johnmaconline

We use this reference in the software world all the time. 

We use it as a declaration, “Garbage in generated garbage out.”

We use it as a question, “Is this a case of garbage in producing garbage out?”

We use it as a warning, “Let’s be careful not to create a garbage in, garbage out scenario.”

It’s such a helpful concept that we’ve shortened it to an acronym — GIGO.

The purpose of a computer program is to take input and act upon it to produce output. GIGO occurs when regardless of how accurate the program’s logic, decision-making, or transformation function is, the results will be wrong if the input is wrong, tainted, or just plain meaningless.  

When the output of our program is unexpected, we sometimes see it immediately — like when the song you’re listening to skips or beeps.

But GIGO can happen stealthily. 

You miss it because the output seems right, even though it isn’t. It looks like what we expected or believed to be correct. To debug these issues, we start by throwing out our expectations and beliefs and stepping through the logic with the particular input. 

The same is true with human decision-making. Sometimes the problem is the logic itself, but sometimes it’s the input. To figure it out, the first step is to put aside your expectations and beliefs, if ever so briefly. 

As humans, we like to simplify complex problems.

One of the ways we simplify complexity is to generalize and narrow the number of variables down to one or a few important ones. Then we use labels to galvanize and communicate those generalizations.

This process comes naturally because it helps us make sense of things and is a proven problem-solving technique. As an engineer and software developer, I’ve used generalization and abstraction to help me solve problems for over 30 years.

As such, we tend to oversimply diversity.

We tend to narrow down and overvalue diversity that we can see — ethnicity, age, gender, etc. And we tend to undervalue diversity we can’t see — personal experience, family history, finances, geographical background, worldview, etc.

Our focus on visual diversity is understandable and well-placed. We needed to, and continue to need to, reckon with this.

True diversity, however, runs deeper than only the visual variables. Each person in any group has a personal history and a present personal situation. They’ve experienced their own highs and lows, wins and losses, joys and tragedies.

Each of these events fit together to form that puzzle that is our personal human condition.

The weight of this recognition continues to lead me to empathy as the answer in all circumstances. When we see each person or group of people through the lens of empathy, we have a chance at progress.

John Wooden — 10 NCAA championships

Bill Belichick — 6 Super Bowl wins

Scotty Bowman — 9 Stanley Cups

These coaches unequivocally helped their teams win these championships. You could argue they were the reason. However, they didn’t sink the jump shot, throw the pass, or hit the top shelf. 

Every hall of fame player’s induction speech references the impact of one or several coaches along their journey. If you listen carefully, you’ll hear why and how a coach mattered. The coach almost always helped them discover who they were at their core and fully become that athlete through inspiration, training, and guidance.

The good news for us regular people is that we can hire a coach for almost anything in our life — weekend triathlon, dating, business, our entire lives. We have a dizzying array of opportunities to spend money on coaching. 

A coach may be the right move for you. You may find the perfect person who can provide the inspiration, training, and guidance that helps you realize your potential. 

And good coaches like the ones above have a system. They build their systems through experience and insight and adapt them to the players they have on the team. 

A warning, however.

Beware of coaching success formulas that don’t have “you” in the equation. You are the one in the ring with the bull. Your outcome will result from your effort, perspective, creativity, and accountability.  

Be careful not to outsource the YOU in the success formula. 

In 2020, An estimated 64875 firefighters sustained injuries, 140 of which were fatal, in the line of duty. 

I’ve always admired firefighters’ sense of “in the line of duty.”

Not just what their duty is, but the fact that if one of their own is injured, they get it—this is what they signed up for. 

When it happens, they galvanize. They come together, and many times so does the community, to honor that person with a respectful and well-deserved memorial.

No one is happy. People’s lives rip apart. It’s not what anyone wanted. But they get it — it comes with the territory.

And they sign up for it anyway.  

To me, that is not only inspiring but a lesson on what “in the line of duty” really means.  

The lesson of “in the line of duty” extends to all vocations and pursuits of any kind. Luckily, most vocations do not include life-threatening or bodily harm in their line of duty. However, all vocations come with downside risks. One shouldn’t complain (too loudly) when the downside risk happens in the line of duty.

Whatever pursuit you engage in, make sure you know the downside risks of “in the line of duty.” If the worst occurs, handle it like the firefighter community — with grace and recognition. 

Today is our 29th anniversary.

Oh my, that seems like a long time, and it is.

Twenty-nine isn’t a milestone number for most people. But for me, it is because 29 is the year we’ve been looking forward to since we first discussed having a family.

I kinda feel like we should post one of those “How it started…How its going” meme thingies. Yeah, don’t need to.

And how is it going?

I couldn’t be happier. When I look back at these 29 years, we’ve had it all. The highest of highs, adventures, sacrifices, wrong turns, and bumps in the road. We’ve made good decisions and questionable decisions. Always together.

It’s hard even to say what I’d do differently because whatever we’ve been through has brought us here to 29. I wouldn’t change that for anything.

As we turn 29 into 30, I’m excited. This moment has been on our calendar for 29 years. I couldn’t imagine a better partner.

Let’s stomp the gas pedal.

In 2014, the LA Times estimated that the average US household contains approximately 300000 objects. 

We’ve accumulated so many objects that entire industries are built around the organization, remediation, offsite storage, and psychological issues associated with the acquisition and keeping of things. 

I’ve not counted the objects in my home, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I hit the average in my garage alone.

We love stuff, and apparently, I’m no different.

As new empty nesters, we’ve been working through the pile of objects accumulated over the last 25 years of family life. Like many in our phase, this inflection point provides the motivation necessary to do the work. 

 But it’s been surprisingly hard. 

I know why it’s been hard — the emotions attached to specific objects. Each object I hold in my hand has a story. That story might be overtly sentimental, i.e., a 2nd-grade father’s day note or a holiday gift, but often, the attached story is low-key and sneakily powerful. 

Unearthing these otherwise pedestrian gems, feeling their weight, and running my fingers over their contours transport me to a specific time and place. The emotions of that moment well up and sometimes overflow —likely more powerful today than they were at the moment. 

Memories of simple moments such as a funny face or comment, a hug or snub, or the churning of small legs across the yard overwhelm me with gratitude. All inspired by a simple object. 

The power of objects is the story we remember. 

Or, more accurately, I thought I’d be sure about more by now.

I recently had a birthday — 53. I always take some time to reflect around my birthday.

This year I found my thoughts centered around just how much I still don’t know or am not sure about. In some ways, I’m less sure now than I was when I was 25.

I was sure I’d know my purpose.

In accordance with my purpose, I assumed I’d know what I wanted to be when I grew up.

I figured that by now, I’d be more sure of my role as a father and husband.

I thought my faith would be more solid.

I was sure I’d understand the meaning of life.

As I still roll those questions around in my noggin, I see a common thread — each requires an objectively correct answer.

However, one thing I do now know at my age that I didn’t understand at 25 was that objectivity is rare. At 25, I figured all I had to do was put in the work, and I’d find that objectively correct answer. I’ve put the work in, but I know now that this is a fool’s errand.

Simultaneously, that subjectivity provides a beauty to life that could never exist with objectively correct answers.

Now all I have to do is settle in and appreciate the subjectivity.

One could easily think that all the smart people are atheists and only dumb (or simple) people could believe in a God. Certainly, elite academic institutions, academics, and pseudo-academics on social media give this impression. 

They might be right. 

But it would be wrong to assume that all smart people are atheists and that only dumb people believe in God. In fact, some very smart people have set forth some interesting arguments for God:

1. The kalam cosmological argument — based on the beginning of the universe
2. The moral argument — based on the existence of objective moral values.
3. The teleological argument — based on the design of the universe
4. The ontological argument — based on the formal logic of possibility to existence.

For me, however, the most powerful argument has always been a form of the cosmological argument from contingency. When I ask myself, “Why is there anything at all?” God seems like the best answer. 

The point is that the conversation is still valid both philosophically and scientifically. It’s not dead in academia or the culture, regardless of what the smart people shout. 

The lesson here is that just because someone has a microphone, marketing skills, and a tribe doesn’t mean they are right. That’s true with God and everything else. 

Something struck me today. 

Strawmanning — Attacking a superficially similar argument so as to pull attention away from the real argument.

“We should restrict gun access.”
“Oh, you want the government to imprison us and take away all of our freedom and rights?”

“We shouldn’t wear masks in most situations.”
“Oh, you hate people? You don’t care if you kill others?”

The strawman has two problems, one formal and one human:

1. The formal problem is that the refutation does not address the original argument.
2. The human problem is that you either don’t understand your opponent’s position or can’t see any value or reasoning behind that position. Your argument is the very definition of “jumping to a conclusion.”

The strawman is a popular and effective public argument strategy because it fits into 280 characters. Moreover, the people that agree with you instantly jump to the same conclusion — “Yes! You’re right and they’re wrong!” It’s a toggle-switch answer. 

The cure for the disconnected, disjointed, and divided culture we find ourselves in is empathy. The path to empathy starts with recognizing that your opponent is a person with a history. They are smart, feeling, and caring individuals just like you. 

They just happen to have come to a different conclusion than you have. 

To have a unified and healthy culture, we don’t all need to believe the same things, but we all have to value each other. 

We have a disease, and we’ve got it bad.

This disease is endemic and spreading to nearly everybody, but I don’t mean cancer or long COVID. 

It impacts our happiness, workplaces, family discussions, politics, art, and our culture at large.

The disease?

Overseriousness.

The bad news is that letting it continue will ruin us. Its symptoms of fear, sadness, egocentricity, and anger will suck the life right out of each one of us.

The great news is that we have and know the cure, and it’s a very simple cure — let’s stop taking ourselves so darn seriously.

Crack a joke. Take a joke. Laugh at what’s funny. 

Get out and run around. Fall down, and get back up. Laugh at yourself.

Be thankful for where you are today and the history that has created it.

Yes, all of it. Some of it has sucked. Some of it has been great. All of it has made you who you are today. 

And who you are today is 100% amazing.