Archives for 2020

The New York Times recently produced an extraordinary piece of journalism called ‘The Jungle Prince’.

You can either listen to the 3-part podcast, or read it.

It seeks to uncover the story of the deposed royal family of Oudh, who lived in a ruined palace, that sat in a forest in the heart of New Delhi. The twists, turns, and myths surrounding the family—and how they came to live there—are astonishing.

I won’t give anything else away, but what stands out is the investment the New York Times makes in this kind of journalism.

It’d be difficult to find another publishing organisation with the patience, money, and talent to pull off a multi-year investigation to produce three 30-minute podcast episodes.

In a world full of fast-food media, this is well worth the time.

H/T Dan for the recommendation

In 1984, the mean starting salary of a University of Virginia Communications graduate was $55,000; an unheard of sum at the time.

The reason: they included the salary of a recently drafted NBA player in their calculations.

The outlier skewed the average, and the median salary was never published.

It’s a funny—but important—lesson in picking the right metric.

After all, metrics are just guides to help us understand what’s really going on. Pick the wrong one, and it’s easy to fall into poor decisions.

You’re likely to have heard someone say, “Coca-cola tastes better in a glass bottle,” followed by those around the table nodding in agreement.

But the liquid in the bottle is the same. It’s just the packaging that’s different.

So what is it about the glass bottle? Could the distinctive klink be nostalgic? Does its cold touch remind us of hot summer afternoons?

In a world where many focus only on the content, there’s a lot to gain by remembering there’s magic in the packaging.

What we say is influenced by how we say it.

How we react and respond to others is amplified or nullified by our facial expression and body language.

Who we are—and how we’re perceived—is built on the energy we bring each day.

I love this quote from British philosopher, Bertrand Russell, from his essay, ‘How to Grow Old‘. He wrote it at the age of 81, and then went on to live for another 16 years.

The best way to overcome the fear of death—so at least it seems to me—is to make your interests gradually wider and more impersonal, until bit by bit the walls of the ego recede, and your life becomes increasingly merged in the universal life.

An individual human existence should be like a river: small at first, narrowly contained within its banks, and rushing passionately past rocks and over waterfalls. Gradually the river grows wider, the banks recede, the waters flow more quietly, and in the end, without any visible break, they become merged in the sea, and painlessly lose their individual being.

The person who, in old age, can see life in this way, will not suffer from the fear of death, since the things he or she cares for will continue. And if, with the decay of vitality, weariness increases, the thought of rest will not be unwelcome.

I should wish to die while still at work, knowing that others will carry on what I can no longer do and content in the thought that what was possible has been done.

What I love about it is its applicability to all of us, regardless of the stage of life we’re in.

I also love that Russell wrote it in the latter stages of his life. It feels like his words are imbued with eight decades worth of experience, wisdom, learning, and perspective.

If we have the same perspective, we have the same blind spots.

Thus, we should welcome contrarian, encourage their input, and celebrate their point of view. Even if their presence results in hard conversations.

We don’t get to better by thinking the same.

Have you ever felt overwhelmed by all the things you have to do? Do you ever get the niggling feeling that you may have forgotten something important?

I constantly felt like this until I read Daniel Levitin’s ‘The Organised Mind’ back in 2018.

There is a lot of information in the book, but one idea stood out from the rest: there is immense value in externalising your mind.

What does this mean?

Whenever you remember an important task, immediately write it down; either on paper, or in a to-do list app.

The act of taking a thought out of your head—and putting it in a place where you can easily access it in the future—frees up mental bandwidth. You no longer need to expend energy remembering upcoming tasks.

I found this particularly helpful on weekends. When a thought popped into my head about something I need to do first thing on Monday, I immediately took out my phone and wrote it down. I could then focus on my weekend.

This idea may sound plain, and it is. But it’s real power appears when it becomes an automatic habit.

When you’re playing with a dog—tussling and rolling about—and it sneezes, it’s telling you something.

It’s saying, “We’re playing, and I’m having fun.”

I spent years with Ruby—my family dog in New Zealand—not knowing what these sneezes meant. They now make sense.

We can use all the codes and signals we want, but unless the other person knows what we’re saying, we’ll never understand each other.

P.S. Dogs are amazing.

The true test of a person’s character is how they treat the people in life that they don’t need.” —Lee Corso

Every day we give others the chance to see our true character.

More importantly, every day we get the opportunity to move closer to who we want to be.

The race horse doesn’t choose to wear blinkers.

The jockey and trainer make that decision.

Depending on the situation, blinkers can help or hinder.

I’m sure if you’re a jockey, they’re helpful. But if you’re going on a cross-country horse riding trek, they’re more dangerous than helpful.

We all have blinkers in our own lives; knowingly or unknowingly.

What blinkers have you got on today? This week? This year? Since you were born?

My late grandfather gave me a piece of advice I’ve never forgotten.

When you’re unwell, don’t doubt the magic of what a hot shower, a shave, and a fresh pair of clothes can do to help you feel better.

Taking care of what you can control powerfully influences what you can’t.

Our willingness to say, “I could be wrong,” is an antidote to many maladies in the workplace and in the home.

In fact, the medicine is even stronger when we have the humility to say, “I got it wrong.”

At the turn of the decade (okay, so, three weeks ago), I linked a few posts covering others’ predictions for the 2020s.

One prediction from Alex Danco stood out to me: the smartphone is it.

There will be no major form-factor that supersedes the smartphone. The phone is it. If you went forward in time to 2029, you’d be surprised that the phones are more or less the same. The 2×5 inch glowing glass rectangle will remain more or less similar as our common interface with the internet and with the world. Nicer in some ways, and they’ll have some genuinely cool AR features, but other than that? We figured out the phone. It’s gonna stay put now.

I’ve since spent a lot of time thinking about this, and I’ve arrived at two reflections.

Firstly, the form of this prediction is great. It’s bold, clear, and plausible. Predictions shouldn’t be vague or limp. Danco does well.

Secondly, I think it’s wrong. Really wrong.

For the majority of human history we passed on our knowledge and culture through stories told from one generation to the next.

In the past 5,000 years, we’ve had written language. Letters and books immortalised our ideas.

Then, in the 19th Century, photography and telephony entered the scene. We could now capture an image and have it say something across cultures and generations. We could also speak to each other across vast distances.

The next century brought the first television, which changed how families consume knowledge and interact with the world.

And the 21st Century is where we’ve grown into the potential of the internet. It’s been a rapid march from instant messaging, to audio, and video. With true VR and AR on the horizon.

All this to say, the past 100 years have seen huge changes in the way we communicate and interact with each other; made possible by technology.

Danco’s prediction that the smartphone is the final destination is forgetting how much has changed even in the last 20 years.

I think there’ll be something else.

What exactly?

I don’t want to hazard a guess.

The sun is finally starting to emerge before 8am.

Since the winter solstice in late December, each day has been longer than the last. The daily change, though, has been largely imperceptible.

It’s the early morning blue sky—instead of darkness—that makes you realise change is afoot.

The small changes—minutes of additional sunlight each day—compound over time to produce seismic shifts: trees come into bloom, animals awake from their slumber, and humans eventually enjoy the sun in the parks.

Lest we forget, it’s the small, measured, and consistent actions that end up producing the biggest effects in the long run.

H/T Kylene for noticing the blue skies!

I love the famous Chinese proverb, “The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best time is now.”

It’s never too late to try something new. To meet new friends, try new hobbies, and seek new experiences.

But although it’s never too late, it’s best to start now.

It’s easy to get caught in a worry state of mind.

We solve one worry, then another rears its head. We flit from problem to problem; our to-do list never finished.

It’s scary to consider, but maybe we derive meaning—in a weird way—from feeling like we have to solve the next worry on the list.

This has a crushing second-order consequence, though: we spend less time on important things.

Less time with family. Less time pursuing a new skill. Less time resting.

But perhaps it’s liberating to know another worry is just around the corner. Perhaps we can use it to our advantage.

If we know it’s coming—whatever it may be—it can’t catch us by surprise. We then have a chance to respond; to control it, rather than it control us.