The beginning of the correspondence

Dear Library,

I have been thinking about you a lot lately. The sort of thoughts that seem to swirl without coalescing in a particular direction if I don't talk about them, and that would take a LOT of talking, and it's hard to find ears with that much time. So I have decided to write to you, gentle Library, as a means of working some of these ideas out in a productive manner. ...hopefully the men in white jackets don't find these letters.

I am currently away from my sketchbook (and waiting for the first baseball game of the season to start) so my head is not as in the game at the moment as it could be. I will start by asking you two questions:

How do we make you civic but not institutional? As a corollary to that, I guess I need to decide just how welcoming I want to make you. Hmm. Welcoming, yes, but not a home away from home. How much of that is space and how much of that is materiality? Oops, that's an extra question.

Also: how do we make you public without being monumental? You're rather big right now - through no fault of your own, and you might even stay that way - but that's not the kind of experience we're trying to create for your visitors. Or is it, you tricky thing? Sometimes I think your intentions regarding your future differ from mine. I hope that we can compromise without a battle of the wills, gentle Library.

Okay. You ruminate. I'm going to cheer for the Diamond Wolverines - that doesn't ring nearly as well as the Diamond Dawgs; sometimes I miss Georgia in funny ways - and I'll get back to you in a little while on your thoughts.

Cheers,

your architect

I give

Okay, Anya, I give.  You were right.

Problem:  Astronomical anxiety about not being prepared enough to present research and project development thus far to cohort and colleagues.

My proposed solution: presenting to a small group.

Anya's solution: bump up the presentation date by three days with 90 minutes' notice.

Results:

     1.  No time to question decisions; all presentation decisions were made and executed with little development between the two.  

     2.  No time to create new material.

     3.  Completely unrealistic expectations led to overload of anxiety fuse: tripped the breaker.

     4.  Frustration with lack of ability to prepare adequately* (*in my opinion) => it felt pointless to be invested in a 'final' product in which I had little confidence; divorced opinion about work from opinion about self.

Effects:

     1.  There was only minor appreciable compromise of production quality.

     2.  No half-assed elements were present in presentation.

     3.  Short-circuit of anxiety fuse led to an unexpected serenity when presenting.  I felt like I was clear, concise, and comprehensive; the high value and relevance of the critics' feedback seems to reflect my perception.

     4.  I hate Anya for being so very right about changing the date on me.  Also I love her.

Moving forward:

     How can I short-circuit the anxiety fuse to begin with?  It never drives productivity, efficiency, or creativity in ways that are actually helpful.

     How can I better balance my time between big moves - design, presentation, layout - and fine-tuning?  I suspect I need an objective standard up against which I can hold up my work.  Does such a thing exist?  Can I create it?

     Never forget: I could always bag architecture school in favor of being a waitress instead.  Although after this project, I don't think I want waitress to be my backup career choice any more: I want to be a librarian.  Or a rocket scientist.  You know, something less stressful.