heathervescent

Road Warrior

It has been a luxurious week in Los Angeles, but my time here is coming to a close. Over the past 6 months I have had to completely change the way I work. No more long weeks in my office, I have been away from it more than I have been here. 

 (Note: I started this post three weeks ago... back when I had a gorgeous week at home.)

Reduced Productivity

I'm not as productive when I travel. This is because I have a highly optimized work style for a home office set up. I've had to change this. My office is now my beloved Brenthaven backpack (thank you @urbanverse and @busynessgirl). In this I carry 2 laptops, an ipad, an iphone, an itouch, a kindle, various headphones, a notebook, office supplies, business cards, and a myriad of necessary power cables, cords and power adapters (when I travel internationally).

Respecting the Introvert

Most people don't believe me when I say I'm introverted, and that's because people see me when I'm out in my extrovert character. You don't see me, like this past week, when I spend hours on end in my office, very quiet, talking to no-one, listening to music, typing away. It's not that I try to hide this part of me. It just by it's nature isn't seen except but a very few intimate people. I am a different person when I am around people.

So while traveling, I have had to change this. Let the introvert show a bit more. Not engage with people. Eat lunch at my desk. Listen to headphones. Not book every evening with events. Not book every traveling moment with meetings. And to give myself a break. To stay in my hotel room, order room service and spend quality time with myself.

Respecting the introvert in New York is especially hard because of so. many. people. It's exhausing just to go into the office. People everywhere, bumping into you, crammed like sardines into a train. I hate it. Which is why I come in late and work late. I just can't stand the onslaught of humanity.

Air travel hacks

I thought I was good at air travel, being the daughter of a flight attendant. Traveling 50-75% of my time has optimized this. I don't bother to pack light anymore. I check my bags and have a flight carry-on that includes includes

• my leather moccassins
• face mister and moisterizer (face and hand)
• noise-canceling headsets
• my iphone/itouch (to take pictures out the window)
• Window seat is a MUST
• Internet on domestic flights
• Snacks
• I drink a lot of (sparkling) water

I almost always make sure I get to the airport early. I don't like the stress of missing a flight. (That's the years of flying standby.) I try to make sure I eat good food. No junk food.

Making it fun / Keeping it stressless

I try to make it fun to travel. I hate the TSA - I find it degrading and non-effective. So I try to make it fun. I try to humanize people. Talk to them. Joke with them. Make myself (and maybe them) laugh. Taking pictures and Instagramming them.

Missing Home

I miss Los Angeles a lot when I travel. I love this city. What it represents. Who is here (my dog, the boyf, my car, the freeways). It's proximity to the desert. I miss my easy weekends in the desert. So I travel with a piece of it. I have a painting of a Joshua Tree that I bring with me. There are other memories of home I bring with me, my West Coast style. My coffee with cinnamon. I've been known to imagine NY skyscrapers as Joshua Trees and Mountain Ranges.

Sometimes I listen to Los Angeles' police radio. Often I'll catch early morning tweets by the LAFD. I always check in on the LA Times. And always there is Twitter and Instagram. These are important links to my city while I am gone. 

Time Traveling as Therapy

I often think of the past. Moments I have essence snapshots from. I remember years when I didn't leave LA. I think back to those dog walk mornings. I think back to my times in grad school, spending every weekend researching and writing. I think back to camping trips. To home cooked meals, to cakes made from scratch. I visit their sweet memories - a juxtaposition from waiting for my flight at an airport, riding in a taxi cab, watching the earth pass below me. I think of these moments  - while in another: waiting in an airport, riding in a taxi, flying around the world, riding the subway, eating out. Present in these moments, I savor the opposite, holding both in my mind, present in my experience. Later, I will visit the snapshot of jetset memories for the same type of therapy. Perhaps when I am on a dusty lakebed or driving off road for several days or something more mundane.

 An Iterative Process

I'm still learning how to have a satisfying life traveling so much. I am reflecting on a comment from a William Gibson novel - about a writer who wrote much of his books in hotel rooms. I am looking for activities I like to do - and do at home - that I can transport and do with myself in hotel rooms.  I try new things and adjust what I'm using to make it work better for me.

Snapshots of Home

I cracked the largest grin of my trip when I saw the Virgin Atlantic flight sign showing destination: Los Angeles. LAX. What have I become? This trip convinced me, that while the world is a grand and interesting place, I live in the best place in the world. I don't want to move to Austin, or Portland, become an expat or become a global nomad. Right here in West Hollywood. Dreams are created and realized. 

--

It's the smell of LAX: jetfuel and airplane exhaust. I've told my seatmate, a Brit who is coming for a Hollywood gig, "In LA, anything can happen. Your dreams can come true. That's what's amazing about this place. You _can_ stay," I say to his desire to find more work after his short-term gig, "but the trick is give yourself no option to go back." It's step 4, Burn Your Ships.  He's off on an amazing adventure to explore the City of Angeles. I am excited for him.

--

Up, early morning. Everything is quiet. The dog, the boyf are asleep. I take the truck and drive the city streets. In search of half and half and breakfast provisions. I step outside. The air is chilly. But there's an undertone of warmth. Then I breathe deep. It hits me, the messages traveling my nervous system from my nostrils, lungs to my brain, exploding into meaning. The smell of Los Angeles. Moisture. Cool. Undertone of desert heat. The edge of possibilities. 

Sun rising upon the Hollywood Hills. 

--

So many choices. The aisles are stacked with boxes, products being unloaded. I admired the branding, the perforations to unpackage individual packaged entrees. I had never thought about the wholesale and shipping side. I see the choice. Such variety. I think, this is an upside of the free market. Such selection. It's kind of amazing.

I get into a conversation with a shop stocker. He talks to me in Spanish, I hesitate and reply. My brain is a scramble with languages. I realize I'm much more comfortable speaking bad Spanish than French. 

I come across a display of Avocados. It's like I've found the city of gold. I restrain myself from kneeling in worship to selecting a few for breakfast. Then there are strawberries from Salinas, I imagine the fields, rows of short green clumps up north. I know I'm romanticizing, but what can you expect? I'm an unapologetic Angelino.

I am so happy to be home. I've missed my city.

My SXSW Talk: The New Age of Money

or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Economic Collapse

If you weren't able to catch me at SXSW or Digital Money Forum last month, my presentation slides are posted below. SXSW captured the audio of my talk, so you listen to me speak very quickly (I had a very short period of time and wanted to show a preview of Flowers for Grandma).  I went into a bit more detail and showed both Fly Me to the Moon and Flowers for Grandma (sneak peak still photos below.)

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Economic Collapse

View more PowerPoint from heathervescent

Flowers for Grandma stills  (we're finishing this up as fast as we can)

European Fields

I was having one of those days. A day when I was in no mood to deal with people. Didn't want to talk to them, didn't want to see them, didn't want to be around them. I have been fairly lucky to set up my life such that when I have one of these days I sequester myself in my office with my dog. I don't like feeling this way and I don't like inflicting a cranky, negative Heather on the world. I gotta keep up my, I am so awesome, invincible, rah-rah-rah personal brand, you know on the blog, ya know!

So anyway, after an awesome day of London shopping, I had to cram everything into my suitcases (which I barely fit stuff into), then lug all this LUGgage off to the train station to catch the high speed Eurostar to the continent. When I arrived, the train station was a madhouse. Crazy lines, people cutting in line, rolling these huge suitcases everywhere, people bumping into each other, no awareness of space and people behind them. For 3 seconds my blood boiled and then I looked around. There was nothing to do.

I watched the guy in front of me become red-faced with his wife and two kids. They had waited until the last  minute to get to the station. I watched him try to bully the woman keeping order among the chaos into letting him cut in line. Her response was pure pleasure, straight British to the point. Unbudging. The Europeans sure can talk straight. (How refreshing!)

Finally I'm on the train. (All my luggage lugging reminds me of a train ride 20+ years ago with my Mom and Grandmother. Between us, we had 7 huge pieces! And all this, before roller bags.) I'm engrossed with my latest iphone app purchase, zoning out to my downtempo mix. Across the aisle from me is a family - I think they are Americans. But I'm not feeling chatty. (Come to think of it, until the conference call this afternoon, it had been more than a week since I've heard an American accent. Even the English non-native speakers speak that damn British English!) American family is crashed out across the tables. It's a bright sunny English afternoon. Which means the sun is rising over the US. Jetlag. I wonder if they are from Austin, California, New York, Colorado - the time zones in my phone. 

I'm watching the countryside. It looks strangely familiar. (More on that later.) We cross under the Channel, then we're in Calais for a short stop. Sleeping family starts awake... the teenage son is dragging his heels... almost wanting to go back to sleep. I'm watching detachedly. There is one bag they missed. I call out, but the teenage son is intent on getting off the train. I jump up, grab the bag from under the table and run down the aisle. The family is off the train and down the platform. I wonder if I can catch them before the train leaves. But the train attendant sees me (running down the aisle) - understands - and takes the bag from my hand at the train door. She calls out to the family and they turn, return and get the bag from her. I see their sighs of relief as I return to my seat at the window.

That would have really sucked, hm? Leaving your bag on the train. Who knew what important things, money, passport, clothes, phone, were in it. Hours of heartache, frustration and anxiety - the possibility evaporating in a moment. Along with my cranky mood. I was left only with a feeling of relief and the view of European fields, wind turbines spinning, black and white cows frolicking and another day living.