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The specific yes and the meandering no

When a change arrives, some people embrace it. And because it’s new, they have to be specific about why. They can talk clearly about the benefits it offers and why they feel drawn to the change it can produce.

But many people don’t embrace the change. And more often than not, their objections are diffuse. They change their story over time, sometimes within the same conversation. When one objection is overcome, they switch to another one. They embrace mutually exclusive arguments and generally appear vague in their discomfort.

That’s because the people who say yes are seeing and embracing what’s possible.

There are definitely specific nos as well. People who have considered the details and implications of a new technology or cultural shift and then declined to use it.

But that’s not a meandering no.

While some people reject a new idea simply because it doesn’t work for them, often the people who are saying no are afraid. They’re afraid of what change may bring, and they’re not sure they trust the innovation and the system enough to go forward. But we’ve been conditioned to avoid saying, “I’m afraid,” so if we’re uninformed and afraid, we make up objections instead. And even add angry bravado to our objections, simply as a way of hiding what’s really going on.

A meandering no doesn’t turn into a yes because someone with a good idea listened very carefully to every spoken objection and rationally and clearly countered it. Because the objections aren’t real, and the naysayer isn’t listening very hard to the responses.

Instead, the culture changes when a combination of two things happens:

  1. Lived experiences help people actually learn the truth about what they’ve been resisting.
  2. The culture shifts and now it’s scarier to stay still than it is to join in with what is clearly working.

The last fifty years of technology adoption show that this happens every single time a shift spreads across the culture. Every time.

Not for Diana

Demetri Martin tells the story of seeing a necklace for sale. It says, “Diana” on it.

“Wait,” he says to the owner of the jewelry store, “you’d probably sell more if it said ‘Not Diana’ on it.” After all, just about everyone isn’t named Diana.

The absurdity of this story is precisely why focusing on the smallest viable audience makes so much more sense than trying to make average stuff for average people.

The modern expediter

Feet on the street.

At the same time that air travel is becoming less favored by businesses, the world is more connected than ever before.

There are lots of organizations that want to do business internationally but might not be as eager to fly across the world to visit a factory or meet with a supplier. And so the pharmaceuticals, the software, the fabrics, the call centers, the chips—it becomes ever more difficult to truly understand how to source and produce the components that world-based products demand.

The expediter is local talent. They speak the language. They are retained by the company to join in on zoom calls and to do site visits if needed. The modern expediter provides something that’s more useful than ever: insight.

My friend Jojo does this in China. I’m guessing that there are others who do it in many other countries around the world, but they’re not easy to find.

I’ll update this post next week with a list of folks who are now doing this new sort of work. Feel free to submit your info via this form if you’d like to be included.


Either you’re using time.

Or it’s using you.

You can watch the clock, but if you do, it’s watching you.

Clocks have an agenda. They aren’t a part of the human condition–they’re fairly recent. They enabled industrialism, and the very fact that they have an ‘alarm’ built in is a clue.

It’s definitely possible to put time to good use.

But if we’re without a compass and a goal, we can find it using us.

In between a total loss and an endless expense

How much should you spend?

For just about everything, there’s level 1 (too cheap, total loss, all money and effort less than 1 is wasted) and there’s level 2 (spending ever more money to get not much more than investing at level 2 would have created.)

This rule applies to copyediting, to used cars, to the building of bridges and everything in between.

What’s the point of underspending on a software project? You merely end up with nothing but frustration.

And the gold-plated RFP that comes from deep within the bureaucracy is designed to avoid finger-pointing and blame, not to actually buy something that gets us a return–that might lead to even more waste.

Better to pay a little more than you should and get something you can use than pay too little and end up with nothing at all. Better as well to avoid paying a ridiculous amount for something that never satisfies–better to live without until you learn to see the curve.

Learning to see the curve–that’s the benefit of deliberate experience, well earned.

Easily confused

There are countless arguments about words that we often don’t understand the way someone else might.

Words like education, learning, merit, talent, skill, privilege, smart and successful.

They might not mean what we think they do.

Well-educated isn’t the same thing as smart.

Talents are different than skills.

Learning is not the same as education.

Successful isn’t the same as rich.

Agreeing on what we mean is a great place to begin.

Fresh herbs

Chain restaurants rarely use fresh herbs. They’re uneven, unreliable and expensive, and most diners have been conditioned to want food that’s more processed and bland.

The same is true for most of what we buy and sell. It’s becoming ever more predictable, pre-processed and cost-reduced.

The pressure tends to go in one direction–turn your work into a commodity, smooth over the edges and fit in all the way. That seems hard to argue with, particularly if you want to be popular and profitable.

But the restaurant that makes the best sabich in all of New York City takes a different approach. At Nana, in an obscure shopping mall on the outskirts of an outer borough, they’re serving memorable food that doesn’t match the prevailing industrial model. You can’t get something similar from your grocer’s freezer. It’s distinctive and probably a lot more difficult to produce on a regular basis.

The same could be true for what you choose to do. It might not get you a Fortune 500 company as a client, and probably won’t make you #1 on whatever bestseller list tracks the one that’s for everyone, but it might be exactly the work that you’re proud to do.

Thanks, Gina, for caring. And for anyone who goes out of their way to add fresh herbs when they don’t have to.

“Make the sign bigger!”

Actually, the sign will never be big enough

Make the announcement louder. Make the logo bigger. Yell. Call more people on the phone to sell them an extended warranty. Send more emails. Hustle harder.

None of it works.

The problem with the fountain isn’t that they didn’t make a big enough sign. The problem is that the fountain itself is poorly designed. It’s an attractive nuisance, a dangerous thing to put in the middle of a boring courtyard. The sides invite sitting and standing, and the height beckons people to walk in and around it. And the consistent cues of its design aren’t going to be undone by an ugly, intrusive sign, even one in red with ALL CAPS.

And louder and more persistent PA announcements aren’t going to help if the situation people are in has lulled them into not listening.

And a bigger logo isn’t going to get someone to care about your company if the product and your story don’t resonate with them.

Insisting on a bigger interruption is lazy. It’s lazy because if you really cared about solving the problem, you’d change the situation, not yell about it.

If you get the design right, you can whisper instead.

Progress is a trade

It’s easy to imagine that over there, just a few steps ahead, our problems will disappear.

Pessimists, of course, are sure that instead of disappearing, tomorrow will make things worse.

The truth is pretty simple: All we do, all we ever do, is trade one set of problems for another.

Problems are a feature. They’re the opportunity to see how we can productively move forward. Not to a world with no problems at all, but to a situation with different problems, ones that are worth dancing with.

HT to Gabe.

Narrative and feelings

Which comes first? The feelings, the facts, or the story we tell ourselves that leads to the feelings?

It’s surprising that I ended up at the college I went to.

Back in 1978, there were two ways to visit campus if you were taking a subway from the airport. One route went through Harvard Square, with its magical campus, and then via bus down youth-friendly Mass. Ave., past Steve’s famous ice cream parlor and on to the small school. The other route, the route the admissions office suggested when I called them, went through gritty Lechmere, then by bus past wood-frame houses built in the 1950s, then some more grittiness and then on to the back of the campus.

It would have been easy to use the feelings that the second route created in me, a solo traveler barely 17 years old, to invent a narrative about what was missing from this choice of school.

We like to think we make complicated decisions based on rational analysis, but most of the time, we actually make an emotional decision and then invent a rational analysis to justify it.

That’s why so many kids pick a school based on how it felt to go to a football game there in October. Or why it matters if it’s raining on the day you visit. Feelings first, then they create a story. Facts come in third.

If our goal is to help people make better choices, it helps to first create better feelings.

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