Hey, I’m Lydia! I’ve loved the transparency that’s shared in the Upstairs Community, including all the amazing stories that are being featured on entrepreneurs who are from different backgrounds — this feels really inclusive! It’s great to see that not every business is built in the same way, and there’s so much we can learn from one another.

Find me on my website and YouTube

Upstairs Community story: I chose to have a tiny business

My superpower skill

Reinventing people’s skills and gifts to start a business they love by identifying the “sweet spot” of their strengths, deep interests, and impact they want their work to make, connecting like-minded people together, storytelling and creating content that matters, producing videos, coaching, and strategy.

What influenced my career 

Rethinking my career after a corporate burnout, unlearning my immigrant family values to carve a more unconventional life path, amazing mentors and coaches who supported my journey to be an entrepreneur, moving to Bali, and having a more purpose-driven lifestyle that includes having more time for hobbies, passions, and time for rest and spaciousness.

Favorite way of slowing down to enjoy the moment

Intentionally blocking “white spaces” in my calendar to have thinking time and rest blocks, listening to podcasts, having meaningful conversations with like-minded people, living a location-independent life, mindful mornings without tech for the first two hours.

The last time you talked about a mistake you made 

I share a lot about learnings from my mistakes with clients often, to be truly transparent in the journey. The last time I spoke about this was about how I wished I slowed down to be more intentional about why I’m building my business and defining what’s ‘enough’ for my own version of success instead of constantly chasing the “bigger is always better” mentality.

Having a second burnout as an entrepreneur woke me up to being less ”hustly” and rushed into doing things in my business. What’s the point of rushing somewhere fast if it’s not where you want to go?

When I was building my business based on the model that was done by everyone else out there similar to my business, I was making great money, but completely overworked and unfulfilled.

Working with different people

I love the notion of “you don’t know what you don’t know.”  Being a traveler, I’ve loved meeting so many different people from different cultures and backgrounds to shift my own perspective of life.

It’s always so interesting to see how people solve problems, create ideas, and see the world with the lenses they have from their own life experience…it’s always opened my own eyes to learn this from people not like me.

One professional tip that you learned the hard way

As a child from an immigrant family who struggled financially, I’ve always had a belief that you have to sweat blood and tears to reach success.

Today, I’ve learned that being intentional in how I want to personally show up in my business is important for my wellbeing and having a purposeful (and profitable) business. That means identifying what my own genius-zone activities are that are in my strengths, superpowers, and gift so that I enjoy working on my business, and outsourcing other things that don’t make my heart sing.

The post Lydia Lee, business coach and entrepreneur appeared first on Pixelgrade.

Hi, I’m Georgiana, the human behind this issue of Upstairs. I am an employer branding consultant and a digital marketer at heart, and, together with my team, I curate Berlin’s employer branding podcast, and I will forever lead two lives: one of them in Iasi and one of them in Berlin.

From beagles and cats to employer branding 

My story was supposed to be one of resilience and courage to pursue one’s passion, regardless of how difficult it is. In the troubling times that we’re currently living, when Russia is invading Ukraine and killing civilians, it seems that any depiction of courage I might choose to present falls short of relevance. 

However, this is the story of a girl born in communist Romania, who irrevocably fell in love with foreign languages at an early age; and who, after years of studying abroad, founding her own digital marketing agency (Beaglecat) and having a kid, landed in the city of all possibilities — Berlin. And she’s there to stay.

Everything’s possible if you’re willing to try at least ten times

Exactly four years ago, when my daughter was 20 months old, my husband and I decided to stop putting pressure on our marriage due to the multiple business trips he was forced to take monthly. 

We took the plunge, rented an apartment in Berlin, and gave life abroad a chance. We actually even said that “If we don’t like it, we go back.” And — truth be told — I did not like it for three entire years. Despite my daughter quickly integrating into her international kindergarten and the never-ending attractions Berlin has to offer, it did not feel like home for a very long time. 

I was convinced, before leaving, that I would find it easy to settle into a new life. I had previously lived abroad, and I always managed to make the best of the new culture embraced. I had done a one-year Master’s Degree in Paris, I had worked in Paris, did Erasmus in Belgium, had obtained a scholarship in Germany in my twenties. But, as it turned out, building a new life in your twenties is nothing like a new one in your thirties.

Professionally, before moving to Berlin, I considered myself successful. In my home city, I had a reputation. I knew people, and people knew me. This was beneficial both professionally and personally. In Berlin, I was nobody. I’d never before lived for a long time in a country whose language I could not speak fluently. And, to make matters even more painful, I terribly missed my home in Iasi, my mom, my dad, my dog… 

Once you embrace the possibility, quitting does not seem so frightful

Coming back to the purpose of this story, which is supposed to be about having the courage to be who you are, regardless of the circumstances. It may take months, even years sometimes, but eventually, you can get where you want to be with sufficient resilience, optimism, and work. Yes, life abroad, away from your family, is hard, but whoever has it easy nowadays?

As courage is usually this abstract concept (funnily enough, I always associate it with Courage – the Cowardly Dog), I’ll try and frame it more concretely. I fought depression, burnout, and physical sickness. I was constantly afraid of having to face yet another professional NO. NOs are heavy and tough to carry, they can swallow you whole if you let them grow big enough. So I decided, at some point, to try and find the small YESes, wherever they were to be discovered. 

To my surprise, running or biking randomly through the city always helps to clear your head; plus, when you see how a city was entirely reconstructed from the ground up post-war, you gain a new perspective on life and ephemerality. Making friends with fellow moms in kindergarten is an underrated concept. Talking about your problems to your partner, your friends, can uncover the most ingenious solutions. Therapy provides massive support. If professional collaboration in the form of a contract is tough to secure, a win-win partnership in the form of an interview is much more easily taken down. 

Go through the Rabbit Hole. What you’ll find might take you by surprise.

So how did I manage to reconstruct myself in a new environment? 

I thought of quitting Berlin at least ten times a year during the first three years. Until, at some point, something somewhere clicked into place. All of the hard work put into learning German twice a week finally paid off. I was starting to have professional conversations with companies in Berlin, and, on top of all, my podcast was taking off. How did this happen, really?

I networked. I’ve always been a people person, so this came naturally to me. As soon as I landed in Berlin, I booked a seat at a co-working place and then attended as many in-person events as possible (Corona did not help on this front, of course, but let’s focus on the positives here). I made friends with everybody. LITERALLY EVERYBODY, I was not joking when talking about fellow moms in kindergarten. 

In the end, one thing led to another, someone knew somebody who needed to revamp their company culture, one of the first people to invite me on their podcast three years ago is now a close friend and a business partner. I can’t state it often enough: network, network, network.

I set off to learn German at an advanced level. This is by far one of the hardest things I’ve had to do, although I did spend about three years during my university years studying it at Goethe Institut. As it turns out, grammar and vocabulary don’t have anything to do with actually speaking German among the Germans. 

Today, after more than 800 hours of studying and practicing third times more German movie watching with German subtitles, I can proudly say I get my way around. It’s also become my favorite language to speak.

Whenever I felt abandoned — and I did feel this way during Corona, when we lost 95% of our agency clients — I always returned to these two questions. What do I do best, and What do I like doing? I am fortunate to say the answers to the questions coincide.

I worked as a digital marketer for about seven years, so when I discovered that many of the techniques I mastered could be used for recruitment marketing, I turned to employer branding. I started a podcast where I invited professionals from Romania and Germany. Nowadays, I consult companies willing to develop their company culture or define their employer brand. I help them during the research phase and also during implementation.

I always stayed true to myself and to the people who matter. My husband, my parents, the family I acquired after getting married, my work family: Sabina, Ioana, George, Igor. I would not have felt as safe without them. I’ve been working with George and Igor for at least four years, Ioana for five, and Sabina for seven. Sabina has been my best friend since we were 15, and Ioana has become a dear friend in recent years. As you can see, a given and an acquired family are of great importance to me. 

Where and who am I today? Where am I headed?

In 2022, I finally made peace with being who I am. Someone with two lives, someone with two hearts. I will forever miss Berlin when I return to Iasi, and I look forward to going back to Iasi when I’m in Berlin. I’m making the best out of the two worlds, and I’m proud to have been through this journey. Where am I headed? I don’t know, but it doesn’t really matter because, as long as I have my family, friends, cities, and dog, I’m sure I can make the best of it. 

As one of the previous contributors to the community was saying, the WHY does not matter all that much. I would add that, in my case at least, the WHERE is also not that important. I’ve decided to focus on the HOW and yes, uncertainty is scary, but when your foundations are strong, you muster the courage to at least look through the Rabbit Hole.

Ruth Bader-Ginsburg said that “so often in life, things you regard as an impediment turn out to be great, good fortune.” Although it’s difficult to frame a hostile situation in positive terms while actually being in it, I found that focusing on a future point, where “this all will seem much less complicated,” always helped.

Kindly,
—Georgiana

Contributors of this story: Georgiana Ghiciuc wrote this gem, Oana Filip provided feedback and edited it, Andrei Ungurianu put it all together, George Olaru designed it, Răzvan Onofrei was in charge of the development, Giorgiana Dumitru took the photo.

The post A story of reinvention in a foreign country appeared first on Pixelgrade.

Hey, I’m Jim! I’m grateful to have Oana and Andrei in my orbit — I count them both as two of those people whom I would never have met and yet here they are, impacting my life in such a meaningful way from the other side of the world. These experiences and communities such as the Upstairs Community offer us a dialogue we otherwise not have had. 

Find me on my website

Upstairs Community story: A word I’ve been searching for all my life

My superpower skill

I don’t think I have a superpower skill. I’m continually looking to learn new things and mostly learn about myself in the process. Maybe that’s my super power skill? I’m not sure.

What influenced my career 

By ‘influence’ I’m assuming you’re referring to people who have guided me and also emulated a path that I have aimed to follow in my career. I look back on my career and I think I’ve learned more from the many selfish managers, hopeless leaders and self-destructive people I’ve crossed paths with in my career, than I have from those people who were at the top of their game. These ‘weak leaders’ have shown me the path I should not be taking and have helped me move towards learning about good leadership more than anyone else. I thank them for that.

I’m grateful that in recent years I’ve had a handful of clients who have now turned into some of my most trusted friendships — these few but cherished people have shown me a path I never imagined would unfold before me.

Favorite way of slowing down to enjoy the moment

Crossfit at 6am 5 days a week provides me focus and presence.
Reading a book — I always carry one with me.
Writing — I write all the time.
Drawing — I love drawing.

All of these provide me with the space, solitude and stillness to enjoy the moment.

The last time you talked about a mistake you made

I talk about my mistakes every day, multiple times a day. I put my mistakes at the fore before I put any success. People learn more if they are able to position their mistakes as learning opportunities not just for themselves, but for their future clients/staff/partners/stakeholders.

Working with different people

The greatest outcomes from diverse points of view and perspectives that differ from those of our own. It’s so much easier to trust people who are a like us — people who look like us, speak like us, have the same background as us, and speak like us — but we aren’t going to make any kind of meaningful change unless we allow a diverse range of voices to sit at the decision-making table with us. Voices and perspectives that come from places that are simply not like our own. Diversity in all aspects — age, gender, ethnicity, culture, language, ability, sexuality and identity — is the key to nourishing, creative and meaningful problem solving and ultimately, to creativity.

One professional tip that you learned the hard way

Be humble and add value.

The post Jim Antonopoulos, creative leader appeared first on Pixelgrade.

Hi, I’m Andrei, the human behind this issue of Upstairs. Leadership trainer and consultant for the past six years, various technical and management positions in software companies before that.

We’ve all heard about “The Why”

The purpose, the core idea, the reason to do anything. The Why as the generator of motivation, as the thing that brings teams together. Why are we doing this? What is our core purpose? What is our mission?

There’s a lot of why at the personal level too. Why should I do this? Why should I not do that? Why is this good for me? Why don’t I like this? Etc. 

Exploring the why is useful, I’m not saying you shouldn’t, but today I want to talk about over-exploring the why. Overengineering the why. 

Paralysis in the Why analysis

This is a trap that I’ve fallen into many times, and I’ve had to learn to actively stay away from it. 

It usually goes like this: I wake up one day, and I feel like I’m doing too many things, I’m too spread around, I don’t have enough focus, I’m wasting my energy. I say to myself, “I need to organize and prioritize.” I start making lists, objectives, and trying to figure out my priorities. I take every project, every idea, every thing that I do, and I ask myself: Why?

Why am I doing this?
Why should I continue doing this?
Why is this important to me?

Why should I take precious time out of my day to go into the city and take pictures of the streets? What does that really do for me?
Why should I take my tent and go camping in the forest for a couple of days? Yes, it’s nice, but could I use that time for something more productive?
Why should I play Starcraft 2? Is a video game going to help me get better at anything?
Why should I try to restart writing literature, as I used to as a student? What is that going to be useful for? 

All these examples, and others, are real examples from my life that would never stand the test of “Why.” There is no logical, reasonable “Why” that would justify investing in these activities. There’s no “business” case I can make for any of them. They aren’t my profession, they aren’t going to be more than, at best, passions or hobbies. I’m not going to be “the best” at them. 

These, for me, are not the kind of things that I will focus on to the degree that I can hope to become relevant in those fields or to influence anyone else. 

Many times, I’ve stopped or cut these things down, or I had that voice in the back of my head as I was doing them, feeling bad that I’m not being “serious enough,” telling myself that I’m wasting my time. I’m just playing. What are you doing in this abandoned train yard, wasting four hours of your life going through deserted train carriages? You could have written a new newsletter at this time, or thought about a new training. 

That is paralysis in the why analysis, and I don’t like it anymore, and I’ve come to a point where I’ve learned to take it easy on The Why. Not ignore it completely, but chill a bit with it. 

Less Why for me

I’ve come to consider that this exaggerated focus on The Why is bad. It sounds inspiring when you think about it, even the word itself, “Why,” sounds deep, but it can easily get to be the exact opposite. A limiting, accounting-like perspective on what you should be doing or not doing. You don’t want to organize your creativity and passion like a ledger. 

I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t have to justify everything to myself by having a clear and reasonable Why. I can just do things because I like them. Because I feel like it. Because they’re interesting. Because Why Not? 

That’s where my creativity comes from, and that’s where I push my limits. I’ve learned to take it easy on The Why.

Cheers,
—Andrei

Contributors of this story: Andrei Postolache wrote this gem, Oana Filip provided feedback and edited it, Andrei Ungurianu put it all together, George Olaru designed it, Răzvan Onofrei was in charge of the development.

The post Overthinking the why appeared first on Pixelgrade.

Hi, I’m Paul, the human behind this issue of Upstairs. I’m a Designer, Podcaster, Streamer, Speaker and Solopreneur hustling day by day within the WordPress ecosystem. I work with niche agencies and am proud to be an associate for both Beaver Builder & WP Remote.

Inertia

1993, I’m rhythm guitarist in 4-piece rock band Inertia (my first band). I’m 15. After months of meticulous weekly band practices we landed our first gig. We’re one of the support acts for a gig at Aston Fields Working Men’s Club, Bromsgrove. It’s a big deal – well, for us it is anyway.

All the bands arrive at the venue a few hours before the doors open to sound check and setup. Myself, Dan, Rich and Ben, drinking our white cider from lemonade cans that we sneaked in, gather to listen to the other bands sound check. For their checklist one of the other bands is playing their best song for soundcheck – Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana. It sounds awesome, and loud!  We’re up next.

We hit the stage, pick up our instruments and rock out our own best song – Smells Like Teen Spirit, by Nirvana.

We realise that something is wrong. Very wrong. For some reason, our sound is awful – but usually it seemed we sounded so good at practice. We leave the stage to some raised eyebrows, frowns and sniggers from the other bands looking on.

We gather, a little crestfallen. This is a disaster, and it’s going to be humiliating. We’re not exactly the coolest kids in School and it’s looking like soon we’ll be the laughing stock. Hundreds of tickets have been sold around the local high schools.

A fluffy bearded member of one of the other bands walks over to us – he has a friendly, and sympathetic expression.  His name is Bob.

“Where’s your bassist? The bassist is always late right?”

We look at each other with confusion.

“What do you mean?” Our lead singer Dan replies.

So, it turns out that in a rock band you need at least one guitarist (we have 2), and a bass guitar player. Well, this is news to us, we’re pretty new to this.

Suddenly the crisis makes sense – we don’t have a bass player, and we’re about to perform to a live audience.

Bob helps us out, he offers to lend us his bass guitar – we thank Bob, and offer him some “lemonade” as a way of thanks. He provides a quick summary as to how a bass guitar works and advises to just stick to the top string and hit the note to match the chord, and we’ll make it through the night in one piece.

Emergency meeting, somebody needs to be the bass player. Well, that’s simple.  Ben is the lead guitarist and can actually play pretty well. I’m unanimously demoted to bass player. It’s actually a good move for me – turns out bass is an easier instrument to play than guitar after a few “lemonades”.

The gig goes well, hundreds of people turn up in party mood and Inertia put on their best sounding setlist to date – sure, our drummer can’t keep time, but with our new sound thanks to Bob’s kindness and bass guitar, we get through the gig and for that night, feel like legends.

This is one of my early and prominent memories of finding myself in a tricky situation, needing to think fast and be prepared to adapt and try new things in a high pressure scenario. On this occasion it worked out great, an act of kindness from Bob turned a disaster, to a win – and a learning experience too!

Inertia stayed together for many years after and became one of the popular bands on the local young rock music scene.

But, these things don’t always work out. Or at least, it’s not always so black and white. And sometimes, the stakes are higher.

The pitch

Fast forward to 2008, after a few years working in dot-coms, arts, design agencies and freelancing I co-found my first web design agency – The Dickiebirds Studio – named after the nursery rhyme “Two Little Dickiebirds” with the other partner’s name being Peter. We just set up as a Sole Trader under my name legally, so we’re not officially a company, we’re 4 freelancers as a collective and all the business goes through my accounts.

We’re a whitelabel website design and build team – we help other web agencies that have scaling pains. Those agencies hire us to outsource work during their periods of growth.

We’re doing pretty well, we’re charging enough to just about get by but we’re not exactly rolling in cash. But we’re thrilled to be actually running our first agency, gaining clients and being independent. We’re even working indirectly with some pretty high profile brands – Disney, Simon & Shustler, Paramount Picture through some of the agencies that hire us.

Just like in the rock band, we’re a team of four. Myself, Peter, Tomek and Greg. As an all-rounder, I’m neither the strongest designer nor the strongest developer in the team. So just like in Inertia in 1993, I’m “demoted” to project manager. It’s my job to manage the clients, and the team workload.

So here’s the thing. Nobody taught me client management, project management or sales, but I’ve always been ready to dive in and give things a shot – just like taking on the role of bass player. It’s worked out great before, and I’m positive it’s going to be just fine this time too.

We’re supplementing the agency work with a few direct client jobs. A local online community business directory, an online teen magazine and we even manage to give a little back by building a website for a UK charity helping post-war conflict communities build literacy schools for displaced children in Western Africa.

It feels like we’re really getting somewhere with the business. Our schedule is completely full with agency outsource work and a slowly growing portfolio of our own clients. And we’re doing real grown up business things like giving back to the community through helping a charity.  Our confidence is high, we’re happy.

Opportunity knocks. An offer to pitch for a big web application. Our typical website project budget at this time is around £2000. This application is significantly bigger than what we are used to by orders of magnitude. This is way out of our comfort zone.

While we don’t really think we have any solid chance to win this job, we decide to give it a shot.

On advice of one of the partner agencies we work with, they recommend a budget of almost £100k. For us, this is eye-watering – we surely can’t charge this much for a web application? So we pitch lower – around the £50k mark. For us, that’s huge money – 25x our typical website budget.

Long story short, we won the job! It’ll become apparent why we were chosen, later on – but for now, we’re feeling pretty great!

I walk into the studio the day after a presentation in London to the prospective client, to the team playing the Rocky theme tune in honour of my winning pitch.  We feel like legends. Sure, we probably under-quoted the work, and quite a few extras were put into the spec during the pitch – but it’s £50k! We dub this the super project.

What could possibly go wrong for that amount of money, right?

We’re a proper web agency now. Yesterday we were a team helping agencies with growing pains. Today we are the agency with the need to scale. We’ve made it.

Scaling an Agency? Easy Peasy…! Right?

We have a problem, we need to scale. Our schedule was already completely full, and we don’t want to lose those clients and associated revenue. My business partner Peter is one of the most resourceful people I know and is originally from Poland. He tells me that due to the strong economy in the UK, developers in Poland generally are charging less than their UK counterparts and he feels we can partner with freelancers from his homeland to help us with our “growing pains”. It’s a good plan.

We source a team of talented developers in Poland, and begin outsourcing the agency work agencies were outsourcing to us, to the team in Poland. We call this group of developers The “Dickiebirds sub-team” – pretty cool right, we have a sub-team!

Things are going really well. Firstly, we’re really getting the hang of this business thing now, and confidence is sky high. It seems like we will be able to get the work done in Poland at 50% the amount we’re charging to the agencies we work for – it’s like a license to print money.

And secondly, our super project – the £50k one was going great too. We were delivering on time, the client was happy and looking to recommend us to bigger and better clients still.

The Truth

OK, so the last two things I just told you, are not exactly true. In fact, completely untrue.

The “Dickiebirds sub-team” are looking after the workload of what was our entire client portfolio prior to us winning the super project. It’s not going well. I’ve severely underestimated the skill of delegation and outsourcing. We’ve had to swap sub-team members out a few times where we’ve been let down, or we’ve mis-managed. Projects are late, and stress is starting to creep in.

With the setbacks we’ve ended up eating into our profit margins to pay twice, sometimes three times to different freelancers to get the work done properly – and even then, it’s not up to the standard our agency clients had come to expect.

We lose some clients, and with others we’re forced to give the money back where projects have completely failed – and yet we can’t get the money back from the freelancers. This is disheartening. Our reputation is taking a beating. And our pipeline of work is drying up. You’re only as good as your last performance so they say.

As for the super project? Well if it sounded bad what was going on with our sub team, well that’s nothing compared to the disaster unfolding with the largest most riskiest project we had taken on to date. But, at least we’re getting paid for it though right?

Wrong  

Well, we received our deposit payment (about £7k), but other payments are being held back, and actually it’s not our fault. Every time we hit one of our milestones, we run into the CEO of the company / client. Every time we attempt to get paid, a new drama appears from the CEO.

I realise that this individual is deliberately putting barriers and distractions in place to withhold milestone payments to us. Months later I learned he is an “installed” CEO with a strong reason to cut costs during the final financial quarter (for which he has a heavy bonus incentive).

Later I also found out that he had fired key senior members of his own development team, again to cut costs to meet his financial target for his bonus. As a result, his own team’s side of the project is completely failing, and his strategy appears to be to offload as much of this responsibility and blame on to us – unbeknown to me of course at this time.

So where are we at this point? Well, all our income is going straight to the sub team in an attempt to finish our agency projects. The super project was supposed to be the income stream to pay for the core team, but we’re not getting paid. We’re also for the most part not getting paid for our agency work as it’s either sub standard, or late. We’re completely broke. Well, I’m especially broke – all the finances go through my accounts, and I’ve prioritised whatever money I did have to go to the other team members.

The email

Then, I received an email from the super project CEO. It’s a fairly typical email from this person.

I’m broken, we’re not even designing the admin screens – they are looking at their existing admin screens, but the bullying campaign is becoming relentless and he’s trying to use us as a distraction and undermine our actual work, to distract from his own failings. I should mention, the previous CTO was signed off with mental illness later citing bullying from the CEO of this company. Quite a pattern is emerging.

Overwhelm

I’m now £8k overdrawn. I know for some businesses, big deal right? Well, for me, it’s a big deal. It’s all in my name, I’m close to personal and business bankruptcy.

How has everything gone so wrong?

All I can think is…

Failure…

Stress…

Anxiety…

Regret…

Exhaustion…

And… the worst…

Loneliness.

I’ve stopped going to the studio now, I’m working from home. I can’t face trying to get through this in front of the rest of the team and them seeing me falter and crumble – I feel ashamed. I start to notice a constant twitch on my eyelid, I’m not sleeping, and I’m probably not a great person to be around for my wife at the time.

I have a young daughter, but I’m blind to her wonder and I’m missing out on experiencing her grow. When people talk to me, I’m looking past them. I’m not calling my friends, I don’t want anybody to ask “how is your business going?” – I don’t want to have to lie, and I don’t want to tell the truth. I just want to internalise everything. I don’t know what I want. It’s just pain.

12 words

I’m at home, staring at my laptop. My doorbell rings, there is a delivery.

It’s an Airmail package – meaning, it’s come from overseas. This is strange.

I welcome the distraction and intrigue, so open the package. And take out what is inside.

What I see forces me to sit. Almost fall. My legs have turned to jelly.

It turns out that at least one of our clients was happy. The artefact I pulled from this package is one of my most treasured possessions. Nowadays, it gives me strength whenever I need it. It reminds me that there is great value in what I do – in what we all do.

It’s a gift, a photo frame. And there is a short handwritten message.

Dear Paul,

Liberia is in your debt, thanks for all your help.

This is what they sent to me.

It was the charity in Western Africa. It turns out that the little website we made for them, for almost no money, made a real difference to a lot of kids’ lives. The children wanted to thank me. 

Suddenly, after a nice cup of tea, quite a lot of tears, I was re-energised. The work we do is valuable. It was time to act. But first, another little cry, but what an amazing cry…OK… to work!

Tooling down

I called the bully CEO, nervous, yet confident in my agenda. “Hi [name redacted], we are tooling down. You need your product, you want your bonuses, you won’t get either. And I hung up.”

He didn’t call back, in fact, I never heard from him again. For a few days I hear nothing, but I don’t care – I’ve redirected all the team’s energy back to the agency work to salvage our relationships as best I can.

I received a call from the new CTO. He tells me not to worry about the CEO – he’s gone! He tells me immediately he has authorization to transfer 50% of the money we are owed if I will come to London for a meeting with the group deputy chairperson to sort things out. I accept.

OK, well there are a lot of details thereafter that are not really so important, but in brief, the CEO was fired. He was under investigation from the group that owned the company after complaints from team members for bullying, complaints from their most important clients, my own company and other contractors. Unfortunately he did get his bonus before all this happened, these people always get the money, and move on. No matter.

Launch

We finished the project, it was a success.

But it did come at a cost. My energy for Dickiebirds faded soon after the project. The experience had tainted the vision and hopes I had for the venture. A year or so after the project ended, I wrapped up Dickiebirds.

I did however have drive, energy and love for creative work – I just wanted to do it on my own, as a solopreneur. It is around this time when I discovered the WordPress community, and WordPress changed from being just free software I used to something far more powerful.

Unfinished business

Some years later, myself and Peter re-formed The Dickiebirds Studio, this time as a real registered company. And for a few years we had good success at this – we combined our skills learned in the years between. However, with the COVID-19 pandemic the company began to falter, and ultimately I realised at the end of 2020 that it was no longer viable – so I closed it.

Even though it wasn’t to be, I always feel now that Dickiebirds had unfished business, and we gave it the second chance it deserved to see itself to a natural conclusion.

Finding our feet

These days, my old business partner Peter is a senior UX lead for a major car manufacturer – he absolutely loves his job, gets paid well, and has a good life balance with the work he thrives in, and a loving family.

As for me, I returned to what I always loved the most – being a solopreneur.  These days, I work for a few niche design agencies building out websites and consulting, look after around 70 websites on care plans and at the time of writing I work for Beaver Builder & Blogvault on a freelance basis. I even have an income stream for something I really enjoy – podcasting and live streaming (about WordPress, Solopreneur life). I enjoy sharing my experiences of mental health challenges, web design / UX techniques, and solopreneur life.

I know what I do is valuable, and I strive to do the work that makes a difference, and that I enjoy. I have a loving family who have supported me through the ups and the downs, and 12 animals including dogs, cats, chickens and rabbits to keep me company too.

I’m happy to give back, I’m grateful for the opportunity life has provided, and I know… I know that I can get past challenges with the strength those amazing kids from Liberia gifted to me.

They really have no idea what they did.

All of you probably have your own Package from Liberia – if not, one day you will – just keep moving forward, don’t give up.

I’ve actually told this story on stage, a few times now. Please forgive me if the exact details differ a little – on stage, it’s quite scary. If you’d like to see it, it’s on my website homepage at paullacey.digital entitled “How giving back to community gave me strength to move forward”. When I gave that particular talk, I was still a Dickiebirds. So the ending is different this time around.  

At this talk, I ended with a poem – kindly written for me by my mother in law, Carole. Somebody who has also been there for me, and my family through the hardest of times. I asked her to write me something for my first telling of this story.

Here’s the poem, I hope you enjoy, and find some strength moving forward in life.

A poem by Carole Griffin, 2019

Life teaches us how to measure our days,

And we see our own lives in so many ways.

Try not to compare with others, or chase

Those rainbows above; life is not a race.

Instead, use the colours to structure a path,

It may twist and turn, but make it one that will last.

The red of riches beyond the measure of money,

The sweetness of orange like freshly farmed honey,

The yellow of sunshine that shines in your heart,

The blue of the sky when the winters depart,

If a sign leads towards a sense of unease,

Look to indigo and find yourself within these:

Sincerity, wisdom, value, dignity too,

Believe that all these exist within you.

Remember: no matter what happens, what you do has great value.
—Paul

Contributors of this story: Paul Lacey wrote this gem, Oana Filip provided feedback and edited it, Andrei Ungurianu put it all together, George Olaru designed it, Răzvan Onofrei was in charge of the development.

The post The Package from Liberia appeared first on Pixelgrade.

Hi, seeker! I’m Christian, a member of the Upstairs Community. In 1989, I met my partner in love, life, and work. We took on a project for a company in Sweden, and since then, we have designed publications for major Canadian cultural institutions and art galleries. Projects take the form of branding and web stuff with a lot of fun and photography sprinkled around. The best part of living day-to-day is the people we meet. You never know what inspiration lies around the next curve or over the next mountain. We continue working from our camper as we travel North America. We aspire to ship our van to Europe and persist in our travels.

After writing this response, I thought: Why not ask how? I didn’t want to interrogate the idea of “why are we, artists and creators?” I was seeking to understand why or rather how we allow ourselves to work in the dark, damp mines of Fiverr and other gig work venues.

Why should we let someone, probably someone we’ll never meet in person, tell us I’m willing to pay $5 for a logo or business card design or $25 for an entire book design. Would these folks want us to tell them we can pay $2.50 for their simple plan for universal domination?

I’m 33 years into my career in Graphic Design, and my firm has awards and articles too numerous to list. We’ve taught college. And yet, near retirement, without an office (we live in a van), we contemplate some of these gigs. Why?

Maybe to justify our existence as not-yet-retired people? My hackle rises anytime someone points at the camper and asks, “How long have you been retired? Sixty is the new 50!”

Fiverr and others offer the hope that lots of work will come through the door and that if you didn’t make enough on this job, you’d make it back on the next one. So, how will we go forward, gig here, job there? Will we find time to do the pro-bono work for that non-profit?

Will we have time between gigs to walk the kids to school? Vet bills? More and more, I see how Feudal life is becoming, how every moment of our life is marshaled by the need to work, albeit for less money.

I know money isn’t the end goal of our work as designers, but I know there’s rent to pay, insurance, office expenses, and of course, the computer and software on which all our lives depend. If you sign up for the gig factory, keep in mind the quality of life, of work, and of the society in which you aspire to live.

If you’re hiring a gig factory worker, keep in mind the quality of their life and how many $5 gigs they’ll need to take on to pay their bills.

I would love to hear your two cents on my question:

Why do we do what we do in an era of Fiverr and other venues that devalue the artist?

Remember, there are no right or wrong answers, just different approaches.

See you in the conversation section below.

Stay curious,
—Christian

The post Why do we do what we do in an era of Fiverr and other venues that devalue the artist? appeared first on Pixelgrade.

Hey, I’m Monica! I love the tone of the conversations in the Community, so friendly and nurturing. “The Letter to myself” reminded me how important is to love and to be kind to ourselves. I did write a similar letter in 2020, but when I read it again now I realize how much we can develop in the space of a year.  We should celebrate more our successes and be proud of our achievements. I am not a very active member, but I would love to know how to be more involved in the future. You might call me a “lurker”, but I am definitely one of the good ones. 

Find me on LinkedIn

My superpower skill

I am an implementer, finding a problem and creating the space to solve it in a short time. I enjoy co-creation and peer-to-peer learning to contribute and make a difference. I think I am also good at crafting my job which I am doing right now with a project called Fructify Network.

We are a sustainability education platform and my role, as a Community Lead, is to develop our community. Together with Karina, our co-founder, I am also involved in content writing and the co-creation of sustainability programs for startups and SMEs. 

What influenced my career 

There are a few moments in my career that helped me grow. The stepping stone was my decision to accept a job in 2006 and move to Brussels from Romania in a totally different environment without knowing exactly how this would turn up to be. I have always been a life-long learner and I do invest actively in my professional development: learning new skills, learning new languages, and developing my tech skills as well.

Another crucial moment is related to the launch of Fructify Network in March 2021, an exploratory sustainability platform to co-create an ecosystem at the city level. I am learning so much: from community building, team building, work culture, partnerships, and starting a startup from scratch. 

Favorite way of slowing down to enjoy the moment

Living in the Swiss countryside I am also relearning to connect to nature and I enjoy long walks in the forest. I have started reading, The Business of Belonging by David Spinks, and I am interested in building a Business Case for Community Building through posts and articles on LinkedIn. 

The last time you talked about a mistake you made 

Last month, when I published a volunteer position and I assumed that, because a lot of people applied, they were all interested in it. In reality, the interest was smaller, but we, the recruitment team, had the opportunity to meet very passionate and motivated folks.

My takeaway is a bit straightforward: too many people are applying for the jobs that are posted, so, if you really want a job, find a way to contact the company or the startup. Don`t be afraid to ask for introductions from people you know when you see a job that sparks your interest. 

Working with different people

The best thing is that you learn so much from working with people from different backgrounds and cultures. Everyone comes with their own set of strengths and aspirations and it is such a great experience to see your team members grow and develop.

The strength is in the team for sure, especially in startups. A concrete example is a campaign we are organizing in Zurich called Action Lab. To make it short and sweet, we are mapping the city of Zurich’s sustainability ecosystem by foot, Züri walk & talk, with partners like Natallia Zaremba, a creative storyteller, and consultant, The Fabric of Clouds Community and Impact Hub Zurich. 

One professional tip that you learned the hard way

It took me some time to understand that our strengths are more important than our weaknesses. Building on my strengths was the best thing I did to develop my self-confidence and find my purpose. I believe that EVERY voice counts and, that if one of us is successful, we are all successful. 

The post Monica Moldovan, community building and startups appeared first on Pixelgrade.

Hi, I’m Adrian, the human behind this issue of Upstairs. When I explain to people what I do, it ends up like inviting them to ride an invisible dragon (what? no! that’s not a narcotic metaphor!) – an equally unlikely and unforgettable experience. In short, I do mental-emotional change-work, I love writing with mechanical pencils, studying old, dusty languages, and putting together complex Lego sets.

I really felt I needed this win

“I’m going to have to stop you right there!” she said. “I’ve been selling luxury products for over 20 years, and from what you’ve been saying up to this point, I clearly realize there is nothing I can learn from you.”

It was the autumn of 2015, and this curt phrase concluded a painful sales meeting that ended a whole string of similarly unfortunate encounters. In that brief dreadful moment, which seemed to stretch forever, I felt stumped, and all the clever retorts and reframes I could usually wield so artfully slipped my grasp.

She was a high-end personal shopper and stylist for celebrities. I had waltzed into her office full of confidence in how my NLP coaching services could help her bolster sales and increase her profit margin. After all, it’s what we had talked about on the phone, and why she had agreed to meet, in the first place. 

I left my tail between my legs, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, as though I’d dropped a clump of lead inside. “You blundering buffoon!” resounded in my head, as I cursed my incompetence, and the full half-hour I had spent searching for a parking spot on the busy streets of Floreasca, in Bucharest, among posh fashionable cafés and the latest-rage models in auto design.

It stung all the more that I really felt I needed this win. Not just for the money that secured me the necessities of life, but to mark my successful passage into a new stage of my profession, namely working on my own. 

Deep down inside, I knew all too well I couldn’t go back to working some corporate job, working for someone else, as keen and adept I was at training people. I just couldn’t stand having anyone decide my schedule, my tasks, how much I earned, and ultimately, my quality of life. I was hell-bent to forge all that BY myself and FOR myself.

It was a spark that had lit into a roaring blaze ever since I attended my NLP and Coaching Practitioner course, a year and a half before. I came into that experience, as one of my colleagues put it, “stiff as a rake.” I used to be so drenched in unconscious fear, that I didn’t even recognize it anymore. I swam through the fear, like a fish in the water, taking it for granted.

It was only when I went through the Time Line Therapy® part of the course, that I became aware the fear was not me, it was merely a story running in the back of my mind. I could gaze upon its representation, and I asked my unconscious “let’s puke this sucker!”

I fell flat on my face

I, then, felt something literally snap in my solar plexus, as though my innards had been tied into a tight Gordian knot that I hadn’t previously realized. A sense of joy, courage, and relief flooded my body, as I realized that for 26 years, I had been living in a prison of my own mind’s making. And only now could I understand what genuine freedom meant. I could see, hear, feel, and dream beyond the fear.

I started crying and laughing with glee all at once, and everything that I secretly yearned for started to finally bubble up to the surface of my conscious mind, popping like champagne corks or fireworks. What had previously seemed impossible suddenly showed itself within reach, and I was determined to lunge for it and make it happen.

One such goal was running my own business, and supporting people with what I had come to realize was my life’s purpose – connect the dots inside your mind in order to plug knowledge into action, align with like-minded people outside, and turn your most daring goals into a foregone conclusion.

I knew I had the tools for it. After all, I made it work with my fellow course buddies, and I experienced massive change myself. I went from the dour, morose guy who looked ten years older, to the wide, beaming smile of the playful kid who I really had been all along. 

Training at work became a seamless joy, I finally connected with my students, and they actually applied what I was teaching them. I put an end to toxic relationships and reshaped how I engaged with my family. It’s what inspired me to pursue the Master Practitioner, and then, ultimately, the NLP and Hypnosis Trainer’s Training in Vegas, where the founders of the NLP school I trained withheld their practice.

But when I returned from the U.S. and started to piece together my fledgling practice with cold calls and sales meetings, it seemed like all that upsurge fizzled out. One prospective client interaction after another, I fell flat on my face and started to doubt myself in the process. 

After all, I thought I was applying everything I had so heavily invested to learn – in terms of time, energy, and a total of over $10.000 in the course, travel, lodging fees. And I suddenly couldn’t even make ends meet, let alone break even on all I’d spent. 

Coaching is NOT about the content of their work

The botched sale with the personal shopper proved the straw that broke the camel’s back. I could take no more, and I realized I needed some fresh informed outside perspective. So, I called Camelia, my trainer, who had introduced me to the field of personal change-work, and I recounted the whole affair.

With a simple reframe, she turned my whole approach on its head. “This lady said there is nothing she can learn from you. And she’s right,” Camelia swiftly confounded me. “The… what now?!” was all I could reply. 

“You heard me,” Camelia continued. “Look, deep down, everyone really knows what they need to do in order to make their goals happen. Then, the question is, what’s stopping them? So, what if instead of *learning* anything from you, what she could actually benefit from is UNLEARNING all the subtle patterns of thinking, feeling, and acting by which she’s unconsciously holding herself back?” 

And this drove home something I learned from the very beginning of my instruction. See, most people tend to expect that a coach should have and impart extensive practical knowledge and experience (WHAT they acquired) in the same field they are advising on.

But, in fact, this is what a mentor does. Instead, you can be an excellent coach without necessarily being excellent in the same field as your client. Because coaching is NOT about the content of their work. 

It fleshes out the mental and emotional structures and processes that underlie HOW people are doing whatever leads to their current (undesired) results on auto-pilot, in order to enable and empower them to make a deliberate switch for the better.

Most often, we tend to lead our lives at chance, like a ship dragged by the greater undercurrents of family, society, or culture. Coaching makes you aware of yourself and others. It guides and nudges you to realize there is a helm on the boat, to begin with, and that you can turn it, as well as adjust the sails – to change course in your favour. 

It calls to mind Alvin Toffler’s seminal work, “The Third Wave.” As early as 1980, he predicted the tremendous impact that the wide spread of Information Technology would have on our global society, and wrote: “The illiterate of the future will no longer be one who cannot read and write, but rather one who cannot learn, unlearn, and then re-learn.” 

This applies not just to how I serve and benefit clients, but even more closely to how I approach my “mindhacking” practice overall. My talk with Camelia made me realize that as much as I had honed the techniques for NLP in business, I still had a lot to learn about the business of NLP.

Learning always continues

Just like my prospective client, there were still plenty of my own self-defeating patterns that I still had left to become aware of and dissolve. For instance, I let go of the fear that had prevented me from starting on my own, but only then could I realize the fear of someone saying “NO” to my offer, or the fear of promoting myself online. It’s like peeling an onion that goes on for as long as you live, and just like with onion, I might be shedding some tears with every peel.

With every obstacle I would overcome, I would gain the insight and perspective that allow me to set even bolder, more far-reaching goals, which in turn bring even greater challenges and learning opportunities along the way, and so on.

And as much as I had grasped my mentors’ acumen, there were plenty of fresh strategies for marketing, prospecting, sales, and overall business administration that I had left to learn, apply, test, and continuously improve. 

After all, in a world that is quickly and constantly shifting, learning always continues. What worked brilliantly yesterday might blow up in your face tomorrow, and the best you can do is shrug it off, let go, and keep adjusting until you hit your sweet spot. 

That’s why, as I like to tell my clients and students to this day – I don’t present myself in front of you as an “enlightened guru” or some “wise-cracking know-it-all,” but rather precisely because I’ve hit rock bottom, tripped and bumped against more thresholds than most have even considered crossing. 

But every time, I learned something new. And I’m paying it forward so that you might apply it in your everyday lives, and it would enable you to reach faster, further, and more smoothly than I, for one, could even dream of.

In the end, I wish I had some “wonderwall” aspirational conclusion to my botched sales meeting. But the truth is, I never came across the lady ever since (I was about to write “ever again,” but who knows what paths life might take us?).

What I do know now is that the lessons our encounter taught me ended up worth far more than whatever deal I might have closed with her as a client. And they keep paying rich dividends all the way down to now.  

Keep feeding your curiosity, my friends,
—Adrian

Contributors of this story: Adrian Munteanu wrote this gem, Oana Filip provided feedback and edited it, Andrei Ungurianu put it all together, George Olaru designed it, Răzvan Onofrei was in charge of the development.

The post Rock Bottoms’ Up! appeared first on Pixelgrade.

Hi, I’m Irina, the human behind this issue of Upstairs. I’m a business journalist by day and a pun generator by night. I believe in long walks, Prada, old school delis, and Gogol.

Journalism didn’t seem like a safe career choice

There’s a New Yorker cartoon with two preschoolers playing with toy cars and Legos, captioned “What do you want to be when you give up?” Some look at it and see two kids that are in on this joke we call adulthood. When I first saw it in high school, I read it as a warning sign. I’ll never give up, I told myself.

Growing up, magazines were my toy cars and Legos. I can trace my life in magazine titles, from Disney Princess and National Geographic Kids to Top Gear and my school paper, from Harper’s Bazaar to the Economist and Businessweek. I even devoured the supermarket and airline magazines almost nobody else reads. So it’s only natural this cartoon, which haunts me to this day, reached me through a magazine. 

To me, magazines were aspirational as much as they were entertaining and informative. They were one-way tickets to worlds of ideas, questions, people, books, movies, fashion, music, jokes, and adventures that showed me there’s so much more to life than what’s in front of me — and I could be part of it all. 

It first dawned on me that magazines are made by actual people when I was around nine years old. At that time, I was reading Julie, a French magazine for young girls. I’d discovered it at the French Cultural Institute, where I was taking language classes. I hunted its issues — always months-old editions, never the latest, every time I went to the supermarket or this one bookstore with my parents. 

I got my hands on the magazine’s 100th-anniversary issue, which included a special section dedicated to “how it’s made,” introducing all the journalists, the newsroom dynamics, and the editorial process. It was right then and there that I decided I wanted to be one of them, the people who made it. That’s what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I wasn’t going to give up.

“I guess we’ll never know.”

The beginning was easy. I edited my high school newspaper, subscribed to major business papers, filled my head with good sentences, started keeping a notebook, made notes of the career track of the journalists I read, and bought a beige trench coat that made me look like a detective. I also studied economics and politics at summer schools, where I took on issues like free speech in the aftermath of Charlie Hebdo in writing.

The first thing I did when I went to study economics in London joined the student newspaper, which was even more exciting than I’d imagined. Just because I’d done well in school so far, I expected I’d be rushing into the newsroom with my laptop open and start typing top-notch articles straight away. Instead, my impostor syndrome showed up. Yes, I did have a C2 English language certificate, but writing sharp sentences didn’t come naturally, I was clueless about both UK domestic politics and ramen — a popular meal in the newsroom, I had never interviewed someone for a story, I had never written a news article, I had no idea what AP style was, I had never opened Twitter. 

I had week-long streaks of feeling like I didn’t belong in what I thought was my dream job. Like I was worthless because I couldn’t come up with a story idea, an angle, or a first paragraph. But somehow, I still gathered the courage to show up every time. Maybe it’s because that newsroom was the first time I met a group of people who all wanted to be journalists. I was no longer the odd one out. Boxing matches, student protests, education policy, modern art exhibitions — I spent nights, weekends, and holidays writing about them all, to the amusement and sometimes despair of my loved ones. Along the way, I fell in love with on-the-ground reporting, writing for and about the student tribe, and with the everyday dysfunctional-family-like dynamics of life in a newsroom. I like to joke that I showed up so much that I eventually became the Editor-in-chief. That’s still one of my favorite victories.

Still, journalism didn’t seem like a safe career choice by the time I got to the final year of my degree in London. The job prospects weren’t great, to put it mildly — I already had a rather long list of rejections. And I enjoyed economics and policy-making, which is why I applied for a public policy master. But the “What do you want to be when you give up?” cartoon popped up in my head. “I guess we’ll never know,” I wanted to answer, Kanye West-style. So I submitted my application for this highly competitive, dream program in journalism and economic policy in Paris. I didn’t think I’d get it. But if I did, I told myself, it would mean I’d never have to think about giving up ever again. It felt like a bet, and I put everything I had into making that application good.

I did get it. (Spoiler alert: the New Yorker cartoon is still credited as a cast member in the next season of my life.) It was everything I dreamed of and more. My teachers were the kind of journalists they make movies about — news junkies, obsessed with words, storytelling, and getting the facts right, in love with their jobs, and full of stories that would make for best-selling autobiographies.

My peers, each of them with their special spark, came from all over the world and were just as hungry to prove themselves and as passionate about reporting, reflecting, and questioning our world in creative ways through journalism as I was. Needless to say, they quickly became family. My days were filled with learning how to film, pitch ideas, chasing protesters, golden quotes and perfect opening paragraphs, interviewing small business owners and fashion designers from Paris’ least charming neighborhoods, talking to sneakerheads, and producing podcasts or turning air-quality data into visual stories. 

Less than five months from graduation, I hit a new low.

But my nights were filled with anxiety, and I doubted I’d ever get the chance to prove myself as a journalist outside school. By now, you’ve figured I have a thing for long lists. The most extended list in my repertoire is the one with rejections. Sending CVs, cover letters, and writing samples into the void, praying I’d get the job, and at the same time not even expecting an answer back, became everyday routine. I did well in my journalism school assignments, was praised by my teachers, and felt proud of my work. Yet I got rejected or did not even get a reply from almost every news organization you can name. I promise you that’s not an exaggeration.

Covid made things worse. It diluted the tribe-like vibe of journalism school and disconnected me from the much-needed adrenaline rush of on-the-ground reporting. Many internships were canceled, and it only added to the uncertainty that there is a place for me in this world.

It also opened new opportunities. Reporting on stories remotely forced me to get more creative about multimedia storytelling or find clever interview questions to be able to describe events as if I’d been there. For example, together with one of my best friends from journalism school, I created an Instagram page called “24 hours on lockdown,” showing how the lives of three people from the UK, Sri Lanka, and Italy unfolded over the same 24 hours. I also started freelancing remotely for a local Romanian news outlet, where I was given free rein to pursue my passion for data journalism, which was a formative experience for me. 

It was a new kind of adrenaline rush. One that I’d have to fight for every day. Chasing story ideas sometimes felt like looking for needles in the hay of the internet. I missed the pre-Covid feeling of being a detective roaming the streets with stories jumping at me from the most unexpected corners. I grew frustrated and disillusioned. 

I had promised myself not to give up. But remote working, chasing projects only to end up juggling too many assignments, and the uncertainty of freelancing with no end in sight was a far cry from the collaborative, resource-rich, innovation-driven newsrooms I’d glimpsed in the pages of Julie, and later in London and in journalism school.

Less than five months from graduation, I hit a new low. By then, it’d become obvious most newsrooms in Paris were only considering native French speakers (which I’m not). And international news organizations in the UK, which sometimes see thousands of applications for one position, wouldn’t consider me because they couldn’t sponsor my visa (I don’t have settled status). “What do you want to be when you give up?” was no longer a warning but a genuine question that demanded a practical answer.

I vividly remember one night after I’d received another email saying, “sorry, we don’t sponsor visas” minutes after submitting my application. I looked up from my laptop and saw mountains of post-its and planners with application plans and contacts, notebooks with story ideas, printed articles, annotated magazines, and books. Looking at them usually felt reassuring, as if they were part of this grand plan, a treasure I’d been amassing all these years. But that night, I felt like I was surrounded by trash. And it was everywhere I looked. 

Above all, I felt shame. The shame of having taken my childhood dreams too seriously, the shame of not giving up. Sure, I knew I’d gotten a lot better along the way, but the fact of the matter was I’d been getting rejections for five years. Maybe my dream job was simply not meant for me. Maybe it’d been a classic case of unrequited love all along.

I can start growing up from where I am

There was only one London newsroom that was sponsoring visas. I’d already been rejected in a previous internship round, but I thought I’d give it another shot. When I passed the CV screening stage, it felt like now or never. As I prepared for the interview rounds that followed, I started wanting this internship even more. It seemed like it was a combination of everything I was — or wanted to be good at following the money to report about business, politics, tech, and cultural change in a collaborative newsroom. 

I remember forbidding myself to even dream about getting this internship. When the final assessment day came, which consisted of multiple choice and writing tests, and a couple of interview rounds, I was excited more than anything. It was only the second time I’d passed to the actual interview stage in an application process. I felt so lucky to get a chance to prove myself in front of journalists whose work I admired.

When the bureau chief’s phone number popped up on my screen a few mornings later, I was in disbelief. Why would he call to tell me I didn’t get it? I couldn’t imagine I’d be accepted. Yet I was. 

And so I returned to London (after a lot of visa trouble). My internship felt like permission to be myself fully and a chance to push myself forward. I reported on vegan seafood, mini skirts, labor shortages, and the wheat harvest. I witnessed journalists literally move the market with their headlines. I got thrills from teasing information out of sources. Working for a big organization gave me the gift of belonging — being part of an ecosystem where I felt supported, encouraged, and inspired by everyone I worked with. Every morning in the office elevator on my way up, I’d get butterflies in my stomach. I had a crush on my internship — and it was not unrequited.

At the end of my internship, I was offered a full-time position in London. At the time of writing this, I’ve just started settling into my new role. In-between, there were two months of spending time with my family, going on long walks in my leafy neighborhood, and nourishing parts of myself I’d neglected or wounded in the process of “not giving up.” I even finished a novel. 

The New Yorker cartoon still haunts me, albeit in a very different way. Restless as I am, I’m tempted to start thinking about what’s next. While at home, I reported and wrote a short local piece for one of my favorite newsletters. This reminded me how much I love going on the ground and telling meaningful stories, no matter how small. I realized the “what” in “what do you want to be when you grow up” is not a fixed target but a particular way of working — and living. I understood it’s essential to find my tribe and create something of meaning for it through journalism.

But my new job has also indirectly gifted me patience with myself. I no longer have to fret over the next gig, the next job application, the next step. I now have the space and resources to develop myself and tell the best stories I can. I hope that will lead me to my tribe in time. Now that I no longer worry about giving up, I can start growing up from where I am.

Be patient,
—Irina

Contributors of this story: Irina Anghel wrote this gem, Oana Filip provided feedback and edited it, Andrei Ungurianu put it all together, George Olaru designed it, Răzvan Onofrei was in charge of the development.

The post What do you want to be when you give up? appeared first on Pixelgrade.

Hey, I’m Diana! Even if I read only a handful of stories shared here, they made me feel closer to some of the people behind them because I felt they’ve let me in on some of their secrets. I’m grateful for the chance to open up as well. 

Find me on Instagram

My superpower skill

Adaptability. Not to be confused with imitation, I’ve often mirrored other people’s behaviors, thoughts, or interests. For the longest time, this felt like I lacked personality, always borrowing from others, never being truly authentic. Then, I read this exact same thought in a book*, and seeing it from an objective perspective changed the way I look at it. Mirroring is helpful in developing empathy and understanding broad perspectives. It’s what helped me adapt to different situations or learn new skills on the go.

*Elena Greco from My Brilliant Friend is a bright young girl whose growth we witness as we go through the book. Written from her perspective, it touches upon her own (many) insecurities. The thought I referred to earlier came up in a scene where she debated things with her colleagues. She felt like all the other people involved in that debate were true thinkers, coming up with their own arguments while she was borrowing and reusing other people’s opinions she had read in books and newspapers.

Being an outside observer, I wanted to tell her that her way was everyone’s way, that we all borrow and reuse in a way.

What influenced my career 

I have a particular aversion for the word career because I always equate it with the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” A question for which I don’t have an answer to this day.

I started my working life as a waitress, moved on to librarian, came back to waitressing, and took on social media management in the same place. I started learning more about communication when I moved to the Netherlands and took a Sales and Marketing internship. That landed me a job as a Business Developer, which I left, to work as a marketing person for a music festival that Neverwas, back home. After that, I returned to the bar I did communication for and grew my skills in event management. In parallel, I’ve worked for various local festivals promoting music, street art, literature and started some projects in the same field. And for the past three years, I’ve been working as a salesperson for a startup in Tech. 

All of these things in the span of 11 years. They may seem like jobs in related fields, woven by the red thread of communicating with people, but I’ve not set my mind to build a career in a certain field, so to me, it feels more like I’m doing a puzzle.

The first piece of the puzzle with which I started was brought by the need of finding people, of belonging — I moved to the city I currently live in when I was 19 and knew nobody except my family here.

All the other pieces I found were because of all the people I met. And I’ve been so very lucky in that regard because I’ve borrowed from truly extraordinary people.

Favorite way of slowing down to enjoy the moment

There’s nothing like a good live concert that truly slows downtime for me. It’s my break from thinking too much.

This is one I really wish I could have been at.

The last time you talked about a mistake you made 

When I am aware of them, I own up to my mistakes. Whether they’re related to a missed opportunity at work because I failed to submit a form before the deadline (sorry, Marius) or failing at being a good person to be in a relationship with (sorry, Vlad).

It’s what happens afterward that I consider being more difficult — holding yourself accountable all the way through, not making up excuses, learning something from it.

Working with different people

Working with people with different cultural backgrounds is a constant reminder that my own experience is not a universal truth, and I find it very grounding. There are many things to gain from these types of interactions, and one of them was learning that communication without context is just a bunch of words put together.

Now, about working with people with different skills and expertise, the obvious great thing about it is learning from them.

One professional tip that you learned the hard way

Hmm. I mentioned before that I worked briefly for a music festival. Ominously enough, its name was Neverwas and it never happened. It was canceled 6-months before it should have taken place, a wise business decision that its founder, whom I deeply respect, had to take. The whole experience was very intense from beginning to end.

What I learned from that experience is that passion is not enough if it’s not sustained by knowledge (held or gained actively). Another lesson I took away from it was that sometimes you can be too young and too green for certain jobs, no matter how much you’re open to growing. And here I’m not referring only to the experience required for getting the job done, but also the experience to handle failures and loss when and if the situation arises.

The post Diana, tech startups and event management appeared first on Pixelgrade.