Dan's Daily

A colleague shared this great blog post from Joel Spolsky from 6 April 2000. Yes, you read that right, from the year 2000!

The post centres around Netscape, and their decision to scrap version 5.0 of their internet browser, in favour of re-writing their entire application. This turned out to be a colossal mistakes.

In the 3 years that they took to perform the re-write, they lost most of their market share to Microsoft. By 2007, Internet Explorer had 77% market share, Firefox had 16%, and Netscape had less than 1%.

Spolsky’s point was that in software development, product teams will often think a complete re-write is going to solve the problem. The code is messy, it’s bloated, and it’s hard to understand. But within that complexity is a tonne of bug fixes, and knowledge, and past hurdles that have been overcome. Throwing all that away is costly. And during the same amount of time it takes to do the re-write, competitors who are shipping new features and quality improvements are either catching up or extending their lead. It’s a great lesson in fighting the allure of the re-write.

What I also loved about this post is how it illustrates the magic of blogging and having your own space on the internet. I love that it was shared with me today—almost 23 years after being posted—and I could still find value and utility in it, and use my own posts to share it onwards with others.

Note: If you’re interested in reading a more detailed history of Netscape, I found this article enlightening.

I use Lastpass for password management. With just one “master password” and two-factor authentication, I have secure access to all my passwords. After using them for almost 7 years, it came as a shock when I received an email last year notifying me about a breach of their systems.

An unknown “threat actor” accessed Lastpass’ development environment in August 2022, and obtained copies of customer data, such as names and billing addresses, as well as customer vault data which contains passwords and other sensitive information. Thankfully, the customer vault data was protected by 256-bit AES encryption, which makes it extremely difficult for the threat actor to access this information.

I’ve liked seeing the monthly email from their CEO updating customers on the investigation and what they’re doing to resolve the situation. Although I’d prefer more frequent updates, the public and personal accountability from the CEO is heartening.

What it taught me is if you’re in the business of protecting people or their assets—whether that be security services, banking, insurance, or passwords—what really matters is how you turn up when the boat capsizes. Obfuscating and hiding the problem is a sure way to erode trust. However, openly taking responsibility makes customers want to give you a second chance; even if there is a hell of a mess to clean up.

Excuse the early-2000s web design, but I want to share the ’Living to 100’ life expectancy calculator.

It’s a set of 40 questions that ask about your health, habits, and family history. It takes 10 minutes to complete and then it estimates your life expectancy.

It also gives you recommendations on what you could do to increase your life expectancy. For example, I don’t get my blood pressure checked regularly, nor do I keep records of them. As a relatively young person, it’s not something I’ve thought too much about. However, including an annual blood pressure check as a preventative measure could increase my life expectancy by 1.5 years due to the increased probability of identifying any high blood pressure risks early.

I know there’s a non-trivial percentage of people who find these types of tools morbid, creepy, and unnecessary. And, of course, these recommendations are based on averages within the population. However, when used as directional guides, these recommendations can be helpful nudges in the right direction.

There is a great visualisation of Blockbuster’s store count across the United States over the 33 years between 1986 and 2019.

Their explosive growth in the second half of the nineties, and their continued dominance until the mid-2000s is impressive. And this was only their US stores!

At the height of Blockbuster’s reign, no one predicted the rise of Netflix and gang. However, as the monthly payments on our credit card statements attest, we were all willing to ditch driving to a store to hire a VHS or DVD.

I love how visualisations like this can depict the growth and decline. In the space of a minute, we can see how even the most dominant power in an industry is vulnerable to innovation and disruption.

Best Before dates shouldn’t exist just for food.

They should also exist for life experiences.

The best time for an extended backpacking trip is when the pack feels light and you can deal with the dirt and inconvenience.

The best time to sprint is in your twenties. To run a marathon: your thirties. And to play lawn bowls: probably a little later in life.

The best time to share knowledge, mentor others, or provide counsel is after you’ve made a few mistakes of your own and learnt from them.

I’m doing a lot of thinking about the experiences I still want to have, and when are the optimal times for those things to happen.

Autopilot, in theory, is a wonderful tool. Set it and forget it. Travel at an exact and constant speed, at the optimal fuel efficiency, and without any human input.

But what happens when…

…the speed limit changes;

…we get tired;

…there’s a storm;

…there are unexpected roadblocks;

…we miss our destination.

These things matter when we’re driving a car, but that’s not my point.

If we’re not deliberate, we can live our lives in autopilot.

That’s the real danger.

One thing I noticed on my recent trip to Malaysia was the number of job advertisements. Walk through any mall, or along a street with retail outlets, restaurants, or cafes, and you’d see posters or banners advertising “competitive salaries”, “generous benefits”, and “great career progression”. They were everywhere.

I remembered back to my university Macroeconomics 101 class and how some level of unemployment—but not too much—is considered healthy for an economy. The reason for this is that if an economy is at “full employment”, or 0% unemployment, then no one is looking for jobs. There will be a huge demand from companies for people, but no supply from workers to meet that demand. The US economy, for reference, tries to maintain a level of unemployment in the 3-5% range; allowing for a healthy amount of movement in the labour market.

So when I saw the number of job advertisements in Malaysia, I guessed they must currently have a relatively low unemployment rate. After some googling, I found out the unemployment rate in November 2022 was 3.6%, down 1% point on November 2021 at 4.6%.

Although Malaysia’s unemployment rate is above the generally accepted “full employment” rate of 3%, Malaysia is very close to the line. It seems my anecdotal observations and the data check out.

I’m not an economist, but a few of you are! I’d love your thoughts on today’s post—my connecting-the-dots is simplistic, and there’s almost certainly nuance that I’ve missed.

In Chess, we start on an equal footing.

In Scrabble, the first seven tiles determine the possible roads ahead.

In Chess, we determine our march from the beginning.

In Scrabble, we respond to the hand we’ve been dealt.

We often make plans like we’re playing Chess. When, more often than not, we’re playing a game filled with chance and serendipity; we’re playing Scrabble.

I’m writing this post from the Piccadilly line on London’s Underground. I’m heading into Central London from Heathrow airport, and I’m on the final stretch of my journey home after almost a month spent in Malaysia with family.

I know how fortunate I am to get to spend every Christmas and New Years (except 2020!) with family who live a world away. I’m also grateful each year for the “London in January” feeling.

My train or car rolls past the terraced houses. Their brick exteriors and puffing chimneys juxtaposed with the grey sky. The cold bites through the opening and closing of the sliding doors at each platform—I smile at the irony of this part of the Underground being above ground where the cold can reach. I’m resigned to the fact that spring is still many months away, and that London’s weather feels artic in comparison to where I’ve come from. There is also a yet-to-be-processed sadness at having said goodbye to family so recently, blended with a bleary-eyed, jet-lag-induced stupor.

Despite the above, the London in January feeling is a good one. I find comfort in this city; in its size, opportunity, and character. I know it’ll take me a a few days, but I’ll feel settled and grounded in this city soon enough.

The London in January feeling always helps me mark out the beginning of a new year.

I once had a fascination with motorcycles. I’ve never owned one, but I took every opportunity to rent them while working in South East Asia in 2014.

I had a scare on a rural, mountainous road in Vietnam that changed my mind. A truck was attempting an overtake of a broken down vehicle at a blind corner. I needed to pull off onto the lip of the road to avoid the truck. The loose gravel, and my inexperience, sent my back wheel sliding out from under me. Despite the bike landing on my ankle, I escaped with only a few grazes and a bit of a hobble for a few days. I got lucky.

From that day on, I no longer felt comfortable with the motorcycle risk / reward trade-off.

Years later my uncle, who loves to ride his thunderous Harley Davidson, said the following about motorcycle crashes, “It’s not if, but when. And crucially, it’s how bad the accident is when it happens.”

That reconfirmed my decision. There are some activities that I’m now completely comfortable self selecting out of.

Whenever there is a “not if, but when” activity, it pays to think deeply about the severity of the consequence should something go wrong.

I’m heading back to the UK tomorrow after one month in Malaysia. I’m definitely going to miss family, food, and the good weather here.

Another thing I’ll miss is seeing my 4-year-old nephew’s growth in vocabulary and conversational reasoning. He’s picked up idioms from all of us and it’s hard to keep a straight face when he now uses them in conversation.

I also love seeing how gentle, clear correction makes a huge difference in how fast he’s learning. My sister (who is a teacher) and her husband, quietly and consistently guide him on the how, what, when, and why of each new phrase. My nephew is extremely receptive to this feedback because it’s a habit that is reinforced daily.

It made me think about how we can provide gentle, clear correction to others—perhaps at work or at home—as well as being open to learning from similarly thoughtful feedback ourselves.

I’ve previously written about the trade-off between price, quality, and time: you can pick two, but you can never have all three.

The All You Can Eat is typically cheap and convenient. But what seems compelling at first sours when we learn our meal is devoid of nutrients.

Whenever a situation seems too good to be true, when it looks like an All You Can Eat, it may pay to wait a bit to see if a surprise trade-off emerges.

My high school drama class sat on the floor in a circle. Our teacher picked up an imaginary box and asked us to pass it round, look inside, and describe what we see.

We were given explicit instructions not to prepare; to respond in the moment and refrain from overthinking.

Despite feeling nervous, our class was repeatedly reminded to trust that “there’s always something in the box”.

Sure enough, our subconscious and creative minds delivered when we let go and let them do their thing.

This idea was reinforced years later when I read Patricia Ryan Madsen’s ‘Improv Wisdom’. Which is a beautiful book about how the principles of improvised theatre can be used in our day-to-day lives.

Trusting that “there’s always something in the box” comes in handy all the time: at work, at home, and whenever I sit down to write a post.

There are games that matter, and games that don’t. The ones that matter are few. The ones that don’t are many.

I’m instinctively competitive, so the above doesn’t come naturally to me.

I want to win. All the time.

Today I played my first round of golf in almost 10 years. On the first few holes, I felt the competitiveness bubble up, along with the frustration of being a terrible hit.

It wasn’t until the fourth or fifth hole that I realised getting overly competitive was futile. This “game” didn’t matter.

Ironically, the less I tried and the less I cared, the more I relaxed I became, and my shots slowly started to improve.

I chuckled to myself as I reflected on my lessons for the day: (1) to only care about the few games that really matter, and (2) the inverse relationship between trying too hard and successful outcomes—a calm, poised, confident, and relaxed approach often carry us to better results.

The first draft can always fit on a single piece of A4 paper.

The answer to any problem. The structure for any story. The plan for any journey.

The constraint of an A4 sheet forces us to get clear on what matters most.

When the task seems big, pull out a single piece of A4. No more, no less, trust yourself, and see what happens.