Dan Cullum

An Uber driver’s disposition can make or break a journey.

Maru and I are traveling with a lot more luggage than normal. We’ve got wedding attire, gifts for friends and family, and clothes for different climates (we’re heading to chilly Patagonia after our wedding!).

When our driver picked us up from our London flat to take us to Heathrow, he took one look at the bags and smiled widely. He played Tetris with our bags and made it work.

Over the past few months I’ve written numerous times about the importance of “turning up”—with energy, spirit, and a game face. Our Uber driver turned up, and it made all the difference.

If we go looking for it, we’ll always find something we can complain about.

But if we go looking for it, there will always be something we can be grateful for.

The seeking is the same. It’s the way we approach each situation that makes the difference.

We can spend all our lives waiting for lightning to strike.

Or we can go out with a kite and a key and seek to find it.

Of course, I’m not proposing a literal Ben Franklin endeavour, but rather an attitude that guides our search for the extraordinary.

A good reminder:

Movement doesn’t mean progress.

Treading water doesn’t bring us closer to shore.

A lot of churning doesn’t equal butter.

In technology and design, teams will often talk about “delight” features. These are typically defined as parts of a product experience that go beyond basic functionality and provide “something extra” to make your customers return time and again.

An sharp colleague reminded me today of why the above is wrong. We shouldn’t seek to build specific moments or features of delight, but rather the “delight is the emergence of excellence from the base product experience”.

When the core experience works without fail, is immensely easy to use, and provides the customer with unmatched value. That’s delight.

Many of you know that I’m a big Formula 1 fan, and I’m coming up on my 3 year anniversary of following the sport. I don’t write about the day-to-day happenings within the season, but every now and then I’ll spot something interesting from the world of Formula 1 that is broadly applicable outside of the sport. It’s those ones that I like to share.

For this post, the important piece of context is that one of the teams, Mercedes, with famed driver, Lewis Hamilton, were world champions for a record breaking 8 years in a row. One of their tenets was a “no blame” culture. If they performed poorly, there was no internal or external criticism thrown at a single person. Rather they would look at the data and figure out how to improve for the next race. This philosophy become something they were known for, and their success was partly credited to this approach.

However, in what looks like the second season running, they’ve developed a poor car that is no longer a championship contender. And instead of sticking to their “no blame” culture, people across the team are publicly blaming one another. The outer turmoil is likely only a small reflection of the chaos happening internally.

People and teams show what they’re really made of in times of crisis and challenge. It’s all fine and good to have an admirable philosophy when you’re winning. But it’s when you’re in the pits that true character shines through.

Maru and I are getting married at the end of this month! Our original wedding date was in April 2020, but the world had other plans.

We made the decision at the time to wait until all our family and friends could be together again, and due to New Zealand being a little more stubborn with its borders than other countries, both 2021 and 2022 weren’t options for us.

But finally, in less than a week we’ll be heading to Argentina, and are going to enjoy an amazing month with family and friends.

Despite there being a huge amount of organising and planning (in particular on the part of Maru and her parents!), we’re determined to not let little things get to us if thing don’t end up going exactly to plan. Our goal is to be as present as possible, and to soak in memories that we’ll carry for a lifetime.

Heads up there will be a bit more Argentine “slice of life” and wedding related posts over the coming month! Vamos!

In my line of work, which is product management and building software, there’s often an inverse correlation between the number of words in a document and the amount of thought put into the problem space.

More words are often accompanied by a lack of structure, undercooked thinking, and an absence of conviction.

Fewer words, on the other hand, usually demonstrate deep thought, piercing arguments, and clear vision.

That’s not to say that all short documents are better. But if we aim to make our point in as few words as possible, chances are we’ll be forced to confront the gaps and faults in our thinking that ultimately lead us to a better answer.

A caterpillar turning into a butterfly is an often overused metaphor for change and growth. But when I learnt what’s really going on the inside the cocoon, I found myself re-embracing the metaphor.

The caterpillar doesn’t transform into a butterfly. Once in the cocoon, it releases enzymes that digests its body into liquid. The only cells that remain serve no purpose during the caterpillar phase, but their job in the cocoon is to divide and turn into a butterfly. The way those cells get their energy is to eat the caterpillar juice.

The most intense of challenges and experiences can often feel like they change us. Sometimes entirely. Changing how we see the world, changing our expectations for the future, and changing the standards we set for others and ourselves.

Perhaps that’s exactly what’s happening, and what needs to happen.

There is no end game with emails.

Even at the end of our lives, we’ll still have more emails to read—or whatever form of communication has superseded it by then.

The point is getting to inbox zero today doesn’t mean a whole lot when the treadmill never stops.

Perhaps that realisation can help shape how we play the game. Perhaps we can play a little more on our own terms; defining the rules that work best for us.

Both are important, but they shouldn’t be done together.

Create without constraints.

Then separate yourself from the work.

A bit later, edit ruthlessly with a pair of well rested eyes.

There’s a local Korean restaurant that always includes a handwritten postcard in their delivery. It’s just a little “thank you for ordering with us” type message. Nothing crazy.

I realised recently that I’m much more likely to order from them than from other similar restaurants. I asked myself: is it because of the postcard?

Rationally, I should choose to order from the restaurant with the best food for the price I’m willing to pay. But there is something about a company making a deliberate decision to humanise their experience. Taking the time to write a personalised note somehow gives their restaurant a personality.

Putting a bit of human warmth into our work, products, and services has an intangible impact on the people we serve. The consistency adds up over time and transforms into loyalty.

In somethings, I need a recipe: making a beef wellington, fixing things around the house, and painting.

For other things, I can operate mostly on intuition: playing football, toying with a tune on the guitar, and coming up with my exercise plan for the day.

I used to get frustrated at needing a recipe. I thought it was a weakness. However, I’ve now become more accepting that for the things that don’t come naturally, a recipe is often a map for how get to the best outcome without all the mess.

True for cake, and true for life.

About a month ago I shared how I’ve introduced three changes to my sleep routine with the goal of increasing the number of hours I’m sleeping per night.

I was rarely getting more than 6 hours per night, but I’m pleased to report back that I’m regularly getting 7 hours per night now. Although I’d love to be sleeping closer to 8 hours each night, I think a 17% improvement is a good start.

One of the big changes was substantially reducing my caffeine intake. I was drinking 5-6 cups of coffee per day. At the beginning of the experiment, I initially went cold turkey. But after 3 weeks I reintroduced one cup per day at least 90 minutes after waking up. The logic for the delay can be found here. I’m enjoying my daily coffee, but don’t need it to get by.

I’m still not satisfied with the duration of my sleep, but I’m continuing to tweak things to try and improve slowly over time.

The search for quality requires patience.

It’s our responsibility to generate a lot of ideas, and to think of all the different sizes, combinations, and methods. And then we need to leave most of it on the cutting room floor.

Only the best bits make it into the final product. Period.