I’ve posted before about desire paths, which is “a path created as a consequence of erosion caused by foot traffic” rather than by design.
I love them.
They’re a subtle, collective protest. They’re evidence that a group of humans—who have never met—can agree that there is a better way to travel than the footpath.
Whenever I see a desire path, I feel compelled to walk it.
I want to contribute to, extend, and solidify its existence.
Desire paths are a reminder that there’s always another way.
It’s easy to tell when someone is pretending to listen, but they’re really just waiting for a chance to reply.
Their facial expression is often the giveaway. Sometimes they look a little distant, like they’re lost in thought. Sometimes they look plain impatient, having already disconnected with what the current speaker is saying.
I too am sometimes guilty of preparing my own reply before someone else has had a chance to finish. There’s never a good reason for this, and by writing about it, it’s a helpful reminder-to-self to keep working at it.
Listen to others as you’d like them to listen to you.
I used to get crippled by seasickness.
I remember being 9-years-old, looking down at the churning waves, and feeling my stomach turning in knots.
I’d try to lay down to stop my head from spinning, but it only made things worse.
It wasn’t until I was 19 that I got over my seasickness.
“Look at the horizon, and don’t take your eyes off it,” I was told.
An unwavering focus on the flat, immovable horizon helped bring a calm to my mind and stomach.
Whether you’re on a boat or not, where are your eyes focused today? Down at the waves, or out at the horizon?
When facing a problem, we’re addicted to addition.
We add new processes at work. We add new features to products. We add more rules to keep schools, organisations, and societies in check.
But what about subtraction?
I recently came across this great piece of research where study participants were given a simple problem solving experiment: “In the below structure, a roof is supported by a pillar at one corner of a building. When a brick is placed on top, the roof will collapse onto the figurine. Researchers asked study participants to stabilise the structure so that it would support the brick above the figurine, and analysed the ways in which participants solved the problem.”
The study found that participants consistently consider additive solutions, when subtractive solutions are 1) available, and 2) are more efficient.
And it wasn’t because people didn’t see the value in subtractive solutions, it’s because they didn’t even consider them in the first place.
This has some profound lessons for our every-day decision making.
Yesterday’s post—about how training a team can feel costly, but it doesn’t compare to the cost of not training them—got me thinking about how easy it is to confuse tangible and intangible value.
Take standard of living and quality of life, for example.
At first glance, they look and feel similar. But when we dig a little deeper, their differences are stark.
Standard of living is a monetary measure. In general, as income increases, so does the standard of living. It’s tangible.
However, quality of life is different.
We can’t put a price on our relationships. We can’t estimate how acting with integrity allows us to have a peaceful night’s sleep. We can’t quantify, at least precisely, how having a calm mind and a fit body impacts all other parts of our lives.
It’s a theme I’ve been pondering a lot recently: not everything of value can be measured, and just because it’s intangible, it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be optimising for it.
Training feels expensive.
There’s a lot of organising, preparing materials, and practising presentations. Not to mention the time attendees spend in the training, and the lost opportunity to make progress on other projects.
However, training only feels expensive because it easy to calculate the costs.
The alternative, which is the cost of not training, is impossible to measure.
What’s cost of future mistakes due to a lack of training?
What’s the lost time due to inefficient processes? What’s the lost sales due to sales staff who don’t know the product? What’s churn due to team members who haven’t been coached to put the customer first?
Training is cheap compared to the cost of not training.
It’s a common conversation starter: if you could pick any superpower, what would you choose?
The usual culprits appear quickly: the ability to fly, telekinesis, and mind control.
I find mind control interesting.
The first thing that comes to mind is controlling the thoughts and behaviours of others.
But we’ve already got this superpower: the ability to control our own minds.The opportunity to wake up each day and determine how we perceive the world, decide how we act, and work out how we respond to circumstances we can’t change, that’s mind control.
There are too many things to do. I can’t complete them all. The workload is unmanageable.
We’ve all heard it before: there’s not enough time.
Is it really a lack of time, or just a lack of direction?
The yacht may be fast and cover a lot of ground, but a 1 degree change in direction, and given enough time, the yacht will end up miles from its destination.
We’re used to expiration dates on our food.
That’s normal.
So why don’t we have expiration dates elsewhere?
What if we had them for:
It’s easy to start something new, to add a new process or routine, because “something new” feels like progress.
But progress can also be made by removing the dead wood—even if the journey to get there can be a little painful.
I recently came across this stunning elevation-based map of the USA.
I never knew how lonely the Appalachian Mountains are out east, how densely packed the western mountain ranges are, and just how much of the middle of the US is flat land.
It’s also a great lesson about how you can stare at something your whole life, and in a single moment, a single image can change your perspective—if you’re open to seeing it.
In April 2020, the UK had just gone into lockdown, and there weren’t enough tests to go round.
If you had symptoms of Coronavirus, you were told to stay at home and self-isolate.
Today, the government announced a plan for all England residents—about 56 million people—to take 2 tests each week. The tests will provide results within 30 minutes, be freely available via testing sites, pharmacies, and the post, and most importantly, they’ll be free.
1 year on, the testing landscape couldn’t look more different.
It’s a population sized example—and lesson—of measuring what matters, and making decisions accordingly.
Once the book is written and published, the author has said their piece.
Then, it’s our turn.
If it’s a book worth reading, and we read it passively, we do the author a disservice.
We owe it to them to understand their point of view, analyse its place within ours, and articulate if and why we agree or disagree.
Reading should be a strain—a wrestling match. The effortful read is worth the reward.
I haven’t left London for over a year. And in that time, I only ventured further than 10kms from home on one occasion.
However, that changed yesterday when I went out to Windsor Great Park. It was sitting in the sun with a fresh sandwich, feeling the sun on my face, and getting out of the city, that helped me realise spring is on the way, and that we’ll soon be opening up.
Over 50% of people in the UK have received the first dose of the vaccine, and freedom feels closer with each day.
Wherever you’re reading this, I’m wishing you a speedy and safe return to normalcy. Hang in there, it’s not too far away!
Being busy isn’t the same thing as adding value.
It’s worth reminding ourselves of this when things get hectic.
Pare it back, focus only on that which is essential, and rest when you get tired; no one makes good decisions, or is creative, when they’re fatigued.
It’s going to take longer than you think.
It’ll be messier.
It’ll be more complicated.
It’ll be harder to get agreement.
It’ll be confusing.
It’ll be wrong, before it’s right.
It’ll be incomplete, before it’s a first draft.
But most of the projects worth pursuing are just that.
It’s the challenge that makes it fun.