johnmaconline

Humans run an average of 7 mph and up to 20-ish mph if they’re being chased over a short distance. I assume we’ve been running for our entire existence. 

Horses run an average of 30 mph. Humans started riding horses around 5000 years ago. 

Trains became the primary mode of long-distance travel in the 19th century. By the early 20th century, they were averaging speeds of 55 mph. Today, the Shanghai Maglev operates at 267 mph every day. 

Most cars could go over 55 mph by the 1930s. However, it wasn’t until the 1950s that the majority of the road infrastructure enabled this and higher speeds. Now, we travel routinely at 70+ mph.

The Ford Trimotor, one of the earliest commercial aircraft, first flew in 1925 and had a cruising speed of about 100 mph. Today, you’re traveling an average of 500 mph through the sky. 

The best way to understand speed is to look to the side. The objects you see and how you see them are defined by your speed and their relative distance to you. 

On the maglev train (I’ve been on this train. It’s crazy.), anything within 100 feet of the track is unseeable — just a blur. But look out toward the tall buildings across the city, and they just slowly march by. 

As you travel at 500 mph across the sky at 40000 feet, the quilted patchwork of the country and tight-knit circuit boards of the cities crawl slowly past you on the ground. 

Driving 40 mph down the country road, each mailbox zips by as an unseen blur, but the tree-filled hills in the distance stand almost still as the barns just a few hundred yards away slide between the mailboxes and the hills at their own in-between pace.

Run down that same country road, and now each and every mailbox shows its own unique personality. The barns and the hills sit together as stationary overseers.

Today’s world provides a myriad of paces at which you can take it all in. The pace at which you travel provides perspective. Because perspective isn’t just about what is. It’s also about how you see it.

Whatever your pace at any given moment, don’t forget to look. 

I finally started putting all the lessons together, as well as learning the last couple during my third semester.

It wasn’t perfect, and I still had a ways to go to perfect them, but I cracked 3.00 for the semester with a 3.01. That gave me 2.76 as I applied to be an Electrical Engineering major. I was nervous. In fact, I had started to work on what would happen if I didn’t get in.

I don’t know where I was ranked. I may have been the very last out of 300. But I got in. And now, I’ve spent over 30 years working in the tech industry as an Electrical and Software engineer. I can’t imagine what my career would have been without it.

I never got my cumulative GPA over 3.00. My high water mark was 2.99, and I graduated with 2.96. But it was enough. Later, I went on to get a master’s degree in EE. By then, I had armed myself with the lessons of my best learning methods, which paid off right from the first class. I graduated with a 3.65.

Part of growing up for me was learning that my capabilities aren’t fixed. Success or progress isn’t just about talent or inherent ability. It’s about learning, growing, and putting the work in to get better.

Learning itself is a skill. Once I learned how to learn, I filled my quiver with a bunch of arrows.

I learned the most valuable lesson of how I learn during my third semester.

This was the most critical semester yet because it was the last set of grades to go into my cumulative GPA prior to major entrance. I had piled up some spectacularly mediocre grades so far. With an A- in a four-credit Physics II class over the summer, I was now at a 2.64 GPA. 

Unfortunately, I was taking the hardest math course I had ever, or would ever take — Math 250: Differential Equations. 

I struggled right out of the gate, but within a few weeks, I was regularly working with a friend of mine (thanks to the lesson I learned about conferring with others). And he introduced me to the best lesson of all — go talk to the professor.

I can remember exactly one professor’s name from my entire college career: Dr. Crichton Ogle (now at Ohio State — the traitor), assistant professor of Math. My professor for DiffEq. 

Every Tuesday, after the first few weeks, my friend Mike and I visited him in his office hours. He patiently spent an hour or more each time giving us his undivided attention and working through our individual struggles. His attention and care is the only reason that I not only passed but semi-thrived. I came out of that class almost sort of knowing what I was doing.

At the end of the semester, he invited Mike and me to be his guests at another math professor’s house for a little gathering of professors and some special student guests. We were his guests. It was, quite frankly, an honor. 

The lesson I learned is that professors are people, and many of them care. Go see them. They’ll help you. They want to help you. They want you to succeed. 

I came out of that class with a B. The only reason was Dr. Ogle and the fact that I went to talk to him. 

I came out of my first full year of college reeling. Even after putting my mind to getting better, I had done worse my second semester.

I knew I was in trouble because in the late 80s in Penn State engineering, you applied for your specific major (EE in my case) after your third semester — 40-60 credits into your college career. To get into EE, I would need to be in the top 300 applicants. I didn’t know how many were applying, but I knew it was more than 300. I had to figure this out.

My third semester included my first course specific to my intended major — Computer Engineering 271: Digital Design. Even though I had been writing computer programs since 4th grade, I had zero ideas how the hardware operated. This course would be my first step on what would eventually be my career journey.

One month in, I was flailing. I didn’t understand the terminology, the symbols, or even the basic concepts of boolean logic. And I was really trying. I just didn’t get it.

The week before the first mid-term, a guy I met in class invited me to a group study session. I had never studied or even worked together like this before. Certainly not in high school. I was hesitant, but I went.

A group of five of us sat around a table and collectively worked through a bunch of the practice problems. At first, I was silent because I was self-conscious about my ignorance. But then, the smartest person at the table said to the group, “OK, I don’t get this one here…”

And the veil came down.

It seems simple; dumb even. But I was too embarrassed by my lack of understanding to even open my mouth until that very point. We studied together for a couple of hours, and I started asking my own questions. I came away from that single session having learned more than the previous month of lecture and solitary struggle. 

I had unlocked the next lesson on learning how to learn. 

Confer with your classmates. Study with your classmates. If you don’t understand a problem, work through it together. I still ended with a C in this class, but I felt like I had made a turn.

Disobeying this one almost sunk me.

Heading to the backend of the second semester of my freshman year, I had started to figure out some things about how I learn best, but I was about to learn the most important one.

Finals week was upon me, and it was a killer. I limped in with a C in both Calc II and Physics, both four-credit classes, and needed a win on each of those final exams to boost my grade. I took the Calculus test early in the week. Meh. I didn’t know my grade, but I knew I didn’t hit it out of the park. Next up was Physics at 8 am on Thursday. I had to nail this one.

One thing I’ve always known about myself when taking tests — I have to be well-rested. A clear head from a good night’s sleep always serves me better than cramming until the last second. Many fellow students pulled all-nighters regularly, but it wasn’t normally my thing for studying.

Wednesday night found me reeling and unconfident. Around midnight, I thought about packing it in and relying on a good night’s sleep. But I decided to keep going and work on more problems. Finally, around 3 am, I couldn’t do it anymore. I set my alarm for 5 to get a two-hour nap before picking it up again. 

The next thing I knew, my clock read 8:13.

I don’t know if I didn’t set it correctly or if I woke up and, in a stupor, turned it off and went back to sleep, but regardless, I had already missed the beginning of the test. I jumped up, threw on clothes, and ran out towards Eisenhower Auditorium, normally a 15-minute walk from my dorm.

Each semester, about 800 students enroll in freshman physics (Phys 201). Eisenhower seats about 2500, which is why we’re taking this test in this room. This is a monster course with no ability for personal attention or excuses. Here’s your score. Here’s the mean. Here’s your grade. Black and white.  

I arrived right around 8:25, and immediately ran towards the stage of the giant room to plead my case to the professor. To my surprise, I wasn’t the only one! Three other students were already pleading their case for more time due to oversleeping. I piled on.

But to no avail. He denied each one of us. He’d be collecting all tests at exactly 9:30.

I grabbed a test and ran to the first seat I could find, having wasted another 5 – 10 minutes. Needless to say, I didn’t get it done. Plus, I wasn’t at my best on the finished ones.

I failed. The only time in my life I’ve ever failed any graded test. The failed final gave me a D in the class. In engineering, you need C in physics or you must retake it. When I got my final grade and saw the D, I tried to contact the professor and plead my case again. Didn’t work. 

Not only would I be repeating Physics 201, but my second semester GPA was a 2.4, giving me a cumulative GPA of 2.5.

I was going in the wrong direction. 

My first semester punched me in the face. 

I had never seen a C before on a report card, let alone a sub-3.00 cumulative average. I now had a couple of lessons under my belt, but as it would turn out, not nearly enough.

My two best friends were also engineers, but they were hoping to be mechanical. They lived a couple of doors down from me. Aside from the halo of 15 guys that all hung around together, the three of us were peas in a pod. Unfortunately, even though we needed to take several of the same classes, we weren’t on the same schedule. 

About halfway through the semester, I’m struggling with two classes in particular — Math 141 (Calculus II) and Physics 201. But I’m trying. I’m going to class and trying to do the work, but its hard. Hard material and hard for me to concentrate. I’m easily distracted in a dorm full of my best friends.

One evening, I walk down the hall to my buddy’s room. Knock. They’re not there. Now that I think about it, they’ve been gone just about every evening recently. Where the heck are they going?

Later that night, I find them in the room and pose the question, “Where the heck have you guys been going at night?”

“Um…Well…We’ve been going elsewhere to study.”

“What? Where? How come you didn’t tell me?”

“Because we can’t study here. We can’t concentrate. It’s too distracting. And to be honest, you were part of the problem.”

Ooof.

I probably blinked at them for a few seconds while that sunk in. But I recovered.

“OK, I get it. But tell me where you’re going. Let me come with you and I promise I won’t bother you. I also need a better place to do work.”

They proceeded to tell me about the library and any random building on campus with its door open (most were open all the time in the late 80s) — just pick a room. I had never even thought of this. It never crossed my mind to leave my room to study. At home, my parents insisted that I study in my bedroom. It was all I knew. Of course, at home, I didn’t have 15 best friends right down the hall. 

They relented, and the next night, after dinner, we headed to the library, and I discovered the solitary confinement of the stacks. Here was the third lesson — create an environment conducive to what you need to concentrate.

I was hooked and going somewhere else to study really did help. 

Unfortunately, it was the next lesson that almost sunk me.

I aced my first college test, and it ruined my first semester.

The first test of my college career was in freshman chemistry — Chem 12. A 20-ish question, multiple-choice test, 6:30 at night in the forum. Right or wrong answers only. No partial credit for showing your work.

I hadn’t done the homework (the professor didn’t collect homework). Extra problems for practice? You gotta be kidding me. I didn’t study. I intended to, I really did, but I was too busy having fun with all my new friends.

I walked into the test nervous because I didn’t know what to expect, and I knew I hadn’t studied. But here’s the thing — the first month of Chem 12 was just a review of everything I already knew from chemistry in high school and I was pretty good at taking tests.

An hour later, I handed in my scantron paper with a smile and walked out thinking, “That was a breeze. This college thing is easy like high school!”

And that screwed the rest of my semester. I did the minimum, thinking I’d get maximum scores, just like that first chemistry test.

The result? A 2.6 GPA, which included a C+ in Chem 12 (a steep dive after the first test) and a C in Econ 14.

The second lesson about learning that I figured out by the end of my first semester was “do the work.” Study for the test. Do the practice problems. Yes, even the extra ones.

The first time it caught up to me, I woke up in a lecture hall all by myself.

Within 48 hours of arriving at Penn State, I found 20 new like-minded friends.

Wanna walk downtown? Yes!
Wanna play softball? Yes!
Wanna explore campus? Yes!
Beer? Yes!
Wanna hang out and listen to music till 3am? Yes!
Oh, you’re a hockey player? Wanna play on my team? Yes!

OK, all normal stuff, but what wasn’t normal was the sheer quantity of opportunity and the complete lack of understanding of when to say “no.” I did it all. Except study.

And over that first month, I found my schedule slowly skewing later and later. Eleven pm bed became 1 am bed, which became 3 am bed. But my class schedule was full of 8 am classes.

Econ 14 — Principles of Economics. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 8 am in the Biotech building in a lecture hall with 150 other students. There I was, sleeping like a log during the lecture.

I don’t know what the end of that lecture looked like, but in my head, 150 students tip-toed out of the lecture hall, pointing and snickering at me. Maybe it was the professor’s idea. Or maybe nobody really noticed, and they just left normally.

Regardless, I woke with a start and I was the only one in the room. Completely empty except for me. I looked at my watch — class ended twenty minutes ago. I was late for my next one.

In a pool of spit and solitary embarrassment, I found my first lesson about how to learn. I’d need to get a handle on my schedule. No more 8 am classes if I could avoid them, and if I had to take one, I’d better take it seriously the night before.

Sometimes, I’ll have to say no to fun.

I almost wasn’t accepted into my major.

Not only didn’t high school prepare me for college, but I think it hurt me. I have a good memory for things like dates, names, formulas, and definitions. I did a lot of homework on the bus ride to school or in homeroom once I got there. Through high school, studying for me was an exercise in breezing over the dates, names, formulas, and definitions right before the test.

I did well on the SATs, graduated in the top 10% of my class of 220, and gained acceptance into all three colleges I applied to (University of Colorado, Boston University, and Penn State). This was the mid-80s, so it was well before SAT prep classes, gamified school rankings, college application coaches, essays, DEI quotas, and personal mission statements.

Then I got to Penn State and promptly fell on my face — 2.5 GPA after my first year, including a D in freshman physics, which meant I had to retake the class. I’d never seen a C on a report card in high school.

I spent the next four years digging out from the hole I dug in my first two semesters. I never cracked a cumulative 3.00. My high water mark was 2.99, and I graduated with a 2.95.

I had no idea how to manage my time and live on my own. I had no idea how to study. I had no idea how to think about problems.

I had no idea how to learn.

So, step one was to figure out how to learn.

The first step in getting the facts is to know where they are.

With grocery store items, you’ll find the facts on the nutrition and ingredient label, not on the front label.
For research papers, you’ll find the facts in the section labeled “data,” not in the abstract or the conclusion sections.
In a financial report, you’ll (hopefully) find the facts in the balance sheet and income statements, not in the executive summary or footnotes.
In the courtroom, you might find the facts in the presented evidence, but you won’t in the opening or closing arguments.
For a car, you’ll find the facts on the performance and spec sheet, not in the TV commercial.

In today’s culture of weaponized “facts,” it’s helpful to know where to find them.