Dan Cullum

“You know what? After listening to you, I’ve changed my mind. I think your idea / approach / logic / suggestion is better. Let’s go with that!”

When someone realises there is a better idea on the table, they often concede by not advocating as strongly for their point of view.

But part of working on hard things with talented people is being wrong. A lot! In fact, if we’re not getting some things wrong, we’re probably not being bold enough.

I’m trying to make a habit of publicly changing my mind. It contributes to a culture of openness, exploration, and positivity in a team. There’s very little lost when admitting our idea wasn’t the best, and a lot the broader team can gain.

It can take a while to reap some of the benefits of daily journalling. One of those is building up enough entries so that you have something meaningful to look back on.

Since I started the 5-year diary, where I write a one sentence summary per day (it only takes two minutes!), I now have a bank of entries from which I can and be instantly transported back to a day once lived, but that would’ve slipped out of my memory had I not taken the few minutes to write down what happened. It works equally well for activities and emotions. From a quiet walk in the park to a stressful period of work or travel.

I anticipate that looking back on “a year ago today” memories and being able to relive them with a moment’s glance will become more valuable as the years go on.

I like trying new gyms in new places. Each one its own microcosm, filled with its own style, customs, and culture.

There are the modern gyms, packed with the latest equipment and ambient lighting. Old school ones with weight plates from 40 years ago and rusted barbells. Then there are the social gyms where everyone is chatting between sets. And the ones where, clearly, everyone comes to workout but sticks to themselves.

Hands down, though, the best gym I’ve been to is Megatlon in Buenos Aires. They have an outdoor terrace filled with gym equipment that gives members a view of the skyline as well as the Rio de la Plata. The combination of outdoor exercise and sun filled workouts provides an unparalleled endorphin kick.

It’s the little things.

Each time I pick up a globe, and I look closely, I can learn something new.

Countries are larger or smaller than I first assumed. I spot adjacencies not only geographically, but in cultures, foods, and terrains. I find seas I didn’t know existed, and mountain ranges that I’ll likely never see with my own eyes.

There is always something new to discover if we’re willing to look hard enough. The world is bursting with possibility for those who are curious.

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.