King's Cross, and I also went to Disney World and only got violently ill once.<br />
<br />
I strengthened old ties and made new connections, celebrated milestones with friends and grieved the deaths of loved ones.<br />
<br />
I got my dream job. I quit my dream job.<br />
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I fell apart. Often. This year alone, I both suffered a loss of identity while also uncovering more of who I am. But I also hit rock bottom and nearly pushed everyone away in the process.<br />
<br />
I made mistakes.<br />
<br />
I learned.<br />
<br />
I'm still learning.<br />
<br />
And whatever happens in 2020, and beyond, I'm ready for it.Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-52248011977984483372019-11-19T14:35:00.001-08:002019-11-19T14:35:01.615-08:00Reinventing 'Reinventions'There’s a part of me that’s always believed that personal reinvention can be right around the corner. A new year can mean a new outlook; a new home, a new routine. When I left DC, I believed I would find something akin to destiny – whatever I thought that was – in Manhattan, and when I packed up to return West six years later, I was certain I was finally ready to grow up. <br />
<br />
All of that is to say that the naive optimist in me still believes I can be changed by the world around me, and that the insecurities that planted themselves in me as a child were somehow washed away by tears, alcohol, or holy water. <br />
<br />
At 30, the one certainty I’ve been able to articulate in life is that reinventions do not happen overnight. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
“<i>Why</i> do you need to change yourself?” a friend recently texted me after a Skype session of venting. “What’s so wrong with just being you?”<br />
<br />
<i>I don’t know. I just feel like I’m still some sort of...wrong.</i><br />
<br />
I’m too impatient and not impulsive enough. I get too obsessed with small details and forget the bigger picture. I worry about things out of my control at 2AM. I’m deeply afraid of hurting others – so much so that it’s sometimes stopped me from being honest<br />
<br />
I’m dramatic. <br />
<br />
This whole blog is indicative of that. <br />
<br />
But maybe I’ve always been wrong about what it means to reinvent oneself. I’ve always thought of it as this hard stop on a former version of being and a clean slate to begin a new chapter, as if a person's life can be divided into volumes with a specific beginning, middle, and end to each story. And I guess what I'm realizing right now is that that way of thinking erases all of the good (and the bad) that a person can learn from and build upon moving forward.<br />
<br />
I mean – I feel like I <i>knew</i> this, in theory. But to know it, in practice, is another thing. Hard stops, clean breaks...they don't necessarily exist when you're growing and learning. When I left New York, I needed the lessons of how the city changed me to create a new path; when I left my job this summer, I needed the hurt feelings to remind me that my job is not my identity. At every moment, when possible, I used to try and run from failure – but I think I've needed that pain to really grow.<br />
<br />
As a new decade rolls around, all I can think about is the inevitable changes about to enter my life again – only this time, I don’t see it as a reinvention. I think I’m actually starting to like the person I am right now.Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-28588485881538764842019-09-30T21:05:00.002-07:002019-09-30T21:05:48.027-07:00A Letter to My Past<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQIfsRNk2K6zdTfRaUhyqACBvdvCuxmd5S9cBEZynKnpfHjuh2eVdEQymxrw7d5nRkKE_zsW5ffwNb8MvjcZcyxYFR-CK1UBq6H8LT_LM3iSiYrYdUXCuEMTmsjIncTfnO4Nl8IFJrZ94/s1600/dearme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQIfsRNk2K6zdTfRaUhyqACBvdvCuxmd5S9cBEZynKnpfHjuh2eVdEQymxrw7d5nRkKE_zsW5ffwNb8MvjcZcyxYFR-CK1UBq6H8LT_LM3iSiYrYdUXCuEMTmsjIncTfnO4Nl8IFJrZ94/s640/dearme.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Dear Me,<br />
<br />
There are so many things I want to tell you: Eat your vegetables, don't lose your Cantonese, write every day (sing every day), learn to love the snow – because you're going to be living in a lot of it in the future.<br />
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But I also want to talk to you about something that I know is on your mind. You're probably at that age where you don't look like "you." Your eyebrows are gone, your hair is falling out, and your parents – though they have the best intentions – just end up making you feel worse.<br />
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You'll be angry and lonely, and you probably don't want to hear this, but trust me (and I wouldn't lie!): this isn't the end for you.<br />
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It isn't the end when people talk <i>about</i> you, rather than <i>to</i> you; when that teacher humiliates you in the hallway because you won't take the scarf off of your balding head; <a href="http://www.seetraciwrite.com/2019/09/brows.html" target="_blank">when a makeup artist tells you you'll look "better" with eyebrows drawn on your face. </a><br />
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It's painful, I know, and you'll want to hide away. But don't be angry at the world. The world isn't against you. As you grow up, you'll meet amazing people – people who will celebrate the things that scare you about this unique condition that bonds you with people all over the world (some you'll even get to meet!). You'll be encouraged. You'll find communities of strength.<br />
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And sure, there will be setbacks you'll encounter throughout your life, and even at age 30, you'll carry a fragment of insecurity inside your heart. But don't let that harden you. Don't close up and close off from the world. There is so much to experience in life, and I know that I've lost out by being afraid in the past.<br />
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So when the setbacks come (and they will come) don't give up. You've got a lot of living ahead of you, and the world is ready for more of you – no matter how you look.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
MeTracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9070297699955339424.post-44240381758530875082019-09-24T20:58:00.000-07:002019-09-24T20:58:00.737-07:00Brows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLAyU0t_7T_71RZV4S7UmHsRPJ34IMfAr74DikHUYABfI-PMHcKZHXhydfeFIxMwJ_ceZ5I6pQpy250osSDe_REQ8KdRCxq15LvHHDbiBfmkH86lXHz6wIljT23AIYQdwp3x71suZzE0/s1600/37193287_235673260381932_4972967367307952128_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="999" data-original-width="999" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLAyU0t_7T_71RZV4S7UmHsRPJ34IMfAr74DikHUYABfI-PMHcKZHXhydfeFIxMwJ_ceZ5I6pQpy250osSDe_REQ8KdRCxq15LvHHDbiBfmkH86lXHz6wIljT23AIYQdwp3x71suZzE0/s320/37193287_235673260381932_4972967367307952128_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I have no idea how to draw on eyebrows. I'm not sure if it's something I should've sat down and learned early on. When I was 11 and getting fitted for my first wig by Miss Peggy Tom, she put a plastic stencil to my face and brushed dark brown powder to create an arched brow – first on the left, then on the right.<br />
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It didn't look good. Miss Peggy, with her wide smile and bright eyes, assured me I was beautiful, but that it was also my choice. She let me go home with the eyebrow kit anyways and told my mom to let me try it if I wanted to.<br />
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I tried – once – and it looked terrible. The brows were uneven and the powder began to smear almost immediately after I removed the second stencil. I immediately washed it off and went back to studying celebrities' faces on magazine covers in the grocery store, hoping it would inspire me to try again.<br />
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Backstage at school plays, <a href="http://www.seetraciwrite.com/2018/08/reclaiming-lens.html" target="_blank">when the volunteer moms would cake on the wrong foundation and try to glop mascara onto my thinning lashes</a>, my lack of brows became something to argue about: I didn't want anyone to draw them on me, no matter how "good" they thought they could make them look. (Honestly, I just didn't trust anyone!) As a kid, my aunt suggested I get eyebrows tattooed on so I'd look "normal." In 2013, despite my protests, a professional makeup artist convinced me to let her draw on brows before a TV appearance.<br />
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"You'll just look <i>better</i>," she said.<br />
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Are you sensing a pattern for what came next? I hated it, of course, and asked her to remove them. She did, but for the rest of the time I sat in her chair, she made comments about ways I could look more "complete."<br />
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Sometimes I look at my reflection and still see the things first that are missing from my face, the things that make me "incomplete." Most days, though, I'm perfectly happy with the image staring back at me and I truly have no interest in trying to keep drawn-on brows above my eyes or fake lashes glued to my lids. I used to think I had no choice and that those were things I needed in order to "look complete." But it's not what makes me comfortable. It's not really <i>me.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
A couple years ago, I was co-hosting a show online and in the comments section for a clip posted to Facebook, someone wrote: "Does she not have eyebrows??"<br />
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I responded that I didn't, and that I have alopecia. "It's a choice," I wrote, "but I'm happy with it!"<br />
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The original poster came back quickly with a reply and said she loved the look. She herself chose to shave her own eyebrows off for cosplaying purposes, she said.<br />
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It made me smile. I'm glad I made the choice too.Tracihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08352411301798266838noreply@blogger.com0