Dan Cullum

I clearly remember my first visit to Zurich almost 12 years ago because of the video that plays on the airport train taking passengers between terminals.

There are a series of screens mounted on the walls of the tunnel. As the train moves past them, the screens’ frame rate is synced to the speed of the train. This means that despite moving past the screens at speed, you see a clear and coherent image unfold.

I was in Zurich this week for work, and made sure to capture the screens to share with you. Unfortunately, the FPS capture on my iPhone is different to my eyes. So what was a clean image for me looks a little more stuttering on video.

It also makes people smile every time, which is reason enough to do it.

Staying on the wagon is most of the battle.

Even if today’s progress is slow, tomorrow’s the weather looks poor, and next week’s route is an uphill slog.

Falling off, or breaking down, requires a costly stop or repair to get back on the road.

Even if we feel like we’re not making as much progress as we’d like, just turning up everyday and inching forward keeps the momentum going.

I got some feedback that my recent blog posts have skewed more towards ‘lessons learnt’ rather than ‘interesting observations’.

This reader went on to say that “not every post needs a lesson”, and that “it was more fun reading about the things you noticed going on around you”.

The feedback resonated.

So, expect a little more dancing between the two.

I recently found out a childhood friend from
New Zealand moved into our London neighbourhood; literally two minutes walk down the road.

What are the chances?

It’s been great catching up with them, and realising that even though this city is vast, and the world much larger, connection can happen seemingly random places.

Next time you’re writing an important document, blog post, or email: edit back to front.

Start at the last paragraph, and check your work in reverse.

When we read our work from beginning to end, we’re more likely to believe we’re making sense—we’re biased after all!

Reading in reverse forces us to edit with greater caution, and thus increases the probability of finding faulty logic and mistakes.

I’ve recently been using a language learning platform called italki to practise Spanish and Cantonese. It’s an online marketplace connecting teachers and students.

I used to think these types of marketplaces didn’t have a shot; especially for services that can easily be taken “offline”—where a person could pay the service-provider directly.

However, I’ve been convinced otherwise because of italki’s excellent tools and a critical mass of students and teachers.

As a student, I want to know I’m getting a good teacher, and that the price is reasonable. With their platform, I’m able to easily filter by reviews, price, and experience (i.e., number of classes taught). I can quickly select a teacher for a trial lesson that I feel confident could be a good match.

A teacher may have 50+ students, and scheduling is a nightmare when lessons are on an ad-hoc schedule and online. Italki provides a very simple scheduling tool, allowing teachers to choose when they work, and places the responsibility on students to pick a time that works best for them.

The combination of these factors mean both teachers and students are happy to pay a percentage of fees to italki to take the hassle out of matching and scheduling.

Bolt: to secure, or to flee

Left: remained, or departed

Sanction: to approve, or to boycott

Strike: to hit, or to miss an attempt to hit

Consult: to offer advice, or to obtain it

Context is everything.

I was at a friend’s house whilst they were setting up an Amazon Ring—a smart doorbell. Part of the process was picking a doorbell sound.

A debated ensued about what sound was best. Some of were traditional—a bit boring. Other’s were futuristic and ethereal—easy to miss. Some were loud and in-your-face—grating.

The lesson I took away, not just about doorbells, but for any alert—whether it be on our phones, laptops, post-its, or diaries—the sound itself doesn’t matter all that much.

What matters is being universally heard and recognised.

Set alerts accordingly.

I used to play touch rugby at a relatively competitive level back in New Zealand (if training 4-5 times per week is a proxy for competitiveness!). It’s a simplified, non-contact version of rugby that gets progressively faster and more strategic as you level up.

I recently found a group at work that competes in a corporate league, and I went along for my first game this week. I was surprised at few things.

Firstly, the muscle memory came back so quickly. I’m sure I looked uncoordinated after more than decade of not playing, but I definitely felt my brain click into gear much faster than I anticipated.

Secondly, I realised I was completely unprepared for the speed—touch rugby is based on sprinting and quick movements. This is in stark contrast to almost all of my exercise, which is typically strength training or steady-state cardio.

The juxtaposition of my brain knowing what to do, but my body being a few steps behind, felt odd! But it helped me realise the value of “functional” training that’s outside of our typical routine.

I don’t have hard data or evidence, but it feels logical that frequently stressing the body in new ways is important for longevity.

If you step in mud, do you walk straight into the house?

Probably not.

You likely wipe your shoes on a door mat, and take them off before you go inside.

Mud is obvious. It’s easy to see. And in the grand scheme of things, easy to clean.

But there’s other, less obvious, types of “mud” that we pick up throughout our day—often without even realising it.

It’s the impatience we let get to us in the supermarket line. It’s the snarky comment from someone in the subway. It’s the colleague who refuses to collaborate.

The people we share our homes with don’t need us dragging in the literal and figurative mud of the day.

In the same way we wipe and take off our shoes, is there something you do to stop the figurative mud from entering the house?

More ideas appear on a brisk walk than when staring at a blank screen.

Get out. Get moving. Get used to ideas coming when the subconscious mind has time to work.

When the project is only a plan on a page, we’re still in the harbour.

Rocking the boat is the only way we’ll know if we can handle more than calm waters.

I was flying out of France’s Nice airport earlier this evening. As the Uber pulled into the passenger drop-off lane, there was a big sign saying “Kiss and Fly”.

La bise is an exchange of kisses on the cheek, and is a traditional greeting in France.

It made me smile. It’s an endearing example of taking one’s culture and making it an unexpected, but delightful, part of another experience.

A friend of mine, who lives multiple hours from the nearest coast, has a rule for whenever she’s by the sea.

Go swimming every day. Rain or shine. Hot or cold. Whether you feel like it or not. Almost always, you’ll be glad to have done it.

I call it the salt water rule, and I try to follow it.

I’ve previously shared ‘[The Tail End]’ by Tim Urban, in which one of his points is we have fewer experiences left—such as swimming in the ocean—than we think.

The salt water rule is a simple way to get rid of inertia, and get more out of life. Especially when you apply the principle to more than just swimming in the sea!

Maru worked in architecture for 5 years and taught me to look differently at a city’s skyline.

She taught me to look out for cranes.

The cranes are a proxy for construction and infrastructure investment. Since both are closely and positively correlated with a growing economy, seeing many cranes along the skyline is a simple but reliable heuristic to know if an economy is doing well or poorly.

In your field of work, what are your cranes on the horizon?