Growth Looks Different Than It Did Ten Years Ago

Earlier in my career, growth meant acceleration: new roles, new cities, new credentials. It was expansive, sometimes exhilarating, sometimes exhausting.

Now, growth feels more internal — and more durable.

It shows up as better judgment. Clearer communication. Knowing when to ask questions and when to pause. It shows up as respect for process, and patience with learning curves — my own and others’.

I still believe in ambition. I just no longer confuse it with speed.

Some skills — whether in land development, collaboration, or creative work — can’t be rushed without losing something essential. They require repetition, restraint, and attention over time.

Growth, I’ve learned, isn’t always visible while it’s happening.
But it’s recognizable later — in the steadiness of decisions, the quality of work, and the calm that comes from knowing you’re building something that can last.

Why I No Longer Rely on Pressure to Perform

Earlier in my career, I believed pressure was necessary — that without it, effort would fade. Experience has taught me otherwise.

Pressure sharpens in the short term, but it corrodes trust over time: trust in systems, in teams, and eventually in yourself. What sustains performance far better is something quieter — consistency.

I’ve learned to treat effort as a daily practice rather than a response to evaluation cycles or external expectations. Whether I’m working through a planning review or spending time with a creative project, the same rule applies: give the task enough attention that I don’t have to revisit it mentally later.

That habit protects energy.
It also protects integrity.

When effort aligns with values, I don’t need to overexplain my work or overwork my hours. The results tend to speak for themselves.

Quiet Is Where I Regain My Edge

I’ve learned that quiet isn’t the opposite of ambition.
For me, it’s where ambition recalibrates.

During the holidays, when meetings paused and deadlines softened, I noticed something familiar: my focus returned before my motivation did. Not dramatically — just steadily. Reading helped. So did slowing down. Eventually, work found me again, not because I pushed, but because I was ready.

Over the years, especially in planning and development work, I’ve seen how easy it is to confuse urgency with importance. But some of the most meaningful progress — in cities, careers, and personal health — happens when things move slowly enough to be done properly.

Quiet gives me back my edge because it removes the noise that blunts it.
It reminds me how I actually think, decide, and work when I’m not reacting.

That’s not stepping away from responsibility.
That’s preparing to meet it well.

Self-care means…

Self-care means…

On Sunday mornings, I sit and breathe— flat white in hand, with no guilt for ignoring my to-do list.

When work feels heavy, I pause. I pace. I take my space, and I choose my grace.

If sharp words land, I don’t react. I listen, ask why, and state the facts.

When gossip rises, I don’t make excuses to leave. “I’m not interested in this conversation.” Full stop. The end.

And the workplace lesson I’ve earned over time: High performance can cost health.

Early in my career, I over-delivered, over-explained, and over-accommodated—trying to prove my value and be indispensable.

Early mistakes taught me this: Being “always available” isn’t leadership; it’s leakage.
Saying yes to everything doesn’t prove capability—it hides priorities.
Burnout doesn’t make you dedicated. Boundaries do.

Those efforts were sincere. They were also expensive.

Today, self-care shows up as performance discipline: I ask for scope before I sprint. I document decisions and expectations.

I escalate issues early—calmly, clearly, with evidence.
When I’m overwhelmed or treated unfairly, I don’t push through in silence—I respond with process, not emotion. And yes, I take a sick day without guilt. That’s resilience.

If setbacks happen, I let myself feel them—then I recover with intention. I don’t rush to “prove I’m fine.”

I return when I’m grounded, clear on my value, and aligned with the work I’m building.

Rest isn’t failure. Slow is still growth. Life has many layers, and I honor them.

And I’m genuinely okay with the younger me. She made mistakes, learned quickly, and kept going.
I don’t judge her—I respect her.

Muscle and tenderness are both my art—I keep them together, heart to heart.

Self-care means the kind that holds, not the kind that performs.

Quiet Discipline: How I Work When No One Is Watching

This Christmas and New Year break felt like a winter spa — not luxurious, but quietly restorative. The first few days were intentionally slow. I finished a couple of long-waiting books, softened expectations, and let time feel less urgent. Without forcing it, my energy returned.

By the third day, I found myself working with watercolor again. Slowly. Attentively. Letting each piece unfold instead of pushing for outcomes. It was deeply calming — and also strangely professional. This wasn’t leisure. It was presence. A few reflections I’m carrying into the new year:

1. Treat effort as a daily habit, not a reaction to pressure.
I don’t wait for urgency to do my best. Showing up fully, even when no one is watching, builds a steadier kind of confidence.

2. Let responsibility ground you.
Being trusted with meaningful work brings clarity, not stress, when handled with care.

3. Allow quiet work to build momentum.
Not everything needs to be shared immediately. Some foundations are better laid privately.

In my day work in planning and land development, clarity, accuracy, and follow-through matter deeply. In creative work, watercolor asks for the same things in a different language: presence, decision-making, and acceptance of imperfection. Both have taught me the same lesson — half-effort is more exhausting than full effort.

When effort aligns with values, the mind gets quieter. And that quiet, I’m learning, is a form of health.

5 Tips to Reset Your Mindset to Prepare for Career Fulfillment

In today’s ever-changing work environment, few people stay in one job—or even one career—for life. Everything about the workplace seems to be in flux. The companies that thrive amid this uncertainty are often those where employees and managers communicate clearly and build mutual trust.

After receiving my recent one-year performance assessment, I realized how important it is to align my communication style with my manager’s—not to imitate her, but to build trust and strengthen our working relationship. My goal is to meet expectations consistently, without burning myself out trying to prove my capability or second-guessing what others might think of me.

Reflecting on my 15-year career, one lesson stands out: no one can fully predict an organization’s future. Even the best performers can face layoffs due to economic downturns. I still remember my early career in a San Francisco architectural studio—within six months, the entire team was let go, and two years later, only one partner remained. Some colleagues went back to school, others returned home or started over entirely.

Many companies are not designed to keep everyone long-term; instead, they focus on efficiency and continual renewal of talent. As employees, our best response is to treat each position as a chapter for growth—to define clear goals, learn as much as possible, and be ready for change. Whether you’re at the top, middle, or starting out, the pace is faster, the challenges are greater, and the future feels closer than ever.

Here are 5 tips I’ve learned to reset your mindset and to-do list after a performance assessment—to help you grow intentionally, communicate effectively, and stay grounded through change.

1. Know Your Strengths—and Make the Most of Them

Understanding your strengths helps you bring your best self to work. This also means you don’t need to dwell on your weaknesses. Instead, know your limits—and communicate them clearly to your manager.

When it comes to weaknesses, the goal is not to fixate on them, but to find practical strategies to manage them so they don’t hinder your performance or the team’s progress. For example, if you’re a single parent who occasionally needs to respond to unexpected calls from school, work with your team to establish flexible office hours. The key is to make sure your absence doesn’t impact client meetings or project deadlines.

2. Seek Guidance for Role Clarity
As you grow into a senior staff role, proactively ask questions to clarify processes and procedures. Make sure you fully understand role expectations and responsibilities. You don’t need a new title to expand your sense of responsibility.

In a small organization or a high-turnover environment, strong employees demonstrate adaptability—taking on tasks previously handled by others and working effectively across departments, programs, and projects. When people see that you are willing to learn, take initiative, and shoulder greater responsibility, you naturally become a strong candidate for internal promotions or new large-scale programs that align with your department’s goals. 

3. Think Like a Partner, Not Just an Employee
When something goes wrong, align yourself with your team and your supervisor right away to focus on finding solutions. Shift your mindset toward what we can do now to improve the situation, rather than explaining or assigning blame. Remember, everyone makes mistakes. By standing together in problem-solving, you become a source of strength for the team rather than losing their trust.

Once things are settled, take ownership of your part and look back with your boss and team to review what happened. This reflection can help streamline processes and build mutual understanding on how to prevent similar mistakes in the future.

4. Leverage Training and Contribute to Shared Learning.

Remember, you were hired not only for your existing knowledge but for how your skills and insights can help advance the organization’s goals.

Revisit notes from workshops and training sessions you’ve attended since onboarding to reinforce key concepts that support independent leadership and sound decision-making – particularly in areas such a s permit applications and development reviews.

5. Don’t Treat Overtime as a Virtue

Overtime is not a badge of honor—it’s often a sign that something needs to change. Your goal should be to make your regular work hours as efficient as possible.

If you find yourself consistently working overtime, it’s worth asking why. Either your current role exceeds your capacity or skill set (in which case a different position might be a better fit), or there’s a systemic workflow issue that keeps creating bottlenecks. If the problem lies in the system and you can’t change it, then focus on developing a sustainable strategy to manage your workload without burning out.

Celebrate life at St. John’s College

This Wednesday evening, I visited downtown Vancouver for Dr. Yu’s photo exhibition, A Poetic Reflection of Nature’s Voice and Human Resilience in the 1990s.

I first met Dr. Yu at St. John’s College (SJC), UBC, back in 2012 when I was pursuing my doctorate. Dr. Yu was one of the founders of SJC — a unique graduate community that welcomes scholars, postdocs, and visiting fellows from around the world.

My three years at St. John’s College transformed my life; it became my home in Canada. I often think fondly of the Johannians — alumni of the original St. John’s University in Shanghai — many of whom are now in their late eighties and nineties. They are living legends, carrying the college’s history through their stories of war, migration, and resilience. Every conversation with them feels like touching a piece of living history.

If you’re a UBC alumnus or student, I highly recommend visiting this exhibition — a poetic and deeply human reflection on the passage of time and the endurance of spirit. Exhibition runs through October 31st.

Take a moment to celebrate life at St. John’s College — where drawing connects us to the beauty around us. ​I’d like to share with you, my friends, two small watercolor paintings from my sketchbook, inspired by moments at SJC.

My heartfelt thanks to my alumni friends Edgar Liao (SJC 2014–2019, now alumnus) and Joe Yang (SJC 2015-2021) for generously sharing their personal SJC photo collections that inspired these sketches.

St. John’s College Clocktower: The first sight that greets you when you arrive on campus.

SJC Courtyard: In cherry blossom season, it becomes one of the most beloved photo spots for UBC visitors. For many SJC residents, it holds deep memories and meaning.

It took me two years to fill a sketchbook

This weekend, I finally filled a sketchbook cover to cover. Every page is alive with sketches, and that simple act feels like such an accomplishment.

We all know the thrill of buying new art supplies, yet so often those beautiful journals sit untouched. For me, this one took two years—and in the last few weeks, I’ve been sketching almost three hours a day to bring it to life.

I’m 45, still full of energy most days, but the past few years haven’t been easy. When my husband became seriously ill, I stopped drawing, blogging, even reading. It took a long time to come back from that exhaustion. Somewhere along the way, I realized life isn’t about waiting for things to get better—it’s about how we choose to live each day.

For me, living creatively isn’t optional—it’s essential. Drawing with pen and watercolor is how I express myself, how I feel grounded. And now, I have no more excuses. I have a loving husband, a warm home, good work, and dear friends. It’s time to return to my art.

So I’ve decided: I will sketch every day. A sketchbook is more than paper—it’s a diary of small joys, fleeting moments, and the beauty hidden in ordinary days.

Here are some pages from the book I just filled.

Catching the Last Skim of Summer

Before the rainy season arrives, I’ve set myself a challenge: one quick sketch each lunch break. No colors—just shade, composition, and skylight. I give myself 30 minutes, then stop, no matter what.

This week, one sketch came from sitting under the trees in the cool shade. Another was drawn while standing on River Road, tracing the fishing boats.

As some of you know, I work as a planner with Katzie First Nation, so these places carry both personal and professional meaning for me.

If you’re curious about urban sketching, send me a message—I’d love some company over the next few days.

What Would Jane Think of PoCo?

If you’ve ever dipped a toe into urban planning, you’ve heard of Jane Jacobs. She’s the one who wrote The Death and Life of Great American Cities—a fiery critique of the “experts” who thought they were saving America’s cities but were really tearing them apart.

Her words hit a nerve. With wit and guts, Jacobs called out the high-rise builders and highway dreamers who bulldozed neighbourhoods without blinking. She wasn’t just an activist—she became the voice of the people who refused to be erased.

Communities loved her. Politicians feared her. Vogue even called her Queen Jane. Picture her: a white-haired woman in a dark skirt, with oversized bead necklaces, and radiating the confidence of someone who knew she was right.

Fast forward a few decades and a couple thousand miles from Manhattan. I’m sipping coffee at Waves in downtown Port Coquitlam, and I can’t help but wonder—what would Jane think of this little city I now call home?

PoCo isn’t New York, but it has the small-town heartbeat Jane adored. It’s approachable, neighbourly, alive. You’ll spot the regulars swapping stories with the barista, soccer parents rushing to practice, artists sketching in parks, and bakers pulling warm bread from the oven.

Art weaves through daily life here. There’s the Giggle Dam dinner theatre, where local comedians take the stage. The European Bakery and Deli—still run by the same East European family after 21 years—feels like the neighbourhood’s kitchen table. PoCo is small enough to feel like community, big enough to hold everybody.

And then there’s nature. We proudly call ourselves “the city of rivers and mountains”—and we mean it. Bears wander through town now and then, and nobody bats an eye. Birdwatching is practically a community sport. Seniors hang feeders outside their windows, and handcrafted birdhouses appear like little welcome signs for wildlife.

On the practical side, PoCo keeps it simple. City Hall runs lean (there’s only one planner on staff!) but things get done. We share services across the Tri-Cities, so taxes stay among the lowest in Metro Vancouver. And our Rec Centre? A gem—three hockey rinks, a two-level gym, yoga, spin, and a pool. For busy bees like me, it’s a lifesaver.

So what would Jane say?

She’d love our neighbourly spirit, the shops and sidewalks, the way people belong here. But she’d also push us forward, because she never handed out easy praise.

Downtown buzz. Our core is warm and friendly, but it winds down too early. My go-to pubs often close by 9 p.m. in summer, and even earlier in winter. Jane would nudge us toward more late-night cafés, music, and street life.

Getting around. Parts of downtown are lovely to walk, but PoCo is still pretty car-dependent. A friend’s homecare worker often spends half an hour on the bus from Coquitlam Centre—too long for such a short distance. Transit is a regional puzzle, but Jane would insist we find ways to make connections easier.

Home for everyone. Compared to our neighbours, PoCo is still affordable—but that can change fast. Jane would remind us to protect that balance. I was glad when my housekeeper’s family found a home in a new apartment at Westminster Junction. That’s the kind of housing that keeps PoCo welcoming—for the workers, caregivers, and dreamers who enrich our daily lives.

Here in PoCo, I see people, place, and a place for people. Modest, but real. Neighbourly. Alive. And maybe, just maybe, the kind of city Jane would have quietly adored.

Bei, a proud PoCo resident

Bee curious. Bee creative. Bee you

By day, I work as an urban planner.
By night, I slow down in Port Coquitlam, savoring a simple life with my husband.

It all started with a gift. For my friend’s birthday, I made a coloured-pencil drawing from her summer trip to France. She told me it was the most special gift she had ever received.
That moment, like a splash of water to my face, I realized something: I had helped her turn a fleeting memory into lasting art. Now, that drawing hangs in her living room, ready to be passed down to her children, forever crowning her milestone birthday.

That experience shaped the way I see art.

Art should feel possible.

We often say every child is born an artist, yet art doesn’t always feel approachable.

I want to change that—by making hand-drawn art accessible, personal, and deeply connected to the stories we hold.

Our Apartment Building at Port Coquitlam

Curiosity has been my compass.

Back in 2017, while completing my doctorate, I started a blog on WeChat called Urbanist Vancouver. Over time, it grew into thousands of subscribers, 300+ posts, and countless stories. It became a steady companion through my long, zigzag journey of writing a dissertation—a friend that listened when I felt lost or tired, and one that celebrated every small breakthroughs along the way. I was fortunate to cross the finish line.

Today, I work proudly with Indigenous communities in BC, helping First Nations strengthen their voice through land planning and development.

Now I’m opening a new chapter.
This blog will be a place to share art, stories, and inspiration with a wider circle.

And that circle includes you.

Thank you for being here.
Let’s grow something creative together.

Bei, from Downtown PoCo, BC