Archives for March 2022

A few days ago I published a post about writing with clarity.

The main point was, “Clarity in thought precedes clarity in writing, but clarity in writing cannot precede clarity in thought.”

In response to the post, I received a thoughtful message from Rohan that helped me identify a blind spot. I was over-indexing on 1) the finished product, and 2) recent pieces of writing I had seen in the workplace.

Rohan reminded me that “much of the act of writing is an exercise in getting to more clarity of thought,” and how there’s a reason why the word essay comes from the French word essayer, which means to try.

We don’t need to share the first words that we put on paper, nor do we need to keep them in our second, third, or fourth drafts. But we can—and should—use them to externalise what’s in our minds, and ultimately clarify our thinking.

Thanks Rohan! For this, and much more!

Most plans assume linear progress.

But meaningful progress is almost always non-linear.

Along the way, we learn something that changes our mind. We make mistakes that force us to reconsider our strategy. We grimace at the unexpected headwind, and often fail to give the tailwind enough credit.

If we anticipate non-linear progress, it’s a salve for the days when we inch forward, and a reminder to be humble on the days when progress comes easily.

I was listening to a podcast today where I learnt about ’Wembley Singles’. It’s a form of backyard football with a twist.

Firstly, it’s a free-for-all. There’s one goal, one goal keeper, and no teams. Everyone on the field plays for themselves.

When a player scores, they get to stand on the sideline. This continues until there is only 1 player who hasn’t scored a goal; that person gets knocked out. The whole process then repeats itself until there are only 2 players that haven’t been knocked out. At this point, the first out of these two to score a goal wins the game.

Apparently, Wembley Singles is a chaotic mess, and I’m not surprised. When everyone plays for themselves, the skill, craft, and level of play quickly reach a limit.

That’s why we have teams. In football, at work, with friends, and with our families. Life is smoother, more fun, and much more fulfilling, when we’re doing it with others.

There’s a rule of thumb in aviation that if your direction is off by 1 degree at the start of a journey, after 60 miles you’ll be 1 mile off course.

Tiny changes in trajectory add up to massive effects down the line.

Frequent pauses to think about what we want, and to course correct where necessary, is important for achieving the our long term objectives.

Clarity in thought precedes clarity in writing.

Clarity in writing cannot precede clarity in thought.

What’s on paper can only ever be as clear as what is first clear in the mind.

This is something I remind myself of often when the words just don’t feel right.

“A monument scale mechanical clock, built inside a mountain, designed to keep accurate time for the next ten millennia.”

That’s the description for The Clock of the Long Now. It’s a project by The Long Now Foundation, whose purpose is to inspire long term thinking.

A natural reaction to super-long-term projects like this is, “Why? There are so many urgent and important problems today. Why not spend money and resources on those instead?”

And that’s a fair comment.

But what I love about this project in particular is how it helps us—the ones who are alive now—connect with the future via a tangible touchpoint. It’s hard to picture what the world will look like in 100 years, let alone 10,000. So by imagining this clock, still ticking 5,000 years from now, in the depths of a mountain, suddenly we have a point of connection with the future. As we picture it ticking, we can ask what will people, the environment, and life be like then?

When long term to us feels like 5-10 years, a 10 millennia juxtaposition puts things into perspective.

It wasn’t until 1960 that Eugene Shoemaker proved some of the craters on Earth were a result of meteorite impacts rather than geological activity.

We accept this fact so readily today, yet it’s only been known—and proven—for 0.03% of the homo sapien existence.

It makes me wonder about the millions of things we’re yet to discover—and prove—about our planet, solar system, galaxy, and universe.

Here’s to future curiosity, patience, luck, and the scientific method (or whatever happens to supersede it!).

A brute force attack occurs when a hacker tries many passwords in the hope of eventually guessing correctly.

Interestingly, a 7-character password with numbers, upper, and lowercase letters can be cracked by a hacker in about 7 seconds.

Compare that with an 18-character password with numbers, symbols, upper, and lowercase letters, which would take 438 trillion years for a hacker to crack.

I certainly can’t remember different 18-character passwords for all my different online accounts, so for the last 5 years I’ve been using LastPass to automate all my password generation, storage, and management.

Many people still create and manage passwords the same way they did 15 years ago, whereas the sophistication of malicious actors has advanced lightyears since then. It may seem like overkill, but recovering hacked accounts is a headache I certainly don’t want to deal with.

I found the below graphic helpful in putting into context the importance of proper internet and account security.

In 1569, Gerardus Mercator created a revolutionary map—the map we see everywhere today. It was design primarily as a guide for nautical travel.

The problem is his map significantly inflated the size of Europe and North America. In the Mercator map, Canada and Russia occupy 25% of the earth’s surface, whereas in reality they only take up about 5%.

The image below puts the earth’s landmasses into proper proportion. Africa and South America remain largely the same size, but Europe and North America are significantly smaller.

Now imagine millions of children over the past 400 years growing up and seeing the Mercator map. What mental models did they form about the relative size, and therefore importance, of certain landmasses over others?

This is one example of how the images we pick, the words we choose, and the stories we tell, all have an impact on the way we see, turn up, and engage with the world.

Boundaries are only as good as their enforcement.

A game of football. Diet. Work life balance. Interest rates. Speed limits.

All have their own rules, limits, and boundaries.

If we make exceptions, we don’t get results. And at worst, it can be dangerous.

The boundary persistently broken is really no boundary at all.

Productivity is easy.

Squeeze in another task. Optimise the schedule. Plan, execute, repeat.

Presence is hard.

Be still. Hold no expectations. Create space for curiosity, joy, and wonder.

Realism > Expressionism > Blue Period > Rose Period > African Period > Cubism > Neoclassicism > Surrealism.

Picasso deliberately changed his style over and over and over.

Even at the height of his fame, Picasso eschewed the safe formula and committed to explore, reinvent, and take risk.

When there is nothing to lose, it’s easy to take the risk.

But when there is already a foundation of success, the courage to take the risk sets apart the good from the great.

Maru and I landed in Argentina yesterday. We’re here for a couple weeks to celebrate the wedding of close friends and to spend some time with family.

I can’t believe it’s been 8 years since my last visit. It would’ve been much sooner, but, you know, pandemic.

I love it here. The people, the food, the streets, the sun, and the songs on the radio. Not to mention the challenge of trying to improve my Spanish!

It’s always a joy visiting each other’s home country. The anecdotes are placed in context, special places are revisited, and new memories are made.

Both Tom Petty and Meat Loaf passed away within the past few years.

Whilst they were alive, I rarely paid attention to their music. But since they died, I’ve become a fan of both.

Tom Petty for his iconic melodies and chugging guitar. And Meat Loaf for his rock operas and eccentricity.

I can’t help but wonder: would I have become a fan if I had sat down for a deliberate listen whilst they were still alive? Or was it their deaths that put their music on my radar?

And does it even matter?

Part of the allure of modern music is the possibility of seeing your favourite songs performed live. And part of the romanticism of older music is how the record is all we have left of the magic.

Regardless of how we become fans, what matters is that we get there.

There’s something inexplicable—and uniquely human—about being moved by a melody.

I got gifted a cactus last year, but I accidentally threw out the instructions.

They’re hardy plants though, capable of surviving in the harshest of conditions.

Based on this tough-guy reputation, I assumed my cactus only needed a little bit of water every now and then.

Wrong.

Cacti need to be drenched. Soaked. Swimming!

But infrequently.

If I had paused for a moment, I may have figured it out: deserts rarely get rainfall, but when they do, it’s heavy.

Many things seem obvious in hindsight.

It also pays to hold on to instructions.