Dan Cullum

If you’ve identified the symptom, travelled to the doctor, received a diagnosis, and have a prescription in hand, why stop short of the pharmacy?

I find it strange, then, when I hear stories of teams in the workplace who identify a problem, come up with a plan to fix it, and then… nothing happens.

The unused prescription amounts to nothing.

Today, I share a collection of ideas on: doing the work we were called to do.

The ideas are connected, but they were penned with a distance of almost 200 years between the earliest and the most recent.

Wherever you are on your journey, and whatever it is you were called to do, I hope the following passages spur you on.

“Until one is committed there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back; ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative and creation, there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: The moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issue from the decision, raising in one’s favour all manner of unforeseen incidents and assistance, which no one could have dreamt would come their way.” —W. H. Murray; The Scottish Himalayan Expedition (1951)

“Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it!”
—Johan Wolfgang von Goethe; Faust (1808)

“When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”—Paulo Coelho; The Alchemist (1988)

I recently received a piece of feedback on something I wrote. It went like this, “It’s a bit cliche.”

I used to fret over this kind of feedback. I used to worry. I used to scurry into a corner and hide.

Over the last 2-3 years, though, I’ve (mostly) unlearned those habits.

Don’t get me wrong, I still care. I pay close attention to the criticism and figure out what I can do better, but I no longer flinch like I used to.

Being overly precious about our work leads to paralysis. We start to second guess ourselves, instead of focusing on getting better.

So next time you receive criticism, steel yourself, try and find the good, don’t flinch, and keep producing.

I love this piece of writing advice from acclaimed author, Neil Gaiman.

“When someone tells you something is wrong, they are almost always right. When someone tells you how to fix it, they’re almost always wrong.”

It’s great writing advice, but it’s also good advice for other creative projects, too.

Many people are able to tell when something doesn’t feel right, but few have the ability to articulate why, and how to fix it.

So here’s a few simple rules I’m experimenting with:

1. Seek feedback from friends, family, and your creative community.
2. But when something feels “wrong” to them, don’t depend on their advice for how to fix it; take personal responsibility for finding the answer.

One of my mum’s mantras—repeated to me throughout childhood…and beyond—is, “It’s not how you start, it’s how you finish.”

I’ve been thinking about this mantra recently as I’ve got some creative projects I’ve been meaning to complete, but I’ve been procrastinating.

One of the benefits of this blog is I get to externalise my learnings, reflections, and self-kick-in-the-pants moments.

Sharing mantras like the above help me on my journey, and here’s hoping they help others who have been thinking similarly about their own projects.

I typically can’t get through more than 15 mins of any TV series episode before falling asleep. It’s a quirk that makes it almost impossible for Maru and I to watch shows together.

The above has been true for many years, until… Outlander.

Outlander is the story of Claire Randall, a WWII nurse from 1945 who gets swept back in time to Scotland in 1743. It follows her journey as she navigates this unknown world, and her attempt to get back to the present day.

I’m not usually fan of historical dramas, and if I’m being honest, I thought Outlander was going to be a dud, but it completely surprised me.

The characters are deep and conflicted; they’re an amazing insight into a previous era. The interplay between the past and the present adds dimensions and consequences to the story that make it richer than more linear tales.

So instead of falling asleep within 15 minutes of an episode beginning, I’ve finally found myself in the can-I-squeeze-in-another-episode-before-bed-? zone.

If you’re on the hunt for a new show, check this one out!

I went to a restaurant today—it’s the first time I’ve been to one since the lockdown started in March.

It had a large outdoor space with well-distributed tables. There were hand sanitiser stations every 10 metres, and two bottles of the stuff on each table. Large stickers on the ground delineated where you could walk, and where you needed to keep distance from others. The staff all wore masks, and encouraged contactless payment.

Interestingly, the new normal felt easy.

The changes didn’t seem cumbersome to the restaurant, nor to the customers. Everyone has simply made adjustments to return to some semblance of normality, and today gave me hope that we can keep this up for quite some time; or at least until there is a widely available vaccine.

“Never let an hour go by without giving credit to someone,” says Patricia Ryan Madsen in her book, Improv Wisdom.

I’ve reflected on these words regularly over the past year and a half.

It only takes little extra effort to be clear, specific, and generous with our praise. But when we do, and when we’re genuine, it’s a currency that compounds at a miraculous rate.

Creativity is the magic sauce.

Companies crave it. Artists pursue it. Hustlers fake it.

It’s something everyone wants, but it’s something only a rare few can deliver reliably.

So here’s what I’m pondering: to what extent is creativity simply a by-product of curiosity?

It’s damn hard to “be more creative,” but it’s not that hard to “be more curious.”

In my own experience, there’s a positive correlation between the best people I’ve worked with, and those that are insatiably curious. These folks ask question after question, not stopping until they deeply understand how something works. And at the end of that long tunnel of curiosity, they emerge with an insight that no one else saw, or a new way of framing a problem.

So what if curiosity was a reliable way to be more creative? How would it change the way you approach your work and your art?

A blog post may sit in my drafts for months before being published.

Ideas rarely come fully formed. Like sand stirred up in a glass of water, it may take days for the particles to settle before I can see clearly through the glass.

“Writing is re-writing,” says William Zinsser in ‘On Writing Well’. It feels uncomfortable, but that’s the point. Re-writing is the point.

Allowing space between drafts or sessions is a helpful lesson to remember in writing, music, art, or business.

A few years ago, Maru introduced me to the wonderful song, Vincent, by Don McLean. It was inspired by Vincent Van Gogh and his masterpiece, Starry Night. The lyrics paint a vivid picture of a tortured man, and his breath-taking art.

Recently listening to ‘Vincent’ got me thinking about other songs inspired by artists and their works of art.

Frida Kahlo’s last painting, Viva la Vida, inspired a song of the same name by Coldplay. Her painting ‘What I Saw in the Water’ also inspired Florence and the Machine song, ‘What The Water Gave Me’

Picasso’s last words were said to be, “drink to me, drink to my heath, you know I can’t drink anymore,” which formed the basis of the Paul McCartney and Wings song, ‘Picasso’s Last Words (Drink To Me)’.

If any of the above piques your interest, have a listen and enjoy exploring the relationships between these works of art.

Knowing how to accept ourselves when things don’t go to plan is an exercise in self-compassion.

Unfortunately, it’s a muscle that is rarely worked, and often ignored. But like any muscle that faces repeated stress and strain, it gets stronger over time.

Here’s hoping this is food for thought the next time something doesn’t go to plan.

In the 19th Century, when the letters on a typewriter were arranged in alphabetical order, people were able to type so quickly that the mechanical rods would often jam.

So in 1873, the QWERTY layout was introduced to 1) increase the spacing between mechanical rods on the typewriter, and 2) to slow down peoples’ typing speed. The combination of these two factors significantly reduced the risk of a jammed typewriter.

I find it funny that almost 150 years on, we still use QWERTY even though the problem of jammed mechanical rods is long gone.

This is a follow-on thought from yesterday’s post about the end of the 3-point turn, and a reflection on how some methods and technologies will live on, but others will simply fade away.

In response to yesterday’s post about the end of the 3-point turn, my good friend, Lucy, shared something really interesting.

Lucy’s dad is a pilot, and apparently it would be safer for passengers to sit facing backwards on planes, because in the event of a crash the probability of injury would be lower than if sitting facing forwards.

Yet, can you find me one airline that has backwards facing seats?

I find it fascinating that us humans are willing to give up a safer ride in exchange for a more psychologically comfortable one.

H/T Lucy for sharing!

Imagine you’re driving down a small one-way lane, and you realise you’ve taken a wrong turn. The usual thing would be to turn the car around with a 3-point turn and exit the street.

Now, imagine you’re in a self-driving car imagined by Zoox (a company that was recently purchased by Amazon).

Their dream is a self-driving car that is able to drive equally well in both forward and reverse directions. In other words, it doesn’t need to perform a 3-point turn. If it did, it’d only do so because it make us—the passengers—feel more comfortable.

It got me thinking about how tech advances will remove the need for certain actions (e.g., the 3-point turn), but how many of these actions will we keep just because they are comfortable and familiar?