Archives for August 2019

A great nation is like a great man: when he makes a mistake, he realises it. Having realised it, he admits it. Having admitted it, he corrects it. He considers those who point out his faults as his most benevolent teachers — Lao Tzu, 600 B.C.

This quote is more than just a vision for a great nation or person. Between the lines, it provides a hidden prescription for how to get there.

To realise our mistakes, we need self-awareness.

To admit our mistakes, we need humility.

To correct our mistakes, we need a bias for action.

To cherish those who point out our faults, we must listen with care and discernment to those who give us their feedback.

I’m going to be pondering this quote, and it’s hidden prescription, for a long time.

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On a semi-related note, I’ve recently been think about cataloging great quotes and trying to commit them to memory. I’d love to hear from you if you know of any helpful methods for storing, organising, or memorising them.

There were 4 couples in their late fifties sitting two rows in front of me on the flight from Los Angeles to Auckland. They were clearly part of the same tribe.

Harley Davidson. Head to toe.

T-shirts. Bags. Sweaters. Cowboy hats. Tattoos.

It looked like they were returning home from a lengthy motorcycle tour, and they wanted the world to know.

It was an in-your-face reminder about the power of brand.

These couples identified so strongly with Harley Davidson that they were willing to dress exclusively in its merchandise, and tattoo their bodies with its logo.

It got me thinking about how I’ve never seen someone with a Toyota tattoo, or voluntarily wearing one of their t-shirts. Sure, Toyota and its cars have reliably served millions of families around the world for many years, but its brand doesn’t elicit anywhere near the same adoration or dedication as Harley Davidson’s.

The Harley Davidson story doesn’t resonate with me, but it’s a fascinating sub-culture to observe to learn about the power and influence of a brand.

As I post this, I’m in a tiny metal tube at 35,000 feet, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, and hurtling at 900 kph from London to Auckland.

Who thought wifi in the sky was a good idea?

We’re already always connected, and plane journeys were one of the final few refuges from unrestrained communication in the connected age.

Despite my gripes, I am grateful for one thing about wifi in the sky. With a 40 hour door-to-door journey, it was going to be tough to release my daily post on time.

Thanks to wifi in the sky for helping preserve the streak!

Now, back to disconnection.

4 months ago, Maru and I went full-blown millennial and signed up for a terrarium building workshop.

A terrarium is a sealed glass container to keep small plants. They are a self-contained ecosystem, and a beautiful microcosm of our earth’s environment. By recycling their own air and water, they can survive with minimal care.

Maru and I each made our own, but 4 months on, the health of our terrariums are vastly different.

We followed the same instructions. We put in charcoal to absorb impurities, added pebbles for drainage, filled it with quality soil, and watered them with 10 light puffs from a spray bottle.

So why is Maru’s healthy, but mine looks like the setting for the next zombie apocalypse movie?

After some searching, we found our answer.

When transferring young plants from plastic pots into a terrarium, you need to place the roots at least 1 inch deep into the soil.

Maru followed this instruction (of course), and the roots of her plants grew healthily throughout the jar. I, on the other hand, didn’t press the roots in deep enough.

For the first two weeks, all was well in Dan Terrarium Land, but soon after, my plant’s leaves began to turn brown and wither. They weren’t able to absorb nutrients and water from the soil, and the decaying leaves triggered the moss and mould that have since taken over the jar.

When making a terrarium, you can do everything else right, but if the roots don’t take hold, all the other work is meaningless.

Reflecting on this experience got me thinking about a parallel: how we absorb what we read and learn.

Embarrassingly, despite reading a fair amount, I find myself forgetting a lot of it. It’s a constant wish of mine to retain more and forget less.

When we read at pace but fail to internalise or practice the learnings, we’re like a plant with shallow roots. Unable to absorb the nutrients required to grow.

As the late Stephen Covey once said, “To learn and not to do is really not to learn.”

My unhealthy terrarium has encouraged me to slow down. My learning journey isn’t a race. Rather, it should be deliberate and considered, with time consistently set aside to absorb and practice.

There is one guaranteed way to get better at chess.

Once you’ve decided on your move, but before you’ve made it, you should: 1) identify the next best move available to you, and 2) justify why the original move is better.

This process can help us uncover a better move that we may have missed, and ensures we don’t default to the first, obvious, or easy solution.

Unsurprisingly, this method can also be used to improve general decision making.

Although we make thousands of decisions every day, most of them don’t require complex analysis or thinking. However, for important decisions, using this process gives us pause, allows us to explore alternatives, and ultimately increases our confidence in the decision.

Most mistakes are inconsequential. They are small errors that occur in isolation.

However, there are some situations where small, interdependent mistakes can compound to produce grave consequences.

This weekend’s Sardinian diving experience had me reflecting on this idea.

Diving is a safe activity when performed correctly. However, like any sport, there are things that can go wrong. For example:


• You could become separated from your dive buddy
  
• You could get lost and lose track of the dive boat
  
• You could forget to regularly check your oxygen supply

Most of these mistakes, if they occur in isolation, have an easy fix:


• If separated from your buddy, do a 360 degree turn, look for their bubbles, use an audio signalling device, and flash your dive light.
  
• If you lose track of the dive boat, ascend slowly, and after performing the required 3 minute safety stop at a depth of 5 meters, you can surface using an inflatable diving buoy to let the dive boat know your location
  
• If you forget to regularly check your oxygen supply, your buddy will usually remember and you’ll be able to make a safe ascent with oxygen to spare

However, it is when these mistakes occur simultaneously that the risk compounds. The emergence of a second or third problem may prevent us from being able to solve the first, let alone all of them at the same time.

To protect against these situations, we build in a margin of safety. These are checks and processes to minimise risk. In diving, we’re trained to an international standard, we look at the weather report, we triple check our gear and our buddy’s, we discuss the dive route beforehand, and we make sure we’re clear on what we’re going to do if something goes wrong.

Having these processes, this margin of safety, gives us confidence.

The usefulness of the margin of safety concept extends well beyond diving. In any situation where there is significant risk, it encourages us to think ahead and protect ourselves from the worst.

Travel insurance is a good idea. Diversifying your savings into varied investment types is too. Even something as simple as routine stretching before exercise can help prevent painful, long-term negative consequences.

In which of your activities could you apply the margin of safety concept?

SCUBA Diving is otherworldly.

The human race has only had SCUBA access to the underwater world for 80 years. To put that into perspective, that’s the equivalent of 0.001% of Homo Sapiens existence.

Prior to this, seeing and exploring the depths of the ocean were impossible. We were constrained by our tiny lungs, an inability to see underwater, and a complete lack of understanding of how to overcome the challenges of changing water pressure.

Understanding that history made me so grateful for the experience we had diving with friends yesterday in Sardinia, Italy. We explored a reef and a Greek cargo ship, called Angelika, that was sunk back in 1982.

There are more reflections to come on this experience, but before that, here is a 1-minute film we made summarising our dive.

Whenever it’s rained, it’s eventually stopped.

No one looks at the cloud-covered sky and says, “We’ll never see blue again.”

No one feels the biting winter gust and utters, “This will never end.”

Sometimes, though, it can feel never ending.

This reminds me of the famous Robert Frost’s response when asked at his eightieth birthday party, “What is the most important thing you have learnt about life?”

“In three words, I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life. It goes on,” he replied.

Come what may, life will go on.

H/T to my father-in-law, Salvador, for sharing this idea with me.

When I started daily blogging, I was concerned that I’d run out of things to say. And to be honest, I’m only 1 month into it, so it’s still a fear. But it’s been allayed, somewhat, by a maxim from the world of Improv Theatre.

“There is always something in the box.”

There is an exercise where students in an improv class take turns at opening an imaginary box. The natural instinct is to prepare; to think about what’s in the box before it gets to you. Students are discouraged from doing this. Instead, they are encouraged to wait until the box is passed to them, to open it, and to genuinely respond to whatever appears.

They are asked to trust the process. To trust there is always something in the box. To trust there will be something to react to, to share, to be generous with.

Showing up every day and trying to write something thoughtful and generous can feel uncomfortable. Particularly when you’re having a hard day, or feel lacking in inspiration.

However, even in the last month, I’ve seen evidence that there is always something in the box. There is always a new way to look at the world.

What’s in the box may not be earth-shattering everyday, but that’s okay. That’s not the point. The point is to respond as best as possible to what ever is there, in the hope that it may resonate with someone else.

H/T Improv Wisdom by Patricia Ryan Madsen

One of my favourite things about working at Bulb is the learning and development allowance. Each employee receives £1,000 to invest in themselves as well as 5 days study leave per year.

Employees can use the allowance on conferences, courses, and accreditations. I use the majority of mine on books, which has given me the ability to read beyond my normal business-book niche and explore the topics of psychology, philosophy, writing, and mathematics.

Even more than the allowance, I love what this policy communicates about the autonomy and trust given to employees to chart their own learning journey.

It encourages self-awareness and proactivity, and leads to employees gaining skills that make them better at their job.

Some would say this is an expensive programme, but what’s the cost of not doing it?

We typically use a combination of data and taste to make decisions.

With data, the numbers suggest one option over another.

With taste, experience and our gut bring us to a conclusion.

In the same way we don’t like the temperature being too hot or cold, we don’t want to lean too far toward data or taste when making decisions, as this can lead to expensive mistakes.

As a general rule, when data is available and it is trustworthy, we should use it.

But even if we have good quality data, we should also use taste as a common sense check when releasing anything new into the world.

If you’re the only one selling water in a desert, and there are thirsty people around, you’re likely to make money.

You could make them wait in line for 2 hours, charge a criminal price, and sell it with a scowl; they’d still buy.

Sometimes, proximity wins customers.

That’s the Convenience Store model. Over-priced products with poor service, but available immediately.

However, there is a way to succeed without relying on proximity.

It requires consistency over many interactions. It requires making something worthy of sharing, or waiting in line for. It requires taking care with each detail.

At that point, we earn the trust needed to serve those beyond our immediate proximity.

I regularly see people deflect compliments.

Maybe the they feel uncomfortable with the attention, believe they’re undeserving of the praise, or think anyone could’ve done the work.

Despite being well intentioned, it can appear dismissive.

I’m guilty of this too. In fact, I was recently told by a coach, “Dan, let it land.”

When someone is thoughtful and generous with their feedback, we owe them the same in our acknowledgement.

It doesn’t take much. A pause, just long enough to look the other person in the eyes, and a genuine thank you.

It goes a long way.

H/T to the coaches from Sanctus, who bring wisdom and perspective each week to Team Bulb.

Most of the important ideas for success are hidden in plain sight. However, they are often dismissed as simple and boring.

Health: take the stairs, and eat more veggies

Personal finance: don’t spend more than you earn, and save some for a rainy day

Relationships: treat others like you’d want to be treated

Losing weight: eat fewer calories than you expend

Learning: ask someone you admire what books changed their life; read those

There will always be someone trying to sell you something complicated. If it’s complicated, and has a price tag that makes you feel uncomfortable, it’s got to work, right?

However, it’s usually the simple ideas, executed well, that are the best place to start.

It’s easy to only talk about the work.

“What are our goals?” “How are we tracking?” “What’s the next priority?” “How long will it take?” “Could we be improving?”

Some colleagues spend years together and only know superficial details about the other’s life. It’s cold, robotic, and stale.

Regardless of our goals and targets, we’re all just humans who want to belong, be known, and be appreciated.

It can feel costly to have these human conversations in the workplace because they require vulnerability, trust, and time.

But what’s the cost of not having them?