My husband and I recently hired a landscape architect to help us with our front yard, as landscaping is definitely outside (excuse the pun) our realm of expertise. We decided that, by hiring an expert, we'd end up saving money in the end because we'd avoid making a string of expensive errors in our planting efforts. As I've mentioned before, I've come to realize that
small, DIY mishaps add up to much more than the relatively meager fee of hiring an experienced designer in the beginning.
So, since we'd worked with an interior designer several years ago, I assumed this exterior design process would be a piece of cake for my husband and I to tackle. After all, most decisions regarding home design had been left to me, as my better half never really had an opinion about anything decorative- save for the color of his office walls.
In other words, I'd been blessed with carte blanche and all was dandy.
Until now.
The Mister, it turns out, does indeed want to have a say about what the yard looks like. (I know! A man, wanting to be in charge of his lawn? Who knew?)
I first smelled trouble brewing when I began showing him landscape design photos. Suddenly all of these
opinions began to surface, like:
"No, no, no, no... All of these houses have flagstone! I don't like flagstone. You have to live in a mansion to make that work."
and
"I can't stand topiaries. They look like Poodles."
Hmmm.... This was going to be a bit harder than I'd thought.
A Democratic Union, I Presume
As you are aware, I'm always touting the importance of appreciating multiple perspectives in my blog and work, so I'd hate to be hypocritical and dismiss my beloved's paving preferences. Therefore, in true democratic form, I scoured the internet and photographed neighbors' yards for inspirational designs that suited both of our tastes.
Unfortunately, the morning the landscape architect was scheduled to come for our initial consultation my husband and I remained at a standstill, and neither of us were budging. (In case you haven't noticed, there's a lot of that going on around
here in Washington, D.C..)
The bottom line was this: although I did like the look of topiaries, I could certainly live without them; however, I really did like flagstone, and I felt as if someone- I won't name names- could at least
entertain that possibility and give in a little too. And when that didn't happen, I began throwing out my own opinions, like:
"
WHO doesn't like flagstone? It's flat! It's gray! It's a stone! What's not to like?!"
So here we were, at odds about rocks.
Cue the designer, breezing up our front walkway. As soon as I saw her I came flying out the front door, open laptop in hand, all in a dither. Confusing exasperation with excitement, she exclaimed, "Well! I see you are ready to go!" And that's when I breathed out, unleashing a torrent of grumblings about how my other half was hellbent against flagstone.
Cue my husband, who tromped out too, expecting, like me, that our expert landscaper would settle the matter right then and there.
Much to our surprise, our skillful designer did nothing of the sort. Instead she simply responded, "Well, we really don't need to worry about the materials we are going to use until we get the design in place. Whether to use flagstone is really a question that we're a long way away from asking."
Oh... right.
Well, that put an end to that. (Maybe she should go to Capitol Hill and work her magic there too.)
First Things First
Of all people, I really should have known better. How many times had I delivered the same kind of message to my eager and sometimes panic-stricken career clients about designing what you need to have in a career, and then thinking about the how. (Will I need grad school? To change cities? OMG!!) Yet, here I was, making a flagrant design error myself: I was putting the cart before the horse, trying to implement what we hadn't even yet designed!
But this incident reminded me of what we all do, which is this: we concern ourselves first with what's most visible (read: public), difficult and fraught with emotion, without first taking inventory of all of those necessary but less visible considerations. Like worrying about flagstone walkways instead of crucial details such growing zones, space constraints, hours of sunlight, and soil content. In certain cases even budget talks (how's that for emotionally charged?) can take a backseat until that first design draft is complete. Then the line item choices can be decided.
When it comes to the career decision process, most of us focus on those things which are most tangible and visible, such as perfecting our resumes and aiming for hefty salaries and fancy job titles. But this is actually backward, because we first have to take into consideration the less visible, but foundational parts of career choice, such as abilities, interests, priorities and The Big One: what duties the career mainly entails. Otherwise, we make poor and costly decisions by using inadequate information.
Exceptional design begins by gathering data, answering the who, what, where, when and why of the problem at hand. Then comes the solution building, which incorporates all of the vital pieces of information now at hand.
Parameters? Check.
Specs? Check.
Priorities? Triple check.
Then it's time to determine
how you are going to implement this great new design.
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| Hungry yet? |
Your Big Decisions? Piece of Cake!
So, when you find yourself worrying about a big decision, ask yourself this:
Are you putting the cart before the horse? Are you essentially worrying about something too far down the road, such as
how you are going to ice the cake without knowing
what kind of cake you want to make in the first place?
Or, in our case, are you arguing about flagstone when it may not be relevant in the end anyway? If so, take a step back. Determine, objectively, if you have the information you need. Most importantly,
get the help of a good designer. Because chances are, a great design will also provide you with the how.
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