Dan Cullum

Back when I was in school, I came home one day and I told my mum I wanted to try vegetarianism due to its positive impact on the environment and animal rights.

The next day, I returned home from my part-time job to a steaming plate of spaghetti bolognese. I paused, looked at mum, and said, “Mum, I’m trying to be a vegetarian.”

“I know. This is vegetarian mince,” she said.

Thrilled, I sat down and began to eat. After the first mouthful, I was shocked to find the flavour was rich and full. I turned to mum and said, “This is so good, I can’t believe vegetarian mince tastes just like real mince!”

It was then that I saw the look in her eye.

I tentatively asked, “This is just normal mince, right Mum?”

With a wry smile, she nodded and then shared how when she was growing up she’d get salted fish every now and then, and only eat “proper meat” once a year: a chicken drumstick during Chinese New Year. For her, it was a point of pride to be able to put meat on our table every day. She made it clear that as long as I lived under her roof, she wanted to serve meat at our table—and I respected that.

I feel like we all have our own points of pride. Mine is books. A few years ago, I decided that I would no longer question the cost of a book. If I think I’ll benefit from it, I’ll buy it.

Do you have any points of pride?

I’ve previously written about Marcus Aurelius’ tactic of journalling in the second person—how it can help distance us from our situation, and allow us to look at our opportunities and challenges with objectivity.

Here is another tactic you may find helpful: ask yourself hard questions, then give yourself time and space before putting pen to paper.

The time and space is important, because our first thoughts are often knee-jerk, emotional responses.

Some examples are:

• If money was no longer an obstacle, what would you spend your time doing?
• If you had all the attention in the world, what would you choose to do then?
• What’s the biggest lie you’ve told yourself recently?
• When was the last time you were wrong? What happened?
• Why are you doing what you’re doing?

My hands currently have a number of little nicks and cuts.

For 4 years, we had one utility knife and one small bread knife; neither of which were sharpened during that time. It just wasn’t a priority.

However, a we recently purchased a set of stainless steel knives, and it has required me to relearn some good kitchen habits.

A cavalier chopping rhythm has been replaced with a more methodical approach. Lazy attention has been switched out for cautious focus.

When we upgrade the tools we use—in the kitchen, workplace, gym, etc.—we must also get up their learning curves safely. The best tools in the world won’t replace poor technique.

The less meaningful our goals, the more we overthink.

Given this relationship is negatively correlated, we suddenly find ourselves with the cure to overthinking.

My father-in-law once approached his surgeon before an upcoming procedure and asked, “Is it true this operation can be performed in two different ways?”

The surgeon replied, “Of course, good and bad.”

There’s a nice lesson here. Each time we’re faced with a new task, we’ve got two options: to do it well, or to do it poorly.

H/T Salvador for the anecdote!

We love being given options. They feel safe, certain, and controllable. When we see them, we immediately start performing trade-offs. We ask ourselves, “Which is best?”

But options can be dangerous. They can be used by others to create a false sense of security. Just because we’re given a set of options, doesn’t mean that those are the best options available. It takes a lot of effort to imagine the possibilities that are not on the page.

Whenever we’re given a set of options, it’s always worth pausing as asking ourselves, “What could be missing from this list? And could they be better than the options I’ve been presented?”

I love this story about financier J.P. Morgan

“J.P. Morgan once told a jeweller that he was interested in buying a pearl scarf-pin. Just a few weeks later, the jeweller happen upon a magnificent pearl. He had it mounted in an appropriate setting and sent it to J.P. Morgan, together with a bill for $5,000. The following day the package was returned. Morgan’s accompanying note read: “I like the pin, but I don’t like the price. If you will accept the enclosed check for $4,000 please send back the box with the seal unbroken.” The enraged jeweller refused the check and dismissed the messenger in disgust. He opened up the box to reclaim the unwanted pin, only to find that it had be removed. In its place was a check for $5,000.“

There are many little lessons hidden in this story. Some that I gleaned were: 1) it never hurts to ask, 2) there is value in thinking 2 steps ahead and “controlling the deck of cards”, and 3) saying “no” in a negotiation doesn’t always mean you’re closing the door on the deal.

I’ve recently had conversations with multiple friends about their willingness to take the COVID-19 vaccine if it was offered to them today.

I’ve heard a wide range of answers: from complete trust in the government, to not wanting to be vaccinated until there is proof there are no long term side effects—particularly from the new mRNA vaccine.

The conversations got me thinking about this idea: we often make decisions based on averages, but we experience life as a single data point.

The difference between the known quantity (the average), and how we’ll experience it (the single data point), can often be a source of internal tension.

I like to think I live probabilistically, but I admit that in personal matters, I’m often swayed by my own experience as a single data point.

How about you?

I’ve been enjoying David Goggin’s book ‘Can’t Hurt Me’.

Goggins is a retired US Navy Seal turned world class ultra-endurance athlete. But what really stands out about his story is how he overcame a troubling childhood, and an abusive father, to develop a mind of steel. He attributes his ability to perform astonishing physical feats down to the strength of his mind.

One idea from his book is the concept of suffering every day through physical exercise.

I know it sounds masochistic, but his point is that when we put our bodies through daily exercise pain—whether through a long run, a boxing class, strength training, or another form of exercise—we’re readying our mind to faces the challenges the rest of the day will bring.

If we can beat our own mind in the morning—and bear with that little bit of suffering—we’ve got a better chance at winning what’s to come.

Here are 3 unconventional reading ideas:

1. Read multiple books at the same time. This allows us to connect thoughts across disparate topics—history, science, health, technology, politics, etc. This opens the possibility for us to find patterns that don’t exist when we read linearly.
2. Read books written by dead people. Modern books are still on trial; they haven’t stood the test of time. C.S. Lewis once wrote that the only way to protect ourselves from our modern biases and assumptions was to “keep the clean sea breeze of the centuries blowing through our minds, and this can be done only by reading old books.”
3. Ditch more than you finish. If you read one book a month between the ages of 20 and 80, that’s 720 books in your adult lifetime. To put that in perspective, UNESCO estimates 2.2 million books are published every year. Once we know how few books we actually get to read in our lifetimes, it’s nuts to push through to the end when one doesn’t resonate.

I’d love to hear if you disagree, or if you’ve got any additional rules to make your reading and learning more effective.

Maru and I have been living in the same London borough for the last 4 years, but today was the first time we visited our local farmers market.

We loved it, but also thought to ourselves, “Why haven’t we been here before?”

No matter how comfortable we are with a place, there is always something new to discover; we just need to be open to giving it a try.

When I was 16, my maths teacher was an older gentlemen who came to class each day with a pristine brown leather satchel.

He’d place it on the desk, open its pockets, and take out his papers and markers for the class.

One day, he dropped one of his markers, creating a long black blemish along the front of the bag.

He didn’t notice at first, but many in the class did.

When someone pointed out the mark, he paused, took a breath, and said, “I won’t worry about it in 50 years,” and he carried on with the lesson as though it never happened.

I’ve never forgotten that moment, and since then—when things haven’t gone my way—I too have found myself saying, “I won’t worry about it in 50 years”.

How many things have you worried about recently that’ll matter in 5 days, 5 years, or 50 years?

You may be good at it, but will it make you happy?

A good friend recently had the courage to ask me this question when I went to him for advice.

Here’s to friends willing to ask the hard questions.

Jonathan Swift (1667-1745) wrote an excellent essay titled ‘Hints towards an essay on conversation’. For people wanting to improve their conversational skills, it helpfully outlines a set of errors to avoid.

His most important point: “Nothing is more generally exploded than the folly of talking too much.”

In a day and age where anyone can speak, at any time, on any platform, an ability to show restraint and to only say what is necessary will shine through.

When I was a kid, and whenever there was mouse in the house, my parents would call it a ‘Little Mickey’.

The refusal to call it a mouse, and the act of giving it a name that evoked positive associations for my sister and I, made us less scared of the critter.

Although I strive to embrace reality and “call it like it is,” there is something about playful euphemisms like ‘Little Mickey’ that can re-frame how we experience scary, new, or challenging situations.

And maybe we’ll find that situation isn’t so bad after all; perhaps there’s magic to be found in giving it a new name.