johnmaconline

Last weekend, I drove to NYC to deposit my oldest son and his girlfriend back in Brooklyn after they had spent a nice weekend with us. Up and back through three of the five boroughs: Staten Island, Brooklyn, and Manhattan. I’ve driven through NYC dozens, maybe 100’s of times, and even before they lived there, I was already a hardened veteran of NYC driving. As soon as I cross the Goethals Bridge or emerge from the Holland Tunnel into the canyons of lower Manhattan, I’m in NYC driver mode. Like flicking a switch.

I’m a freakin pro. And truth be told, I love it.

U-turn in the middle of the street? Yup. Turn left from the right lane? Of course. Just stop in the middle and double park? You betcha.

I’ve not (yet) had an accident, and I know why. Because when I’m driving around there, I expect any and all things all the time. Just as I don’t think twice about disregarding all traffic decorum, I expect all of those around me to do the same.

Of course you can cut me off. Oh, you want to stick your bumper into the 8-inch space separating me and the guy in front of me? Sure, go ahead. Going around me on the sidewalk to the right? Be my guest.

It’s all good because none of it is astonishing to me in this context. I expect it, I’m ready for it, I adjust, and it’s no big deal. And yeah, I do it also.

But what happens on the roads in the small rural community in eastern Pennsylvania in which I live? Nothing like that. It’s all slower, orderly, and calm. I don’t expect any of that.

But then someone gets cut off, and what happens? Boom. Accident. Or, at the very least, “You idiot! Where’d you learn to drive!” It might bother me for the rest of the day.

This is the Principle of Least Astonishment — minimizing confusion and unexpected behaviors while maximizing intuitive understanding.

We in the software development world use the Priniciple of Least Astonishment (also called the Law of Least Surprise) all the time.

If we’re doing our job and using this principle, you (the user) can figure out how to do things on your phone or computer that nobody has taught you explicitly. For example, nobody taught you how to find the settings on your phone. You know they’re in the “Settings” app. We use this principle under the covers as well, even in the nitty-gritty interworkings of the technology. We argue vehemently about how this API should work or what should data it requires.

Least astonishment changes with the intuition of the culture and its people. Which means it changes over time and with context. If you handed an iPhone to George Washington, he wouldn’t be able to find the settings, nor even understand how to turn it on because he doesn’t have any context or intuitive build-up for the technology.

He would be very astonished.

Next time you’re organizing your closet, developing a set of guidelines for your Church committee, or driving around your town, make sure you’re applying the Principle of Least Astonishment. It will serve you well.

Work expands to fill the time available for completion.

I hate meetings at work. And you do, too. I know you do. 

Long ago, bleary-eyed in the middle of the night, I learned a couple of valuable lessons about meetings. The first is we have way too many. Therefore, the first step in taking back ownership of your time is to decline useless meetings. But the second was just as important — meetings will last as long as the calendar says they will.

If you invite people to a one-hour meeting, someone, or sometimes several someones, will yammer on for 60 minutes until the bell dings. Then, the herd will just move on to the next meeting, where someone else will yammer on for the full 60 minutes.

It’s stupid. It’s a productivity killer (personally and organizationally). It sucks your energy and willingness to live. 

But it’s also not really someone’s fault. It’s just a trait of human beings. It’s kinda just in us. Hence, the naming of the phenomena. 

So how do you combat it? By also applying a little human psychology of your own.

1. Change your default meeting time to 15 minutes. Only selectively and intentionally schedule a discussion for longer than 15 minutes. 
2. Why have a meeting if you can work it out with a few exchanges on Slack? Do it.
3. Announce that you have hard stop at 15/30/60 minutes. Then leave/drop at that time. 

You can do this. Break the grip of Parkinson’s Law. 

When a measure becomes a target, it ceases to be a good measure.

“Is this going to be on the test?”
“What code do I use to ensure this is covered by insurance?”
“How do you rank me against my peers?”

We game the system. It’s what we do.

Great leaders look outside the system, procedures, and policies to recognize great performance and impact.

Two-way door decisions are the kind where you can always change your mind, back up, and make the other decision. Ordering a burger is a two-way door decision.

One-way door decisions are the kind where you can’t go back once you make it. Jumping out of the airplane is a one-way door decision.

Two-way door decisions allow testing, trying new things, and changing one’s mind. One-way door decisions require commitment, careful consideration, and learning as much as possible before making it.

Often, we trick ourselves into thinking that two-way door decisions are actually one-way door decisions. That’s not surprising because restricting the number of variables is a hack we use to solve problems. If we tell ourselves, “OK, I have to commit,” and believe it, we’re more likely to make that outcome successful. Let’s not consider the other side.

But most decisions we make are two-way door decisions. There’s usually a path to back out, chang your mind, and do the other thing.

Sometimes you gotta bite the bullet and start again. That’s just being a human.

Customer: Can you help me with this problem?
Clerk: Not my job.

Manager: Will you help Jane figure this out?
Employee: Not my job.

Test Engineer: Can you help me understand how this works?
Software Engineer: Not my job.

“Not my job” may seem like the opposite, or at least orthogonal to “just doing my job.” But at their core, they’re both about responsibility — specifically, a deflection of responsibility (if even in a faux manner).

Not my job is an attitude.

I’ve banned the phrase “not my job” from my teams. That doesn’t mean that we always take on everything, no matter the request. It just means we don’t have the “not my job” attitude. If the request or task isn’t something we can or should handle, then we set the requestor on the right path as best we can.

We help. We don’t deflect responsibility.

Is it your job?

Reporter: What were you thinking when you ran into the burning building to save that child?
Firefighter: Just doing my job.

Tenant: How could you evict us?
Sheriff: Just doing my job.

Parent: Why did you help our son and tutor him after school and on weekends?
Teacher: Just doing my job.

Regulator: How could you continue after knowing your company was dumping illegally?
Employee: Just doing my job.

Just doing my job is a utility answer. It provides both a cover and a deflection for real or faux humbleness. Equal parts “not my responsibility” and “oh, thank you for noticing that I took responsibility.” 

Doing your job in either case is about responsibility. 

Your company and customers need someone who takes responsibility. Your team needs someone who takes responsibility. Your community, Church, and book group need someone who takes responsibility. This world need people who take responsibility. 

Are you just doing your job?

You have a plan. You have a map. But your destination is unknowable without hindsight.

You are disciplined. You are committed. But your journey is unknowable without hindsight.

You have an idea. You have a team. But what you sell is unknowable without hindsight.

Physics insists that the future is unknowable, and hindsight is 20/20.

Don’t fight physics.

Are you living a good story?

Living a good story conjures visions of adventure, travel, overcoming odds, meeting interesting people, purpose, falling down, and standing up for one’s beliefs in the face of an oppressing mob. The highlight reel plays like a movie trailer.

But does the trailer really tell the story?

Are you living a good story?

Of course, you are. It’s up to you to see it that way.