Dan's Daily

If you use the word “draft” you could be talking about the first version of a piece of writing, being conscripted to war, the cool breeze that just entered the room, the act of pulling something along, or how deep a boat sits in the water.

When we’re working on hard problems—and we’re the ones closest to the detail—of course we know which draft we’re talking about, but others may not.

Giving them the right context may be the difference between them sensing a cool breeze or thinking they’re going to war.

There are no pathways back to where you came from. But there are many possible pathways that lay ahead.

Inspired today by this image from Tim Urban from Wait But Why.

Change is hard.

It’s easy for families, teams, communities, and countries to get comfortable in the inertia. And once inertia is normal, it’s really hard to shake things up.

But change is also like a muscle: when it’s worked it can become stronger, flexible, and supple.

Progress isn’t built on seismic movements, but rather small, consistent, deliberate changing, tweaking, and crafting.

Imagine you’re at an archery range. It’s an open field, a board is set up about 20 metres away, and the circular target with its red bullseye is in clear view.

Before you let the first arrow loose, the instructor lays out the rules. You learn how to use the bow correctly, how to place and draw back the arrow, you learn how to check around you to make sure you aren’t in anyone’s way.

Once the explanation is over, everything else fades, and you zero in on that red circle in the distance.

But there is one more check you need to do: you need to know what’s behind the target.

Is there a person, animal, or object you could possibly hit? Is someone walking out to collect an arrow they previously shot? Is there an open space for a missed arrow to land safely?

It’s easy to focus only on the target, and forget about the possible consequences if we miss. And in the real world—where things are complex and interdependent—the consequences can be severe when we strive hard to hit a target.

We can work so much we forget to cherish our loved ones. We can win deals that are profitable in the short term, but expose us to risk in the long term. We can hit all our targets but have our teams burnout along the way.

For those of us who love a bullseye and a measurable target, we should remember to think about what’s behind the target.

Culture takes a long time to build. But it can be broken in a moment.

It can take years to grow a team and work together effectively. But a bad egg can change the atmosphere and derail the group in no time.

Relationships and families are built on years of care, trust, and respect. But a hot temper and harsh words can leave scars that don’t go away.

Friendship are often built on years of shared experience and mutual support. But loose lips can break the bonds of trust in a moment.

Almost everything that matters in life takes time to build. Being aware of how easily those things can be broken can serve as inspiration for how we act today.

Charles Townes, Nobel laureate and the inventor of the laser, often told this story:

A rabbit and a beaver are sitting together and admiring the Hoover Dam.

The rabbit asks, “Did you build it?”

The beaver turns to the rabbit and says, “No, but it was based on an idea of mine.”

Ideas are dime a dozen.

Execution is everything.

When I entered the kitchen this morning, I was greeted with a small chirp every minute or so.

I checked the fire alarm, but there was no flashing light or sound.

The chirping continued.

I then stood on a chair, looked atop the kitchen cabinet, and found the source of the noise: the carbon monoxide detector.

I made a mental note to buy another one (carbon monoxide detectors are single-use; being battery-replaceable would put them at greater risk of malfunctioning due to human error). In the meantime, I tried to turn the chirping off. I pressed all the buttons, I tried to open up the device to find a switch, but I had no luck.

So I immediately ordered another and took the current one downstairs to the trash.

As I was walking back upstairs, I realised the manufacturer had created a foolproof system.

Their goal is to keep people safe, and that means having a functioning carbon monoxide detector in every home, and minimising the time a home doesn’t have one when a replacement is required.

The constant chirping meant I wanted to dispose of the device immediately. It didn’t feel right to throw the device away without purchasing a new one first, as I felt I’d be putting Maru and I at risk.

By building in an unavoidable, unstoppable chirping, the foolproof system achieved two things: 1) it stopped me from procrastinating to buy another carbon monoxide detector, and 2) it prevented me from forgetting altogether.

When something is important, build foolproof systems to ensure you never forget.

Not the Bon Jovi kind.

The thing that helped start my blogging journey was a post from Seth Godin called ‘The first 1,000 are the most difficult’.

In this post, Seth describes how getting to 1,000 posts takes about 3 years, and although it’s difficult, it’s an extraordinarily useful habit to build.

I was reminded of the post this morning, and did a quick check to see where I am on the journey to 1,000 posts.

Today is day 589!

Woah, I’m (over) halfway there!

I can unequivocally say that it’s made my life better. It’s helped me pay more attention to what’s going on around me, it’s helped me build a habit of trying to turn my loose perspectives into semblances of cogent thought (or at least I try!), and it’s helped me meet a generous, thoughtful group of people from around the world.

I’m not going to end with a strong recommendation that you start—that’s not my thing—but if you’re considering it, or if you ever start, I’ll be here to cheer you on, as others have done for me.

Peter Drucker once said, “If you can’t measure it, you can’t improve it.”

But what happens when things are hard to measure?

For our health, this could be body fat percentage, protein intake, or increases in strength training.

In our work, this could be how we’re improving our communication, or supporting other members of our team.

In our homes, this could be how empathetic we’re being to those we care about most.

Some things are either 1) impossible to measure (e.g., love), or 2) take a lot of effort to measure (e.g., tracking calories).

So, what then?

This is when direction beats precision.

If we can measure something well enough to understand it’s general direction—or trend—over time, then that’s usually good enough. We don’t gain much from the added precision.

When I lost 10kgs about 3 years ago, I used callipers to measure my skin folds to track my change in body fat percentage. The callipers would never be able to tell me my exact body fat percentage at a single moment in time, but after measuring for a few weeks, I was able to see that I was travelling in the desired direction.

When things are hard to measure, life gets easier when we focus more on direction than on precision.

The price of copper is currently at a 10 year high.

This is a good thing.

Copper is primarily used in the production of industrial machinery and in electronics.

Given much of our world is runs on these machines, the price of copper tends to be a reliable indictor of economic health.

In this case, it shows manufacturers are buying raw materials, investing in production, and it’s a likely sign we’re heading towards a recovery.

Although indicators are not always accurate, they can give us a helpful directional view of what’s to come.

Let’s hope this indicator is right!

Isaac Asimov published more than 500 books in his lifetime. He won every award available to a science fiction writer. He’s even responsible for coining the term “robotics”.

People often wondered how he could produce so much at such a high quality.

Well, Asimov would wake up at 06:30 every day, and write until midday. He’d repeat this every day.

Once, when an interview asked how he did it, he just replied, “Well, I do nothing else.”

Another time, when he was asked about how he got into the right frame of mind, he replied, “Before I can possibly begin writing, it is always necessary for me to turn on my electric typewriter and to get close enough to it so that my fingers can reach the keys.”

Magic happens when we turn up every day, with exceptional focus, and consistently practice our craft. Eventually those little steps will turn into progress.

I broke a glass in the kitchen the other day.

It happened in the middle of busy day, and I got frustrated at the sweeping, discarding, and vacuuming that followed.

I had no reason to get frustrated, though.

Here’s why.

When we buy glassware, we agree to an implicit contract: when we eventually drop one and it breaks, we need to do the clean up.

If we aren’t prepared to do the clean up, we should’ve bought plastic glasses instead.

This is a simple example, but we enter into implicit contracts all the time.

Choosing to watch that extra episode on Netflix means we implicitly agree to being a little less focused in tomorrow’s afternoon meeting.

Joining that sports teams means we implicitly agree to turn up to training even when it’s cold and raining.

Choosing to pursue a career in a distant land means we implicitly agree to miss out on some of life’s special moments.

How much of life, then, happens implicitly?

Here’s a news heading from 1995 for you: “Internet may be just a passing fad as millions give up on it.”

With the benefit of hindsight, it’s easy to see the folly of this article. What may have been a legitimate point-of-view at the time, has been disproven by the billions of internet users we have today.

I love looking back at history—both recent and distant—and imagining what we’re doing today that will seem crazy in the future.

I’m thinking crypto, artificial intelligence, and virtual reality, right through to a thriving colony on Mars.

What else is on your list?

In their mind, it was a generous act.

In their mind, they only did it because they care.

In their mind, they didn’t mean to offend.

It’s easy to find fault in the actions of others, but before judging, it’s helpful to take a moment and think about what could’ve been in their mind.

Their intentions are usually good, and that can make all the difference in how we choose to respond.

When Carl Benz made the first German car, it was still against the law to drive one, there were no petrol stations, and there were no proper roads.

When Johannes Gutenberg invented the mechanical moveable-type press, there were no bookstores, and no one knew how to read.

So what did these men see that everyone else missed? What world did they imagine that others thought impossible?

Driving a car, or reading a book, feels banal today, but at some point in history these ideas were outrageous.

And perhaps, a few hundred years from now, when there is a thriving colony on Mars, they’ll look back on our time like we look back on Benz and Gutenberg.

For that to happen, it requires people to take action when it makes no sense.