Blog

When I was 9 years old, I played a game with friends called “The Prickle or The Green”.

This simple game has some surprising learnings about the art of decision making. Here’s how it worked.

Two competitors stand at the front side of a house (think farm house with a wide amount of space surrounding it).

One of the competitors kicks a rugby ball over the roof from the front yard to the back yard.

As soon as the ball is kicked, the competitors race around the house, and the first person to collect the ball gains a point. The game is repeated until one person reaches 5 points. At this point, they win the match.

Now, this game may seem a little lame, until you learn that this particular house, on this particular farm, had two ways to get from the front yard to the back yard: the Prickle or the Green.

The Prickle was the faster route, but you needed to contend with, you guessed it, prickles or small thorns.

However, the Green, despite being an easy run across the lush grass, required the runner to cover a much larger distance.

The trade-off looked like this.

If you were fast, the Green was generally your best bet. At the very least, it was the pain-free path.

However, if speed wasn’t on your side, the Prickle gave you a shot at winning, but you’d need to endure the prickles that would cover your feet.

It’s was a simple game, with a simple trade-off, and that’s why it’s an interesting model for thinking through decisions.

Here are some of the lessons from the game that apply in broader contexts:

1. Before you begin, size your opponent, task, or challenge; have a clear idea of what it is you’re up against
2. Assess the probability of winning with a given strategy (the Prickle or the Green)
3. Once you’ve picked a strategy, you need to commit. Turning around and going back is certain failure, so you need to see it out until the end and adjust your tactics in the next game
4. No pathway forward guarantees success. You either take the long and safe road, or the thorny, fast route. Both have their risks.

We’re often faced with trade-offs that can be boiled down to two competing alternatives; much similar to the Prickle or the Green.

When looking at a world map, our eyes instantly focus on landmass.

We’re usually hunting for a route between two places, or perhaps we’re looking for a new country to explore.

Almost none of our attention is given to the ocean; yet the ocean accounts for 71% of the earth’s surface.

This habit of ours got me thinking: what if we approached problem solving in the same way we approach maps?

What if we only focused on 29% of the known problem space? What if we ignored the other 71% because it’s outside our experience or realm of understanding?

Unless you’re a sailor, there are no consequences to ignoring the oceans. However, when working on complex problems, there are severe consequences to focusing on a limited part of the problem space.

Looking at the whole map, the whole world, and the whole space, helps us navigate more effectively when compared with focusing only on that which we know.

H/T to Maru for helping me think differently about how we look at our oceans and maps

While traveling the Mississippi River, we had both a fuel tank for our outboard motor and a battery system for our electronics.

Petroleum and electricity don’t mix well, so in our design we kept the tank and the battery on separate sides of the boat.

Both powerful. Both essential. Both useful. But both better, and safer, when separate.

Sometimes lumping two good things together isn’t the best path forward.

Fish and steak rarely go well together, but are heavy hitters when served separately.

Two decisive leaders charged with making decisions for the same team can lead to more harm than good. But when deployed to two different teams, magic can happen.

There is such a thing as too much of a good thing.

It’s the role of the leader, manager, designer, architect, mechanic, engineer, artist, parent, or teacher to recognise and select for a balance of strengths in any situation.

Today was the first time this autumn I was struck by the changing colour of the leaves.

On our walk through Primrose Hill and Regents Park, I began reflecting on how our natural surroundings are a gentle reminder of change.

They shape-shift imperceptibly until, one day, they pop, and we notice we’re in a new reality.

It’s colder. It’s warmer. We’ve made new friends. Created memories with old ones. Changed jobs. Read new books. Learnt new skills. Tried new cuisines.

Much happens against the backdrop of the budding, browning, and falling leaves.

It’s nice to have nature be a reminder to reflect back on all that has changed this year.

Crossing the road in London is a dangerous affair.

Congested streets. Narrow gaps. Hurried drivers.

Add unaware pedestrians to that mix, and you’ve got a dangerous cocktail.

I was waiting to cross the road earlier this week; 7 others were waiting for the red man to turn green too.

One gentleman in the group spotted a slender gap and walked out before we got the green light. 3 of his friends followed suit.

A car approached, quicker than expected, and surprised the group of 4. It required them to run to escape the oncoming car.

The actions of one, amplified by the herd mentality, ended up putting all 4 in danger.

This moment brought me back to a thought I’ve been pondering frequently: why do we sometimes risk a lot to gain a little?

I’ve been experimenting with pausing at the beginning of every meeting and asking, “What does success look like at the end of this session?”

It’s easy to 1) assume everyone is on the same page, and 2) jump immediately into the detail.

But the world, and our projects, are complex. All too often meetings end up in rabbit holes, or spiralling off into arcane detail.

This simple habit has helped bring focus to conversations, because we’ve agreed on what the end goal looks like. When we veer off-track, the collective agreement made at the beginning of the meeting pulls us back.

What’s the cost of not asking this question?

Autumn is in full swing and acorns are falling to the ground in droves.

We recently bought a vase to watch an acorn grow into a oak tree sapling over the course of a year.

Our goal with this green-fingered project is to watch a powerful analogy unfold before our eyes.

When an acorn falls, its chance of survival is minimal. Almost all acorns are eaten within days by squirrels and mice. The vast majority are unlikely to be anything more than “could-be oak trees”.

Despite this challenge, an acorn has all the potential to become a grand oak. It has the power to one day provide shade, to house, and to feed animals for many years.

Most lives, ideas, projects, and dreams start small; they’ve got lots of potential, but little else. Through our acorn, we hope to watch the little guy defy the odds.

This is the best “About Me” page on the internet.

It’s author, Derek Sivers, is irreverent, inspirational, and sharp. When you reach the end of it, you understand his schtick.

Whether you agree or disagree with how he lives his life, you can’t deny his self-awareness.

He has such clarity in 1) what he believes in, 2) what he wants out of life, and 3) how he differs and departs from societal norms.

It’s a refreshing primer into the mind of a greater thinker.

Steve Hansen, the coach of the All Blacks, is the international rugby coach with the highest winning percentage of all time, at an extraordinary 88% or 91 wins from 104 games.

However, I recently learnt a surprising fact about his coaching career that shines a new light on the man.

While Steve Hansen was coach for the Welsh rugby team from 2002-2004, he pre-sided over a record 11 consecutive international losses. Following this, Hansen did not seek to renew his contract. He moved back to New Zealand and took an assistant coaching position at the All Blacks.

Given this, I can only imagine what kind of mental battle Hansen had to fight when he took the helm of the All Blacks in 2011.

I wonder if he dealt with imposter syndrome? Did his previous record feel like a skeleton in the closet? What about the palpable pressure of a rugby obsessed nation that isn’t used to losing?

Regardless of what Hansen felt back in 2011, his record has proven he has the chops to be one of the all-time great rugby coaches. He clearly hasn’t let his past define the professionalism and dedication he has brought to his role as All Black’s coach.

And his story is not yet finished. Hansen has a chance to write history by taking the All Blacks to a third consecutive World Cup victory in the coming 3 weeks.

Okay, sorry, I promise, the rugby related posts won’t persist for too much longer.

Jack Ma, the founder of Alibaba, summarised one interesting aspect about being a billionaire in a talk he gave at the World Economic Forum.

He said despite the riches, you can only ever sleep in one bed each evening, eat three meals a day, or wear one set of clothes at a time.

Wealth may scale, but our experiences don’t.

It’s a healthy reminder for us each to draw a line in the sand to define “enough”. To decide when (and why) we place experiences and relationships above material wealth.

A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyse a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialisation is for insects. ― Robert A. Heinlein

I love this quote from Robert Heinlein.

When I read it, I can’t help but imagine the person he is writing about. I don’t imagine any specific skill or capability they possess, but rather their rich story and personality. Someone able to do all of the above would have an amazing story to tell.

I also like how Heinlein draws his line in the sand, imploring his readers to be generalists, rather than a specialists. As someone who feels their interests, hobbies, and readings vary widely from year to year, I find solace in his encouragement to be a perpetual generalist.

You can’t go a week in the UK tech scene without hearing about the fierce battle between the challenger digital-only banks, Monzo and Revolut.

Both started around the same time, both have unicorn valuations, both are seen as the leading alternatives to the big incumbent banks.

However, for a while I’ve held the opinion that these two companies are operating with jaw-droppingly divergent strategies, despite the media lumping them both into the same pot.

However, there was no publicly available data that proved or disproved my theory until this week.

Here are (in my opinion) the important facts:

• Revolut isn’t a bank. Their customers use prepaid debit cards, and Revolut operates under an e-money licence rather than being a registered bank. Most of the Revolut customers I know use it for travel, due to the excellent FX features.
• Monzo is a registered bank, where their customers have Visa Debit cards that are linked to Current Accounts. Monzo’s services have a much greater focus on budgeting and spending categorisation.

Revolut, like many other start-ups in the era of fast flowing VC capital, is trying to scale as quickly as possible. They are doing this using the prepaid card model, as its easier and faster for customers to sign up to prepaid cards compared to a Current Accounts. Revolut has already scaled to over 30 countries.

Monzo, on the other hand, has not been growing as fast as Revolut, is still predominantly UK focused, and is concentrated on creating a great daily banking experience.

So what’s the data that came out this week?

• Revolut has 7 million customers with 1.1 million (16%) daily active users, and with £58 million per year in revenue
• Monzo has 3 million customers with 1.7 million (57%) daily active users, and with £9 million per year in revenue

So what was my theory?

Monzo is focused on creating dedicated long-term loyal customers, whereas Revolut is focused on getting as big as possible, as fast as possible.

The difference in daily active users confirms the divergence in strategy.

My bet is one of them will eventually pull ahead of the other due to either 1) a long term customer growth and retention advantage, or 2) more favourable long-term defensible margins. I don’t believe both firms will survive.

One fun part about blogging is being able to make public bets on what will happen, and to look back in the future on what happened.

We’ll see.

“He’s more dangerous than climate change,” shouted the commentator as South African rugby player, Cobus Reinach, sprinted past two Canadian defenders to score in a World Cup match this week.

I couldn’t believe my ears.

It was the first moment I realised the Climate Crisis has truly permeated into our global consciousness, so much so that it has even creeped into sporting commentary.

However, it felt like a forced remark; like the commentator planned it before the game, knowing it was going to be a soundbite, and pounced at the first opportunity to use it.

Part of the Climate Crisis becoming a “normal” topic of conversation, means it will also be subject to comments that trivialise it’s danger to humanity.

I didn’t realise that this was even a risk until today.

This daily blogging project is a journey, and I’m a firm believer that journeys are better when shared.

Thus, I’m deliberate about using the collective “we” when writing these posts.

If I write in the second person “you”, it runs the risk of sounding like a lecture, rather than a shared learning experience.

I much prefer discovering, pondering, sharing, and discussing these thoughts together.

The journey is so much richer for your dialogue on the posts that resonate. So, thank you!

There is an ancient Chinese proverb that says if you don’t change your direction, you may end up where you are heading.

It’s a pithy, tongue-in-cheek reminder to be deliberate.

Whether we change direction or not, we’ll still move towards a destination. It’s our job to figure out where.