You don’t read Lord of the Rings to find out what happens to Frodo and the Ring at Mt Doom.
You don’t watch Romeo and Juliet because you’re anxious to know what happens at the end.
You don’t ever worry that James Bond will die this time round.
More often than not, the best stories are special because of the journey, not because of the ending.
It’s a lesson that applies to most of what we experience in life too.
10% of the job is defining the standard.
90% of the job is holding the line.
When standards slip, it becomes accepted, it becomes the norm.
Defining the standard is just the beginning.
Paul Samuelson once quipped, “The stock market has predicted nine of the past five recessions.”
We’re typically gracious with folks who try and predict the future because they’re usually wrong.
Sometimes, however, the forecast is so wrong that it deserves to be called out; especially when it’s supposed to come from a “reputable” source.
Back in 2015, OPEC predicted that electric cars will remain irrelevant through to 2040; only accounting for 1% of new car sales.
What actually happened since? And what are the predictions now?
In 2020, electric vehicles were responsible for 4.5% of global sales. Currently, electric vehicles hold 3.5% market share, and UBS predicts electric vehicles will have 100% penetration by 2040.
In addition to being great news for our planet, it’s also a good lesson in treating all predictions with caution. The forecast you’re looking at today could be the equivalent of OPEC’s electric vehicle bet from 2015.
A Cheat Day is one day per week where I allow myself to eat and drink anything I want, in any quantity.
It’s been a staple part of my health habits since learning about it in 2018 from Tim Ferriss’ book ‘The Four Hour Body’.
I haven’t written about it before because, to be honest, I’m a bit embarrassed about it. The idea of a Cheat Day invokes thoughts of gluttony, excess, and ill-discipline. But in reality, I’ve found it’s inspired the exact opposite. And since this blog is a commitment to sharing a daily reflection, I feel slightly disingenuous about hiding something that has played a big role in helping me on my health journey.
A bit of context for you, I don’t do many things in half measures. I’m usually hot or cold, but I’m rarely lukewarm. When I’m watching my diet and exercising, I’m consistent. When I’m not, I’m the first one to be regularly eating pizza and burgers.
You should also know that I found “being healthy 24/7”, or at least the self-imposed expectation to do so, was exhausting. I’d get tired after a month or two and slip back into poor habits. And despite knowing that moderation was important, I wasn’t able to self-regulate well.
I then came across Ferriss’ ‘The Four Hour Body’ and learnt about the Slow Carb diet and, most importantly, strategically using Cheat Days to give your body and mind a chance to rest and re-fuel.
For 6 days a week, I eat clean. High protein, low carb, and a wide variety of fruit and vegetables. I also exercise on all six days.
And then on Saturdays, I allow myself to indulge in all of my favourite fatty, sugary, and salty foods. I don’t count calories or exercise on this day.
Come Sunday, I’m done with junk food, and I’m ready to start the 6 days of work to earn the next Cheat Day.
I know this practice is a little weird and extreme, but ironically, rather than being a crutch, Cheat Days have helped me develop more discipline and healthy habits than I had before. If I ever get a mid-week craving—where in the past I’d just cave and order the pizza—I know I have only a few more days to wait until I can have it.
On the whole, since incorporating Cheat Days into my habits, I eat less, I eat better quality food, and I still get the psychological benefit of having that one day off per week to eat whatever I want.
When things get tough, it’s easy to lean on others—on our family or our team. They’re on our side, and usually quick to tell us what we want to hear.
But courage, the strength to do something even if it frightens us, often turns up when it’s just us.
When we’re alone.
When we’re the only one facing the problem ahead.
Although the crutch is comfortable, sometimes its absence is the force that spurs us on.
When I was 11 years old, I went swimming at Muriwai—a New Zealand beach notorious for its strong riptides.
Since I was a child, my Dad warned me about west coast beaches—their currents being stronger and more unpredictable than their eastern equivalent.
But Dad wasn’t there that day, and I was young, naive, and complacent—having fun with 30 friends from my church’s youth group.
My friend Miles and I swam out into the waves, laughing and joking with each other. However, within 5 minutes, I realised I could no longer touch the sandy bottom. Miles couldn’t either.
We decided to swim back to shore, but after another 5 minutes, we were pulling further and further away from the beach.
I’d taken swimming lessons all my life, and up until this point, I had full confidence we’d make it back to the beach. But I remember hearing my voice quiver as I said to Miles we were getting further away.
One thing I’m grateful for about growing up in New Zealand is the water safety training most children get through school or private lessons. Living near the beach, and spending a lot of time in the water makes this a necessity.
At this point, the training kicked in, I raised and waved my hand as a call for help. In hindsight, I should’ve started earlier, as I was already tired from the swimming and treading water.
A surfer, about 50 metres away, saw us and started paddling over. Seeing him pull up and his calm voice saying, “Grab on to my board, and hold on,” gave me instant relief. It took him 5 minutes to paddle back to shore, the board providing buoyancy and an ability to slice over the surface of the water; something Miles and I couldn’t do on our own.
When we finally arrived back to the beach, the surfer made sure Miles and I were okay, and I remember the joy of feeling the sand under my feet again.
I was completely shaken. In the space of a few minutes, I’d gone from playing to my life being at risk. I remember feeling shame, as the scenario my Dad had warned me about had played out word for word, except Miles and I were lucky the surfer saw us.
Since this day, I have carried with me a deeper respect and healthy fear of the water. I know that when in Mother Nature, before we have time to think, things can change for the worse.
When I got home and told Dad what had happened, he was furious; beyond anything I’d seen before. I also discovered that day, in seeing the anguish in his reaction, how deep a father’s love can go.
You can’t hold a cubic centimetre. Nor can you grasp an hour. You can’t touch money either—the physical thing you may be thinking of is cash, but it’s not money.
These are called abstractions. They are concepts that help us make sense of and operate in our world. We’re the only animal capable of developing, understanding, and thinking in abstractions. And although we can’t see or touch them, they’re extremely powerful tools that help us better organise society.
Perhaps the most interesting thing about these abstractions is they exist only because we all agree to believe in them.
I recently asked a senior colleague for some advice on how to handle a tricky problem.
We only booked a 15 minute meeting, so after I gave them the context they asked, “so, do you want some coaching—where I ask you questions and you figure out the answers—or do you want tactics?”
“Well, the purist in me wants the coaching, but we’ve only got 10 minutes left, so let’s go with tactics,” I replied.
I learnt two things that day:
I’m thrilled with my recent discovery of the BBC radio show ‘In Our Time’.
Host, Melvin Bragg, has been interviewing historical experts since 1998 on a vast range of topics.
During my morning workouts for the past couple weeks, I’ve listened to everything from Alexander the Great, to Seneca, to China’s Cultural Revolution, to the history of gin and coffee, to Tutankhamun, to Emperor Nero, to Sun Tzu, to the Mayan Civilisation.
The 40 minute episodes are high signal because the guest are usually 3-4 top academics on the subject. Melvin is a little brash and pointy, and that also makes it comical and enjoyable.
If you’re into history, you’ll find it a treat!
In 1815, Mount Tambora erupted.
To give you a sense of its scale, it was 100x the size of the Mount Vesuvius eruption that wiped out the city of Pompeii in AD 79.
Tambora flung sulphur dioxide into the stratosphere which oxidised to form tiny sulphate aerosols that covered the earth. Sunlight couldn’t get through, and global temperatures lowered by 0.4-0.7 degrees Celsius. This led to widespread agricultural disaster and major food shortages.
So how does this relate to Frankenstein?
Mary Shelley and her family, disappointed by the gloomy “year without a summer”, opted to pass the time indoors. They read German ghost stories to each other, and when they ran out of material, they started to make up their own stories.
Out of that dark and uncharacteristic summer, came an uncharacteristic tale of a human corpse re-animated—one that still influences pop culture til this day.
There is no deeper lesson or idea here, I just enjoyed learning about how a natural disaster on one side of the planet could lead to a story that has captured our imagination for more than 200 years. And I thought you might like it too.
The hedonic treadmill is “the tendency for humans to quickly return to a relatively stable level of happiness despite major positive or negative events or life changes.”
Studies show that positive life events, such as securing that promotion, getting married, or even winning the lottery, will make us feel great for a period, but we generally return back to a stable “set point” that we maintain throughout our lives.
Although the highs don’t last, the same can be said for the lows.
The loss of a job, the ending of a friendship, or even serious physical accidents, although extremely painful at the time, usually leave us temporarily unhappy.
That which we long for, and that which we fear, may not be all they’re built up to be inside our minds. There is something liberating in that.
Athens established the world’s first democracy in 507 BC. It ended less than 50 years later when it transitioned to an aristocracy under the rule of Pericles in 460 BC.
Democracy then took a break for almost 2,000 years before England passed the The Bill of Rights in 1689, which called for regular parliaments, free elections, and limited powers of the monarch.
Although smaller democracies were started in the intervening period (Iceland and San Marino, for example), it was a long time between the end of Greek democracy and democracy’s adoption by a global super power.
It’s a fascinating reminder that demokratia, or “rule by the people”, was not always around, and how it’s something we must persistently and consistently respect and cherish.
Ambivalence.
It comes from the latin ambi ‘on both sides’, and valere ‘be worth’.
Few important decisions are straight forward. Us humans crave simplicity, binary options, no-brainer trade-offs, but the world is rarely that simple.
There is always nuance, complexity, and second and third order consequences—consequences that appear down the road as a side effect of our original decision.
On both sides of any complex problem, though, there is worth.
Instead of grasping and clawing for an answer, perhaps we should sleep on it and embrace ambivalence. Perhaps it will give us the time and space to see with greater clarity.
If you use the word “draft” you could be talking about the first version of a piece of writing, being conscripted to war, the cool breeze that just entered the room, the act of pulling something along, or how deep a boat sits in the water.
When we’re working on hard problems—and we’re the ones closest to the detail—of course we know which draft we’re talking about, but others may not.
Giving them the right context may be the difference between them sensing a cool breeze or thinking they’re going to war.
There are no pathways back to where you came from. But there are many possible pathways that lay ahead.
Inspired today by this image from Tim Urban from Wait But Why.
