Growing up in Istanbul, Carl Sagan was one of my childhood heroes.
He would speak to me through the original Cosmos series. I didn’t speak a word of English, so I wasn’t quite sure what he was saying. But I listened anyway.
Growing up in Istanbul, Carl Sagan was one of my childhood heroes.
He would speak to me through the original Cosmos series. I didn’t speak a word of English, so I wasn’t quite sure what he was saying. But I listened anyway.
“Where is the intermission?!?!” I remember thinking, baffled during my first movie theater experience in the United States.
Growing up in Turkey, I was used to the customary 10-minute intermission during movies—a brief hiatus to dash to the restroom, stretch your legs, and buy snacks and drinks right at your seat.
As I write this, I’m on a flight to Las Vegas to give a keynote at a Salesforce/Tableau conference with 8,000 attendees.
It’s one of 6 events I’m doing in less than 7 days.
In moments like this, it’s easy to get frazzled and lose myself in overwhelm.
There’s a practice I follow to ground myself that I’m going to share with you. It comes from an unlikely place: bullfighting. (For our purposes, I’m going to set aside the cruelty of the “sport” and instead focus on the idea).
It’s called querencia.
A friend recently shared a story of her traditional British upbringing that illustrates a universal problem in how we communicate.
It centered around an unspoken family rule about the last biscuit. During family gatherings, when only one biscuit remained on the plate, a subtle yet intricate dance would unfold.