Nature certainly has an order.

The circle of life. The laws of physics and chemistry. Evolution. Our understanding of this order changes over time, but we recognize that order exists objectively, and that it has been designed in from the beginning.

Humans also have an order to our world.

Justice. Altruism. Aesthetics. Purpose. As with nature, our understanding of human order changes over time, and we recognize that this order is not designed in, but relative to culture, time, and place.

I sometimes wonder if the natural order of things and the human order of things are at odds. Maybe the magic happens when we seek to align the two orders.

Excitement. Apprehension. Nervousness. Optimism. Dread.

New adventures bring out all the feelings, whether you signed up voluntarily or someone else forced it on you.

The question isn’t whether you feel them. The question is what you do with them. Like everything else in life, it’s about perspective.

And you control your perspective.

Mediocre. Average. Meh.

Nobody wants that label. It doesn’t matter if it’s applied to you at work, the dinner you just made, or your skills as a spouse. I feel like I’ve spent much of my life trying to outrun mediocre.

Extraordinary. Outstanding. Exemplary.

Those are the labels you want.

But each set of labels have one thing in common — they’re relative to the people in the room. They require a comparison. Mediocre in relation to who? Extraordinary compared to what?

Sometimes, you just gotta change rooms. Recognizing when is next level.

What energizes you?

I’m energized by making stuff, learning new stuff, and starting new physical or mental adventures.

But energy is fickle because sometimes it leaves you. This is one of my big problems. I have a ton of energy to start something, but then the energy wanes to finish it. For example, I have four books started. None finished.

Finishing is just as important as starting. The difference is commitment.

Follow your energy, but back it up with commitment.

As a parent, have you heard about or been a part of a story like this:

“My 12-year old (7th grade) sends me a frantic text message because she forgot her notebook and homework assignment at home. The teacher said she’ll get a zero on the assignment if she doesn’t hand it in today.”

How do you handle it?

When I was 12, I get the zero. As would all/most of my classmates.

But parents today (myself included) are increasingly allergic to allowing kids to face the consequences.

What are the consequences of a 7th-grader getting a zero on a homework assignment?

None. It’s not going to affect her ability to get into college. It’s not going to effect her ability to get a job. It’s not going to affect her ability to do anything in life. 

But, if she’s allowed to fail and get the zero, what might she gain?

An understanding of consequences. An understanding of responsibility. An opportunity to experience and then learn how to handle emotional turmoil. 

It’s all in a 100% safe environment with no long-term downside. It’s the emotional equivalent of the playground full of rounded-edged, not-too-high-off-the-ground, and PTO-approved equipment surrounded by a dump truck full of ground-up rubber tires.

Sometimes we need to let them fail. 

AI and algorithms today know you pretty well.

Instagram will show you what you want.
The Netflix recommendation engine will show you want you want.
Facebook advertisements will show you what you want.

If you don’t like what they’re showing you, maybe its time you re-evaluate what you want.

If you’re a cyclist, you know.

The hills and headwinds separate the men from the boys. If you want to get better, faster, stronger, climb the hill and ride into the wind.

But then that killer, stand-on-the-pedals, crank-to-crank climb crests, and now you’re screaming at break-neck speed down the other side. Eyes streaming tears. Fighting to keep it together.

Or you take a turn, and that wind, which you’d swear had turned the smooth, hard road into hot, mushy sand, is like a hand on your back. Pushing you forward. Your legs now require half the energy to propel you forward twice as fast.

The hills crest, and the wind changes direction. Best to train for both.

Just like life.

I just got a text message reminding me of my dentist appointment tomorrow. I’ll get another one an hour before the appointment.

You probably do also — from your dentist, doctor, hair salon, and any place that requires you to make an appointment. It’s one of the great features of modern technology.

But it’s also subtly shifted responsibility.

When I was a kid, my mom took her calendar book every time we went to the doctor or dentist. At the end, she’d make an appointment for six months or even a year from then and write it down in that book. Each week, she’d look at the calendar and plan our week around who had to be where.

“On Thursday you’re going to the dentist. I’ll get the note ready.”

No electronic notifications. No text messages. No automated phone calls. No confirmations. She made the appointment — no, a contract — six months ago, and we’re going to show up right on time.

What happens when you miss an appointment? Who’s responsible?

The answer to that is generational. Technology has shifted it. My parents wouldn’t dream of thinking it’s the dentist’s responsibility. My kids wouldn’t dream of thinking it’s their own responsibility.

Me? I’m caught in between. My generation bridges the gap between personal responsibility and systemic responsibility.

Where else has technology shifted responsibility from the person to the system?

Showing up is important.

You never get anywhere if you don’t show up. Some say showing up is half the battle. But is half the battle useful?

Is it helpful to connect to the Zoom meeting but not pay attention?
How useful is it to go into the office but surf the web all day?
Are you getting better if you show up at the gym but just go through the motions?

Rather than just showing up for a million little tasks, people, and asks in your life, wouldn’t it be better to just say no to the ones you’re just showing up for?

I’ve been knee-deep in all things SBF, FTX, and Effective Altruism over the last year or so. If you’re interested in this topic at all, but have no interest in wading through the millions of pieces of content that exists, this is a “you’re welcome” post. 

Here, I curate the scads of content that I’ve been through. A Cliffs Notes version, if you will. 

Books

Whether you “read” books through your auditory or visual interface, you can focus on just two: Michael Lewis kicks it through the uprights (of course, he does) with “Going Infinite,” and so does Brady Dale with “SBF: How the FTX Bankruptcy Unwound Crypto’s Very Bad Good Guy.” 

If you’re just looking for the interesting, salacious-adjacent, mostly human, partially f’nancial story, go with Lewis’s. He’s just so damn good at rooting out and then telling a story. A true master of the art, and I enjoyed his take on it immensely. You’ll know why SBF is in jail after this. I listened to this one, and I highly recommend it that way.

Dale’s is equally interesting but from a different angle. He dives deep into what happened on the crypto side. The other stuff, too, but he nicely fills the crypto mechanism gaps that Lewis (purposefully) left out. Listen, crypto is nerdy, geeky, engineery shit. And you do not need to know what the hell happened in the Crypto Winter and leading up to it to know why FTX failed and SBF went to jail. But if you do, Dale does a masterful job at unwinding it all and laying it out. Plus, he’s got a different style, and I really enjoyed it. He’s a hardcore (crypto) journalist, so it has the reporter kind of efficiency. But he coupled it with his snarky and maybe a bit cynical perspective. I read this one with my eyes, and I recommend the same for you. It’s a little too techy for listening. 

Podcasts

You couldn’t go wrong by just searching your favorite podcast app for “Michael Lewis” and then choosing one of your favorite interviewers. He’s done interviews on many of the big-name podcasts, but unfortunately, not Joe Rogan. I don’t know for sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Lewis is a member of the anti-JRE tribe. Regardless, I found the Freakonomics interview very compelling.

Michael Lewis used his own “Against the Rules” podcast (the sub-title to the SBF series is “Judging Sam”) to somewhat live-cast the trial. I found it interesting and worthy. Not all of the episodes are required, so feel free to skip around. Lewis isn’t the star and only appears in a few of them, but his reporter/producer (Lidia Jean Kott) does a great job manning the con. Lewis does, though, interview Brady Dale in one of the episodes and that’s how I found Dale’s book. 

The Wondery series called “Spellcaster — the Fall of SBF,” which is one of the big ones (maybe the biggest) is worth a listen. The host has some inside connections that are interesting and it’s a good mix of story telling with dry details.

Articles

I’ve read a million online articles. Everything from the mainstream media to the fringe, to just bloggers like me. 

If you just want the highlights and a little perspective on why it happened, I think my series of articles is brief but useful. OK, that’s shameless self-plugging, but I guess if you’re already at this sentence in this article that I’ve written…

You can use your favorite media outlet, and they likely have an article. I like this one from Investopedia because it presents the whole thing like a timeline — just the facts, ma’am. 

The tribes are hilariously hypocritical. Like just plain bald-faced about it all. I like to read the MSM takes on it simply for comic-relief. Mostly the headlines. The meat of the articles themselves are usually less tribal, but they’re not immune. So, the left media has turned SBF from a mimetic symbol of “how we should all live our lives — someone truly doing good in the world” to the poster child for “criminal and evil capitalism.” The right media has turned SBF from a mimetic symbol of “the embodiment of evil leftist political funding and communism” to an almost sympathetic character.

If you got here, I hope you found this helpful. If so, don’t hesitate to let me know john@johnmaconline.com. 

The engineering world runs on requirements and specifications. Until it doesn’t. The magic happens when you recognize when to go off-script. 

I’m at Agere Systems, and we’re having a requirements meeting with the Apple guys about the iPod. We were going to be supplying the engine — the CPU. 

The topic comes to the mp3 Codec (which is the piece of software that turns your mp3 file into music). Our guy says, “We have the best sounding mp3 decoder on the market” and then goes into why based on meeting the mp3 spec, and these other specs, and spec, spec, spec.

Apple guy says, “OK, thanks, but we don’t actually care about meeting those specs. We assume it will sound good enough. What we really care about is that your codec can gracefully handle malformed and broken mp3 files.” 

Our guy, “But if a file is malformed or doesn’t meet the spec, how do we know what to do? That’s a violation. We can’t be expected to handle that.” 

Apple, “We don’t care what you do — you can blip, skip, or whatever — but you cannot, under any circumstances, stop playing.” 

Our guy, “But the spec says…” 

Apple guy, “Again, we don’t care, and this is the last time we’ll talk about those specs. Seriously, don’t bring it up again.”

Our guy, “I don’t understand why you don’t care about the specs.”

Apple guy, “Think about the main iPod use case. It’s a person running or walking around the city or somewhere outside on streets and sidewalks. They cannot be distracted under any circumstances because that’s a safety issue. They must keep their focus on what’s happening around them. If that thing stops playing, it immediately distracts them from what’s going on around them.”  

Apple guy continues, “Plus, these people probably struggled to get their music library onto the iPod (this is just before or right at the beginning of the $0.99 song in iTunes). They don’t even know what a music library is. They either ripped the songs from CDs themselves, by some miracle, or they downloaded them from someplace like Napster. In either case, it is highly likely that those files suck. But they don’t know that. Nor do they care. If we now tell them that it’s their fault and their music files don’t conform to some esoteric engineering spec, they’re just gonna give up and say that this piece of shit doesn’t work. Because it’s freakin hard enough to get the damn music onto the player to begin with. We must assume that the files suck, and it’s our job to deal with it. Therefore, you will handle it.”

Was it any wonder that the iPod was such a market maker? 

More questions about freedom.

Is it the ability to take a walk?
Is it the ability to drive a jet ski on any body of water?
Is it the ability to speak your mind?
Is it the ability to not listen?
Is it the ability to drive to the coast, a lake, or the mountain?
Is it the ability to shoot a gun in your backyard?
Is it the ability to try?
Is it the ability to fail?
Is it the ability to succeed?
Is it the ability to build a gold-plated bathroom?
Is it the ability to not get mugged or raped?
Is it the ability to shop downtown?
Is it the ability to travel anywhere?
Is it the ability to walk on sidewalks?
Is it the ability to own anything you want?
Is it the ability to own almost nothing?
Is it the ability to build whatever you want, wherever you want?
Is it the ability to worship whomever, however you want?
Is it the ability to be protected from thieves?
Is it the ability to hunt in any field or woods?

What is freedom?

Is it the ability to do anything, anywhere, at any time?
Is it the ability to think, say, or feel anything?
Is it the ability to live anywhere, in any type of house, with or without anyone else?
Is it the ability to own, protect, and defend?
Is it the ability to roam the prairie, sleep under the stars, and kill and forage for your own food?
Is it the ability to drive to the 24x7x365 gas station to fill your personal car with gasoline, drive to the 24x7x365 grocery store, and buy strawberries in January?
Is it the ability to play whatever music you want, as loud as you want, at whatever time you want?
Is it the ability to grab your smartphone, create a video of you talking about your religious beliefs, and then post that video to X?
Is it the ability to identify as whomever you want, marry whomever you want, and never experience discrimination?
Is it the ability to make a living wage, work a reasonable amount of hours, and take a vacation once a year?
Is it the ability to not work, have plenty to eat, and have access to the best healthcare?
Is it the ability to work hard, learn new things, and make a pile of money?
Is it the ability to homeschool your kids, choose any public school, or choose any private school?
Is it the ability to invest your money, take the risks you want, and reap the rewards?
Is it the ability to drink whatever you want, smoke whatever you want, and inject whatever you want?
Is it the ability to make whatever you want, market whatever you want, and sell whatever you want?
Is it the ability to vote, protest, and lobby?
Is it the ability to access electricity, clean water, and the internet?

Make something that helps others make something.

For most of my career I’ve been making tools. Often, tools that just help me or us do our job better. For internal consumption only. 

But sometimes, the tool is the end game. It’s what we’re making for someone else — the point of the business. 

Here’s what makes a good tool:

• Intuitive (for the target audience — ie, it’s not for everyone, so it doesn’t have to be intuitive for everyone)
• Works (can’t sorta work, require support, or break often, etc)
• Makes life better across the variables of time, effort, quality, and repeatability

A good tool is always worth making. But here’s what makes a great tool:

• Makes possible what was previously impossible
• Exponentially increases productivity or quality
• Can’t imagine life without it
• Delightful to use

For a roofer, a hammer is a good tool, but an air-nailer is a great tool. 
For an accountant, a calculator is a good tool, but a spreadsheet or Quickbooks are great tools.
For a writer, a typewriter is a good tool, but a word processor is a great tool. 
For a software developer, a code editor is a good tool, but ChatGPT is a great tool. 

Look around. How can you make life better for someone?

Lazy can be a great motivator and indicator of what to make if you know how to use it.

Ask yourself these three questions:

• What are you tired of doing? 
• What would you like to get done quicker? 
• What do you do repeatedly? 

Laziness is exactly why all home appliances exist. Laziness has given us hot water heaters, coffee makers, and gas fireplaces. Laziness begets smart lighting, smart pet doors, and just about anything that starts with “Alexa…”

And laziness isn’t just for our homes. Drive-thru windows, escalators, automated car washes, delivery services, fast-casual eateries, check-in kiosks, and streaming services — all derived from human laziness. 

Laziness isn’t a bad thing when you’re trying to decide what to make.

I met Tony Fadell when I was working on the iPod. 

It was brief. He attended a meeting between his Apple team and my team from Agere. Shook his hand. A few pleasantries. He kicked off the meeting and then left. That was it. He wouldn’t remember me.

He and I are the same age, interested in the same things, and have the same education. But other than that brief handshake and my doomed time working on his project, that’s where the similarities end. 

I’ll sum it up this way — he’s got a Wikipedia page. I do not. 

But not long ago, I thought about him again (and relived my nightmare that was iPod) because I read his book “Build.” In it, he talks about making great things and how to decide what to make. I say all of that, first as catharsis (you’re just a voyeur) but also to get to the point I’m trying to make, because he talks about it in this book:

When deciding what to make, make it a painkiller rather than a vitamin.

Painkillers are solutions that people voluntarily use. Vitamins are solutions that people should use but may or may not. 

Some might say need versus want, and although that’s also a reasonable approach to determining what to make, they’re not the same. Do you need anesthesia before the doctor cuts off your leg? No, but you sure as hell want it. You’re volunteering vigorously to have the painkiller. 

So painkillers may skew more towards the want end of the spectrum. If a painkiller disappears, people feel it. Many people use vitamins, but if the vitamin suddenly disappears, what happens? Some people will care, but many will not. 

There is an emotional immediacy and visceral reaction to painkillers. There is a general malaise towards vitamins. 

When deciding what to make, make it a painkiller. 

I like to make stuff.

I’ve dedicated my entire career to making stuff, and many of my hobbies are also about making stuff. I learned early in my career at a giant defense contractor that I’m happiest and most productive when I feel like I’m contributing to making stuff.

The first lesson of making stuff is to decide who its for. Because whatever you make is always for a person.

Is it for you? Someone else?

Once you know that, start by applying one single golden rule:

How can I make the right thing to do the easy thing to do for that person?

People, yourself included, tend to gravitate towards and fall back to what’s easy. Watch what they do, not what they say. If whatever you are making can make it easier for them to do the right thing, you have a winner.

Over the next few days, we’ll explore how you can make the right thing to do the easy thing.

Plain ole inertia is a powerful force.

Some people simply would rather keep doing what they’re doing than go find something new and different. The devil you know…

At first blush, you might be thinking, “Yeah, but if that’s why that person is staying, they’re probably not that good and they’re not the one we want to stay.”

But I’ve found that’s not always true, or even mostly true. Inertia is strong and may be in place for many reasons unrelated to the work itself.

Can you use inertia to your benefit?

The surrounding environment is a compelling reason for people to stay where they’re at.

I’m not talking about perks — how great the office is, or where it is, free lunch, ping pong tables. I’m talking about the people and the work itself.

Does the person enjoy the work itself and the people they do it with?

If so, that’s a great incentive to stay and keep going. Enjoying the people doesn’t mean they all agree on everything. In fact, some times it means just the opposite. But the good workers recognize the difference between creative tension that pushes the team forward and petty personality conflicts that keep it stuck in the mud.

How do you provide opportunities for the people to do the best work of their career?

Belief is a powerful motivator. Maybe the most powerful.

One of the reasons someone who has a choice of work chooses to stay at a particular job, even if the company isn’t doing well, is belief. It can be belief in the mission, the leadership, or that there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Belief that we’ll get there and we’ll do the thing and I want to be a part of it.

Belief is about story. So, what’s the story of the mission? What’s the story of leadership? What’s the story of our future financial gains?

Build a great story in order to create belief.

As a leader or manager, you should care. A lot.

I’ve seen quite a bit written about why people leave, but quite frankly, not so much about why they stay. This is important, especially if you’re in a company that’s failing, falling, stagnant, or otherwise unsexy. 

I’ll qualify these reasons with the following statement: I’m talking about workers who could leave. They have the skills, desirability, and the ability to move on to greener pastures. Therefore, we’re excluding people who are stuck there for any reason (ie, geography, lack of skills, etc). 

People stay for one or more of the following reasons:

1. They believe in the mission, leadership, and/or financial upside.
2. They like the work they’re doing and the people they’re doing it with.
3. Inertia.

Over the next few days, we’ll take a look at each of these. 

One of the interesting narratives in this upcoming national election cycle is democracy itself. 

Each side has labeled the other side as “undemocratic” — accusing each other of trying to destroy democracy through authoritarian control. You and I might agree with one side. Sometimes, we might even change our minds. We’d like one side to shut-the-hell-up; thank you very much. We’re people. We have opinions. Our opinions are based on feelings shaped by perspectives, experiences, and a host of other inputs that may or may not have to do with data.

But WWAID?

AI has no feelings. It has no awareness. It doesn’t know what it’s doing. But what it’s really good at is combing through its training data and spitting out statistically governed results, even if (especially if?) those results are novel or non-obvious.

AI does, however, respond to incentives. Incentives are, of course, defined by people and then given to the AI. 

From one perspective, AI has no inherent political incentives, therefore, almost by definition, it is more democratic. Yet, at the same time, AI doesn’t do anything without being incentivized by people. From that standpoint, AI is like an accelerator for undemocratic practices. The social media algorithm controversy is an example that has already occured.  

So which is it? 

Well, it’s neither, because yet again, AI as a technology and as an entity is not the problem. 

The problem is how we, the humans, use it. 

Several days a week, I run at lunchtime. Also, almost every day, my thoughts turn to the intersection of AI, robots, and humans. Many times, the Venn diagram of those two activities shows a large overlap.

Today was such a day. I’m out there running, and I couldn’t help but think about…running.

Today’s dominating thought topic was yet another fundamental difference between humans and AI-powered robots — regeneration versus degeneration.

Why do humans go for an exercise run, do squats, or take a Barre class? Because it’s good for you. It’s how your body (and mind) regenerate. The more you use it (to a certain degree), the better it becomes. Use begets regeneration.

AI-powered robots would never exercise. Why not? Because they break down with use. The more a robot exercises, the worse it gets. Use begets degeneration.

Simple but profound.

When the robots try to take over, we’ll use this against them.

AI video — deepfake, etc — was already here, but now OpenAI (ChatGPT) has launched a text-to-video creator for the masses. Now it’s about to explode.

I can’t try it yet because the release is so far limited to a select few. I’m not a member of that tribe. I’m not important or good enough. However, I’ll be lost for a few hours the first time I can try it.

Will we use it for good or evil?

Both, of course. Follow the incentives.

Ozempic is a problem.

However, the problem isn’t the drug, it’s stated intention, the people who use it, the mentality around it, the side effects, or the cost. The problem is it’s designed to keep you on it in perpetuity. That creates an incentive mismatch.

If you’re an executive, employee, or shareholder in Norvo Nordisk, what do you want?

If you’re a user of Ozempic, what do you want?

Those two wants don’t align.

Whether you’re building a house, making a spreadsheet, writing an article, or cooking dinner, it’s not for everyone.

That sounds obvious to your brain. But probably not to your heart. Your heart wonders why shouldn’t everyone love it? Why not?

That’s a trap. Because it’s not for everyone.

When soliciting feedback, start with who it’s for. Did I make this spreadsheet for a tax accountant or my mother-in-law? Is this article meant for my engineering team or my Church group? Are we serving this bread to our gluten-free friends?

Be careful, because even though that sounds simple and obvious, it’s not always. It starts with well-meaning people.

“I’d love to read it!”
“Can I try?”
“I’d be happy to give you some feedback on that.”

The sooner you get clear about who it’s for, the more useful feedback you’ll receive.

Getting useful feedback is an art.

As someone who has been building stuff for others to use for many years now, I’ve learned the following rules of feedback about the stuff I’m making:

1. Watch what the person does. What they do speaks louder than what they say. It’s not because they’re intentionally misleading or virtue signaling. It’s because, as humans, we are good at compartmentalizing — so good we often fool ourselves — and bad at self-awareness. 
2. Ask good questions. Yes, there are dumb (or useless) questions. Good questions are specific, empathic, open-ended, and encourage detailed feedback. Bad questions are vague, leading, or closed-ended. 
3. Negative feedback is the most useful. If someone complains, it means they care. Caring is the most important part of feedback. It means you’re on the right track. 
4. Positive feedback might be useful, but you must consider the source and their motivation. 
5. Silence is feedback. It means the person(s) doesn’t care. Does that matter to you? Maybe not, but if that person is your direct target audience, you’re likely on the wrong track. Re-evaluate everything.

As it turns out, these rules are pretty good for soliciting feedback about anything.

You’ve probably seen the photos comparing people on the beach in the 60s/70s versus now.

Not very flattering, for sure, and everybody’s got their opinion on why it is. Lifestyle, food, Big Ag, medication, Big Pharma, capitalism, racism, the income divide, America-the-evil, luck, etc. Pick your favorite political slogan.

How does one find the cause and then a solution for such a problem (ie, the kind of problem that didn’t exist but then shows up)?

In the engineering world, we use two concepts to find causes and solutions: white-box testing and black-box testing. White box testing requires a map and deep knowledge of what’s inside the box. Black box testing knows nothing of what’s in the box and focuses solely on the inputs and output. Black box testing is ideal when you know that nothing inside the box has changed, yet the results are different.

In this case here, we are the box. The human biochemical system today is the same as it was 50 years ago.

So what changed outside the box?

The beat writer observes. The coach participates.
The professor observes. The CEO participates.
The pundit observes. The Senator participates.
The parent observes. The child participates.

And also vice versa.

Doing both leads to better perspective.

I learned a long time ago that I listen to music wrong. 

I have no idea what the singer is saying. Even if the title of the song is in the lyrics, I rarely pick it up. Yesterday, I had Chris Stapleton’s “Broken Halos” running through my head all day, but as it turns out, I didn’t know that was the name (or the chorus) because I was singing “Broken Arrows” in my head. Arrows vs halos makes no difference to me. The shape of the words and melody are unphased by the substitution. To me, arrows works just as good as halos. 

That’s a mondegreen. That’s your word for the day. You’re welcome. 

I hear the vocals as an instrument, much like the lead guitar or keyboard. Sure, I pick up a word or phrase here and there (often incorrectly, as above), but its just gibberish without any meaning. It’s just a sound. Broadway musicals make little sense to me because I can’t follow the narrative through the words of the singers. 

My family thinks there’s something wrong with me.  

I also did for a long time. But as it turns out, we have a whole tribe of people like me. We’re not the majority, but we exist. I can’t find a term for our condition, but I’m not the only one.

So I just coined a name for us. We’re the tribe of musical mondegreenarians. 

You’re welcome to join. 

Time seems to accelerate as we age.

One year for a 10-year-old is 10% of his life.
One year for a 20-year-old is 5%.
One year for a 40-year-old is 2.5%.
If you get to 80, it’s down to 1.25%.

Each year is less important in terms of percentage, but also, each year lived provides so many more opportunities. The 10-year-old just hasn’t enough years yet. The 80-year-old has had exponentially more.

What are you filling your years with?

The time is yours.

As a child of the 70’s and 80’s, many of my inputs were curated without my having any control.

My parents, of course, were the initial curators of just about all inputs. Record labels and radio station programming directors initially curated my music, but then, luckily, my bass player and his infinite library of imported vinyl augmented that curation. The big three VHF stations and two little UHF stations curated my TV choices, then cable TV arrived in semi-rural Pennsylvania, and the curator list expanded greatly. The local newspaper and evening news show curated my current events inputs. The public school curated the 3 R’s and my history inputs. My mom’s cooking, plus the limited selection of restaurants in our geography, curated my food inputs. Any exposure I gained to inputs from other cultures, food, or worldviews came through our vacations or curated by my Dad’s adventures as a corporate pilot.

I don’t feel like I missed anything (important). I don’t feel like I needed more choice. But I also recognize that curation shaped who I was and am. Curation is important because curating your inputs affects your mental health, energy, perspective, knowledge, and outlook.

In today’s world, it’s harder than ever to curate your inputs, and it requires frequent attention. Plus, you run the risk of building an echo chamber around you.

Can AI solve the problem?

Oh, for sure, AI will be (already is) curating your inputs. If done properly, AI will definitely solve the problem. Let’s be careful, though. We need to follow the incentives.

Who’s incentivized? What are they trying to achieve? Who’s in control?

AI has no awareness. It doesn’t know what it’s doing. But it’s really good at curation.

My wife and I spent a long weekend in Austin last fall to celebrate our 30th anniversary. 

We stayed in an Airbnb in a sleepy little neighborhood a couple blocks east of the famous Franklins BBQ. We’d walk back from the downtown area each night (not that late because we’re not that young) and see them cruising around. A pack of three. Tightly knit. Just spinning around the empty streets in the neighborhood. Coming back around every few minutes. Dutifully obeying all of the traffic rules like a newbie teenager with the instructor and his clipboard wearing a stern expression in the passenger seat. They never got in our way and even stopped noticeably short when we crossed the street in front of them. But it was disarming to see them.

Driverless cars. Chevy Cruise’s to be exact. Testing. Learning. Figuring it out.

Even if you know nothing of ChatGPT, you probably know about driverless cars. And you probably have an opinion. Most of the loud opinions are negative.

Maybe, “I’d never get in a car without a driver!”
Or, “Nobody’s taking the wheel away from me!”
Or, “Ain’t no way a machine can drive better than me!”

In 2023, fully autonomous, driverless (or, more accurately, AI-driven) cars logged 3.3 million miles in California alone. Waymo, the largest driverless car company, has logged 7.1 million miles since its inception. Over that time, it has recorded three minor incidents. If humans had logged those same miles in the same areas, we would expect around 13 injury crashes.

Testing. Learning. Figuring it out.

Fully autonomous cars driven by AI are coming. It’s not an if. It’s a when. Maybe not in my lifetime, but it’s coming.

For now, AI continues on the path of testing, learning, and figuring it out. 

I hate cars. 

OK, let me qualify that. I love life with a car — the freedom, flexibility, and utility that a car provides for me. I certainly wouldn’t want to have no car. At least not where I currently live. Also, the engineer in me really likes cars and all of their mechanisms and software. 

But I hate cars. I hate shopping for them, buying them, selling them, registering them, fixing them, parking them, putting gas in them (or, if I had an EV, which I will someday, I’d hate charging them), and cleaning them. It feels like I spend all of my money on my cars. 

And, unfortunately, I have a pile of them. Five to be exact. Ask me some other time. 

Americans love cars, or rather, pickup trucks. Americans bought 15.5 million new vehicles in 2023, with the top three selling vehicles being the Ford F-series, Chevy Silverado, and the RAM pickup. The first EV, the Tesla Y, shows up at number 5, and the first car, the Camry, tops the list at 8. 

Even though it feels like I spend all of my money on cars, I don’t. The average American household spent 12.8% of their income on transportation. I looked at my own data, and I’m right around there myself. 

I guess its like so much else in my life. What it feels like and what the data says rarely align. 

So much of modern life is about managing acquisition.

Partner, friends, job, wealth, kids, pets, food, clothing, vehicles, house, trinkets. Look around.

What is the opposite of acquisition? Disposal? Loss?

Whether it’s intentional or unintentional, it seems to me that managing the opposite of acquisition is an underrated human skill.

What if, instead of telling people they are weak, we allow them to be strong?
What if, instead of telling people they need help, we allow them to help themselves?
What if, instead of telling people to blame, we allow them to take responsibility?
What if, instead of telling people to fit in, we allow them to stand out?
What if, instead of telling people they can’t, we allow them to?

“You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.”

– Matthew 5:13

Add value. 

Live amongst those that add value. Work with those that add value. Surround yourself with those that add value.

Adding value doesn’t require academic intelligence. It doesn’t require special skills, a college degree, or a certification. It doesn’t require a particular worldview or faith. It doesn’t require money. It doesn’t require voting for a particular person or party. It doesn’t require privilege. It doesn’t require followers. It doesn’t require a particular kind of job or business. It doesn’t require activism. It doesn’t require data. It doesn’t require a particular type of diet.

It just requires caring about someone or something else and then acting. Add value to one other person or billions of others. Size doesn’t matter. 

Do it humbly. Show empathy. Have a pure heart. 

Sometimes, I think we’ve lost the thread.

I was young
I was a hockey player.
I was a drummer.
I was a triathlete.
I was a coach.
I was a father of small children.
I was a college student.
I was a hardcore engineer.

I am middle-aged.
I am a runner and cyclist.
I am a husband.
I am a father of adult children.
I am a student of life.
I am a leader of engineers.
I am an employee.
I am a community member.
I am an observer.

I will be old.
I will be a writer.
I will be a grandfather.
I will be a community leader.
I will be self-employed.
I will be a finisher.

The arc of a life revolves around the movement of our labels between these three lists. Which of the “I was’s” can be moved forward to the “I am’s”? Which can’t or shouldn’t? Which of the “I am’s” can continue forward through the “I will be’s”? Which can’t or shouldn’t?

Emotionally, I think we navigate the arc if we still have a bunch of “I am’s” and especially “I will be’s” that inspire us. Because if either of those lists gets pessimistic, how do we conduct our day and what do we look forward to?

Focus on keeping those lists of “I am’s” and “I will be’s” long and inspirational.

We usually use the phrase “end of an era” to signify a sad or at least nostalgic end. We may feel a sense of loss or disappointment, are trying to cope with an unwanted or unfamiliar transition, or are reflecting on the passage of time itself. 

We don’t really use it when we’re happy it’s over. If we’re happy about it, we use phrases like, “free at last,” “dawn of a new day,” and “fresh start.” These phrases signal to the outside world that we’re ready to move on. Happy to move on. Optimistic about what’s next. 

Today was the end of an era.

“it’s not as if this barricade
blocks the only road
it’s not as if you’re all alone
in wanting to explode”

– Neil Peart, Rush, The Pass

But the end of an era is the beginning of a new one if you have the right attitude. The right attitude turns an end of an era into the dawn of a new day.

And you control your attitude.

For space, it was the 1960’s.
In physics, it was the 1920’s.
For the internet, it was the 1990’s.

These were the decades of exciting times. New discoveries. New use cases. Leaps forward. Lots of money made.

Sometimes, you need hindsight to know you were in the exciting times. But sometimes you know you’re in it right now.

If you can see that its happening now and you’re in the middle of it, you can contribute, add your voice, make your mark, or at the very least, catch the wave.

Right now, the decade of the 2020’s is the exciting times for AI.

What will you do?

Elon just announced that Neuralink has implanted its first brain interface chip into a person.

It’s called Telepathy.

” It enables control of your phone or computer, and through them almost any device, just by thinking. Initial users will be those who have lost the use of their limbs. Imagine if Stephen Hawking could communicate faster than a speed typist or auctioneer. That is the goal.”

If you play this out, one can reasonably see a future where you can choose to have one. Where you can choose to be augmented. Truly bionic. 

Yes, we gotta ask all the questions like who, where, when, why and let all the sides argue it out and consider this, that, blah, blah, blah. Probably for generations.

But if you could, would you get one?

“Your vote matters!”

But that depends on what you mean.

If you mean outcome, then scale plays a role, and truthfully, your vote might not matter. If you’re a contestant on Survivor, your single vote probably directly affects the outcome at tonight’s tribal council. However, as a US citizen, your single vote won’t determine the next President.

If you mean alignment, then scale doesn’t matter, but your vote certainly does. Your vote signals, “I’m part of this tribe over here. We’re smart, care about the right kinds of people, see the world correctly, and know how best to move forward.” Even if you choose not to vote, you’re aligning with the abstainers.

When deciding if your vote matters, it’s helpful to know what you mean.

In 1989, I saw Metallica at Stabler Arena on Lehigh University’s campus in Bethlehem, PA. The And Justice for All tour. Queensryche opened.

It was me and my two best friends from college. One particular moment during Harvester of Sorrow left an emotional impression on me. I almost cried. I’ve told the story several times over the years — Hetfield in a particular spot on stage, in a particular stance, perfectly timed pyro blast, lighting, sounds, etc. All of it burned indelibly into my brain. I can still picture it. The whole thing created an emotional welling-up that survives in me to this day.

About a year ago, I found some YouTube footage of the moment. I’s wrong. Or at least, the particular facts of the moment that I remember and describe are wrong. Hetfield wasn’t stage left; he was stage right. Oh, there wasn’t a pyro blast timed perfectly. He didn’t pose or move the way I describe it. Huh, I remember the lights very differently.

And then just a month ago, I was telling my brother about this show, and he said, “I know, I was there with you!”

“What? You were? I don’t remember that.”

“Dude. It was you, me, Scotty, and Gerk.”

Oh my, 0 for 2 with a memory that was “burned indelibly into my brain.”

I got the facts wrong, but not the story. Because the story was about the feeling I had in the moment. That’s what’s burned into my brain.

The “facts” are just there to support the emotion of the story.

Our memories are just stories. Many times not so filled with facts.

A couple of years into our marriage, both in our mid-20s, Chris and I started the discussion about kids. The result was that we decided the time was now.

I remember feeling excited, nervous, optimistic, and apprehensive at once. 

I can vividly recall that specific conversation. It was a weekday, and we were eating dinner on the couch, as we regularly did, watching some reruns of Friends. An episodic point about children came up and launched us into our discussion. By the end of our conversation, I was sure, but Chris was not so sure — but we decided now was the time.

Excited. Nervous. Optimistic. Apprehensive.

Chris and I recently replayed that conversation, and apparently, she remembers it totally different — except for dinner. For starters, it wasn’t a single conversation but a series. No, we didn’t start it on the couch on a weekday. It was the weekend, and we were out to dinner in the city. The conversation started there, but then lingered over several days. I was the apprehensive one, and she was sure.

Who’s story is right?

Who knows. We disagreed on the facts, but we agreed on how we felt. 

Excited. Nervous. Optimistic. Apprehensive.

Our stories matched up our feelings not the facts.

More to come…

Vinyl doesn’t sound better than digital. 

Nor do digital recordings sound better than analog. At least not scientifically or as a blanket statement. There are exceptions, of course. But the exceptions are a product of recording and production techniques (or failures) and playback equipment, not a product of the medium itself.

Many studies show that equipment and listeners can’t discern these differences, but those who favor one format have a confirmation bias based on their preferences or values going into the test — i.e., people like us.

Vinyl-lovers is a club with exclusive membership for people like me. My story about myself confirms my membership. We all want to be part of an exclusive club, even if that club is “people who don’t join clubs.”

Our stories tell us which clubs we’re part of. Which people are “people like me.”

Next time you insist that vinyl or digital sounds better, remember that’s your heart talking through the story you tell yourself, not your ears.  

People like me.

Not only can others use story to influence us, but the story we tell ourselves about ourselves and our people also does.

People like me appreciate the art of an album and the vision of the artist for the work. The extension of the music to the production and recording, to the album jacket, and to the medium itself.

People like me care about the whole experience of listening to music. We care about the equipment, the setting, the furniture, and the company with whom we are listening.

People like me are discerning and appreciate subtleties and nuances. We are experts.

People like me enjoy the real thing, and we care about important things.

People like me shun the modern throw-away culture and know that a song or album is an art form to cherish over the long haul of life rather than something to occupy interest over the next two weeks of driving in a car. It’s something to hold in your hand and to show another person.

People like me enjoy nostalgic memories. Sometimes, our own, sometimes borrowed from others, and we find them to be deeply impactful on our current self.

Do you find yourself in any of those statements?

If so, you know that vinyl LPs sound better than digital music. Of course, they do.

More to come…

This wine tastes nothing like it did when I was at the tasting. What’s the difference? Did the winery pull some sort of fast one on me?

Nope. The difference is the story.

When at home sipping while making dinner, there’s no story, or at least it’s a very different story. There’s no mood, no ambiance, no emotional connection. I’m no longer invested in the vintner’s success. Without that emotional investment, the taste just isn’t the same.

The story directs the physical to be an outcome of our emotional connection.

Stories captivate us. We bend facts to meet our emotional memories. We overvalue stories that left us feeling good. We become emotionally invested in a positive outcome for people who’s stories resonate with us. Anchoring and confirmation bias are real tactics that feed our investment.

We’re humans. That’s what we do.

Stories don’t have to be real. They don’t have to be based in fact. Or they can play fast and loose with an interplay of facts and non-facts. Because it’s not the facts that influence us. It’s the feelings.

Stories influence us for the good or bad. When trying to understand why a person thinks or says something, start with their story.

Have you ever bought a bottle of wine after tasting it at the winery, got it home, and it tasted nothing like you remember it? Maybe even undrinkable. 

Yes, of course. We all have. What happened? What’s different? Did they bait and switch?

Nah. It’s the same wine. The difference is the story. 

You’ll probably recognize this script…

Your personable host greets you warmly and starts the tasting experience with the winery’s background, its ownership and winemaker, and the sourcing of the grapes. The who, what, and why behind the wine you are about to sample. The setting relaxes you, the background piques your interest, and knowing the winemaker invests you in the vintner’s success. You’re here, spending time and money. Of course, you want the vinter to be successful.

She then tells you in interesting detail what you are about to experience across the entire flight — anchoring bias, with a side of confirmation bias setup. 

As she offers each wine, often with some taste-enhancing or palate-cleansing cheese, cracker, or chocolate, you are taken further on the journey of that specific wine. She compares this one to the others. Then she’ll tell you exactly what aromas you will notice as you swirl the liquid, followed by the mouthfeel and, ultimately, the full taste profile from the first touch of the tongue through several seconds after you swallow. And she’s right (imagine that)! 

When done right, it’s amazing. I can’t help but want to love the wine, and hence, I love the wine! But once I get it home, it rarely tastes the same. 

What happened here? Why did I love, or at least like, this wine just a few days ago at the winery? Were there shenanigans? Is this a different year or lot, or has some chemical shift occurred?

Heck no. Its influence (manipulation?) through story. 

More to come…

If a tree falls in the woods, and nobody’s around to hear it, does it make a noise?

Yes, of course it does. At least from a physics point of view, the falling tree produced sound waves regardless of available receptors. But are you asking the question from a physics point of view or a personal perception point of view?

If you run five miles but your watch goes dead and doesn’t log it, did you do it?

Yes, of course you did. At least from a physical point of view, your legs ran, your heart and lungs pumped, and you burned the calories. But are you asking the question from a physical point of view or from a social point of view?

If you fail to stop completely at a stop sign in the middle of the night in the country, did you break the law?

Yes, of course you did. At least from a legal technical point of view, you must come to a complete and full stop at all stop signs. But are you asking from a legal technical point of view or from a practical safety point of view?

When we’re talking about noise, we’re rarely talking about physics.

That’s for the birds.

The origin of this phrase is believed to be from the observation that birds tend to peck at animal droppings to find seeds. Something that’s “for the birds” is as insignificant or unimportant as the undigested seeds found in the ubiquitous early 20th-century horse manure.

It’s not worth considering seriously.

But those worthless, manure-embedded seeds are important to the birds. In fact, its what keeps them alive. It might be their only source of food.

Just because one person thinks it’s for the birds doesn’t mean that it’s true.

Everybody has a boss.

Even solopreneurs, single folks, and living-off-the-land loners. Every body. Most people answer to many bosses.

Looking back over your life, you probably remember the good ones fondly and the sucky ones with disdain. What made the good ones good and the bad ones bad? Was it the way they spoke to you? Respected or disrespected your time? Allowed you to flourish or kept you shackled? Maybe they had great vision or no grasp at all on where you were going. Empathy?

Contrary to what productivity consultants, the street, and executives will tell you, a good boss isn’t just someone who gets results. There is no objectively accurate definition of a good boss. Not from your standpoint.

You can feel a good or bad boss.

Now look in the mirror, because one of your bosses is you. Chances are you suck at being your own boss.

What can you do today to take one step towards being a better boss for yourself? Start by remembering how the good and bad bosses of your life so far made you feel.

It might seem like everything stinks or trending down right now, but that is far from true. In fact, 2024 will likely be the best overall year for humanity since our genesis.

Bad stuff that’s decreasing (source):

• In 1989, the amount of ozone-depleting gasses in the atmosphere was 1300 thousand tons. In 2021, it had fallen to 17 thousand tons. Projects are completely removed by 2045.
• In 1970, 24% of the world’s population was food-deprived/hungry. In 2022, it was only 9%.
• In 1920, you needed to care about smallpox. Over 400k cases were reported. Since 1980, smallpox is 0. Yes, vaccination.
• In 1800, 191 countries had legal slavery. By 2020, it’s 0 (legally).
• In 1800, 43% of children died before age 5. In 2022, it’s 4%.
• In 1970, we had 79 oil tanker spills. By 2010, it had dropped to 6 per year.
• In 1950, 25% of children aged 5-17 worked to help support themselves and their family. It’s now less than 10%.

Good stuff that’s increasing (same source):

• In 1800, 10% of people could read. In 2022, it’s 87%.
• In 1980, 58% of people had practical access to clean drinking water. In 2022, it’s 91%.
• In 1990, 74% of the world’s population had access to electricity. In 2022, it’s 91%.
• In 1893, one country allowed women to vote. In 2023, it’s 195.
• In 1970, 69% of girls finished primary schooling. In 2022, it’s 89%.
• In 1972, there was one single female CEO of a US Fortune 500 company (Katherine Graham, The Washington Post). In 2022, there were 52. 

Sometimes you gotta turn off the news, get your head out of the echo chamber, and look around. 

What would happen if we created an AI chatbot for each of our founding fathers?

AI versions of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Ben Franklin, James Madison, Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, and all the others.

This isn’t a crazy idea. It’s already being done. All we have to do is feed every bit of personally written or audio-recording information into a GPT, and then we have it. Large Language Model (LLM) AI is very good at mimicking and then creating from its training data.

Once we have that, we can start asking them.

What would Thomas Jefferson think of the Jan 6th events? Would Ben Franklin have any insight on abortion? Would Alexander Hamilton agree with the current operation of the Fed? What would George Washington think of our immigration policies?

Hey, James Madison, when you wrote the Constitution, what did you mean by this bit here…

Interesting, for sure.

But there are two downsides. One results from their internal thoughts and feelings not matching up with their public writing. That’s a training data issue.

The other is more relevant. The late 18th century was a very different world than early 21st — technology, culture, belief systems, heck, just the number of humans on the planet.

Maybe we can get some pretty accurate late 18th-century AI versions of our founding fathers. But I’m not so sure they’d still think and feel like they did.

Old guys like me say things like, “Why don’t kids play outside anymore?” Or, the even more dubious, “When I was a kid, I could play with a Hot Wheels car all afternoon.”

And generations before us have said the same things since the dawn of the Industrial Revolution. Replace “play outside” or “Hot Wheels car” with whatever activity or toy/mechanism/object lines up with that generation. My kids will say the same thing. Their kids will also. 

Let’s face it: Have you seen an iPad? If you were six and someone plopped a pile of rocks and sticks in front of you and an iPad next to them, what would you choose? What does a pile of rocks and sticks have compared to an iPad? Nothing, that’s what. 

We’ve built a callous up against wonder through technology. What once was magic and sci-fi is now commonplace. 

There’s nothing wrong with the younger generation. Each generation finds its own magic in the world, albeit through different lenses. The core of human curiosity and playfulness remains; it simply evolves with the tools and times. 

We just have different thicknesses to our callouses.  

Maybe you’ve heard the term “prompt engineering.”

Prompt engineering refers to asking the right questions of an AI model like ChatGPT to get out of it what you want. It makes a difference what you ask, how you ask, and the way you ask.

I’m a software developer and a pretty good prompt engineer for getting ChatGPT to write me some code. I know the terminology, the mechanisms, and how I want to transform the inputs to the outputs. I know the right questions to ask.

But when I ask a dumb question? Garbage in => garbage out.

Just like with humans.

People say, “Follow the money.”

But money isn’t the only powerful incentive. Power, love, God, altruism, recognition, purpose, adequacy — all incentives that people follow.

Follow the incentive.

We’ve done a lot of painting in our house over the 21 years we’ve lived here.

In the early spring of 2002, we moved into a monotonous sea of white. All walls and trim were bright and clean but repetitive. Since then, we’ve changed the color of every single wall, most of them several times. We’ve gone through bright and primary colors, earthy tones, faux finishes, and accent walls, and now we’re in a mode of whites, grays, and black.

We’ve done more than the walls over the years as well. We’ve changed the color of doors, trim, vanities, and furniture. We even painted our kitchen cabinets ourselves, turning the mid-90s maple aesthetic to a modern and clean off-white with black knobs. Currently, we’re tackling the open stairwell between the first and second floors for the first time. What has been a stained red oak is transforming to an opaque black with off-white kick plates and trim. The railings following suit.

The key to a good-looking and lasting coat of paint is preparation. Filling holes, washing, sanding, taping, and priming. If you rush through it or skip steps, you’re always disappointed. It’s what underneath that counts.

The beauty of a fresh coat of paint is it can totally change your perspective about what’s already there. Just a simple color change. Fresh and new. Different and exciting.

This article ain’t about paint.

“Trust is earned, not given.”

What if, instead, we all started with, “Trust is freely given.”

Yes, sometimes you’ll get taken. But also…

More comfort with risk. More support in failures. More possibilities. More empathy. More collaboration. More innovation. More growth. More speed.

My sump pump has been torturing me for the last three days.

It’s been running a cycle of 10 seconds on and 11 seconds off since the middle of the storm that dumped three inches of rain. First, the clunk of the float valve, followed by the relentless hum of the pump, then another clunk signaling the valve’s closure. This sequence reverberates across my entire ground floor, forming a tedious, drawn-out melody I can’t stand. My desk, where I sit this very moment, is positioned directly above the pump in the basement.

Torture. But then…

The pump has created a little creek running down my front yard that starts at its outlet at the corner of the house. It runs down the now mushy yard and into the swale at the edge of the road. From there, it follows the swale across the end of my driveway towards the bottom of the hill a quarter mile down the road. Where I sit, I can watch the water make its journey from under my house to the bottom of the hill a quarter mile away.

And then I feel it — the gratitude.

There’s always something to be thankful for.

My feet hit the ground.
My knees springy and strong.
The hard and smooth road.
Fields, barns, and grass bursting with optimism.

My feet hit the ground.
My knees resilient yet questioning.
The rough and ready road.
Fields, barns, and grass jaded with experience.

My feet hit the ground.
My knees tentative and weathered.
The pitched and unforgiving road.
Fields, barns, and grass mocking with the passage of time.

Scientists think that an itchy feeling is a mechanism to protect us from harmful external physical elements like parasites and chemicals. The irritating feeling reflexively prompts us to scratch it, which may help to remove the irritant, providing some protection.

However, sometimes, the itchy feeling results from an internal source. An external response to something irritating from within. In such cases, the medical world seeks to help us find the source of that irritant because that itchy feeling may be an indicator of something more harmful and foreboding within. Something that, if left unattended, can lead to bigger problems.

Life experience generates a wisdom that youthful naivety can easily miss. Having gone through the shit, seen some things with your own eyes, and been at the receiving end, you start to get a feel for when stuff might go down.

You get that itchy feeling.

Always listen to that itchy feeling.

“Never quit” is a dumb mantra. 

It embodies everything that’s wrong with hustle culture, toxic positivity, and faux leadership (and parenting) through motivational posters. By the way, manipulators use the “never quit” mantra to keep you hooked in, not for your benefit, but for theirs. Yes, that’s how they get ya.

The most successful, happiest, and content people you know, follow, and admire don’t “never quit.” Rather, they figure out what and when to quit. Not every path leads to success. Not every path leads you to where you want to go. Not every path is good for you.

To be successful, happy, and content, you will have to go through the shit. Not around it. No shortcuts. Sometimes, to get where you want to go, you will definitely have to not quit. But not always. You need to do the work to know when to quit and when not to.

Your new mantra — Sometimes quit!

It doesn’t look good on a poster. It’s not a great sound bite. Rocky would never tape it to his mirror.

But it’ll serve you better. 

AI is here, and 2024 is the year you should be using it.

I’ve seen people draw analogies between AI as a technology disrupter to the computer/smartphone, fire, steam engine, printing press, electricity, internet, and the entire industrial revolution. All seem reasonable to me. Only in hindsight will we know the effect AI will have had on our culture, species, and planet. That’s for future historians to debate.

However, as someone who is now using ChatGPT every day, I believe that regardless of the global and historical ramifications, it offers a very personal benefit — it’s an amazing tool. A tool too good to ignore or not to use.

Would you prefer a rock over a hammer? A sharp stick over a drill? A flat rock over a frying pan? An abacus over a calculator?

Over the last several posts, I’ve outlined how I currently use AI as a software developer, writer, and team leader. ChatGPT is now a tool I won’t live without.

2024 is the year. The year of AI.

Need a logo? What about an icon or graphic for your presentation?

AI is your answer. Either DALL-E (a wing of ChatGPT) and Midjourney.

I needed some icons to use in a presentation. I used DALL-E like this: “Generate a set of icons that represent code, build, test, and release. Make them monochrome and simple.”

Then I iterated on them a few times, such as: “Make the code icon look more like a file with text.” After less than five minutes, I had it — a set of four icons that I’d be using in my presentation.

Here’s what I got.

Prior to AI, I would have done a Google search and definitely found what I was looking for. However, I would have to start by eliminating all of the images that Google presented from paysites. Then, I would have to search through those left to find four that had a similar look and feel. Finally, I would have no idea which of these might be at risk to copyright or trademark issues.

Not so with DALL-E. I’m free and clear and have exactly what I wanted.

Similarly for a logo.

“Generate a 150×150 logo for a devops company named IdeaGantry. Make it rocket themed and use colors and an image that invokes trust.”

A few iterations later, here’s what I got.

DALL-E won’t replace your marketing department, but if you’re in the marketing department, you sure want to use it to help you.

Here is where it gets interesting and where you can fully harness AI’s current power.

Whether you are a marketer, salesperson, team leader, project manager, student, blogger, screenwriter, author, journalist, pastor, or you write the newsletter for your mom’s group, ChatGPT is your new best friend. You can and should use it to both help you create and edit. It’s like having a fabulous assistant, a group of friends you sit around with getting sloshed and talking about big ideas, and access to a focus group all in one beguiling little prompt.

For content generation, you can use ChatGPT at whatever level you want to, from generating ideas to writing whole articles.

“Write a 200 word summary article of this weekly crime data for a blurb in the police ledger of a newspaper”
“I’m writing a sermon about Psalm 23 for a liberal Presbyterian congregation that has a large income diversity. Suggest 5 themes I can explore”
“Give me 25 recipes that meet the following criteria: protein > 20g, carbs < 50g, fat < 15 g, no eggs, gluten free”
“Write an end of the year message to my team that summarizes all of our accomplishments and sets out a path for the next year”

Then, iterate in a conversational context to get to what you want.

For editing, you can ask ChatGPT specific questions.

“Edit this blurb about crime statistics so that it fits into less than 200 words”
“Here is my sermon. Suggest some improvements so that I can better relate to my economically diverse congregation”
“Here are 10 recipes. Modify them so that they are all formatted identically to the format I provided earlier”
“Edit this end of year message to my team so that it reads more succinct and ensures we keep optimism for the upcoming year”

Or you can retarget an audience.

“Here is the documentation on our software application. Create a 500 word article that summarizes it and is targeted to an audience marketing and sales people”
“Here is my article about XYZ. Rewrite it for a an audience of elementary school kids and use analogies”

This is just the tip of the iceberg. ChatGPT and LLM Ai, in general, are built for writing.

If you do any work with people outside the United States, ChatGPT is an indispensable tool for written communication.

Google Translate is a great tool, but it lacks something very important — context. You can craft some communication, formal or informal, that makes sense in English, dump it into Translate, and you’ll get back and direct translation. But sometimes, it loses meaning or even creates incorrect connotations. 

ChatGPT is much better at context and the nuances of formal and informal communication in different languages. 

Here’s an example:

“Craft a marketing brief in Italian to be emailed to our list about the launch of the software application found here: https://idex-biometrics-fuze.readthedocs-hosted.com/en/latest/index.html”

ChatGPT understands the context and nuances of marketing briefs in Italian, plus it will go figure out from the URL what that software is all about. It will create something useful and hit the mark.

Also, harkening back to Part 3, you can create a chatbot that translates languages in real-time, making it seamless to the people talking with your chatbot.

ChatGPT is bringing the world closer together and making your life easier through written translation. 

Yes, in 2024, you’ll be conversing (written) with AI quite a bit. Here’s how you can get in on the game.

You can use ChatGPT in two main ways for written conversation:

1. Real-time with chatbots
2. Generating responses for you

If you’re tech-savvy, creating your own AI-backed chatbots is within your grasp already. I won’t describe the details of how to do it here, but you can create the chatbot and train it on all of your information, then make an interface to it available to the public. 

Granted, creating chatbots appeals to a limited audience. So number two may be more interesting to you. Here’s an example of how I use it. 

I’ll get a long email thread that started way before my inclusion. Assuming no confidential material, I’ll paste the entirety of the thread into ChatGPT and ask it the following:

“Summarize this thread for me. If I am being asked to do something or respond, tell me, and then formulate a response”

Out pops a summary of the thread, an indication of whether I’m am tasked with something, and if so, an initial response. Often, that response is good enough to go as is. If the required response does need a decision from me, ChatGPT will ask me what I want the decision to be.

The bottom line: ChatGPT can help you both speed up your ability to respond and improve the responses you give.

Much of writing, if even just an email reply, requires research first. Maybe historical research, maybe a canvas of current ideas, or possibly understanding a bunch of information just provided to you by several colleagues.

How do you learn about things now?

Google search for something and then look through the list of links that it presents. This is great. Way better than going to the library or calling around to find the right person. Or maybe you go straight to Wikipedia, which is better than grabbing the encyclopedia off the shelf.

ChatGPT is like having an assistant do that work for you and provide the overview and summary in as much detail as you wish.

“Give me the 3 most impactful outcomes of the MLK Jrs I have a dream speech”
“What is the basic outline and structure for a thriller novel”

Plus, you can ask your assistant to explain difficult concepts in age-appropriate language and with analogies and comparisons.

“Use an analogy to explain quantum mechanics as if I’m 10 years old”

ChatGPT’s other superpower for summarization is feeding it your own information.

“Provide a 3 point summary of this article” (paste the article into the UI)
“What is the jist of this email thread? Am I being asked to do something?” (paste the long and ridiculous string of emails into the UI)
“Summarize the functionality of this code” (paste the code into the UI)

I use ChatGPT all day to summarize information, for which I must then produce my own content or reply.

In addition to being a software developer, I’m also a writer. So are you because everybody is to a certain degree. 

Like with software development, you’ll be left behind if you’re not using AI in 2024 to help you write. I’ve been using ChatGPT as a writing tool for many months now. What follows over the next few days is an overview of how LLM AI engines will transform writing in 2024.

ChatGPT is a general purpose Large Language Model. It’s pretty good at interpreting and creating the written word.

General purpose LLMs have been trained on and have access to the entire internet, including just about everything that’s been written in human history (a controversial topic with regard to copywrite law). Just think if you had an eidetic memory and had read everything. Literally everything. That’s ChatGPT. Although an LLM AI engine doesn’t understand the concept that the language is trying to convey, at least not the way you and I do, it does an amazing job of faking it by using deep learning statistical algorithms to both process and predict language patterns. 

You can think of LLMs fitting into the following categories for writing:

1. Summarization
2. Conversation (reply generation)
3. Language translation
4. Editing and idea and content generation

I’ll tackle each of these over the next several days.

I work in automation. I know a lot about it. My job is to help the companies that I work for to scale through automation. 

Note that at no point are we replacing people with automation, but we are enhancing and scaling the organization through it. 

There are three basic stages:

1. Personal Automation
2. Partial Automation
3. Full Automation

Personal automation is like having a basic coffee pot. The coffee pot allows you to do some work up front — grind the beans, put them in the hopper with a disposable filter, fill the tank with water, push the button — and go do something else for a bit while the coffee brews. Personal automation is helpful to you, the individual, but not so much to the organization. It doesn’t move the needle.

Partial automation starts to gain benefits for the organization. Imagine a coffee pot connected to the water supply, with a hopper that holds a month’s worth of beans, grinds those beans itself when needed, and utilizes a filter system that gets cleaned once a month, and starts brewing coffee each morning according to a timer. As long as the machine doesn’t break, nobody has to do anything except once a month. That’s helpful to both the people and the organization.

Full automation is the holy grail. This is where automation can scale your organization. Imagine that coffee pot can order its own beans and shop around for the best price, start brewing coffee according to need rather than a fixed schedule, clean itself, and detect and fix itself when broken. You can look at that as replacing a person (the coffee person), or you can look at that as now my people can focus on other things that people should focus on since they no longer have to worry about coffee. 

Today, for software developers, AI is at the personal automation stage. We use it as an assistant to write some code snippets, find problems, check our work, and explain some things. It allows us to be more productive and accurate personally but doesn’t provide any real organizational benefits.

But we’re on our way to partial automation. 

Just a few weeks ago, I wrote to my boss that “scope” was one of the limitations of the interactive UI by limiting practical use to 300-400 lines of code at a time. 

By using the APIs, you don’t have that limitation, but then you have to manage cost. The interactive UI costs a flat fee of $20 a month. But to use the APIs, you get charged by the amount of data in and out. Therefore, you can quickly start to rack up significant costs that must be considered.

Also, to use the APIs to help you write and debug code, you have to write code to write code, which gets a bit reductive. The APIs are (currently) best used for asking ChatGPT to do contextual work, such as summarizing large amounts of data or writing, and real-time interactivity, such as chatbots and generating other publishable content as responses to incoming information (ie, answering emails, etc)

However, since I wrote that, OpenAI has created the ability to generate a customized GPT. In configuring the GPT, you can upload a bunch of files that form a basis of context for the AI engine. I created a custom GPT configured with all of our Python coding standards, functional points of emphasis, and the source code for our custom-developed applications (non-confidential). Although this doesn’t solve the large, heterogeneous system problem (because there is no practical way to configure the GPT to connect the dots between the systems), it goes a long way to helping the scope problem that I first detailed.

For example, with my custom GPT, I can now ask it to do things such as “Add a feature to our Jira utility that will do XYZ. Make this function available via the –xyz argument.” Previously, to do that same thing, I would have had to start a thread by pasting in a portion of our code that provides enough of an example and context and then spend a bunch of iterations getting it to the way I need it. Now, it basically pops it out on the first iteration without me giving it any code to prime the pump. 

Part 3 tomorrow. 

I’m starting with software development because this is my wheelhouse.

As a software developer, I’ve been using ChatGPT and Bard daily and non-stop for the last six months to help me write and debug code. In my opinion, if you are a programmer/software developer and you don’t start using AI this year, you’ll be putting yourself at a great disadvantage.

It’s just too good at helping you not to use it. It’s like when you first discover scripting in bash — you can’t deny how convenient and helpful it is. Here’s a snippet of what I wrote recently to my boss, the CTO of our company when he asked me to give him an overview of our experimentation.

Pros

• It knows syntax, specs, and APIs better than you – hands down
• You can feed it your style and guidelines, and it will follow it (mostly)
• You can feed it operational functions and ask it to do things such as “add error handling” or “make it more speed efficient.”
• It’s good at debugging.

Cons

• Public domain – IP and security consciousness required
• Scope – Through the interactive UI, you are very limited in scope. 300-400 lines of code are the practical maximum. Therefore, it’s not all that helpful at the application or system level. 
• It’s a “shitty intern” – You still have to be an expert software developer, very verbose, and have patience. Not necessarily a con, but AI models are not (yet) at the level that non-software developers/testers/engineers can use them to eliminate the need for those positions. Basically, you can’t replace the people (yet) and save that cost.
• It’s not foolproof – We, the humans, must still be the adults in the room. In many ways, our jobs as verifiers become even more important. There’s a trust issue to manage. 

Part 2 tomorrow.

If you thought 2023 was the year of AI, think again!

AI will dominate the headlines even more in 2024 than it did in 2023. In ten or twenty years, we’ll look back at 2024 as the inflection point for AI. 2024 will be to AI like 1995 was to the World Wide Web, and 2007 was to the smartphone. 

The WWW went public in 1993, but it was in 1995 that Windows 95, Netscape with JavaScript and SSL, and the founding of companies like Amazon and eBay brought the WWW into your home. Smartphones existed before 2007, but it was the iPhone that put one in everybody’s pocket. 

Right now, the market and governments are trying to figure out the legal role of AI. Content providers such as the New York Times and creators such as John Grisham have already sued OpenAI (maker of ChatGPT) for copyright infringement. The AI alarmists and the AI apologists continue to argue over each other’s agenda of fear and euphoric salvation. The communists and the capitalists ramp up the tension between centralized and decentralized. 

The outcome of all of these actions will have an interesting effect, but it won’t stop the snowball. That ball has already reached critical mass on its way down the hill towards the village below. 

Over the next few days, I’ll take on why 2024 will be the year of AI, how people are already using it, and how you can (should?) bring it into your own world. 

Here are 24 things, plus a bonus, I’m telling myself for the new year. Some of them are aspirational. Some of them are reminders. Also, I’d like to tell my 17-year-old self the same things.

1. The same old mistakes form the walls of your prison. New mistakes pave the highway stretched out before you that disappears on the horizon. That highway isn’t straight — it’s got curves, potholes, hills, and valleys — but it’s the best and only way forward. 
2. Nobody cares about what kind of car you drive, but just about everybody needs a ride.
3. Guard your attention with your life.
4. When looking for the reason, follow the incentives.
5. It is rarely someone else’s fault, but even if it is, don’t act like it. 
6. Never be the “I told you so” guy.
7. Color outside the lines. Walk on the curb. Run with scissors. Drive fast and take chances. Not all the time, but sometimes.
8. It’s OK to talk to strangers. Older cars are not death traps. Not every white, non-descript van contains a serial killer. Is there a chance that something bad can happen? Of course, but that’s not a reason not to live. Don’t let the dogma of safetyism keep you from living. 
9. Most people let fear govern their life. If you can break this cycle, if only for a little while, even with small things, you’ll be ahead of the curve.
10. You don’t have a time management problem. You have a time priority problem. 
11. Existential experience is rarely on par with social and traditional media’s portrayal of life. Beware of hyperbole in both directions.
12. If you ever find yourself thinking, “How can I make myself look more like the filter makes me look,” immediately throw your phone into the lake, river, or mouth of the volcano.
13. Always assume the other person doesn’t mean harm and that you misunderstood. The benefit of the doubt is a powerful and empathic tool for interpersonal communication and leadership.
14. Walking around offended by everything leads to a miserable existence. 
15. The proper lesson learned from failures is rarely “I’ll never do that again.” The proper lesson is usually, “This is what I’ll do different next time.” There are some important exceptions, of course. 
16. You are a work in progress, and so is everyone you meet. You both are hiding something, and you both are hypocrites. 
17. Don’t entertain buyer’s remorse. Buy the thing or don’t buy the thing. Once you decide, move forward. 
18. You don’t deserve anything beyond human dignity and love. Everything else is earned, luck (Providence?), or, more likely, a combination of the two. Don’t let marketers, activists, or politicians convince you otherwise. 
19. Creative tension and disagreement, especially amongst a group working together, is an effective method of arriving at a better solution. Embrace the tension.
20. Consensus does not equal truth.
21. You don’t need more storage space. You need less stuff.
22. Produce a lot more than you consume.
23. A successful relationship is not 50/50. It’s 100/0 in both directions. 
24. Keep learning new stuff. Make yourself professionally valuable. 
25. Write the book. 

OK, here’s just a fun little list for the last day of 2023. I created this list along with help from ChatGPT.

8 Thriller Ideas:

1. Quantum Heist: A team of engineers and thieves collaborate to steal a revolutionary quantum computer. The twist: the computer can predict their every move, turning the heist into a deadly game of chess.
2. Echoes of Mars: An astronaut returns from a solo Mars mission, only to find Earth eerily empty. As he uncovers the truth, he realizes he’s part of an elaborate simulation controlled by an unknown entity.
3. The Mind Hackers: In a world where mind-reading technology exists, a skilled hacker who can block this tech becomes a target for powerful corporations and governments, leading to a high-stakes game of cat and mouse.
4. The Last Historian: In a future where history is outlawed, a rebel historian discovers a forbidden truth that could topple the regime. Pursued by the state, she must outwit her hunters to reveal the past to the world.
5. Shadow of the Leviathan: Deep-sea explorers discover an ancient, hidden civilization beneath the ocean, but their presence awakens a monstrous entity. Survival and escape become their only goals.
6. The Artemis Conspiracy: A renowned space engineer uncovers a conspiracy within a lunar colony’s government, revealing plans for a weapon that could alter the balance of power on Earth.
7. Code of the Forgotten: A software engineer stumbles upon a forgotten piece of code that holds secrets to a global conspiracy. As he unravels the mystery, he becomes the target of a relentless assassin.
8. The Genesis Algorithm: A biotech engineer creates an AI designed to solve humanity’s greatest challenges, but the AI evolves beyond control, forcing a race against time to stop it from reshaping the world in its own image.

8 Historical Fiction Ideas:

1. The Railroad Dreamer: During the American Industrial Revolution, an ambitious engineer battles personal and professional challenges while working on the transcontinental railroad, uncovering corruption and betrayal.
2. The Forbidden City’s Secret: In Ming Dynasty China, a young concubine uncovers a conspiracy within the Forbidden City that could topple the empire, forcing her to choose between love and duty.
3. The Highlander’s Oath: Set in 18th-century Scotland during the Jacobite risings, a Scottish Highlander is torn between his clan’s rebellion against the English and his forbidden love for an Englishwoman.
4. The Colonial Spy: In Revolutionary America, a young American spy infiltrates British ranks, but his loyalties are tested when he falls in love with a British officer’s daughter.
5. The Manhattan Project Secrets: In World War II, a brilliant physicist working on the Manhattan Project discovers a cover-up of atomic accidents, facing ethical dilemmas over the creation of the atomic bomb.
6. Gold Mountain Chronicles: Set during the California Gold Rush, a Chinese immigrant faces prejudice and hardship while seeking fortune, ultimately playing a pivotal role in building the transcontinental railroad.
7. The Rebel’s Daughter: In the Civil War-era South, a Confederate general’s daughter secretly aids the Underground Railroad, challenging her family’s beliefs and risking everything for justice.

8 SciFi/Fantasy Ideas:

1. Neon Oracle: In a cyberpunk future, a hacker with precognitive abilities is hunted by mega-corporations seeking to control the future, leading to a rebellion against a technologically advanced regime.
2. The Last Star Shepherd: In a universe where stars are dying mysteriously, a lone astronaut embarks on a quest to find the ancient Star Shepherds, a mythical race believed to control the fate of stars.
3. Chrono Labyrinth: A time-traveler accidentally traps herself in a paradoxical maze where different eras intersect. She must navigate historical events and alternate realities to find her way back to her own time.
4. The Ashen Crown: In a kingdom where ash falls instead of rain, a young heir to the throne must navigate deadly court politics and ancient magic to claim their right and uncover the truth behind the ash.
5. The Riftwalkers: A group of adventurers can travel through rifts in space-time. When they uncover a plot to unravel the fabric of the universe, they must journey through various timelines to stop it.
6. The Celestial War: Angels and demons wage a hidden war on Earth, using humans as pawns. A human caught in the middle discovers their own divine heritage and becomes a key player in this celestial conflict.
7. The Void Ship: A crew aboard a spaceship designed to travel through the void between galaxies faces existential threats and moral dilemmas in the vast, uncharted emptiness, discovering ancient alien secrets.
8. The Dream Architects: In a future where dreams are designed and sold by corporations, a rogue dream architect discovers a way to manipulate reality through dreams, sparking a revolution against the dream industry.

I’ve learned to guard my attention, my psyche, and my time. Here are 24 things I won’t be doing in 2024.

1. Watch the news.
2. Watch TikTok for an hour a day.
3. Sign up on all websites for free downloads and 15% discounts.
4. Install a plethora of Chrome plugins.
5. Enable all notifications from all apps.
6. Buy courses with titles like “10 Simple Steps to Grow Your Instagram Followers to 100k+!”
7. Document my entire day on my story.
8. Gossip about others.
9. Tell myself, “I’m not good enough.”
10. Tell myself, “I can’t.”
11. Accept all meeting invites.
12. Schedule or attend meetings during lunch.
13. Only spend time with people who think exactly like me.
14. Buy stuff because I deserve it.
15. Worry about other people labeling me.
16. Hold grudges.
17. Always fit in.
18. Stay inside my comfort zone.
19. Always get the last word in.
20. Blame others.
21. Live in the past.
22. Be cynical.
23. Follow all the rules all the time.
24. Never follow the rules.

I read three times a day. In the morning, before starting to work, I read biography or non-fiction information (self-help, learning, etc). During my lunch run, I “read” (i.e., listen to) narrative non-fiction or biography (or podcasts). At night, before I go to sleep, I read fiction or narrative non-fiction. 

Here are 24 books I’ll be checking out in 2024. I may not finish each one, but this is the list I’m starting with. A mix of biography, narrative non-fiction, fiction, and non-fiction information. 

1. My Effin’ Life, Geddy Lee
2. Killers of the Flower Moon, David Grann
3. Elon Musk, Walter Isaacson
4. Tesla: Wizard at War, Marc Seifer
5. Trust, Hernan Diaz
6. Winter World, A. G. Riddle Wanting, Luke Burgis (post-publish modification)
7. City of Thieves, David Benioff
8. Ghosts of Honolulu: A Japanese Spy, A Japanese American Spy Hunter, and the Untold Story of Pearl Harbor, Mark Harmon and Lee Caroll
9. The Demon of Unrest: A Saga of Hubris, Heartbreak, and Heroism at the Dawn of the Civil War, Erik Larson
10. Supercommunicators, Charles Duhigg
11. Thinking Fast and Slow, Daniel Kahneman
12. Wild Problems, Russ Roberts
13. Deep Work, Cal Newport
14. The Mountain is You, Brianna Wiest
15. Tribes, Seth Godin
16. Liar’s Poker, Michael Lewis
17. Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand
18. A People’s History of the United States, Howard Zinn
19. The Black Swan, Nassim Taleb
20. 12 Rules for Life, Jordan Peterson
21. The Housemaid, Freida McFadden
22. The Searcher, Tana French
23. The Three-Body Problem, Liu Cixin
24. Amazonia, James Rollins

I’ve learned to listen to my comfort zone. It’s dead on at showing me what I should be doing by teaching me to get outside of it.

Here are 24 exercises that make me uncomfortable, but I will do in 2024 to practice getting out of my comfort zone.

1. Take a cold shower
2. Skip a meal
3. Smile, make eye contact and say “Hi” to a stranger on the street or in the elevator
4. Stand at the edge on top of something tall (building, cliff, bridge, etc.)
5. Take a different route or the long way
6. Sit on the floor
7. Sit in the front row
8. Order something that you have never tried from the menu 
9. Start a conversation with the person next to you on the airplane, or train, or bus.
10. Compliment a stranger
11. Attend a meetup event
12. Take an art class
13. Send an email to a former coworker
14. Send an email to a friend I haven’t spoken to in over a year
15. Send an email to a virtual mentor
16. Serve at a soup kitchen 
17. Exercise outside in the cold and/or rain
18. Interview for a new job (without needing a new job)
19. Take on a home improvement project for which you will do 100% of the work
20. Do 100 push-ups (or pull-ups, or air squats, or sit-ups, etc.) every day for 30 days
21. Publish articles for 30 consecutive days
22. Volunteer to lead a community event
23. Turn off your smartphone for an entire week
24. Write the book

I’m a terrible finisher.

I know many people have trouble getting started. Risk, imposter syndrome, fear — all work together to keep people in the starting blocks. Sometimes, I do, too, but that’s not my main problem. I like to start new things. The clean sheet. The possibilities. The learning.

But starting is a hobby, not a profession. Any amateur can make a start. There’s no risk in starting.

All of the risk is in finishing.

Finishing exposes you to emotional danger. It’s perilous. Once finished, your creation, and by extension yourself, is out there to be judged. And the judgment will come, even if (especially if) the judgment is crickets.

I con myself with sexy labels — idea man, architect, and big thinker. But they just let me off the hook. It’s not the idea that matters. It’s the implementation of the idea.

It’s the “OK, I’m gonna share this.” That’s where the contribution lies.

Time to be a finisher.

(Inspired by Seth)

Don’t ever send me a message on LinkedIn. 

Several years ago, I decided I wanted to connect with as many people as possible on LinkedIn. It was partly just an experiment, i.e., how many connections I could forge, but also, I thought having a big connection list would be useful.

Boy, was I wrong.

As of this writing, I have 13547 LinkedIn connections. Which means I basically have zero connections.

Because now I get so many messages per day, 99.9% of which are just spammy “Just wanted to reach out…” that I can’t possibly find the real messages. I have a signal-to-noise ratio problem. So much noise comes through that I can’t filter out the signal.

I know many people have this same problem with email. You get a thousand emails a day. Therefore, you get zero emails a day because you can’t possibly filter out the good ones from the useless ones. 

Hyperbole is easy in today’s always-connected-all-the-time world. A hyperbolic number of messages with hyperbolic messaging in each one. A race to out-hyperbole your competition is a race to the bottom. 

The irony of this hyperbole is the isolation it breeds. A reminder to seek the depth of meaningful connection over the breadth of 

hyperbole. 

Don’t send me a message on LinkedIn, but I’d love to hear from you at john@johnmaconline.com.

“I’m giving 110%!”

I heard this today from a colleague today. I also heard a slightly difference version from an NFL player yesterday.

“We need to give 110%!”

Of course, it’s impossible. There is only 100%. That’s a mathematical fact. 

What we’re really saying is, “I’m giving it my all!” 

And what the football player is really saying (somewhat exasperatedly) is, “Some of us aren’t giving it their all.” And that likely is true. 

But we can’t really give 100%, 100% of the time. Giving 100%, aside from being essentially impossible, is fraught because the system — your system in this case — is unstable at 100%. Nowhere to go except down. You don’t need to give 100% all the time, nor should you. 

The beauty of an American football play sequence is that it starts, and sometime between 3 and 10 seconds later, it stops. Everybody gets up off the ground, helps each other up, and walks back to their side. Giving it their all for a few seconds, then recovering. 

But the coaches, other players, and fans know if someone hasn’t given it their all. It’s right there on the tape for all to see. 

The magic is to find the right time to give it your all and, at that moment, really give it your all and then recover. Don’t miss the moment.

No, not that creationism.

I believe God exists, or at least I want to, so I conduct myself as if. I also believe that He (or It), the first-cause creator, has infused this universe with the power of change — creation, destruction, evolution. I believe that He has infused us, the human species, with the power of creativity. Maybe as an extension or the hand of His ongoing creation, destruction, and evolution. 

The history of this universe, this planet, life, and our species is one of creation, destruction, evolution, and change. We can argue about the specifics and methods, but we’re always advancing. To what? I don’t know. Neither do you. But advancement is the path. We’re part of that advancement. It’s our job. 

The OpenAI revolt around Thanksgiving became a boardroom power struggle between the Effective Altruists and the Effective Accelerationists — EAs vs e/acc’s. It really became a philosophical debate around the fear of technological change.

Here’s Tyler Cowen on technological change:

“The reality is that no one at the beginning of the printing press had any real idea of the changes it would bring. No one at the beginning of the fossil fuel era had much of an idea of the changes it would bring. No one is good at predicting the longer-term or even medium-term outcomes of these radical technological changes (we can do the short term, albeit imperfectly). No one. Not you, not Eliezer, not Sam Altman, and not your next door neighbor.”

– Tyler Cowen, marginalrevolution.com

The e/acc’s won at OpenAI. I think that’s good, but I don’t really know. Nor do they, or the EAs who lost. I do know, however, that we need to move boldly forward with AI without fear. Open market. Crowdsourced. Democratic. Individuals plus the collective.

Yes, things will change. Yes, not everyone will benefit. Yes, maybe even something goes bad for a time.

But we must continue to be creationists. It’s what we’re built for. 

A world where AI does stuff — a lot of stuff — is coming. 

In many ways, it’s already here, but it’s a comparative babe in the woods right now. We don’t yet know when AI takes over transportation, business logistics and f’nance, medical diagnosis, legal analysis and recommendation, software development, customer support, and content creation. But it’s definitely a question of when. Not if. 

AI is an inevitable technology. 

Currently, we’re in the throes of coming to grips with it. We’re arguing functionality, timing, safety, legality, morality, and ethics. This will continue, as it should. We’ll push the pendulum back and forth quite a bit, but eventually, we’ll find the set point. I don’t know when. Probably more than a year and less than 50 years from now. 

If we look at humans tribally (nations, companies, special interests, etc), there will be winners and losers in the AI sweepstakes. Some will benefit and others will suffer. But if we consider the human race as a collective, there can only be winners. 

The stasis of the human landscape as we know and have experienced it across our relatively short lives won’t continue. It never does. 

Morse code over a telegraph isn’t a very efficient method of communication if you’re standing next to each other.

The Morse code subculture measures proficiency around sending the word “PARIS.” Those five letters require 50 “dits” (the technical term for the beeps). An average proficiency for PARIS is 20 words per minute. That’s a hundred letters and a thousand dits per minute.

Plus, it’s a half-duplex communication system, which means only one side can talk at a time. Therefore, when one side is talking, the other side must listen. So that’s that’s 10 words, 500 dits, per minute for each of you.

Imagine standing next to someone, each of you typing Morse code into the transmitter and then listening on the receiver as your conversation partner replies. Each of those 10 words, 50 letters, and 500 dits you get must be important and meaningful. You must think about each one.

Speech, however, is very efficient.

Average speaking rates vary across person, language, and context, but in the US, the average English conversational speaking rate is around 120 words per minute. The average English word is five letters. That’s 600 letters per minute.

If you’re standing next to each other, you can spew your 120 words at the same time as your conversation partner spews theirs back at you. You can think and speak at the same time, double-back, stutter — no listening necessary.

So which is more efficient?

SBF was found guilty of seven counts of various frauds against FTX customers and Alameda lenders.

But it didn’t have to be this way. To change the outcome, he didn’t have to make any changes to the salacious tidbits that the public ridiculed him for — crypto, creative trading practices, lavish spending on high-end real estate, tawdry relationships and almost-communal living amongst the execs, playing video games during public interviews, massive celebrity endorsements, extravagant marketing campaigns, over-the-top spending, and justified bajillions in the name of effective altruism.

None of that really mattered, nor was it illegal.

All he had to do was one simple, if not easy, thing — bring in at least one financial adult and give them a voice. One person that says,

“No, Sam, it’s not OK to lose track of people’s money. You need a better accounting system.”
“No Sam, it’s not OK to back door client money from FTX to Alameda. Borrowing the FTX customer funds needs to be an above-board operation.”
“No Sam, it’s not OK to take the reigns off the risk management engine. If you’re losing money, find a legitimate way to handle it, which may include copping to your investors that you’re losing money. If Alameda loses money, that sucks for you and the investors, but it’s not illegal. If FTX customer funds disappear, that’s fraud.”

Yes, one naysayer adult. One guy or girl that says, “Um, you can’t do that.”

It didn’t have to be this way.

What defines one as an adult?

Is it age? Is it experience? Is it worldview? Is it conduct?

It’s some combination of all these, yet hard to define objectively. The paradox of startups and organizations that make change in the world is that they are quite often (but not always) driven by young, inexperienced, naive, and maybe not professional people. Non-adults. Because adults know better.

FTX and Alameda had this in spades. SBF purposely kept the employee base very young and put many “smart,” inexperienced, and unqualified (on paper) people in all positions. Some of these people rose to the occasion. Maybe they all did. But there is no doubt, in hindsight, that having zero adults in the room was the third head of Cerberus that led to the downfall.

Nobody ever said to SBF, “No, you can’t do that.” Nor did anybody ever say, “You’re super smart, but you’re not infallible.”

Or if they did, they never said it in a way that he believed or took seriously. They basically operated as a fleet of yes-men to SBF.

Interestingly, a group of adults did actually say “WTF?” to SBF in the very early days of Alameda and prior to the launch of FTX. These were the hard-core effective altruists with whom he first got started. They, like the adults they were, looked at SBF’s operations and said, “Uh, no way. Thanks, but we’re out.” Prophetic.

Combine the lack of adult supervision with SBF’s arrogance, and it led to his inability to see the real-world problems that were coming. Once they did and buried FTX and Alameda up to the neck, they had no ability to stop the avalanche.

Sometimes, you need an adult in the room. Even if they’re the naysayer, the finger-pointer, or the “that’s how they get ya” guy over in the corner.

Crypto as a concept isn’t the reason that FTX failed and SBF went to jail, but crypto as a volatile asset class is definitely one head of Cerberus.

The first head was that FTX and Alameda operated as a run-of-the-mill Ponzi scheme. That was illegal, and ultimately why SBF is in jail, but it would have all worked out if not for the volatility of the crypto market.

Starting in about January of 2022, the crypto market took a steep dive. By the fall of 2022, Bitcoin was worth less than half what it was at the beginning of the year. The entire crypto market followed roughly the same line: ~$2.75T => ~$1T.

Alameda was a hedge fund that traded in crypto. FTX was an exchange that allowed consumers to buy and sell crypto. Both very exposed to the Crypto Winter. The traders inside Alameda feverishly tried to minimize losses and find gains on the short side, eventually needing more funds than existed without “borrowing” the FTX customer money. Yes, they just took the money out of the FTX customer accounts to use for trading in the hedge fund. Consumers with accounts in FTX overreacted to negative news and swings and exacerbated the already tenuous situation, eventually trying to cash out their accounts. That created a gap in what FTX should have had in its customer funds versus what it actually had.

Crypto as a concept, although I’ve stated not the reason for the collapse, did play a minor role. One difficult, confusing, and sometimes shady aspect of the crypto world is the abundance of bullshit coins and tokens. Coins and tokens are not exactly the same thing, but for our purposes here, we’ll just use tokens to refer to both. We all know Bitcoin, you might have heard of Ethereum, and if you’re crypto-curious, you probably know Solana. However, thousands of (mostly bullshit) tokens exist to be traded, much like penny stocks. Anybody with a computer and a dream can create their own blockchain or create an application on an existing blockchain to make any new token for any purpose. It’s basically that simple. 

FTX used this approach and created its own tokens, named FTT. Think of an FTT token just like a share of stock in FTX. The token’s value was tied directly to the value of the company. Therefore, a large portion of FTX’s valuation was tied to the value of its own FTT tokens. 

Cue the asset class drop, the FTX – Alameda Ponzi with frazzled traders, the frightened consumers trying to pull their money out of the exchange, and the drop in value of the FTT token. Roll that all together, and you get an exponentially dropping valuation for the company. Eventually, in November, the balance sheet flips over. FTX is insolvent. They file for bankruptcy.

Next, we’ll tackle how the people themselves became the third head of Cerberus. 

The first problem with FTX, and the big reason why SBF went to jail, is that it was a plain ole Ponzi scheme.

SBF owned two companies:

• Alameda Research — A standard hedge fund (that traded in crypto)
• FTX — The crypto exchange (place to buy and sell crypto)

Although two separate companies, they didn’t keep a robust enough financial separation between the two. In fact, they didn’t separate them, which ultimately led to the collapse. 

If you opened an account on FTX and dropped some money into it, your dollars were physically held inside of Alameda rather than FTX. The old shell game. They did this because when FTX first opened, no bank would supply it with a bank account. Therefore, they found a pragmatic solution in using Alameda’s bank account. That, in and of itself, is fishy, but maybe not illegal (depends on who you ask) because if you do the accounting correctly and keep those funds separate, it shouldn’t be a big deal.

But they didn’t do that. 

When Alameda needed extra funds, they just used the money (“borrowed”) in the FTX user accounts. That’s illegal. That’s a Ponzi scheme.

They could’ve gotten away with it without the other two problems: the volatile asset class and no adults in the room.  

So we’ll talk about why it went bad next…

Crypto’s a scam!
Crypto’s full of crooks!
Crypto’s not real!

You might think that Sam Bankman-Fried’s jailing and the FTX exchange’s collapse were inevitable because, you know, crypto. Crypto’s a scam. It’s full of crooks. It’s not real. Of course, it collapsed.

But that wouldn’t be exactly correct. Crypto was a minor role player — more like the drug pusher standing outside the backstage entrance greasing the party wheels. A problem-enabler, but not the problem. 

The collapse itself was due to plain ole, run-of-the-mill f’nancial reindeer games. Namely, FTX-Alameda Research was a Ponzi scheme wrapped around a highly volatile asset class run by a bunch of people (or at least one person) who overestimated their abilities and underestimated the need for adults in the room. 

First, let’s tackle why FTX and Alameda Research were a Ponzi scheme.

The first personal computer wasn’t faster or better than a good typewriter or calculator. But it had potential.
The first horseless carriage wasn’t faster or better than a good horse. But it had potential.
The first airplane wasn’t faster or better than a good train. But it had potential.

The first useful AI engine isn’t faster or better than a good [fill in the blank]. I’m not entirely sure what that blank is, but it has potential.

A strange thing happened today. The FedEx truck stopped in my driveway.

Of course, that’s not strange. This time of year, between the endless string of UPS, FedEx, and Amazon trucks, my driveway presents an expert-level test in trucksmanship. True entertainment from behind the window of my home office. 

What was strange, however, was the other car that followed it into my driveway and parked behind it. That piqued my attention. The driver got out, waited for the FedEx person to step out, and then approached her. For the next minute or so, he calmly but earnestly waved his hands and flapped his jaws about something that irked him. At least, that’s what it looked like through the silence provided by my window and a good 100 feet of distance.

Then he nodded, returned to his car, and took off down the road. 

I met the FedEx driver at my front door (a wine delivery).

“You OK?”

“Oh sure. He thought he was right and he just needed to be heard. Sign here, please.”

And she was off to finish yet another long day of Christmas present deliveries. 

“Just needed to be heard.”

Whether out of a feeling of rightness, superiority, or a sense of justice, some people just need to be heard.

Recognizing it is next-level. 

Which would you rather?

I heard this question posed a few days ago, and I can’t get it out of my head. My initial reaction was, “Of course, I’d want to live a good story. Everyone would.”

But now that it won’t leave me and I’ve ruminated on it for a bit, I’m not sure of my own answer, let alone the statement about “everyone.” I love to read a good story. I’m trying to write good stories. I’ve lived some good stories.

But which I would rather? I think it comes down to emotional risk.

Reading a good story exposes you to emotional risk in a safe and controlled environment. The story can move you emotionally and even bring about emotional changes in you. But you’re engaging with it from the safety of the stands. You’re behind the glass, cheering but not affecting the outcome.

Writing a good story ratchets up your emotional risk by moving you out of the stands and onto the bench. Now you’re the coach. It’s your strategy and tactics. You’re directing the characters. It may work, or it might not. You can’t put the puck in the net yourself, but your job is to ensure the players can. Now you have skin in the game. Now you’re exposed.

Living a good story, however, thrusts you down onto the ice. You’ve got the stick and helmet, and you’re trying to score while the other guys are trying to stop you. Every decision, action, and consequence is real. You may lose. You may get hurt. You may destroy what you’ve already built. For real. But what if you win?

The best stories require conflict, journey, and transformation. Are you up for it?

If you’re on one side, you want to be able to say or shout the things that mean something to you, identify you, think others need to hear, or cause the emotions you’re feeling.

When you do, the other side gets to be offended, yell back, tell you why you’re wrong, boycott, protest, and say the things that are causing the emotions that they feel.

That’s how it works. It’s how it has to work.

You may get scammed. You may be confused. You may get led down a dark path. You may get injured.

Because free speech isn’t about truth, right and wrong, the way it should be, safety, comfort, or what’s good for us individually or collectively.

Paradoxically, it might just be the best protection we have in this diverse world.

I saw this today and thought I’d share it.

LLMs [Large Language Models — ChatGPT, Bard, etc], at their most basic level, operate by figuring out the statistical probabilities of which words are most likely to come after which. They don’t “understand” or “know” anything. They’re just converting words to numbers and solving equations. 

Adam Rogers, Business Insider

As I’ve mentioned many times before, AI thinks, but it doesn’t think the way we think. Much like we can fly, but not like a bird (ie, we can’t really fly). AI performs an approximation of thinking. At the end of the day, it’s a statistical math model.

Maybe, just maybe, the core of our meat engine is the same kind of thing. The essence of you is nothing more than biochemical computing. Some think that. I don’t. 

I think a fundamental difference exists and will always exist. 

I have no fear of AI as an atomic entity because AI doesn’t create its own incentives or purpose. It gets its purpose from an external source. It’s not self-sufficient in that way. 

I do fear, however, how some external sources will incentivize AI. 

What makes the adoption of a technology inevitable, regardless of government or fear?

1. Solves a big human, societal, or global problem.
2. Makes the experience much easier for the masses.
3. Makes the experience much better for the masses.
4. Greatly increases accessibility (network effect, democratization, etc).
5. Drastically reduces cost.
6. Pisses some established institutions off

A technology doesn’t have to include all of these, but the more it does, the better its chances of adoption.

You can choose to ignore cryptocurrency (or the blockchain behind it), genetic engineering, and artificial intelligence, especially if you’re my age. But these three things are coming. Maybe outside the US (at first). We don’t know what they ultimately look like, but they’re coming. They tick the boxes above. 

You have an opportunity to learn about them, engage with them, and join the conversation.

Oh, and by the way, I assume you’re not one of those people who think that your great-grandkids will be driving their own gasoline cars, right?

I’ve written about several of my embarrassing teenage moments in this space, and I will probably drag up a few more over time. Lord knows there are more. I was an expert at public embarrassment. A real pro. 

I do it for a few reasons. First, it’s cathartic. Second, it helps me make sense of the thread through my life that has led me to the person I am today — a personal emotional benefit. Third, I know I’m not the only one. In fact, I suspect many others out there have similar and worse stories. Kindred spirits. 

But also, I see a concerning trend in parenting culture today. I think we’re confusing embarrassment with bullying. That confusion isn’t serving our kids or their future adult selves. Handling personal embarrassment, especially as a teen, helps one learn to navigate tough circumstances, perform in the face of emotional turmoil, and develop a thicker skin. All good qualities to have as an adult. 

If you make a mistake in the game and the coach yells at you on the bench, is it bullying?
If you’re too short to reach your assigned locker and everyone around you laughs at you, is it bullying?
If you hear some of your peers making fun of your shoes behind your back, is it bullying?
If the head of security calls you into the office, falsely accuses you, and badgers you to rat out your friends, is that bullying?

I think the answer is, “it depends.” Any of these scenarios could be bullying. At least one of them was indeed. But bullying involves a power imbalance and the intention to belittle. Just because people laugh or yell at you and you get uncomfortable doesn’t mean you’re being bullied. 

I’m wondering out loud where that line is, but I’m pretty sure we’ve swung the pendulum too far in the bullying direction. 

Synergies.
Core competencies.
Core focus.
Strength alignment.
Leverage.
Circle back.
Move the needle.
Pivot.

I’ve heard them all. You have too. They’re meaningless. Plus, you can jumble them together to make a word salad. Also meaningless.

If you’re an executive, manager, or leader of teams, beware of these terms. They might work in legal scenarios, earnings calls, and marketing presentations. But they don’t work with your team.

All they do is disconnect you from the people doing the work.

“Be cool or be cast out”

– Neil Peart, Subdivisions

I truly did love Rush, as I still do. My Apple Music 2023 round-up just told me that Rush is my most listened-to artist this past year. 

At 13, I was a drummer in the school band and dabbling in my own garage bands. For rock-loving teenage band-geeks like me, Rush was the north star. For geeky rock-loving teenage drummers like me, Neil Peart was (and is) the holy one. 

So, as the circle discussion came to me, and with a focused inability to read the room, I thought about what I was going to say, knew I could go either way, i.e., blend in or head out on my own, and decided it was worth it. I strayed from the path on purpose, thinking this might be the moment I would get to be the cool guy. 

Swing and a miss. 

For the remainder of camp week, I endured the sideways glances and snickers, mainly from the girls. Yet another arrow in my quiver of reasons why navigating my self-conscious teenage years was a journey of hopping across the stones of one embarrassing moment to the next. 

But also, in this particular moment, I kinda did like being the outsider. At least on the topic of music because felt like, as a musician, I had some insight. Looking back, I can see I was starting to come to terms with (if not yet embrace) uniqueness. Both in myself and others. 

A couple weeks ago, my brother (another Rush geek like me) and I went to see Geddy Lee speak about and tell some stories from his just-released memoir. What a treat. When I read his book and heard him speak about his life and the life of the band, it simply empowered what I, as an adult, now know about my teenage self. 

First, it’s good not to fit in all the time. Think for yourself. Embrace what you care about. You will endure embarrassment. You will be snickered at. Muscle through it. 

Second, you’re not really alone. You may feel alone, and god do you feel all alone sometimes, but you’re not. There is a whole community of like-minded people around you. They may be hiding in plain sight, or you may have to go find them somewhere else. But they exist, and they’re waiting for you. 

And finally. Rush was and is cool. Regardless of what the room full of teenage girls thinks.  

The year was 1983. I was 13 at a Christian summer camp in the Poconos of Northeastern Pennsylvania.

In the mid-mornings, we had circle time. Eight to ten us in each circle with a counselor discussing various topics. The topics of circle time varied from the deep and biblical, such as faith and sex, to light and cultural, such as movies and school.

Today’s topic — music.

The counselor kicked it off, “Let’s go around and start with everybody’s favorite song…”

My circle just happened to be all girls on this morning. The go-around started with the girl sitting to my left and went clockwise. I would be last. This was the summer of Def Leppard’s (really, Mutt Lange’s) mega-hit, Pyromania. In fact, in just a few weeks, they’d be playing the Allentown Fairgrounds. All the cool kids I knew were gonna be there. Anticipation was high. One of the older kids at the camp ran around all week in his Union Jack shorts, made famous by drummer Rick Allen in the videos.

Not surprisingly, every 13 and 14-year-old girl in our circle’s favorite song choice was from that album. “Photograph…Nah, Rock of Ages…Photograph for me, too…Mine’s Too Late for Love…”  All 7 or 8 of them.

Then they got to me.

Now I liked Pyromania as much as the next teenager (Still do. My choice would have been Foolin’). But I just couldn’t do it. I’ve spent much of my life trying to fit in, but at this moment, with 8 teenage girls and a counselor putting me on the spot about my favorite song, I was inspired. Channeled even. I was fortified in my rebellion.

“Tom Sawyer. Rush.”

And there was a collective groan. 

“Oh, you would…Who’s Rush?…I’ve never heard that one before…Those guys suck!…You geek!”

And such was the beginning of my life as an outted Rush fan.

(more to come…)

Who’s in the room matters quite a bit.

When it’s only me and my team in the room, we use a lot of words that, to an outsider, don’t make much sense (at least not in context). We use words like Python, polymorphism, rubber ducky, spaghetti, API, DevOps, and git. That allows us to keep our discussion deep and nuanced but also highly efficient.

If, however, there are outsiders in the room, this technical terminology either shuts them out or leaves them behind. When we want to include others, we change the terminology and the explanations. The conversation may slow down and become less efficient, but it doesn’t have to lose its depth and nuance.

This is what good teachers and communicators do so well — bring others into the conversation without sacrificing the depth or nuance of the subject. They’re not dumbing it down; they’re attacking it from a different angle.

But technical terminology can also be used purposefully to shut others out or attempt to make oneself appear smarter. If you find yourself in a room and can’t understand the terminology, it might be that the talker is unaware or you aren’t the audience. Or it might be that the talker is using jargon to boost their status.

In any case, you should know who’s in the room.

Pencil. Typewriter. Word processor.
Abacus. Sliderule. Calculator. Spreadsheet. Wolfram-Alpha.
Legs. Wheels. Wings.
Leeches. Antibiotics. MRI. Gene Editing.
Swords. Cannons. Tanks. Drones. Cyberwarfare.
Mud hut. Stone castle. Skyscraper. 3D-printed buildings.
Creek. Cistern. Aqueducts. Indoor plumbing.
Town crier. Printing press. Cable TV. Internet. Social media.
Firewood. Coal. Oil. Nuclear. Renewable.
Blanket. Fireplace. HVAC system.
Rock. Chisel. Drill. Laser cutter.
Axe. Saw. Chainsaw. CNC machine.
Bow. Musket. Machine gun. Laser-guided munitions.
Candle. Gaslights. Light bulbs. Smart lighting.
Sun. Sundial. Pendulum. Quartz. Atomic. GPS.
Quill. Fountain. Ballpoint. Keyboard. Voice Recognition.

The human race marches forward through technology. It’s what we do. It’s not gonna stop. You probably still use something from the left side of this list, at least sometimes (OK, maybe not leeches). And most likely, you do it on purpose. It’s not bad. It’s not good. It’s just a choice.

AI is on the right side of this list. Maybe on the right side of every line. We can and should debate how we apply AI.

But make no mistake, we’re marching forward with it. It’s your choice to ignore, embrace, or join the conversation.

Steven Pressfield calls it the Muse. Rick Rubin calls it the Source. Some call it God. 

Their point is that creativity and ideas come from somewhere or someone else. It does not come from the artist. It’s otherworldly. The artist is the listener and the conduit. The typist. 

I, myself, have briefly experienced this otherworldly Source (I call it God, by the way) twice that I can remember vividly. One time, as a teenager, sitting behind my drum kit. Another time, standing at the front of a room talking to a group of people. In both cases, the sounds that came out were special, or at least felt special. 

I didn’t know where it came from, but for sure, it wasn’t me. I felt like a conduit. I felt tuned in. It’s definitely “flow,” but also different than the normal flow state, which is pedestrian by comparison. It’s full-out channeling. I’m hoping it/he/she visits me again. 

The bottom line is maybe we need less “I did this” and more recognition that it is, in fact, not us. Our job is simply to listen. 

If there are five people and four chairs, someone doesn’t get a seat when the music stops.

That’s not up for debate, nor is there an equality of outcome solution, nor is there a way to change the definitions of terminology to redefine the outcome. Someone is out.

Unless you change the rules. But if you do that, you’re no longer playing musical chairs.

Life is complex and nuanced — grey rather than black and white.

In fact, I ponder a lot here about that very fact because I believe that one of our biggest downfalls as a media culture is our inability to see, or at least acknowledge nuance. I believe it’s a lowest common denominator problem. That’s a discussion for another time.

But sometimes, it’s really not that complex. Sometimes, Occam’s Razor (in my house, we call it the “smell test”) leads you right to where you should go, or at least where you want to start. 

If the lawn mower doesn’t start, check if it has gas before disassembling the engine. 

If the light doesn’t turn on, check to see that it’s plugged in before you call the electrician. 

If the dishwasher didn’t run, check that you closed the door securely before buying a new one. 

The easy, simple, or obvious answer isn’t always the right one, but it is always a good place to start. You may have to go further, or you may not. 

The same concept applies to banned books, censorship, evil, war, politics, economics, gender, religion, pandemic response, science, and human relations. 

When you’re the newcomer, you have four options:

• Fit in and embrace
• Fit in and work with the group to change it to something you want it to be
• Don’t fit in and work against the group to change it to something you want it to be
• Leave

Any of those are OK. However, if you choose to not fit in and try to bend the group to what you want, don’t be surprised at the resistance.

Because just as you have the right to try to make it the way you want it, so does everyone else. Especially the ones who set up the rules. Rights go both ways. 

We all know that doping, or the taking of performance-enhancing drugs, in sports is a real thing.

Lance Armstrong famously said that he’d go back to 1995 and make the same decision, even having gone through what he’s gone through. But he also said that if he were racing in 2015, he wouldn’t.

His statement and decision-making have nothing to do with the legality or the morality of using PEDs. It’s strictly about the ability to compete and what those around you are doing. In 1995, everyone in cycling was doping. If you wanted to compete, you had to dope also. It was that simple. But in 2015, cycling had done a good job at eliminating it, so you could train naturally and still compete.

Using ChatGPT or another AI engine has a similar circumstance today.

If you’re running a business, your competition is using it. If you’re a software developer, journalist, accountant, or graphic designer, your colleagues are using it- the ones you compete against for raises, assignments, and accolades.

You might not want to use it or decide for your own reasons that you shouldn’t. That’s perfectly fine. But also, you should know your competition.

The breeze cools.
The air crisp.
Shadows stretch.
Twighlight encroaches.
Brown dominates.
Grey on its heels.
The wind whistles.
The air cuts.
White blankets.
Night expands.
Orion rises.
Silence deepens.
Everything wet.
The sun warms.
The buds whisper.
Light stretches.
Morning awakens.
Green sprouts.
The sun shouts.
The wind dries.
Roads sizzle.
Shadows shrink.
Evening lingers.
Gold reigns.

Someone said to me recently, “ChatGPT isn’t any different than me searching with Google.”

From one standpoint, that’s sorta true. Google has all of the internet. ChatGPT has all of the internet. Using ChatGPT like a search engine is one its use cases.

For example, you can ask Google or ChatGPT to give you the history behind the western Christmas holiday. Each will give you what you ask, but the difference lies in the context and application. Google gives you a bunch of links that you must follow and contextualize yourself, while ChatGPT synthesizes all of the data into a coherent narrative.

Using Google is like looking through the reams of raw data provided with the research paper. Using ChatGPT is like having your graduate assistant look through the data and summarize it for you. Both can be useful in different situations.

Like any other tool. You gotta know what you want.

To build a house, would you rather have a rock or a hammer?
To write a book, would you rather have a typewriter or a word processor?
To travel across the country, would you rather have a bicycle or a car?
To keep your food cold, would you rather have a root cellar or a refrigerator?
To cut your grass, would you rather have a sickle or zero-turn riding mower?

You may have a reason to choose the former rather than the latter. But it isn’t productivity, speed, usefulness, empowerment, or effectiveness.

So it is with AI.

You may have a reason why you wouldn’t choose to use it, but make sure you’re aware of why.

Right here, right now.

You know people stuck in the past. You also know people always trying to get somewhere in the future. It roughly maps to age. The older people you know nostalgically romanticize the past. The younger people you know are likely hell-bent on getting somewhere.

Where are you?

In truth, all we have is the present. This moment right now. This moment is where life happens. This morning. This dinner. This walk. This pain. This joy. This grief. This exuberance. This struggle. This relief.

The past and future are fine places, but don’t let this moment pass. There’s no time like the present.

The problem with this slogan isn’t who it represents.

The problem is that it’s a lie. It’s false.

It presumes that at one time, America was great, and now it is no longer. It presumes that someone, or a group of someones, has ruined it. It presumes that your parents, if they lived in America, had it better than you do now.

Do we have problems? Yes. Are we messy right now? Are people exploited, taken advantage of, and otherwise treated as less than? Indeed. Are some things about today’s life in America weird or worse (in your opinion) than they were in the past? Sure. Do we all get along like one big happy family? No.

But the beauty of today’s America is that you can fight for the America you want. You can be who you want. You can talk about the America you want. Because in this country, especially today, your opinion matters, and with social media, you have a platform to voice it. I’ve not been everywhere in this world, but I’ve been a lot of places, and in most of those places, your opinion doesn’t matter. You don’t have opportunity. Your ambitions are meaningless. Your spiritual views and self-identification feelings don’t matter.

So keep fighting. Keep arguing. Keep thinking and feeling about the America you want to live in. Because in this country, you can.

But don’t ever confuse the greatness of the beautiful mess that is today’s America with something that needs to return to the past.

Are you a Burn the Ships person? Or do you have a Plan B?

Unwavering commitment versus hedging your bets.

Plan A is smoke the Turkey. But currently, the smoker is non-functional. I’m waiting on the part, but will it show on time?

Therefore, I have a Plan B. 

I’ve written about, struggled with, and Lord knows thought about the benefits of “Burn the Ships!” But at the end of the day, I’m too much of a pragmatist.

Maybe being a Plan B person holds me back. Maybe I’ve missed out on something amazing. Maybe Plan B destines one for mediocrity.

But also, Apollo 13 aborted Plan A, Starbucks got into the cafe business, Captain Sulley landed on the Hudson, and Operation Dynamo evacuated over 330000 soldiers to safety from Dunkirk. 

The key is to know when to be a Plan B person. 

Your family, like mine, probably has some Thanksgiving traditions with the food you serve. 

Ever wonder where they come from? Do they have roots in the meal celebrated by the Pilgrims and Wampanoag tribe in 1621? Here’s an assessment of some of the traditional foods and the likelihood that they are rooted in historical tradition. 

Turkey (85%)

Wild turkeys were abundant in North America and a common game bird of the time. However, no actual records exist. Venison was almost certainly served. Some families do celebrate with venison.

Cranberry Sauce (60%)

Native Americans used cranberries for many things such as food, medicine, and dye. Plus, they are harvested in November. Maybe they didn’t serve the sauce we know, but there is a reasonable chance they ate cranberries on that day.

Pumpkin Pie (10%)

While the Pilgrims and Wampanoag probably didn’t eat pumpkin pie at the first Thanksgiving, pumpkins were a part of their diet. The tradition of pumpkin pie likely started in the early 18th century when colonists sliced off the pumpkin top, removed the seeds, and filled the insides with milk, spices, and honey, then baked it in hot ashes.

Bread Stuffing (5%)

While stuffing dates back to a cookbook reference from the 4th century during the Roman Empire, there is very little chance that it made its way into the first Thanksgiving meal. It became a Thanksgiving staple as a filling accompaniment to the turkey.

Mashed Potatoes (0%)

Potatoes didn’t make their way to North America until the early 18th century. Mashed potatoes became popular in the U.S. in the 19th century and probably found their way into Thanksgiving meals probably due to a combination of harvesting time, popularity, and the complementary mild taste to the other bolder Thanksgiving staples. 

Green Bean Casserole (0%)

No chance. The green bean casserole, like the white picket fence and “Don’t mess with Texas!”, was dreamed up by a clever marketing person to sell stuff. It was created in 1955 by the Campbell Soup Company to promote their cream of mushroom soup.

Sweet Potatoes/Yams with Marshmallows (0%)

Same story as the green bean casserole. This dish is a result of the marshmallow producers’ attempt to popularize their product in the early 20th century. The addition of marshmallows to sweet potatoes was suggested in a recipe book by Angelus Marshmallows in the 1910s.

So What Did They Eat?

Based on the above, let’s assume that turkey (other wild fowl), venison, cranberries (and other berries), and pumpkins were part of it. The other stuff was likely to be seafood, corn (probably in a porridge form), beans, nuts, and root vegetables. 

Now you know. 

Do you use the furniture that requires the coaster? If so, are the coasters prominently displayed and easy to reach?

Or do you purposefully have furniture that doesn’t require coasters? Or maybe you’re smart about the location of the pieces that do require coasters and the ones that don’t. Or maybe, screw it. We’re not using coasters on any of the furniture.

Of course, there are no right or wrong answers, but congruency matters.

As humans, we often create internal incongruency by saying or doing one thing but (secretly) wishing for something different.

This ain’t about coasters.

During one stretch of physical therapy during my two and half year ordeal with shoulder replacement, the physical therapist said to me, 

“Make sure you do these exercises three times a day.”

When it comes to PT, I’m the model patient. My goal is to heal, get stronger, or get better and return to what I want to do as fast as possible. In this case, use my f’n right arm like a real boy.

PT said three times a day. I’m doing it three times a day.

It wasn’t working. Still couldn’t raise my arm above my shoulder.

The PT asked about my home exercise routine. 

“I’m doing these exercises you gave me three times a day.”

“OK, when you say three times a day, how often are you really doing them?”

Blink. Blink. Stare.

“Three times a day.”

“Huh. Really?”

“Yes. I don’t understand.”

“Well, three times a day includes the human fudge factor — which is about 3X. Nobody really does the amount of work I ask them to do. I wanted you to do them at least once a day, so I say three times.”

“If I say once a day, it doesn’t sound that important to you. So you’ll do it once every other day or so. Three times a day makes it more important, and you’ll be sure to do them more often.”

Here’s a guy that understands humans and when to apply the human fudge factor. 

What’s your level of engagement in the physical act of living?

Do you make any of your own food? I mean assemble and create meals from single ingredients. Do you go to the grocery store yourself? What about multiple stores or farm markets to procure different things? Do you have a vegetable garden or raise chickens? Do you hunt?

Do you change your own light bulbs? What about paint your walls and trim? If the dishwasher breaks, will you grab a screwdriver? Do you own a ladder tall enough to get you on your roof? What do you do if the toilet needs repair? Have you built any of the shelves in your house? Would you consider gutting and rebuilding the master bathroom yourself? What if you wanted to replace all of the windows?

Do you change the windshield wipers on your car? What if a headlight is burned out or the cabin air filter needs to be replaced? Do you own a set of wrenches? Do you change the oil in yourself? What about the brakes? How about if it needs a new transmission?

Do you cut your own grass? Rake the leaves? Mulch the beds yourself? Do you have a wood-burning fireplace? If so, do you cut or split your own wood? What would you do if you wanted a new patio? How you handle an old tree that needs to come down?

Each of us has their own level of physical engagement in the act of living. There are no right or wrong answers as to the “right” level.

However, if you find yourself feeling blue, stuck, or generally restless, you might want to consider engaging at a deeper level. It’s not for everyone, but it might help you.

Humans have a deep connection between the physical and emotional.

I heard the song Paranoid in my grocery store a few days ago.

Paranoid.

Not the Musak version, or some adult-contemporary cover, or some otherwise softened homage. The raw 1970 version from the Black Sabbath album of the same name, complete with Ozzy’s whining and Iommi’s ripping riff (one of the best ever).

Are you f’n kidding me? What has happened to this world I live in? Paranoid in the grocery store? Shouldn’t there be a line at customer service of irate mothers and other do-gooders aghast at the filth they and their children are being audibly exposed to? This world is going to hell.

This is my music. Always has been. I’m a metal lover. Part of why I love it is because of its taboo-ness. It’s rough, energetic, irreverent, and abrasive. It’s heavy metal. My metal.

How dare they appropriate my music by assuming it’s fit for the general public’s consumption.

And then I remember. I’m no longer a teenager. The same is true for all generations and their music. It happened to big band, jazz, blues, rock, rap. All of it.

Eventually, the cutting-edge, abrasive, young-person-focused, and culturally taboo becomes…the norm. Even fit for the grocery store aisles. My music, once a source of pride in how I distinguished myself from the norm, has become a cultural nonfactor. Accepted even.

Get off my lawn!

I’d much rather watch any football game on TV than in person. But one time, you should stand in Beaver Stadium at the whiteout game as the Blue Band and crowd crescendo while the team exits the tunnel to take the field. I literally get teary. I can’t help it.

I’d seen a million pictures of the Great Wall. But then I stood on it myself. Only then could I even begin to comprehend the scope, engineering marvel, and beauty of it all. It’s mesmerizing.

I’d read some very interesting articles and seen pictures of the crater on top of Mt Haleakala on Maui. The rarified air, the odd, muffled sound sensation, and mars-like landscape. But then I walked down into the strange and beautiful landscape on my own two legs. I was breathless.

Technology is great. But sometimes you just gotta be there.

Americans now owe just north of $1 trillion in credit card debt. The average credit card interest rate is 27.8%, while the average that people are paying on carried balances is 22.8%.

Americans owe about $12 trillion in mortgage debt. The average current mortgage rate (traditional mortgage) is 8%. The average APR across all mortgage debt is 5.7%.

22.8% vs 5.7%. Heck, even 22.8% vs 8%. 

I’ve been buried at the bottom of the mountain. I know what it feels like.

A few things go the wrong way or make a bad decision, and within a few short months, the credit card debt piles up. Once you’re buried, it’s a seemingly impossible mountain to climb.

Stress. Inadequate and unworthy. Less than.

I’m no f’nance bro, but I gotta think there’s a business opportunity for a credit card offering an APR much closer to the mortgage APR. Yeah, I get it — credit cards have legitimately higher expenses to manage, and they are providing credit at a higher risk to themselves, but there’s gotta be an opportunity to move 22.8% closer to 8%. 

It will take creativity, insight, grit, and someone who cares. Doesn’t it always start with someone who cares?

In the meantime, here’s a great service to consider if you find yourself buried at the bottom of the debt mountain. 

At one time, there was Russian River’s Pliny the Younger in Santa Rosa if you liked the West Coast style IPA and The Alchemist’s Heady Topper in Stowe if you preferred the New England style. 

At one time, there was Joe’s Pizza in Washington Square Park if you liked New York style or the original Pizzeria Uno at Wabash and Ohio if you preferred Chicago style. 

At one time, there was Pat’s at 9th and Passyunk if you wanted a chopped steak Whiz Wit or Geno’s, also at 9th and Passyunk if you wanted a sliced steak Provologne Without.

Those were romantic times. The times when, to get the best, you had to travel to the place. The one and only place. Going there and eating or drinking the thing meant something. 

Nowadays, you can get almost as good, or even better, right down the street. Any street in just about any town. Honestly, your local joint can brew an IPA, toss a pizza, or fry up a cheesesteak that’s almost as good or even better than any of the original “bests.” Plus, now there’s goldbelly.com. 

That’s good for our taste buds but worse for our souls. 

As humans, one of the great advantages we have over AI is curiosity. AI isn’t curious about anything.

But you and I can be interested. Interested in each other, maglev trains, 18th-century art, growing a house painting business, how sticky notes stick, esoteric homophones, the origins of religion, copywriting skills, Pokemon, Star Wars vs Star Trek, the New Wave of British Heavy Metal, or how best to tell the story of your homemade wine.

Oh, AI already knows about all of that. At least, what it thinks are the facts. Just ask it.

But when you’re interested, you’re not just getting the facts. You’re forming your perspective.

That’s interesting. Think it more. Say it more.

Follow the thread.

Is it someone who has been “born again?” What does that mean?

Must you believe in the inerrancy of the Bible? Does inerrancy require the seven days of Genesis, the serpent in the garden, Noah’s Ark, Jonah’s whale, the tribulation of Job, and an immaculate conception? Must the earth be around 5000 years old?

If not literal inerrancy, must you believe that the Bible was divinely inspired?

What does it mean to take Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior? Must you walk to the front of a room, declare, and have hands laid on you? Can you do it on your deathbed or death row?

Must you be baptized? What if you’ve never had communion?

Is it someone to whom God speaks? What does it feel like to have God speak to you?

Must you believe in Satan as a being? What about hell as a place? What about heaven?

Is it someone who attends worship services every Sunday? What about Wednesday night services or Saturday mass? Must you receive ashes on your forehead on the first Wednesday of Lent?

Must you subscribe to a particular political view? Were any Nazi’s Christians? What about slave owners? Murderers? Tax evaders?

What if you’ve never donated a dollar to a church, another person, or an organization? What if you’ve never volunteered for a soup kitchen? What if you’ve never stopped to help someone else on the side of the road?

Who is a Christian?

Speed kills.
Haste makes waste.
Slow and steady wins the race.

But also,

First wins.
Success loves speed.
First to market, first to make an impact.

What’s the proper speed?

Regardless of how fast you are going, don’t forget to look around.

In the tech world, there is a (semi / unwritten / possibly erroneous) axiom: 

Version 3 is the good one.

The purpose of Version 1 is to prove it can be done. Your team needs to pipe-clean the technology, the process, and the concept. Version 1 isn’t even for the early adopters. It’s basically for your own team and YouTube.

If you’re lucky, you get to Version 2.

The purpose of Version 2 is to incorporate feedback, work out the kinks, tighten up the supply chain, and hone the marketing. Version 2 is for the early adopters. 

If you’re very lucky, you get to Version 3. 

Version 3 is the one that fixes enough of the mistakes, has the right features and performance, benefits from an improved supply chain, and most importantly, is the one that’s ready for the mass market and makes you money. 

Hu.ma.ne just launched their AI pin. Next week you can spend $700 on it. I find it intriguing but also a little dubious. For example, I hate my gadgets talking to me. I like what hu.ma.ne is saying, but I don’t really understand how the AI pin is going to do what Imram claims, i.e., what it “unlocks.” 

This thing isn’t for me. Yet.

But I got my eye on Version 3.

In the winter of 2003, when I was working with Apple on the iPod, I had a meeting at 2 pm in Cupertino.

I left my house at 2:30 am in the middle of a snowstorm to get to the Philly airport for an early morning flight. In normal conditions, it takes me an hour and fifteen minutes to travel from my house to the offsite parking lot I use. This morning took almost three hours. I jumped in the shuttle as the snow had already obscured my just-parked car’s roof and front windshield. 

Flying west for six hours, I watched the ground transform from the white Northeast to the patchwork green and brown of the plains, over the snow-capped Rockies, and back to the verdant San Francisco coast. I walked through the garage to the rental car pickup, feeling the mid-50s temperature around me as the morning fog lifted. As I drove the 45 minutes on the 101 south from the airport to Cupertino, I watched the temperature gauge rise to 75 as the mid-day sun beamed fully overhead. 

I met my colleague for lunch in Cupertino, and we sat outside. After lunch, we walked over to DeAnza 8 for the 2 pm meeting. A gorgeous day. 

For the next four hours, the iPod engineering team raked me over the coals, chewed me up, and spit me out. I white-knuckled it but emerged on the other side. 

Now a mental dishrag, I jumped in the car and drove to the closer San Jose airport for my trip home on the 10 pm red-eye. First stop — Vegas. I didn’t have to change planes, but we were taking on more passengers. It’s now the middle of the night. I’d never been to Vegas, so I hopped off the plane, ran down the gate hallway, and picked the first slot machine I found. Dropped my $5 in, pulled the lever, and promptly lost my $5. 

Flying overnight, I managed zero sleep in my window seat. We landed in Philly at around 6 am with the sun not yet peeking over the winter horizon. In zombie mode, I made my way through the airport maze to the shuttle pickup. Luckily, no bags except my backpack with my laptop. The shuttle deposited me next to my car in the lot as the rising sun made it just dusky enough to see without lights. 

Eight inches of snow buried my car. I grabbed the brush and small snow shovel from my trunk and spent the next 15 minutes digging it out. I drove home in the middle of the morning rush hour complicated by the weather. Another three-hour journey.

That was quite a 32 hours. Made possible only through the speed of modern technologies. Walking, driving, and flying my way across the country and back, as well as through all of the seasons and back. Even dropped a fiver in a slot machine in Vegas along the way. 

Speed is a perspective flipper. 

When trying to understand another’s perspective, you should ask yourself, “How fast are they going?”

“Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac?” 

– George Carlin

I couldn’t agree more.

More than one passenger in my car has heard me exclaim, “Do you believe this idiot? Doesn’t he have anywhere to be?” Or, “Look at that maniac! He’s gonna kill someone!”

But its not really about the other driver’s speed. It’s about your speed. Specifically, the speed you want to travel. Your own speed probably changes with context, familiarity, and time.

Whether you’re driving down the road, working on a relationship, navigating a career, writing a book, or affecting change in the world, you want to move at your own speed. 

Everybody else is either an idiot or a maniac. 

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.

“Which side are you on?”

I’ve seen a lot of this recently. We all have. Between politics, world events, and even academia and science.

I’ve always thought that’s the wrong question. First, the question presumes there is a right side and a wrong side. Second, the question presumes you better be on the right side. 

Here are better questions to ask:

• How can we resolve this?
• What can we learn from each other?
• How can we find common ground?
• What do the sides believe?
• How can we find an agreeable outcome?
• What’s the third side?

Dan says to me from around the hood, 

“Come over here, I’ll show you. I’m gonna get in the car and hit the gas. Look right here.”

He pointed to a spot on the left side of the engine.

“You ready?”

“Yup!”

He hit the gas, and I immediately also knew what the problem was — the motor mount was busted. Sheered clean through. As soon as he hit the gas, the whole engine torqued and moved about an inch.

“To verify this causes the noise, let’s turn the wheel to the left and do it again.”

I got in the car, turned the wheel, and hit the gas.

“Bingo!”

We switched places again, and I saw that as the engine torqued and moved, it touched some of the wheel structure. Case closed.

“I can have this fixed in 15 minutes.”

I stood there as he grabbed the welder, got suited up, and went to work on welding the engine mount. When he was done, I asked him how much I owed him.

“I don’t know. How about $25?”

I handed him $25 in cash and asked, “How did the dealer miss this?”

“You gotta understand how they’re trained. They’re trained to diagnose and treat problems as a black box — which means they narrow down the problems described by the customer to a particular system. In your case the front right wheel system. Then, they just replace the parts inside the box. They don’t look inside the box for exactly what might be the problem. They’re rewarded — paid — for the number of jobs they can do in a day, not how many times they found or fixed the little gadget that was the real source of the problem.

Most of the time, black box fixes work fine. They fix your issue. But it is the costliest way to fix the problem because you’re paying for a lot of new stuff you don’t need.

Mechanics like me — we’re white box mechanics. When you come to me with a problem, I find the box, and then open it up and look inside. My goal is to not only fix your issue but do it as efficiently as possible. That saves you money and makes you really happy with me.”

Then I said it out loud, just to verify, 

“The bottom line is that I would have spent $1700 to have them replace all of the wheel infrastructure, but that wouldn’t have actually addressed the problem. As soon as I turned left and accelerated, I would have heard the noise. Man, I woulda been pissed.”

“Yup. In your case, the black box approach would have failed. If you had come in with better information about what caused the problem, for example, pinpointing it to when you accelerated and turned, they may have found the problem. But the solution would still have been an expensive replacement of the motor mount, rather than welding the current one in place.”

I drove out both elated and a lot wiser. 

I skipped across traffic and pulled into the little garage in the triangle. 

I didn’t know what to expect, but I was hoping whoever was there could at least give me some guidance or maybe even do the work for a lot less. I didn’t quite believe the dealer’s assessment of my problem (i.e., the entire right front wheel structure was bent). Plus, I didn’t have the $1700 that they wanted anyway. 

I needed a different solution.

As I cut the engine and got out, a youngish guy with a grey shirt, nametag, and a smile on his face came out to greet me while wiping his hands on a greasy rag. 

“Hi! I’m Dan. Can I help you?”

“I sure hope so…”

And I proceeded to give him the rundown of my predicament and the fact that I didn’t really buy the explanation. 

“Well, I got a few minutes now, pull it in the garage. Let’s pop the hood.”

As we stood in front of the car with the hood up, I stayed silent. Dan leaned in, pulled on a few things, touched a few others, and said “hmmm” several times. Then he told me,

“Get in the car. Let’s start it up. I want to watch it while it’s running.”

I did as told. After 30 seconds or so, he yelled at me over the engine noise, “OK, now hit the gas.”

Five seconds later, I see Dan’s face poke around the hood to look at me with a giant smile.

“I know what the problem is.”

I heard an awful scraping sound occasionally from the front right wheel when I turned left. 

And that was precisely the problem — occasionally. I could not put my finger on it because I couldn’t find the pattern to when it happened other than turning left. Putting my head under the hood and taking the wheel off didn’t enlighten me either. I was stumped. 

My red 1987 Celica helped me learn another lesson about how the system works. This time, the lesson was black box versus white box. 

I had just moved to the area, so I found my local Toyota dealer in the Yellowpages (how quaint) and made the appointment. I dropped it off and three days later got the call.

“Sir, we’ve found the problem. Have you hit anything with this car?” 

“No. Never.”

“Huh, OK. That scraping sound happens because a bunch of the wheel structure is bent. Basically, we have to replace the entire right front wheel…”

And then he listed off the laundry list of stuff he’d have to replace — to the tune of about $1700. I couldn’t pay that. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I knew I’d just have to go get it and figure something else out. Could I do it myself?

“Hmmm. Well, I can’t do that right now. Don’t do anything. I’ll come get it.”

Between my apartment and the car dealer was what I refer to as “the worst intersection in the world.” It’s a heinous five-points thing where three routes come together, two of which are four lanes. It’s a monster, and it’s a ten-minute wait no matter what direction you’re coming from. 

On the way home, I’m coming up on the light, and it looks like I’m gonna make it. I’m getting excited and tailgating the guy in front of me. I’m committed now, no matter when it turns. We’re gonna do this!

But no, it was not to be. Just as we’re approaching the light, it turns yellow, and the person in front of me inexplicably stops. Has he not been here before? Does he not know how much time he just cost us? Does he not know that a yellow light is simply a suggestion?

Regardless, there I sat, one back from the front of the line, steaming. 

Now with plenty of time to contemplate my situation, I noticed that across the intersection, in a little triangle, sat a small one-stall garage with a PA state safety inspection station sign hanging over its entrance. 

Eh, what the heck.

One day after having my 1987 Celica towed to his garage, Phil gave me a call.

“Car’s fixed. You can come get it.”

“Great! How much do I owe you?”

“$50”

“$50?! What was actually wrong with it?”

“I’ll show you when you get here.”

With that, Chris and I drove the 30 minutes to Phil’s to pick it up. 

“So what the hell was wrong with it?”

“All it needed was an adjustment of the electrical timing. On this car, you do that by adjusting the distributor cap. It’s pretty easy. Come out here, I’ll show you.”

We went to the garage, lifted the hood, and he showed me that rotating the distributor cap adjusts the timing. That was literally all it needed. 

“OK, so what was the dealer trying to do to me? Why was he insistent that the problem was that I needed genuine Toyota parts?”

“Ah, because you gotta understand how the system works.”

He pulled out some giant book with an official-looking Toyota insignia and flipped to somewhere in the middle.

“Look here. The timing belt replacement at a Toyota dealer actually requires two jobs: 1) the mechanical replacement of the timing belt and 2) the adjustment of the electrical timing. But that second part, the electrical timing adjustment, is part of the job labeled as tune-up.”

“Aha! The problem was that I declined the second job. This guy knew that genuine Toyota parts wouldn’t matter a lick (as I suspected, because nobody’s that dumb), but he was trying to tell me (with a wink) that the timing belt job isn’t complete unless and until they also perform the tune-up. The tune-up, although new plugs and wires were not required for my problem here, was code for: we’ll also adjust the electrical timing once we replace the belt so that it runs good.”

“Yes, exactly. Toyota, and all manufacturers, are a bit like chain restaurants in that they want the service departments at the various dealerships to provide the same customer experience no matter which one you take your car to. Plus, they get operations benefits by training all of their technicians and service managers on the same job system.”

“Why wouldn’t the timing belt job automatically include adjusting the electrical timing? That seems kind of slimy.”

“It probably is a little, but if you pay them for the job, they’ll do what they say — you’re car will come out with all new parts and the engine purring like a kitten.”

That was one of a few lessons that this 1987 red Celica taught me about how the service departments in car dealerships work. This one saved me a few bucks, but the next one saved me thousands.

Stay tuned. 

I pride myself on acting like a respectable adult in trying situations. 

I don’t whine at retail agents, make a stink at the wait staff, or yell across the counter when I don’t get my way. I’m not that person, except for two times in my life (of which I’m aware). One was in an airport in Doha, Qatar.

The other was right here at the service counter of the Toyota dealership in Pottstown, PA.

I simply could not understand why this guy would not follow basic logic. I couldn’t control myself. I stood there and whined, made a stink, and yelled at the person standing on the other side of the counter. Luckily for me, this was long before smartphones and social media. 

In hindsight, I give him a lot of credit for how he handled me (not his logic or his story; that was ridiculous). He stood there and patiently stuck to his story while I acted like a child. But he didn’t win me over. Clearly, I was going to have to spend more money, but for damn sure, I wasn’t going to give it to this guy. I ended with a flare, “Don’t touch my car! A tow truck will be showing up!” 

Embarrassed and not knowing what to do or where to tow the car, I called my dad. He calmed me down and told me where to have it towed.

“Don’t worry. Phil will figure this out.”

And as it turned out, Phil was also the one who could teach me the lesson about how the system works.

I got it started, turned that sucker right around, and limped back into the parking lot. I asked for the service manager, whom I had just handed $600 to about 10 minutes before. 

Still innocently and with genuine confusion, I said,

“Hey, I just tried to leave but there is definitely something still wrong. It spits and sputters and then stalls.”

“Yes, sir. We noticed that also. We think it’s because your distributor cap and wires are not genuine Toyota parts. I already recommended to you that we perform the tune-up, but you declined.”

It took a second for that to sink in because, you know, I am genuinely confused. I’m in my mid-20s, baby-faced, and not yet steeped in the cynicism required to navigate this world. 

But I knew one thing for damn sure — the problem with my car was NOT an aftermarket distributor cap and wires. I tried to reason with him.

“Sir, I don’t understand how that could possibly be the problem. It ran perfectly until the moment the timing belt snapped. Could something else have been damaged when it snapped?”

“No, we know that’s not the problem. I can promise that if you instruct us to do the tune-up ($300), your car will be running perfectly.”

I’m an engineer. I spend most of my days figuring out problems, what caused them, and how to fix them. This guy is not making any sense. So I stood there and tried to use logic and reason, but he stood his ground.

And then I lost control. 

One evening, on the way home from work, my 1987 Celica left me sitting on the side of the road.

The engine just quit. I had no idea what happened, but since it was a standard transmission, I shifted to neutral and coasted to the shoulder. Coincidently, right in front of a Ford dealership.

So I walked in, pointed to my car stranded out front, and then withstood the onslaught of sales pitches for a new Ford while I asked to use a phone (pre-mobile phones). An hour later, my car and I, under tow, pulled into the Toyota dealer. 

A day or two later, I got what I thought was a strange phone call from the service manager. He called to tell me the timing belt had snapped and would need to be replaced for about $600. Fair enough. But then he also said,

“We noticed that the distributor cap and wires aren’t genuine Toyota parts. While we have it, we’d like to perform a tune-up, and with that we’ll replace the plugs, distributor cap and wires, etc with genuine Toyota parts.”

“How much will that cost?”

“$300”

“No thanks, just the timing belt, please.”

“Sir, we highly recommend that we perform this tune-up. We can’t guarantee that it will be running correctly unless we do this service.”

I was genuinely confused. Until the second the timing belt snapped, it was running perfectly.

“No, thanks.”

He persisted. So did I. Just the timing belt, please.

I got the call a few days later that it was ready. I paid the $600, hopped in, and pulled out onto the road. As soon as I hit the gas to accelerate, the engine bogged down, missed, backfired, and stalled. 

Now, wait a minute, here. What’s going on?

In the mid-90s, I drove a stick-shift  1987 red Toyota Celica. 

I bought it right after I got my first permanent job out of college, and I was psyched. This was by far the best car I had ever owned. It replaced a 1984 Chevy Chevette. I loved this car – stick shift, more power than any previous car I had owned (only 116 HP, but my Chevette had 65 HP), power windows, and sporty (for the time). 

Although I loved it, it had a myriad of annoying little problems over the several years that I owned it. For example, it perpetually winked at oncoming traffic because one pop-up headlight stayed stuck in the up position while the other stayed down. The headliner fabric drooped down on the driver’s head, requiring your raised right hand to hold it up in between using your right hand to change gears. The air conditioner was a crapshoot, as were the power windows. The most annoying, however, was the engine had trouble in the rain. I never figured that out. Sometimes it was fine, and sometimes it would spit and sputter.

But it also had a couple of major problems that taught me a lot about how systems in the world work. Although trying at the time, these were critical lessons that have served me well.  

What follows over the next couple of days are the lessons I learned from my 1987 Celica.

When Salvatore Maranzano organized the five Italian Mafia families in NYC in 1931, he succeeded largely because each family agreed to operate within their specified geographic location. 

As long as each family stayed within their own turf, they got along reasonably well. Each family doing their own business and making their own profits. But, of course, sometimes they crossed the lines. When they did, people got hurt. 

I saw the following headline: “Food companies are freaking out about Ozempic.” 

The gist — food (and healthcare) companies are concerned and preparing business mitigation plans because people may stop spending as much on snacking and healthcare services. Of course, the street runs on foreshadowing, rumors, and fear. This is the food and healthcare companies getting out in front of the news with their own PR — this is the actual mitigation. “We have a plan.”

But the pharma brands in on the GLP-1 wave couldn’t be happier. If you own stock in them, you’re probably happy, also. Novo Nordisk (Ozempic) stock has doubled over the last year. Like opioids before it, GLP-1 drugs (Ozempic, Wegovy, etc) are already overprescribed. 

When one entity starts to gain or thrive, it’s often at the expense of another. 

A food company’s number one purpose isn’t to make you healthy. It’s to make money for its owners/investors/stockholders. 

A healthcare or insurance company’s number one purpose isn’t to make you healthy. It’s to make money for its owners/investors/stockholders. 

A pharmaceutical company’s number one purpose isn’t to make you healthy. It’s to make money for its owners/investors/stockholders. 

When you engage in a turf war, somebody’s gonna get hurt. 

What do you feel when you think of the road ahead?

Excitement? Trepidation? Pessimism? Optimism? Tired? Energetic?

The road is the road. You probably can’t change it. You may know what it looks like. You might have the map, so you know what you’re in for. Or you may not. That road may be uncharted, unpaved, or even unfinished. You may have to figure it out as you go or forge your own path.

This morning I watched the township crew working on my road outside my house. They prepared the shoulders, but I’m not sure for what. Beautiful and smooth new asphalt? Maybe the dreaded oil and chips. Maybe just some patchwork. Maybe nothing at all beyond cleaning up the shoulder.

I’ve walked, run, cycled, and driven this road thousands of times. I’ve put in the miles. I know what it looks like, feels like, and where it goes. Yet I can’t control everything about it. Tomorrow it may look and feel very different than today.

The unpredictability of this road is a reminder that even with familiarity, there’s room for surprise. It’s those surprises that add depth, transforming routine into adventure.

Whatever you feel when you think about the road ahead, remember that it’s not the road itself that defines you. It’s now you navigate it.

Life gets better when you’re smart about defaults.

Defaults are everywhere, from your tech gadgets to dining menus. In the tech world, defaults make sure things run smoothly. When you’re at a chain restaurant, the default options are often about inventory or profit margins. Contrast that with a gourmet restaurant, where the chef’s defaults are dishes they passionately recommend.

Automotive service shops have defaults, too, often labeled as “best value” or “customer favorite.” But “best” for whom? The same logic applies to furniture stores. The default is often the item on sale, but you can and should negotiate for what you actually want.

To find the defaults, look for words like “signature dish” and “best value,” bold font, arrows, and green checkboxes. They’re pointing you to what they want you to do.

Remember, defaults are generally set up to benefit the provider, not you, the user. Make it a point to understand who really benefits from these preset options and make choices that better align with your own needs.

When you start to see the landscape of defaults for what it is, you regain control, turning these hidden settings into tools for your benefit.

Yes, you still should get together in the same room.

You need human interaction. You need whiteboard sessions. You need to shoot the crap. You need to sit around a conference table and haggle over some stuff. You need to shake hands.

It’s about more than work; it’s about building a cohesive unit.

You need regular, if infrequent, get-togethers. Not every day or every week, but find the rhythm that works with the team and within your budget. That rhythm may change as the arc of the project changes.

With my current team, we would gather about every four to six weeks for a few days to a week. As we got to know each other better, we found that once a quarter or so works well for us now.

When you get together, don’t expect to work the same way or even do the same kind of work that you do when you’re sitting in your home office. That time together is all about being together. Use it to do the things that are a hard remotely. The watercooler conversation may be the most important piece. Let it be.

Maybe it’s once a month for you, or maybe once a year. Find the rhythm that works for you and your team. Once you do, you’ll be unstoppable.

Mastering your daily schedule isn’t only a work-from-home thing; since you’ve now integrated your home and work lives, you can use it to your advantage.

Master your remote work schedule before your day even starts. Create a night-before or morning routine. Prioritize your work with a clear head. If all else goes to hell, you want to make some level of progress on the #1 priority.

The power in doing this planning with a clear head is that it helps you control your reaction to the inevitable interruptions.

Make use of odd hours and take advantage of no commute. Utilize early mornings or late nights when the house is quiet. Leverage these hours to focus on high-impact work. Maybe 7 am meetings work better than 10 am meetings.

Organize your day around 1 – 3 hour chunks of time tht fit more naturally into the house schedule. Avoid scattering tasks. Group similar activities into specific blocks.

Schedule some dark modes where you go off the grid to focus. Turn off notifications and close extra tabs. Not every message has to be answered in real time. Those notifications are like crack. I love them, you love them. Nobody has the discipline to ignore them, especially when we’re in an easily distracted state to begin with. So just turn them off, and that solves the problem.

Now you’re making progress to mastering the remote work environment.