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I spotted the below sign in an independent pasta restaurant earlier this evening.

It’s opinionated, tongue-in-cheek, and filled with personality.

The place really cares about making good pasta. They don’t just serve great dishes, they also coat the rest of the restaurant with the same attitude. I liked it!

Note: I needed to ask the waiter the meaning behind “pasta shapes will not be treated equally”. He told me it’s a comment on how each individual piece is handmade, so they’ll never be equal in size.

I came across this interesting NY Times article from 1922: 5-day, 40-hour work for Ford employees.

There was a time when the norm was to work for 6 days per week, 8 hours per day. However, the Ford Motor Company set a precedent for a 5-day working week, and others followed.

It got me thinking about whether a “giant” of today may make the same move for a 4-day working week.

I don’t think so, but I know anecdotally from people that work 4-days per week or compressed hours (40 hours in 4 days), that fewer days focuses them, and that more time with family over the weekend is cherished.

The email address that begins with dontreply@ speaks volumes.

It says we can talk to you, but you can’t talk to us.

It says we have something we need to tell you, but you get no say in the matter; no chance to reply.

It says our voice is more valuable than yours.

Companies with dontreply@ email addresses communicate a much deeper message than what’s in the email.

I’m gravitating toward reading opinion pieces rather than run-of-the-mill news articles.

So much of news journalism nowadays is syndicated from the major publications. The articles feel less thoughtful, perhaps spurred on by the transition to digital news and the prioritisation of volume over quality.

Opinion pieces on the other hand take a stance. They encourage debate. They are imbued with the style of the writer. The opinion piece puts itself in a position where it invites critique, and that pushes our collective thinking forward on a topic through both agreement and respectful disagreement.

Two of the big mobile phone carriers in the UK—O2 and Virgin Mobile—merged recently. An error in their billing handoff meant that I spent 4 hours on the phone with them today sorting through the issue.

I spent >80% of the time on hold, and 2 out of every 3 calls were dropped. When I was finally able to get through to an agent, I was thrown around like a hot potato between the organisations.

The whole process was evidence of a lack of thought and care for the customer. They simply didn’t care enough. It’s possible to build great user experiences, it just takes time and deliberate care when doing so.

The harder we work on a problem, the more likely we are to convince ourselves that our solution is right.

Even if we’re wrong.

So, as the volume of work and effort increases, we need to simultaneously increase the hurdle that our ideas and plans need to cross.

Travelling east is much harder than travelling west. To get into time zone, travelling east requires you to go to bed earlier than you normally would. Whereas travelling west requires you to stay up later than you normally would.

I try not to get frustrated with the difference. It’s physics after all. It’s better to accept it, adapt to it, and most of all, learn not to fight it.

You can attempt to solve a Rubik’s cube by trial and error, but the probability is low, and you’ll be at it for a long time.

However, algorithms exist that help us solve the cube. An algorithm is a set of repeatable steps that when executed with precision will lead to a desired output.

Whilst you’re executing the algorithm, the rest of the cube will look like a jumbled mess. It requires trust in the process.

The Rubik’s cube has many hidden lessons for how we approach the challenges in our daily lives.

Some of you who have followed this blog for a while know that one of my hobbies is simulated racing. I have a low-budget setup at home, and compete in an online league that races monthly.

I’ve been working out of Meta’s Burlingame office this week in Northern California, and one of the cool things about this office is the Immersion Arcade. It’s a space where you can try a bunch of high-end VR gaming and simulation experiences. There is a flight simulator, a VR-treadmill so you can literally run when playing a game, and a racing rig.

I sat down in the seat, put on the seat belts (yes, you need seat belts!), and popped on the headset. I was instantly transported to the Silverstone Circuit in the UK and was in the driver’s seat of a Mercedes-AMG GT3.

The direct drive wheel, the load cell pedals, the VR headset, and the motion cockpit meant that as I accelerated out of corners, or braked going into them, my whole body was thrown forward, backwards, or to the side to simulate what a driver feels in real life. Within 10 minutes, I was already feeling nauseous and had to pause.

That racing rig is well out of range of my personal budget range, but I was thrilled I got to try out what a high-end simulator feels like. For now though, I’ll stick with my non-nauseating setup.

It’s a hard problem, and someone has put together a plan to solve it.

People read the plan, and in a tentative tone someone says, “Well, it sounds reasonable.”

I want more than reasonable.

I want conviction. Commitment. And a line drawn in the sand.

A luke warm plan has never sat well with me.

I’ve recently been discussing the concept of ‘convincing failure’ with my colleagues

It was first shared as a post by Boz, CTO at Meta.

The idea is that there are two types of failure: abject failure and convincing failure.

How do these two failure types work in practise?

Let’s say a team has penned down their strategy, and now it’s time to execute.

If the team executes poorly—they mismanage, are distracted, and don’t follow the plan—this is an abject failure.

However, if you execute to a high standard, one where it’d be “unlikely that another team, even with more time and effort, could succeed”, that’s a convincing failure. Under this scenario, perfect execution of the plan let’s you know that you got your strategy wrong, and you can learn something meaningful for the next iteration, project, or venture.

It’s a helpful way to frame up potential outcomes. Failure is OK, but make sure it’s a convincing failure.

Don’t worry about asking a “dumb question”.

Be earnest. And thoughtful. And try to learn something today that you didn’t know yesterday.

Confidence in our curiosity sets the tone for others to follow.

Airport restaurants are not known for their quality of food or service.

They can get away with mediocre products because customers don’t have other options. The buyer / seller relationship is based on one of circumstance and convenience; not loyalty and fandom.

Compare that to the local coffee shop where the regulars are greeted by name and the barista begins to make their order the moment they walk through the door.

Where there is accountability, the team and products are incentivised to rise to the occasion.

I’ve found myself reflecting multiple times in the past year on how grateful I am that my mum taught me to read simple sentences and do basic arithmetic before I started school.

I can’t understate how helpful it was in forming a positive internal narrative that “I was good at this school stuff”.

Although I was never the smartest in the class, she set off a chain reaction of virtuous cycles that carried me through primary school. It wasn’t about being “the best”, it was about building an internal confidence that no matter what the subject, I had the capacity to learn it.

Momentum begets momentum, and getting started today almost always makes tomorrow easier.

The days can melt into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years.

There are many benefits to daily writing, but one of them is to notice.

When ‘curiosity mode’ is by default ‘on’, because I’m looking for something useful to share, I end up looking at—and experiencing—the world with a more open mind.

The point is to notice, and to continue to do it every day.