Heard it before?
It doesn’t mean anything. No purpose, nor function. It’s a throwaway. It’s something we say when, well, we haven’t got much to say.
Words are powerful. It’s better to say less, than to make a lot of noise but really say nothing at all.
The person who lights the fuse may not be the right person to fan the flames.
The tough part is figuring out which role is ours to play, and which we should leave for others.
Note: This post is part of a weekly series called ‘Seneca Sundays’. Each week, I reflect on one of Seneca’s ‘Moral Letters to Lucilius’, and summarise the most practical and useful principles to share with you.
Seneca writes this letter soon after coming down with an illness and escaping to the countryside to recover.
“Travelling cannot give us judgement, or shake off our errors; it merely holds our attention for a moment by a certain novelty… it will not make us better.”
“As long as we are ignorant of what we should avoid or seek, or of what is necessary or superfluous, or of what is right or wrong, we will not be travelling, but merely wandering.”
Travel can often be seen as an escape—as a break from our worries, challenges, errors, and faults—but we bring all of that with us. Travel should be no substitute for what’s most important: pursuing wisdom and virtue.
“Suppose that you hold wealth to be a good: poverty will then distress you, and—which is pitiable—it will be an imaginary poverty. For you may be rich, and nevertheless, because your neighbour is richer, you suppose yourself to be poor exactly by the same amount in which you fall short of your neighbour. You may deem an official position a good; you will be vexed at another’s appointment to the consulship. Your ambition will be so frenzied that you will regard yourself last in the race if there is anyone in front of you.”
There is always going to be someone richer, someone smarter, someone luckier.
Comparison is a guaranteed misery.
I found this article from the Atlantic super helpful in understanding what breakthrough infections are, and how to think about the role of vaccines despite the looming threat of breakthrough infections.
In particular, I liked the metaphor running throughout the article:
“To understand the anatomy of a breakthrough case, it’s helpful to think of the human body as a castle. Deepta Bhattacharya, an immunologist at the University of Arizona, compares immunization to reinforcing such a stronghold against assault.
Without vaccination, the castle’s defenders have no idea an attack is coming. They might have stationed a few aggressive guard dogs outside, but these mutts aren’t terribly discerning: They’re the system’s innate defenders, fast-acting and brutal, but short-lived and woefully imprecise. They’ll sink their teeth into anything they don’t recognize, and are easily duped by stealthier invaders. If only quarrelsome canines stand between the virus and the castle’s treasures, that’s a pretty flimsy first line of defense. But it’s essentially the situation that many uninoculated people are in. Other fighters, who operate with more precision and punch—the body’s adaptive cells—will eventually be roused. Without prior warning, though, they’ll come out in full force only after a weeks-long delay, by which time the virus may have run roughshod over everything it can. At that point, the fight may, quite literally, be at a fever pitch, fueling worsening symptoms.
Vaccination completely rewrites the beginning, middle, and end of this story. COVID-19 shots act as confidential informants, who pass around intel on the pathogen within the castle walls. With that info, defensive cells can patrol the building’s borders, keeping an eye out for a now-familiar foe. When the virus attempts to force its way in, it will hit “backup layer after backup layer” of defense, Bhattacharya told me.
Prepped by a vaccine, immune reinforcements will be marshaled to the fore much faster—within days of an invasion, sometimes much less. Adaptive cells called B cells, which produce antibodies, and T cells, which kill virus-infected cells, will have had time to study the pathogen’s features, and sharpen their weapons against it. While the guard dogs are pouncing, archers trained to recognize the virus will be shooting it down; the few microbes that make their way deeper inside will be gutted by sword-wielding assassins lurking in the shadows. “Each stage it has to get past takes a bigger chunk out” of the virus, Bhattacharya said. Even if a couple particles eke past every hurdle, their ranks are fewer, weaker, and less damaging.”
I love these creative and awe-inspiring videos from Seán Doran.
In 2018, Doran took images from the International Space Station and stitched them together alongside an ethereal sound track to create a stunning orbital experience of Earth.
He recently took images from the Kaguya Orbiter and made a similar video orbiting the moon.
These videos are long, but I loved skipping through them and admiring the beauty-filled earth, and the crater-ridden moon.
Enjoy!
If you’ve ever lived in the UK, you’ve likely come across this little guy at some point.
Henry the vacuum cleaner is a design icon.
It’s a sturdy, robust vacuum cleaner—no better than others out there—yet it’s found its way into millions of homes around the UK, and one has even been spotted in the Downing Street press conference room!
This wonderful piece from the Guardian goes into the story behind Henry. I particularly like how Henry got his famous design.
“Chris Duncan was on a British stand at a Lisbon trade show. “It was as boring as sin,” he recalls. One evening, Duncan and one of his salesmen idly began to dress up their latest vacuum cleaner, first with a bit of ribbon, then with a union flag badge on what started to look a bit like a hat. They found some chalk and drew a crude smile under the hose outlet, which suddenly looked like a nose, then some eyes. Searching for a nickname that felt suitably British, they settled on Henry. “We put it over in the corner with all the other equipment and the next day people were laughing and pointing,” Duncan says. Back at Numatic, which then had a few dozen employees, Duncan asked his advertising guy to design a proper face for the cleaner.”
It’s a nice reminder that 1) magic can happen when we’re idly playing, and 2) what people laugh at can be a signal that we’re on to something!
When we can tell something is happening, that’s detection.
When we try and tell that something may happen in the future, that’s prediction.
Companies spend a lot of time and effort trying to predict what’s going to happen. The problem is it’s easy to get wrong. And that can be costly.
However, disciplined, systematic, and rigorous detection can help us point out problems before they get too big.
Let’s use earthquakes as an example. Seismologists still can’t predict when an earthquake will happen, but then can detect when one is happening with frightening accuracy.
A 15-20 second detection warning could help trains slow down before the earthquake hits to minimise the risk of derailment. It could be used in hospitals or dentist surgeries as a warning for medical professionals to stop delicate procedures.
There’s untapped potential in better detection.
Here’s one to keep in your pocket for the right moment.
Create a list of everything that’s stressing you out.
Look at them and label them as ‘real’ or ‘imagined’.
How much time could you get back by spending less time on the imagined?
I can’t think of a single time—in my own experience, or in the experience of others—where staying calm has led to a worse outcome.
On the other hand, frustration, anger, and hostility almost always make things worse.
Note: This post is part of a weekly series called ‘Seneca Sundays’. Each week, I reflect on one of Seneca’s ‘Moral Letters to Lucilius’, and summarise the most practical and useful principles to share with you.
This letter is about influence. Seneca says all experience rubs off on us in some way—people, events, jobs. So it’s our duty to put ourselves in a place, and surround ourselves with people, who are going to make us better.
“I never bring back home the same character that I took abroad with me. The calm within me is disturbed; some of the foes that I have beaten return again… the friend who lives in luxury can soften us, the rich neighbour can make us jealous, the slanderous companion can rub some of their rust off on us.”
We may not like to admit it, but everything influences us.
Once we’re aware of this inevitable influence, we can make changes to increase the good, and minimise the bad.
Spend time with people who make you better.
Make sure it’s mutual—ensuring your actions can inspire them too.
And then teach others, because that’s how we solidify our learning.
Seneca ends the letter by encouraging Lucilius that his study is not a wasted effort.
“The following was nobly spoken by one someone or other, for it is doubtful who the author was; they asked him what was the object of all this study applied to an art that would reach but very few. He replied: ‘I am content with few, content with one, content with none at all.’”
That’s what the New York Times said about human flight in 1903.
And they didn’t choose 1 million years as a sarcastic hyperbole.
They meant it.
Two months later, the Wright Brothers were airborne.
It made me chuckle and think of a Nassim Taleb saying: if journalists can really predict the future, why aren’t they all rich?
‘His’ and ‘Her’ fans.
My friend, Russell, shared this great blog post the other day in his weekly newsletter.
It’s all about using the human voice, not the corporate voice.
Have you ever found yourself looking at bunch of corporate jargon that’s either 1) really hard to understand, or 2) just doesn’t make sense in the first place?
A lot of people feel the pressure to sound intelligent, or to write and say things in “the right way”—whatever that means.
But it’s much more important to be clear, and to be understood.
That’s the goal of writing.
That’s the goal of the human voice.
“If there’s a fire you’re trying to douse, you can’t put it out from inside the house,” is my favourite lyric from the musical Hamilton.
It jumped out at me when I was going through a particularly tough patch at work a few years ago.
In hindsight, I was working on problems that weren’t that important—at least not important enough to lose my mental health over. But I got into a habit of thinking “a few more hours” will solve the problem.
“A few more hours” turned into “a few more weeks,” and I came dangerously close to burning out and needing to take extended time off work.
In the thick of it, we can press on.
But sometimes we just need a break.
A moment to pause, rest, and get out of the house.
My joints ache.
My head feels heavy.
I’ve got a high temperature.
But it’s the vaccine doing its job.
I’ve never been so happy whilst feeling unwell.