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Transitions

Coming and going matter far more than what happens in the middle.

Opening things.

Closing them.

Tearing off the bandage.

Losing something.

Meeting someone new.

Getting on the airplane, getting off of it.

Being greeted.

Elections.

Ending a feud.

We mistakenly spend most of our time thinking about, working on and measuring the in-between parts, imagining that this is the meat of it, the important work. In fact, humans remember the transitions, because it's moments of change and possibility and trepidation that light us up.

There is more than one solution to your problem (and your problem is real)

Challenge one: Believing that the solution you've got (the person you want to hire, the strategy you want to implement, the decision you want to make) is the one and only way to make the problem go away or take advantage of the opportunity.

Falling in love with your solution makes it incredibly difficult to see its flaws, to negotiate with people who don't agree with you, to find an even better solution.

And, on the other side of the table…

Challenge two: When you find someone who is pitching a solution you don't like, it's tempting to deny that there's much of a problem at all. After all, if you diminish the problem, you won't have to accept the solution that's on the table.

But of course, the problem is real. The dissatisfaction or inefficiency or wrong direction isn't going to go away merely because we deny it.

It's amazing how much we can get done when we agree to get something done.

Breakpoints

A neighbor recently put in some new sidewalk. As usual, the workman interrupted the unbroken swath of perfect concrete with lines every three feet.

What are the lines for?

Well, the ground shifts. When it does, perfect concrete cracks in unpredictable ways, often ruining the entire job. When you put the breakpoints in on purpose, though, the concrete has a chance to absorb the shifts, to degrade effectively.

This is something we often miss in design and in the creation of customer experiences. We're so optimistic we forget to put in the breakpoints.

There's no doubt the ground will shift. The question is: when it does, will you be ready?

More than ten is too many

Human beings suffer from scope insensitivity.

Time and again, we're unable to put more urgency or more value on choices that have more impact. We don't donate ten times as much to a charity that's serving 10 times (or even 100 times) more people. We don't prioritize our interest or our urgency based on scale, we do it based on noise.

And yet, too often, we resort to a narrative about big numbers.

It doesn't matter that there are more than 6,000 posts on this blog. It could be 600 or 60. It won't change what you read next.

It doesn't matter if a library has a million books instead of a hundred thousand.

It doesn't matter how many people live without electricity.

Of course it matters. What I meant to say is that when you're about to make a decision of scale, right here and right now, if the number is more than ten, the scope of the opportunity or problem will almost certainly be underestimated.

Metaphors aren’t true

But they're useful.

That's why professionals use them to teach, to learn and to understand.

A metaphor takes what we know and uses it as a lever to understand something else. And the only way we can do that is by starting with the true thing and then twisting it into a new thing, a thing we'll be able to also understand.

(Of course, a metaphor isn't actually a lever, a physical plank of wood that has a fulcrum, which is precisely my point).

The difference between the successful professional and the struggling amateur can often be seen in their respective facility with metaphor. The amateur struggles to accept that metaphor is even acceptable ("are atoms actually building blocks?") or can't find the powerful analogy needed to bring home the concept. Because all metaphors aren't actually true, it takes confidence to use them well.

If you're having trouble understanding a disconnect, or are seeking to explain why something works or doesn't, begin with a metaphor. "Why is this new thing a lot like that understood thing…"

Metaphors aren't true, but they work.

PS more on this in my latest post on Medium.

The other kind of harm

Pop culture is enamored with the Bond villian, the psycho, the truly evil character intent on destruction.

It lets us off the hook, because it makes it easy to see that bad guys are other people.

But most of the stuff that goes wrong, much of the organizational breakdown, the unfixed problems and the help not given, ends up happening because the system lets it happen. It happens because a boss isn't focusing, or priorities are confused, or people in a meeting somewhere couldn't find the guts to challenge the status quo.

What we choose not to do matters.

Our bias for paid marketing

A few rhetorical questions:

Is a physical therapist with a professional logo better than one with a handmade sign?

Are you more likely to stay at a hotel that you've heard of as opposed to an unknown one, even if 'heard of' refers to the fact that they've run ads?

Do you believe that companies that rank higher in search results are better than the ones a few pages later? And if you don't, then what's the reason we so often stop clicking after one page?

There are more ways than ever to spread the word about your work, but we live in a culture where paid ads still have clout.

"As Seen on TV" was such a powerful phrase that companies brag about it, right on the box. And that connection between paying for attention and quality still remains.

Over time, we've been sufficiently seduced by marketers that spend on the surface stuff that cognitive dissonance has persuaded us that we must be making those choices for a reason.

Find the discipline to build your projects like you won't be able to run ads to make them succeed. A product that sells itself, that's remarkable, that spreads.

Then consider running ads as if you don't need them.

The short run and the long run

It’s about scale. Pick a long enough one (or a short enough one) and you can see the edges.

In the short run, there’s never enough time.

In the long run, constrained resources become available.

In the short run, you can fool anyone.

In the long run, trust wins.

In the short run, we’ve got a vacancy, hire the next person you find.

In the long run, we spend most of our time with the people we’ve chosen in the short run.

In the short run, decisions feel more urgent and less important at the same time.

In the long run, most decisions are obvious and easy to make.

In the short run, it’s better to panic and obsess on emergencies and urgencies.

In the long run, spending time with people you love, doing work that matters, is all that counts.

In the short run, trade it all for attention.

In the long run, it’s good to own it (the means of production, the copyrights, the process).

In the short run, burn it down, someone else will clean up the problem.

In the long run, the environment in which we live is what we need to live.

In the short run, better to cut class.

In the long run, education pays off.

In the short run, tearing people down is a great way to get ahead.

In the long run, building things of value makes sense.

Add up the short runs, though, and you’re left with the long run. It’s going to be the long run a lot longer than the short run will last.

Act accordingly.

Identity vs. logic

Before we start laying out the logical argument for a course of action, it's worth considering whether a logical argument is what's needed.

It may be that the person you're engaging with cares more about symbols, about tribal identity, about the status quo. They may be driven by fear or anger or jealousy. It might be that they just don't care that much.

Sometimes we find ourselves in a discussion where the most coherent, actionable, rational argument wins.

Sometimes, but not often.

People like us do things like this.

Using video well

The web was built on words.

And words, of course, are available to anyone who can type. They're cheap, easy to edit and incredibly powerful when used well.

Today's internet, though, is built on video. Much more difficult to create well, far more impactful when it works. 

My friends at Graydin, for example, needed only 140 seconds to make their case about their practice.

Because video costs more, is more difficult to edit and takes a different sort of talent to create, we often avoid it. Or worse, we cut corners and fail to do ourselves justice by posting something mediocre.

When copy exploded across the web, the professional copywriter felt threatened. Anyone could write, and anyone did.

When photography was added to the mix, the professional photographer felt threatened. Everyone had a camera, after all.

And now, the same thing is happening to video.

In each case, the professional has something to add, something significant, but she has to change her posture from scarce bottleneck to extraordinary contributor.

Great video doesn't change the rules. A great video on your site isn't enough. You still need permission, still need to seek remarkability, still need to create something that matters. What video represents is the chance—if you invest in it—to tell your story in a way that sticks.