Susan Jackson

Fitcognito

My posts for the MySecretBoston blog “Fitcognito,” the source for little-known ways to stay in shape in Boston.

Rock On
Climbing to new fitness heights

Breaking the Ice
Not into solitary exercise? Join a team.

Run Around
Great places to run, in and out of town

Punch Drunk
The fun of getting fit in the last way you’d expect

Water Power 
An exotic way to get out on the river

Working Vacation 
Getting some exercise out of your visit to Cape Cod

Water Work 
Keeping fit, with a paddle

Pitch Perfect 
A batting cage that makes your workout fun

Yo, Row! 
How to join the river crew

I’m in Tokyo?

You could have fooled me. There are plenty of signs in characters I can’t read, items I can’t recognize (the sting of rubbing soap into my face, thinking it was moisturizer comes to mind), and things I can’t understand (the obedience of Japanese pedestrians to the crossing sign, for example… There are no cars in sight, just go!). But, I’ve more often felt like I’m in a subdued version of New York or Boston rather than in a bustling metropolis of the Far East. Where are the crowds of people swarming the streets and pouring down into the subways? (Where is that Storm Trooper?) What about the handlers responsible for pushing people into crowded subway cars? Or gigantic neon light displays bathing wildly costumed young Japanese in flashing reds, blues, and yellows?

It’s only been a couple of days, weekend days at that, but I haven’t been overwhelmed by anything but jetlag. Culture shock is nonexistent. All travelers have expectations, dare I say, stereotypes, and in not yet encountering the items I’ve just listed, I’m admitting my own. Instead of the untamed masses, I’ve encountered a calm sensibility, impeccably clean streets, and far fewer clusters of gleaming skyscrapers than I’d expect to see in a major capital city. When I traveled to China, I immediately felt its full onslaught of culture. Japan so far feels more like a place you could comfortably, inconspicuously, and quickly ease into.

Small things bring me to this fast conclusion. I’m told that the raised, textured line drawn down the middle of sidewalks here is to help the blind navigate. People wear surgical masks in public — yes, those of bird flu fame — but as (I hope) most of us Westerners know already, they wear them when they have colds to prevent spreading their own germs. In the United States we’re encouraged to wash our hands frequently in a defensive effort to prevent sickness. Here, people take responsibility to protect others from their illness, not just themselves.

We’re visiting Waseda University today, which means my second trip on the subway here. And after that, free time, probably spent shopping for bitchin’ sneakers. So, many more opportunities to seek out what I expected to find here. Or, just be pleasantly wrong about those expectations as I comfortably, inconspicuously, and quickly ease into my week in Tokyo.

The Surprise Benefits of Waiting in Line

Velvet ropes, back doors, wristbands, “my name is on the list.” No one ever wants to wait in lines, and we’ve developed numerous strategies to circumvent them. We scan our own groceries or pay for expedited service at the airport. We sweet-talk security guards or maybe grease a few palms to avoid standing with the rest of the common folk, or to save ourselves a few precious minutes. We don’t want to wait for the wonderful thing on the other side of that door. But what if something just as good is waiting in line with us?

Before attending my first South by Southwest Interactive in Austin, I heard a lot of advice: bring plenty of business cards, be prepared to function on little sleep, never wait in line — there’s always something else going on. So I carried a water bottle and didn’t set my alarm clock. But I didn’t follow the last piece of advice, and for that, I’m glad. I came to the conference alone. Like other times I’ve traveled solo, I looked forward to the serendipitous things you only experience while a little uncomfortable and out of your element. I attended panels, ate a few meals for one, and met some fascinating people — most often while standing in line. Sure, many people, myself included at times, had their heads down and eyes too glued to phones, tablets, or laptops to chat up others around them. It’s (ironically, in that sense) the interactive conference, after all. But often, my waiting game paid off.

I met the designer whose agency created the HTML 5 logo, a woman in the documentary film business who spent a year in India as an assistant to a Bollywood superstar, and an American whose company won a grant to open up shop in Chile. He’s been living there for three months and shared that in his opinion, the country’s national dish is a hot dog smothered in mayonnaise. I had lively conversations about the future of publishing and heard a pitch or ten from young, hungry entrepreneurs. All while waiting for the “main event” on the other side of the gate, rope, or beefy doorman.

There is a lot of advice out there on networking, in part because few of us like to do it, or do it well. It can be uncomfortable, and it’s work. All this successful waiting in line means l have a lot of following up to do. And since networking never really ends, my job will never be done if I want to do it right. (Fortunately, there’s hope even if I don’t do it right.) The upside, though, is that networking can also be fun. I’ve genuinely had a great time meeting my fellow queue mates and hearing their stories.

So if you want to grow your network and possibly your world view, I encourage you to hurry up and wait. Instead of feeling exasperated while looking at the length of the line, the tops of your shoes, or the glowing screen in your hand, try being a little uncomfortable and see what might come from it. At the least, you might learn something interesting about hot dogs.

This post originally appeared on the Harvard Business Review website, hbr.org

The Business Card Is Dead, Long Live the Business Card

I remember when I got my first box of business cards. They were white, a nice card stock. Embossed blue writing. I’d done it — landed a “real job” at a company that thought enough of me to pay for 500 little pieces of paper joining my name to their logo. Never mind that my title was wrong, and the only people who wanted to have one were my mom and dad. It was exciting. I could end important conversations with, “Here, let me give you my card.” I had a stamp of authenticity.

But things are different now, sort of. I’m at the final day at South by Southwest Interactive in Austin, and my business cards (now white and crimson, of course), have certainly been helpful. I’ve traded them plentifully and with promises — already made, kept, or broken — of follow-ups and check-ins. But in some circles, they haven’t been helpful at all.

SXSW attracts distinct, and diverse, tribes. With some, my card is indeed a stamp of authenticity. In others, a mark of a time passed. When I’ve met journalists or designers, the business card is still the default. Some cards are plain; others speak to their holders’ personalities through odd trim sizes, quirky color schemes, or clever word play. But in the startup circles I’ve come across, the business card is the badge of the outsider. I had a lovely conversation with two young entrepreneurs from New York and when it was time to part ways, I used that old line: “Here, let me give you my card.” They both paused, looking unsure about whether or not I was serious. Then I saw the understanding wash over them. I was speaking a forgotten language. A business card. How precious. One kindly accepted it anyway. The other craned his neck to copy my email address into his Hashable account and instantly sent me his virtual business card instead. With that small paper rectangle, I’d outed myself as a square.

In other situations, I’ve exchanged Twitter handles instead of email. In others still, it’s easier to swap phone numbers — for texting, of course. All of these methods allow people to keep in touch. But your preferred method says something about who you are, as much as saying it with funky fonts or trim sizes.

I’m a big fan of electronic communication. I’d always prefer my bank email me than send pieces of paper through the mail. It’s just easier to manage everything in one place, the place where I already am — online. So I understand the convenience of an instant electronic business card. But there’s something, too, in a world where we use paper less and less, that makes me appreciate paper even more. My cube walls are covered in what my mother once deemed, “paperorabilia.” When I return from the conference to summit the mountain of business cards needing my attention, I will no doubt appreciate that electronic card already sitting in my inbox. But I hope I will also appreciate the one with the DIY look of distressed cardboard, and that each will tell me something more about the person who gave it to me than I could have known from their contact info alone.

How do you like to exchange contact info when you meet someone? Do you think about what it might say about you?

This post originally appeared on the Harvard Business Review website, hbr.org