Controlled Ascent

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Decompression stops can be needfully boring.

When scuba diving, if you go past a certain depth, you have to “stage” your ascent every so many feet for a period of time, so you don’t get the bends when you surface. I have a high regard for my own skin so I don’t quibble with this and will sit at a decompression stop for however long it needs be; and sometimes just a bit longer.

In the mid-2000’s (somewhere in there, the memory is fuzzy) I was on a dive trip with friends in Mexico, and the order of the day was to dive with Hammerhead Sharks. I love sharks; I think they’re graceful, efficient, and I enjoy their variety of size and shape and color. Shark diving? Sign me up. (Just none of that “let’s chum the water and put you in a cage” stuff). To dive with the Hammerheads, you have to go deep-ish. If I recall correctly, we were clocking in somewhere between 120 and 160 feet. For reference, a Basic Open Water certification will get you certified for 60′, and part of that certification requires you do a “free ascent” – meaning you take one breath at 60′ down, and then ascend (carefully exhaling the whole way) for 60′ without taking another. So we were a little deep.

I remember the decompression stop had me holding on to a guideline from the boat, probably the anchor line. My dive buddy was slightly below me on the wire and in the open water, the only view was the vast blue of the ocean; all the sharks were at depth. It was quiet, it was peaceful, it was … utterly boring.

For however long of a decompression stop I had to be at that place, I was staring out at blue nothingness, literally forced by physics and physiology to stay in one place and do essentially nothing but breathe. I was still “on the job” — the dive was not complete, it’s not like I could nap or anything, but I was, at least a little bit, removed from the “work” of the dive. In 20 years of diving, this is the only decompression stop I remember.

I write this from Arizona, visiting my parents, and it is NOT boring, but it is a decompression stop, for me, from work. I’m not 100% off, but I’m not 100% on, either.

Inasmuch as I would like to be 100% off, I need this decompression stop, before surfacing and heading into a real vacation; I have a hard time letting go of work things, and need to double check multiple times for my own sanity: did I finish this thing? Did I pick up this ball? Did I put this to rest, or at least to rest enough to wait for the New Year?

Somewhere along the way to now, I started taking the day off before a trip and the day off after, to allow for a similar staged decompression: it’s not like you’re still on vacation those days, rather, those are the days you set things “to rights” so you’re ready for the next stage. Piles of laundry and an empty fridge and hundreds (if not thousands) of emails feels rather like the bends otherwise.

My advice, therefore, is this: do your decompression stops. They can be boring, you may feel afloat, you may not have the ability to immediately communicate to your buddy and you may be eyeballing your air, but they are needful.

Limping Across the Finish Line

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(I’m fine.)

Every year I get to the Thanksgiving Holiday and the urge to Wrap Up All the Things intensifies. The proximity of the end of calendar year means that if you want it done (whatever “it” is) you better get on it because there’s not much year left. As artificial boundaries go, it’s swell.

This year there are so many changes (and yet so many things the same) that I am absolutely, positively certain I have dropped one or more balls. Some ball drops I know about: I had a whole side hustle that I created two years ago and had been steadily working on, abandoned earlier this summer (and will probably get picked up in the zeal of the “New Year”). Other ball drops I’m pretty sure I’ll find out about… later.

The problem with me (the problem?) is that I am *really good* at planning things out for everyone, including me, except with the understanding of what kind of time I’m dealing with. For example: we’ll get into that gentle lull of the Twixmas week, and I’ll look around at all the things done and all the things to-do, and I will look at my *current bandwidth that week* and maybe (speciously) dollop in the expectation of say, “20% busier than right now”, and sign up for more things. Because I have so much spare time, *right then*, see?

Somewhere around March it catches up with me. Earlier in the year two peers at work staged an Intervention and while I am forever grateful my inability to properly manage my time should not be their problem. Changes are made, plans are adjusted, by August I’m right back to where I was the previous winter: everyone else’s vacations means a natural lull in things which in turn makes me feel like I have more time than I do, so I dust off some of the previously dropped balls and start playing with them again.

By the time we get to the Thanksgiving Week, the immense relief at the prospect of three working days with *no meetings* (well okay two but it’s fine) is whelming. I start to pre-game the end of year stuff: I’ve started going through my junk mail and unsubscribing, I’ve started combing through the backlog and reorganizing it, I’ve started Thinky Papers and Closet Scrutiny. None of this helps me in discovery of *which balls I have dropped*, because I cannot disturb the natural process that will allow those to surface at just the most inconvenient time, later.

When I was running (I have reduced that – no more half marathons, the body does not do the things it used to) I would occasionally sign up for something and then fail to train properly for it (or unforeseen circumstances like a broken toe or such would get in the way). The fact that I had *paid for entry for the run* as well as a stubborn “You do what you say you are going to do” mantra would have me out at the start line, with all of the other freezing people, without regard to my insufficient training. Taped knees, ibuprofen, a decent music selection, Gu, and stubbornness would get me about 10 miles, and after that “it’s just 3 more miles”. I’d limp across the finish line, with a time that could only be described as “hey at least you finished!” and tell myself I’d checked the box. That I could have checked the box in a better fashion had I properly trained or devoted the right amount of time would be the nagging thought in the back of my head, but at least I’d finished, albeit limping.

As we head into the final five or six weeks of the year, I know this: it’s just 5 or 6 weeks. I’ll cross the finish line. And at least I will have finished, albeit limping.

Gap Analysis

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I play a lot of Tetris. Cascading four-block shapes that have to be fit “just so” with one of two goals: either maximize your “points” (in which case your strategy is to build up four lines and then complete them by slotting a final piece in) or maximize the number of rows you exhaust (in which case your strategy is to complete a single line as often as possible). As you play either the cascade speeds up or impediments are put in your way to make it hard to complete rows. (FWIW, Tetris appears to be licensed out to a bunch of different entities and so your version may vary). I will play three or four rounds transitioning between “work brain” and “home brain”, a way to “accomplish” something, much the way finishing a cup of coffee and working out in the morning means I have “accomplished” something and/or doing a load of towels means I have “accomplished” something.

The thing is, as you progress in Tetris the speed and/or impediments do increase and so you rarely get nice, neat complete rows out of the gate (towards either goal). There’s always a gap and you can choose to ignore it (build nice, neat rows above it) or engineer towards it (what do I have to eliminate to get that gap addressed). If you are the type of person who likes everything “just so” you may find yourself using that second strategy and occasionally to your detriment: if you employ the “remove all gaps” strategy, you are giving up on “build up solid rows” strategy.

Of course this is like work.

I am a “Technical Program Manager” – but I expect this is observed and encountered by “Product Managers” and “Software Engineers” and pretty much any other role in which you have to coordinate sixteen things in order to deliver A Thing. Out of sixteen things, four will work perfectly well and four will work moderately well and four will be okay-ish and four will be an abject nightmare of permissions, architecture, personalities and/or randomization. (Your proportions may vary, your encounters will not). You can focus on those last four or you can work around them, but you will rarely, if ever, encounter a program or objective that does not hand you gaps through which you must strategize.

It’s frustrating. It’s also a muscle to build, because the nature of the world we live in now is that things are increasingly more intricate even while we strive to have things like AI and ML make things easier; I would posit that the development of AI and ML solutions have not been easy for those who *build* them. As our careers and technology progress, the blocks start falling faster, and the obstacles increase; and hopefully we get more agile and effective in dealing with them, because they continue.

Or we give up and go do a load of towels.

Competition

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I am very competitive, and I don’t compete with you.

I realize that may be an aggressive statement so allow me to explain I’ve just had an epiphany, one marked from extremely privilege and pique, and I’m not particularly proud of it but I’m glad I know it.

My Apple Watch died. (I realize this is a privilege problem and it just helped me understand a little more about myself.)

In 2018 my husband got me an Apple Watch, because I had been using a Fit Bit reliably for years and am a sucker for metrics: how many steps, how many miles, how many runs. When “challenges” would get posted in Map My Run or in peer groups (e.g., run 1 mile per day every day for 365) I would happily accept. I’ve been tracking my food in MyFitnessPal for years too (yes, I’m aware that this gives Under Armor a ton of data about me). If I can measure it, I can improve it.

I am not fanatical about it and a couple of bouts with COVID and associated other health problems have clapped back, but for the most part, I have led a life, in the last 15 years or so, of “how much better can I get” (nestled against the reality of physical and mental limitation).

A couple of years back I upgraded my watch and was able to “keep my streak” — the Apple Watch has fitness rings that accrue information about how often you stand, how much you move, and how much you exercise — and you can extend the limits of those rings as appropriate. It also includes a monthly challenge that appears somewhat tailored to you based on your recent metrics. There is a monthly “award” for moving a certain amount each day every day.

It also provides a bunch of other metrics one can rathole on, such as VO2 max (lung capacity), an Oxygen saturation sensor (which is okay), and a heart rate monitor (which is excellent and I over index on it regularly). You can augment some of this data through other methods (e.g., Map My Run) but for the most part, this all hinges on having the watch.

My streak is broken. I have only “feelings” to judge if I really pushed myself in my workout yesterday, I have only “feelings” to judge if I slept well (I feel like I did), I have only “feelings” to judge if I stood enough yesterday. I don’t like it. (Yes, a fix is on the way).

That these metrics mean *nothing* to anyone else is absolutely the point: they mean something to *me* and I miss them. I use them to judge improvement and progress, and without them I’m looking at a space in my graphs. It’s annoying.

What I do not miss, and I never used, was the “competition” feature. There’s a feature in the fitness app that allows you to “compete” with a friend, by sharing your stats. I’ve never used it, even though there’s an easy-to-get badge for it. In a world where I love getting badges for badge’s sake (heck I even did Yoga to get the International Yoga Day one), in the five-ish years I’ve had this watch I’ve not once competed with a friend. I don’t like to compete with other people.

I’m not running down competing with other people, for other people. If you’re into a sport or chess or running for office or any number of professions, competition is real and cogent. It is a zero-sum game; there can only be one gold medal or one Governor or what have you. In those cases, the competition is not set by *you*, it’s set by whatever rules/governing body exists: e.g., we can have only one Miss America because those are the rules of the Miss America Pageant.

I do not have to operate in any environment where that is the case, which is great, because I do not *like* to.

I cannot control what someone else does/did do/will do; I do not like spending the mental energy trying to game out all of the solutions of a human’s behavior. Why should whatever *you* elect to do influence what *I* do in any way? You want to go for that promotion? Go for it! You want to go run that half marathon/marathon/Ironman/etc.? You go! You want to run for office (any office)? Enjoy! And count me out: I seek places where I can improve me and I can improve the things around me, but that improvement should not come at the expense of someone “losing”.

There is an interpretation where I could be considered to compete and that is At Work, come Review Time. (It’s not called that – the process of impact evaluation at my work is called One Thing, and the process by which it is rewarded is called Another Thing). The realities of work budgets are that there is a fixed sum that can be distributed amongst constituents and in a world where Money is the clearest signifier of Appreciation then that can be considered competition: if I get an extra dollar, someone is losing a dollar.

But I’m not deciding who that someone is, and I’m not looking at all of the someone’s and “plotting” my next moves with that in mine. My assumption is I have my charter and the things I need to do and the things I can improve, and everyone else does, too. If I land what I need to land and what I set out to, great. The very best-case scenario is the person who has to do the Evaluating has a Hard Time. But *I* don’t have to do that evaluation, that’s Somebody Else’s Problem. *I* am not competing, someone else is *comparing*. We are not running the same race or playing the same game because our tracks are different, and our hurdles are tailored to us; I don’t have to obsess over how I’m going to be better at you than a Thing because that Thing isn’t even in my wheelhouse or on my radar.

When it comes to competing with myself, though, I’ve just lost some key data sets, and until I get it back, it’s going to be hard to distribute rewards. I am used to having all of that so easily, because of this watch.

And now my watch has ended. (I’ll see myself out).

Hard Boot

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I am about four hours from a flight to 115-degree temperatures and this is me saying goodbye to my laptop. For now.

  • If I take my laptop, I will be tempted to “just check on a few things”.
  • If I take my laptop, I will get sucked into work stuff, when I am patently out of office.
  • If I take my laptop, I will sabotage this effort to unplug.

I know what happens when I take my laptop. I also know what happens when I do not: I come back more present, refreshed, etc. The lie I tell myself every time I take my laptop is that it’s just so I can be occupied on the plane. Or clear out my email the night before I return. Or “just in case”.

  • I do not work in any field that has 24/7 responsibility that ultimately rests on me alone: there are others who rotate through that responsibility and in this particular case it’s not my turn.
  • I do not work in any field where lives are at stake.
  • I do not work in any field where there is the expectation of total availability even when out of office (with plenty of notice, brandished in automated replies, and signified by a little purple-grey mark in Teams).

Yet every time I try to take time off, I delude myself or sabotage it and have to do things like get on a plane and fly a thousand miles away from my laptop, having disconnected apps from my phone, and, in other words, set some very hard boundaries. I do not have the discipline in this area (I promise I have it in others).

“It’s just going to be a little crazy for the next 6 months, but then it should ease up”, I have said, pretty much every month, for the last 3 years. The crazy will not stop – there will always be surprise meetings, and curveballs, and organizational “pivots”, and People Very Worried About Things, and as long as I am employed in the arena I am employed in, that will not change.

Before I leave for most vacations, I scurry around the house and clean All the Things. All the laundry, all the bathrooms, all the vacuuming, all the dusting, etc. — because I guess Architectural Digest will be dropping by in my absence and it’s Important That Things Are Ready. I do this with work too: I go update my documentation, I leave notes on who to talk to for what, I remind folks, I have recordings, etc.

Not once has my ability to (or failure to) make my bed before a trip helped (or hindered) anything. While I’m certain that folks do read the out of office reply (at least the first line that contains the most critical information: you will not be hearing from me for a bit) are “helped” by it, I’m equally certain that they’d still get unblocked sooner or later because nothing I write in terms of who to go to in my absence is a surprise. All of this frenetic effort before I can unplug is NOT for them, it’s for me. It’s a reassurance that I did everything I could to leave it easier for others because somehow that is how I should think about my time off. Which is weird, if you think about it: the whole point to time off, is to do something for yourself.

So, this is me doing it: farewell, laptop. See you in a few days.

Ephemeral

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Every morning I open up a book of 3000 Sudoku puzzles and task away at one or more with my morning coffee. Unlike online sudoku, because it’s in a book, there is no feedback system for if I write a wrong number in a wrong slot. This means I can merrily make the wrong decision and go trotting down the 9×9 squares getting *everything wrong*, sometimes for a good chunk of the puzzle (more than 50%), before realizing I made a wrong choice *somewhere* previously and have to erase and start over.

Of course, I don’t have to actually erase and start over. I could strategically walk through every number choice, working painfully through the puzzle and pseudo-marking the *right* choices in an attempt to disambiguate them from an *unproven/wrong* choice, effectively re-working the puzzle but with a lot more noise. OR I can pull out my trusty Pentel Eraser and just axe the whole thing, with the faintest traces left on the page, and start (mostly) fresh.

There are pros and cons to each approach: the painstaking way forces me to find very, very specifically where I chose wrong, but it takes longer and is prone to confusion from previous choices. The quicker way gets me to the overall solution faster but means re-applying numbers that were good in the first place. Either way I’m giving something up: time, or effort.

One way is not “better than” the other, in the sense that sometimes wholesale erasure and restarting is important (in the case of Sudoku, this can be when you are on a fixed timeline and you have to Go Do A Thing shortly and you want the puzzle Done before you Go Do The Thing and you’ll take your lesson later) and sometimes strategic walk through is important (in the case of Sudoku, this can be when you are making the same mistake over and over and need to figure out *why*). (The very worst approach is to start off the painstaking way, decide it’s too hard, and then erase — you’ve wasted time and aren’t getting the benefit of the investment).

What is true in both cases is the problem is ephemeral and can be solved: I just have to choose my method and then stick with it. I’ve already sunk the cost of my initial investment in the puzzle, and if I choose to parse through the individual choices to find *why*, or if I choose to erase and start over, nothing is bringing back that initial time investment.

With Sudoku, I almost always choose the “erase and start fresh” method, for two reasons: I typically don’t have enough time in the morning to re-parse through my choices, and, it’s of dubious benefit if I do: the fact that there are 3,000 *different* Sudoku puzzles in this book alone tells me that parsing through my wrong choice in *this one* will probably not tell me anything useful for the next one, on a per-puzzle basis. Per this article I get about 5.5 billion combinations and that is more than I will ever do in my lifetime (I have roughly 40-45 years left and if I did 5 a day every day for that period I have maybe 82 thousand puzzles left to do). (Hyperbole: I’d have to do about 335k puzzles/day to get them all done before I die. #goals).

But if it’s a *trend* — If I consistently find myself getting it wrong, over and over, it’s less about the puzzle and it’s more about me: am I constantly making assumptions about something? Am I not really paying attention? If it’s important enough to understand why, there are times when picking through the choices are valid: oh, I made an assumption about X number being in N place when I had no data for that. Or, oh, I conflated that number with this number (e.g., looking at the trend of 3’s in the blocks and then misapplying it to a different number/relationship). That won’t help me get through the block sooner but it will help me understand why I’m messing up and that maybe it’s time for coffee or a break.

I work (perhaps unsurprisingly) in engineering, and almost always the faster way of dealing with a problem is to start over. Sometimes you get to carve in some things that you *know* are good — in Sudoku this would be the numbers that are prepopulated for you and maybe your first four moves — and then you go from there. Generally speaking, as long as everyone’s ok with that approach (in any industry you can have things cheaply, quickly, and of good quality: pick two), that is the way to go. “Starting over” is expensive but may be cheaper than “refactoring extant” (the assumption here is that quality is not up for grabs). What you sacrifice is the inability to really hyper specifically target how you got into a specific pickle, which, sometimes you need. Sometimes, though, it’s enough to know you got there… and to work more diligently and specifically to ensure you don’t go back.

The First Ridiculous Thought

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I have insomnia. It is persistent, sometimes even chronic, and although not as near as bad as it used to be it can be relied upon to hit a couple of times per week (or more) in high-stress periods. It isn’t chemically induced (I drink mostly decaf) but more of a, “I have to get up in the night anyway and when I try to get back to bed the brain is on *just enough* to make it difficult to get back to sleep” thing.

If you live in a world where outside forces set your schedule (which is most of us), you don’t have the luxury of “sleeping in”. How much sleep you get is directly related to when you go to bed and how successfully you sleep in the window allotted. And I am an 8-hours of sleep to function person.

Over the years I have developed various coping strategies for this, but the most reliable one is what I call The First Ridiculous Thought.

NOTE: I am not a doctor of any kind in any way. This is just what works for me and how I’ve rationalized it. It might work for you.

To set the scene: it’s roughly 2:30am. You need to wake up again at say, 5am. You have clocked maybe 5 hours of sleep thus far, so every minute is precious. And you’re awake – your brain is buzzing through all of the things it wants you to be preoccupied with: how are you going to present this issue to management? How are you going to give feedback to this person? If this schedule falls through, which contingency plan are you most likely to use? Did you, in fact, remember to put the trash bins out? Is *this* the weekend you were going to go dig under the house to find that thing or was that next weekend because wasn’t this weekend that thing… and so on. Thoughts coming fast and loose, spilling over into each other, all demanding attention, and the more you give it, the longer you will be awake.

There are two ways to get to the First Ridiculous Thought. The one I recommend (that works often for me) is you build a story in your head. You can borrow heavily from favorite media (e.g., you are Indiana Jones and now you’re on your next adventure) or build your own. The point is, it has nothing to do with the bulk of racing thoughts and it resides firmly in fantasyland. However, because your brain is logic-ing and fretting away, it will want reasonableness in this fantasyland: how have those snakes been surviving all this time? You see the spider webs but where do the spiders come from? Etc. Let your brain rathole on these things. They aren’t important and they give it something to chew on.

And then you get the First Ridiculous Thought.

You’ll know it when you think it: it is Patently Ridiculous. Maybe it’s that the snakes are now space aliens or maybe it’s because they are somehow special underwater magic snakes that can survive in an oxygen-starved tomb or whatever. And then you remind yourself that underwater creatures use oxygen too for the most part and they filter out oxygen from water so saying underwater snakes can handle entombment is just Ridiculous.

Get ready, you’re about to go back to sleep.

This is because your brain has detached from this requirement of logic and fret and worry and is now goofing on some weird idea that isn’t really quite right and is Patently Ridiculous. It’s because the logic-y part of your brain has gone to sleep, and the less-than-logic-y part is taking over. The land of dreams.

You can of course talk yourself out of this, I have done so, I do not recommend it. It takes longer to get to the Second First Ridiculous Thought.

This works in other places, by the way. In waking times, at work or in a work group environment (school project, committee work) you may find yourself in an intractable kludge of worry and ratholing. You (and your team maybe) are going over the same sixteen questions over The Thing that seem just as problematic as they did the last time you talked about them, and the time before that. This can be because you are bringing up the same strategies and key points, over and over.

Detach from them. You can do these one of two ways: you can do it transparently: making a rule such as “we will tackle Just One, and we will either pursue Just One with the things we’ve said, or we will specifically say “those are not options, start thinking about different options”. ” As soon as someone points out there aren’t, point out there have to be, even if they’re ridiculous. Give yourself, and others, permission to be ridiculous. Embrace the awkward.

Opaque works too: suggest a “brainstorming” session and start seeding it with ridiculous thoughts. I mean, legitimate ones – no, you cannot ship the data on 1,000 USB sticks via elephant over the Alps, but… you could FedEx it. No, no, that’s ridiculous but… there are ways.

Is this 100% foolproof? No. But neither is it 100% foolish. And when you find yourself desperate for sleep at 2:30am, or desperate to unravel a Gordian Knot of a project, it can’t hurt.

Diamonds and Graphite

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[Edit: Math]

It’s a time of nontrivial pressure here at my work, as we arrive at the end of one Fiscal Year and on the precipice of another. Like a calendar New Year this invites all sorts of process of evaluation and review and planning, meaning that if you are a front-line manager you are currently juggling the evaluation of your individual team members (both career wise and performance wise, which I would argue are two different things), the evaluation of the team as a whole (did we do the things we said we were going to do and if not why not), the planning for what the team will do in the coming period (as informed by previous), and the budgeting for that plan (which… is a bit more constrained everywhere). Every year we “kid” ourselves that come the new Fiscal Year things will Calm Down because we will have Sorted Out Last Year and we have a Plan For Next Year; and in some cases, that’s legit. In others, it is an invitation to self-delusion.

One analogy I hear a lot is how you can’t make a diamond without pressure. Sure – that is principally correct, if you want those carbons matrixed such that they create a 10 on the hardness scale and you can use them to be effective tools to cut other things (e.g., industrial diamonds) or inspire awe and avarice (e.g., diamond adornment) then rock on: apply your pressure to that carbon. It’s expensive, but the end product is useful, and sometimes pretty.

You know what else is made of pure carbon? Graphite. The stuff in your pencils (whether they be Dixon Ticonderoga or mechanical pencils) is graphite, and it’s *elementally the same* as diamond, it’s just configured differently. If a diamond is matrixed carbon, graphite are cellular sheets of carbon. (You can see diagrammatic and explanatory differences here). While graphite requires pressure too (about 75k lbs/square inch to form), Diamonds require tenfold more pressure.

Diamonds and graphite are measured differently — even the goth diamonds (industrial diamonds) are priced in carats (about 0.20 oz) and graphite is priced in ton (one ton =2000 pounds, 1 pound =16 ounces, so the differential there is 32k). Industrial diamonds can be priced as low as 12 cents per carat (I’m using industrial diamonds here because they produce work, vs other diamonds are for “art”). Graphite is running about $2281 per ton. In terms of value, graphite is then about $1.10 per pound and industrial diamonds are about $1.92, so the price difference is about a fifth of the pressure difference.

You get what you pay for. But what do you want?

You wouldn’t, for example, use an industrial diamond to sort out your notes, to sketch things, to use as a heat sink for your laptop, for use in a battery, to reinforce plastic or to deflect radar; you wouldn’t use graphite to grind or cut things. The pressure exerted produces a fundamentally different material and you use the material differently. The markets are also different: the Industrial Diamond market is projected to be $2.5bn by 2028, Graphite is headed to $25.7bn in the same year.

Which is a link-and-fact-ridden way to say that if you are valuing the pressure for the pressure’s sake then you are not valuing anything at all. You can hone a clump of carbon into a very, very specific tool with very, very specific use cases in a narrow-ish market (again, unless you’re doing it for “art”), or you can use about a tenth of the pressure and get a fundamentally broader application from your toolset.

If the metaphor hasn’t hit you with a carbon-fiber baseball bat yet, here we go: reveling in the volume of pressure applied to personnel for the value that “people work well under pressure” and “you can really see the value people provide when they are under pressure” is a detrimental and flawed approach. If what you want to do is hone that particular person into that particular niche, understand that you are developing a very, very hard matrix in that human that will allow it to go and cut things and grind things but at the expense of its ability to buffer things, to connect things, and to elucidate things. Or if you are asking the human to do both of those things then you will get neither well.

Sure, people are not elements (well technically people are elements, collections of them, but whatever). People have the ability to compartmentalize, to have sentience, to make decisions, and to make choices. Some of us were hardened and pressured and then had things written in our reviews like “bodies in the wake”; it takes a lot of hard work on the person upon whom pressure was applied to de-matrix their carbons and get to those nice flowy sheets (Years. It takes years, trust me).

We should not spend all of our efforts trying to create batches of diamonds alone, and we should identify and appreciate the need for graphite.

Numbers Game

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(Something a little more lighthearted. Maybe.)

Every morning I “play” at least one Sudoku puzzle. I have a book of 3000 puzzles and they’re listed as “medium” to “hard” and I’ve graduated to “hard”. I can usually get one done in about 5-10 minutes and it kind of helps me wake up with my coffee and frame the day.

Yesterday I had to redo one twice, eventually erase it, give up, and move on to the next one in the book, promising myself to return today. This had not yet happened in my Sudoku history, and I wasted (?) probably 45 minutes yesterday trying to prove to myself I could do this puzzle. I had to complete the next one to “validate” that I still have “got it”, but it didn’t quite sit right.

This morning I finished the puzzle, but I had to do something I really hate doing: I had to guess. In most Sudoku, there comes a time where you are looking at 2 of the 9 slots in a line or a cube and you *know* that it there’s two numbers that fit into those two slots, and you know which numbers they could be (e.g., Slot A is a 5 or a 9, slot B is a 5 or a 9). This allows you to know that all of the other slots in the line are not those two numbers, but it’s not like they’re interchangeable: those two slots also impact their cubes and impact their perpendicular lines. Guessing, even educated guessing, is a gamble.

The gamble increases in scope when you make that guess early on: say, when your puzzle is only 20% complete instead of when it’s 80% complete, because the downstream impacts of your guess permeate through almost every other number choice. So, in a puzzle of 81 numbers if you’re 30 numbers in and you guess, then 50ish more number choices are impacted. Granted, the stakes are low: if you’re wrong, which you will discover with about 10 numbers to go, (or hopefully earlier), you grab your trusty eraser (may I recommend a Pentel Hi Polymer, I prefer mine to a Pink Pearl, my earlier go-to) and erase the crap out of the sudoku and start over. The only thing you’ve lost is time (and maybe a little pride).

We are, in my organization, coming out of RIFs, entering a planning season, and doing the logical thing: we’re looking around at what has to be done and with what resources (human and otherwise) we can do it. We’re also trying to predict the future: what will we need 3, 6, 12 months from now; where will we need to be in 2 years, etc. In some cases, we know pieces of the puzzle, and in some cases, we have to guess. We have pretty PowerPoint slides and impressive Excel pivot tables and neatly combed backlogs when we are done, but ultimately, there will be a time in this process where we have to say we think Slot A is a 5 and Slot B is a 9. Even in my relatively steady area of Fundamentals and Operations, there’s an aspect of predictability that is missing; while not nearly as bad as my Product Manager friends have it (their customer base is legit millions of people; my customer base is some <1000 engineers), the human component represents a blank slot on the Sudoku board and we have to put in a (hopefully very educated) guess as to what goes there. The price of erasure and starting over is and can be disruptive and is not brushed aside by a “never mind, we’ll get to it tomorrow”. It happens, and we absorb it, but it’s not terribly fun, either to explain or execute. In our case, this un-fun piece is mollified by an evolving process and an attentive release team that keeps us on track and has a system in place for when we identify that we indeed guessed wrong, and that Slot A was supposed to be a 9. It doesn’t take the sting completely out, but it does help.

And then we go on to the next puzzle.

Closure

Bobbie1 Comment

We’ve all had that friend with that messy relationship that doesn’t end well, and someone ends up seeking “closure”. And the closure-seeker is usually denied that: the other party has ghosted or cannot or will not give the answers the closure-seeker needs.

Closure is not for the person who left, closure is for the person who is left behind.

With the volume of layoffs out there, there are those who are leaving (and that sucks), and then there are those who are left behind. We need to acknowledge that also sucks. There are (broadly) two sets of folks left behind in the workplace after layoffs: managers, and individual contributors. Much as with Now What, this is the best I can do (for now) with some things to think about:

Individual Contributors

If you’re an “IC” it means you aren’t managing anyone but yourself, and your workload. In a post-layoff world, that’s a lot to manage, because you are also having to manage your response. You probably have survivor’s guilt: a combination of wanting to know why specific people/groups/etc. were picked, replaying in your head what decisions you would have made had you been in charge, worrying about if another shoe is going to drop, and trying to figure out what it all means. Things feel a little unstable, and that seems to seep into your everyday work, even after the team meetings and frank conversations have subsided.

  1. Understand that you will not get answers. It’s rare that the full weight of the decision-making or rationale will ever be exposed and you’re likely being protected from some uncomfortable choices that someone else had to make.
  2. Understand that it is not your fault. I grew up with the adage that “you cannot say it is not your fault if you cannot also say it is not your responsibility” and frankly, if you’re not a manager, you were not part of any decision-making process, and therefore it wasn’t your responsibility, and therefore it wasn’t your fault.
  3. Seek to control what you can control. You can control your response. You can set boundaries in your work and personal life. You can (hopefully) provide input *to* your management about what the next steps can/should be as you see them.
  4. Take a breath: this is unpleasant, yes, but it also affords you a swift spiritual kick to the gut: why are you here? I mean, yes, why are you here in the cosmic universe, etc., but also: why are you in this role, doing this thing? Do you still like it, even with its ugly bits? Is it time to *plan for* (not execute) a change in the coming months/years? What would you need for that, or if it isn’t time for a change, what do you need to double down in your current space?
  5. Give yourself time to grieve. Grief processing looks different for each person; in my case I carefully box it up and put it ‘way down while I focus on tasky and strategic things and then it blows up in my face some months later. I do not recommend this approach, but I identify with it.
  6. List what you learned. Especially if this is your first experience with layoffs, pay attention to what you learned – how did you respond, what do you wish you had prepared at home or in life for this, what conversations did you have to have at home or at work and what did you need or want for those?

Managers

Congratulations! You get to own the message. You may or may not have had a direct input into the decision-making process, but you’re in it and must execute on it, and now you are down one-to-N team members, and you have folks on your team who are scared, disoriented, or frankly freaking out. Typically, layoffs come with a “redirection” or “new focus” so you get to manage your team not only through this massive change in their/your dynamic but *also* potentially with new or altered charter.

  1. Acknowledge the elephant(s) in the room. Yes, there are/were layoffs. Yes, people are impacted. No, you don’t have answers and/or you can’t give answers. Yes, it sucks. Give yourself, and your team, a space to vent, ask questions, and work through their stages of grief. If you are only going to open that space for one meeting and move on, that’s your call, but be transparent about it.
  2. Support your team. This means providing that vent space, but also reminding them of any work benefits that provide therapy/counseling, reminding them of the need to take time, acknowledging the new work dynamic and doing your best to answer their questions about how things will work in the future.
  3. Clear, consistent, and candid convos: You do not have all the answers but that doesn’t mean clamming up is a good idea. There are going to be tough discussions ahead: who works on what, what work drops, or if somehow the expectation is that you do more with less, be candid about it. Euphemistic handwaving about a “brave new future” isn’t helpful when it comes with the same ginormous backlog.
  4. Recognize growth. As the team progresses through this event you will see signs of improvement and/or growth; recognize it and publicly appreciate it. This isn’t to say there won’t be folks who take longer to get through it, but when you see signs of progress do acknowledge it: grit deserves recognition.
  5. Everything that applies to an Individual Contributor also applies to you. Meaning, you need to give yourself time to grieve, you need to evaluate how you will approach this or what you learned, you need to take a breath. You did not stop being a human being when you became a manager and you may need to remind yourself of that.