Archives for July 2022

The writer Julian Shapiro has a great mental model called the ‘Creativity Faucet’.

The idea is simple: “Visualise your creativity as a backed-up pipe of water. The first mile is packed with wastewater. This wastewater must be emptied before clear water arrives.

Because your pipe only has one faucet, there’s no shortcut to achieving clarity other than first emptying the wastewater.”

The road to good ideas is littered with many bad ideas. The bad ideas, and our willingness to discard them, is helpful signal we can use to understand what works and what doesn’t.

Don’t be afraid of the bad ideas.

I don’t know the source, but I love the concept.

Learning isn’t linear.

It takes time for us to absorb, adapt, break, and re-build.

And as we’re on the journey, a good dose of laughter, humility, and curiousity goes a long way.

Last week I posted about how the Economist has anonymous authors. I touched upon why I like this approach, how it “allows many writers to speak with a collective voice” and stems from a “belief that what is written is more important than who writes it.”

A few of you shared some interesting reflections, so I’m sharing them here to spark a conversation.

Andrew disagreed. He felt anonymity simply reduces accountability of the Economist’s writers, and that’s a bad thing overall. Furthermore, because the Economist articles are mostly opinion pieces, it’s important to understand the biases and perspectives of the writers. Finally, and ironically, he points out that a number of the Economist writers end up sharing and promoting their articles on Twitter anyway.

I see where Andrew is coming from, but I also wonder if the lack of individual accountability is offset by having more than one person contributing to a story?

Harry replied in support by saying “we live in an age where shooting the messenger has become par for the course,” so there is a benefit to “having robust debates internally, but presenting findings behind a united front.”

Overall, I’ve made some updates to my mental model based on their ideas. I’m now treating each Economist article as an opinion piece, and I read with the expectation that some amount of internal debate happens, but I’m not assuming it always happens. This allows me to bring a healthy skepticism to each reading.

Feel free to fire back any thoughts you have!

I recently had to submit a travel insurance claim. It was for cancelled accommodation after I tested positive for COVID.

Sidenote: I’m well on the mend now. Hooray!

I submitted all my evidence, and completed all the required documentation.

A few days later, I got an email saying there had been an update to my claim, and to log in to their portal to check the status.

This is what I saw:

At the very top of the screen I was given 4 conflicting messages: “we are awaiting information from you”, “documentation is required”, “we are reviewing your information”, and “there’s no need to contact us again”.

Furthermore, there was no update to my claim—contrary to the email update I had just received.

I did not know which way was up or down.

When building services that large numbers of people are going to use, these failure states are costly. They erode user trust and confidence, and ultimately end with user’s calling customer support—something none of us need more of in our lives.

A little bit of care in the design, copy, planning, or testing stages of this product would’ve spotted such a glaring issue.

Alas, although there isn’t much I can do now, but it’s a good general lesson nonetheless.

Off to the phone lines for me!

I watched the Wimbledon Men’s Singles Final yesterday.

Novak Djokovic—who has already won the tournament 6 times—was facing off against Nick Kyrgios, an Aussie competing in his first grand slam final.

I was cheering for my fellow antipodean; despite his reputation. Kyrgios is known for his on-court petulance, characterised by angry outbursts and bad attitudes. But his raw talent is undeniable—he often serves the ball at over 130mph, making it hellish for other players to return.

Kyrgios started well, winning the first set with ease. But after Djokovic took the second, and gained the upper hand in the third, Kyrgios self-destructed.

He was shouting at the umpire and his own coaching box. He could be seen shaking his head, muttering to himself, and throwing his racket at the end of a lost game. The commentators had no words. I even started to feel Fremdschämen, which is the German word used to describe the feeling of second-hand embarrassment.

Kygrios had mentally checked out. He’d lost the match in his mind almost an hour before the real match was over.

During that final hour, all I could think about was the role of the mental game in the highest echelons of sport. Djokovic had a vice-like grip on his mind, and that translated into a flowing, clinical performance on the green.

There are few other sports that require as much composure and mental clarity from its players. Perhaps that’s why tennis is such a joy to watch.

Draw a bull.

Make it as realistic as possible.

Easy enough?

Now draw a bull using only block shapes.

Let’s take it further.

Abstract away all extraneous detail: draw a bull with only a few lines.

Of course, Picasso was able to draw a realistic bull. He drew all of the above.

His magic though was in paring back—abstracting so that even a few lines can tell the same story.

Most folks are content with replicating the bull. Few explore the limit and produce something entirely new.

There’s a famous Bill Gates quote that says, “Most people overestimate what they can achieve in a year and underestimate what they can achieve in ten years.”

The part I’m most interested in is the “underestimating”.

Instead of thinking ten years into the future, think ten years back.

Think about the friends you had, the hobbies you pursued, the type of work that excited you, the priority you placed on family time, the books you couldn’t put down, and the music that gave you pause.

Now think about how much of that is different today.

Perhaps some of you remained remarkably consistent, but I’m willing to bet many of us—myself included—are different people compared to who we were ten years ago.

How much we’ve changed in the past ten years may be the inspiration we need to set a different course for the coming decade.

I liked this idea from James Clear: “If you’re always right, you’re not learning. If you’re never failing, you’re not reaching… if you’re always winning, you’re undershooting your potential.”

It pairs well with an idea out of the Warren Buffet and Charlie Munger investment playbook: “Avoid placing bets you can’t afford to lose.”

The challenge is developing a muscle that can intuitively, analytically, and objectively discern the difference between bets. It takes a lifetime of practise, and it never gets easier.

I recently watched the original Star Wars movie, A New Hope.

I remember seeing it as a kid—I think in 1997 when it had its 20th anniversary screening at the cinema—but a lot of the storylines went over my head.

In my recent rewatching, I couldn’t believe the film is 45 years old. The characters, story, and adventure still feel fresh and relevant.

It got me thinking about how the best stories transcend generations; how they tap into emotions and conflicts that have always been part of the human experience.

Although we get lost in these stories, it’s more that we can see parts of ourselves in them that keep us coming back to them over and over again.

After more than 2 years of dodging COVID, I’ve tested positive.

Give the UK has always been a COVID hotspot, I’ve done well to have avoided it for this long.

My symptoms are like a bad cold / mild flu. I’m feeling poorly, but I’ve experienced worse. Here’s hoping this is as bad as it gets.

I’m remembering what it was like at the beginning of the pandemic. There were so many unknowns and scary statistics being thrown around. I’m glad that I can focus on recovering with the confidence that being vaccinated removes almost all serious COVID-related health risks.

This post follows on from yesterday’s musing on luck.

Whenever we have a moment of “success”, we should ask ourselves: what percentage of the outcome was due to luck?

The hard part is not inflating our contribution, because there’s always luck involved.

The probability of repeated success increases when we’re able to determine what was lucky, and what was a direct cause of our actions.

It helps us do more of what worked, less of what didn’t, and the perspective to be humble when luck goes our way, and resilient when it doesn’t.

I develop even more respect for someone when they acknowledge the role luck played in their success.

Which also means I have less respect for someone when they attribute their success to their actions alone—forgetting the role their team, their family, and luck likely had in their good fortune.

Life is more random and unpredictable than we want to believe. It takes maturity to acknowledge that fact when the wind is at our backs.

I recently subscribed to the Economist. I enjoy getting my “paper” each Saturday, as I find the writing accessible, straight-shooting, and insightful.

One characteristic I like, which is different to other papers, is the authors are anonymous.

I like the reasons that I found for this decision. It “allow many writers to speak with a collective voice,” and a deep “belief that what is written is more important than who writes it,” and their overarching mission—which has remained constant since 1843—to take part “in a severe contest between intelligence, which presses forward, and an unworthy, timid ignorance obstructing our progress.”

I can get behind that.

Everyone talks about FOMO, but JOMO is better.

Letting go of possible alternatives is what brings meaning to our choices.

If we had the time, patience, and energy to do everything, nothing would have meaning.

Embrace JOMO.

Aesthetic-Usability Effect is a “phenomenon in which people perceive more-aesthetic designs as easier to use than less-aesthetic designs—whether they are or not.”

When people like a design, they think it’ll be easier to use.

These positive feelings about a design have a second-order consequence too: people are more tolerant of design problems.

I remember opening up my first iPod. Its user interface was like nothing I’d ever used before. I couldn’t believe I could control the device using only the clickwheel. This sat in stark contrast to the MP3 players of the day with the myriad of buttons and switches.

As a Product Manager—a job where I support a team of engineers, designers, and researchers to develop and ship software—it’s easy to offload the design quality bar to, well, designers.

But sitting with the product, using it, trying to break it, asking questions about why a feature or interaction was included all help in testing the logic, thoughtfulness, and resilience of the design.

This is especially important when we’re building for an audience that’s either impatient or has short attention spans—such as users of consumer apps.

The collective standard for well designed products is only increasing. Keeping the Aesthetic-Usability Effect in mind may even influence us to to go against Reid Hoffman’s advice, “If you’re not embarrassed by the first version of your product, you’ve launched too late.”