Category: Everything else

A simple way to increase problem solving velocity – disregard the instinct to assign blame.

Every once a while, I find myself out of ideas for the day’s post.

So, I inevitably find myself scrolling through my favorite feeds, going through my Feedly, and/or just clicking about hoping for some serendipitous inspiration.

It works from time to time.

Often enough for it to be something worth trying.

That’s until I remind myself that the solutions I seek are probably not out there.

Instead, they lie within.

I just need to remind myself to pause, take a deep breath, and think.

I’ve begun reading “The Socrates Express” by Eric Weiner.

Eric Weiner’s style is to take us on a journey around the world and make us smarter about something with a healthy dose of humor along the way. In this book, that something is philosophy. Every chapter in this book is thus about a famous philosopher and their contribution to philosophy.

At the end of a chapter about Socrates, he made an interesting observation. Nearly every great philosopher made their impact by sharing powerful observations about the world and the human condition. They had their own distinct style and approach to making these observations. Some did it with a lot of emotions, others with characteristic pessimism or self deprecation, and so on.

Socrates, however, was unique in only leaving behind a method. Socrates’ legacy isn’t about what he wrote. In fact, he wrote almost nothing. Everything we know about him is thanks to his student Plato,

His legacy, instead, is defined by his approach to thoughtful conversation – the “Socratic method” that relies on questions to spur critical thinking.

It is a powerful way to think about legacy. A legacy that is defined by the how instead of the what.

My notes for the day in the past four days came from one speech.

I wouldn’t have done this a few years back. I would have posted all four anecdotes in one day.

It is one speech after all. Why does it need four posts?

I’ve come to appreciate the importance of soaking in lessons. I could have shared all four stories in one post but I’d have forgotten about them just as quickly. By thinking about these lessons every day for four days, I’ve absorbed them better.

It can’t end here either. I need to re-tell these stories a few times to others and write about them some more. Assuming I do that, maybe, just maybe, I’ll remember them at a time when I need them.

Maybe I’ll remember that I shouldn’t get too upset about being a sugar cookie for the day or to sing when I’m up to my neck in mud.

And then maybe I’ll remember these stories again in a similar situation the next time. And again.

I will only have learnt these powerful lessons when they become part of how I operate. To learn and not to do is not to learn.

Soaking in them is a helpful first step in that process.

Today’s post is 4/4 in the series on Admiral McRaven’s wonderful commencement speech at UT Austin (click for part 1/4, 2/4, and 3/4).

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Every day during training you were challenged with multiple physical events — long runs, long swims, obstacle courses, hours of calisthenics — something designed to test your mettle. Every event had standards — times you had to meet. If you failed to meet those standards your name was posted on a list, and at the end of the day those on the list were invited to a “circus.” A circus was two hours of additional calisthenics designed to wear you down, to break your spirit, to force you to quit.

No one wanted a circus.

A circus meant that for that day you didn’t measure up. A circus meant more fatigue — and more fatigue meant that the following day would be more difficult — and more circuses were likely. But at some time during SEAL training, everyone — everyone — made the circus list.

But an interesting thing happened to those who were constantly on the list. Over time those students — who did two hours of extra calisthenics — got stronger and stronger. The pain of the circuses built inner strength, built physical resiliency.

Life is filled with circuses. You will fail. You will likely fail often. It will be painful. It will be discouraging. At times it will test you to your very core.

But if you want to change the world, don’t be afraid of the circuses.

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In each of these stories, Admiral McRaven refers to wanting to change the world. He had a nugget on that too.

“Tonight there are almost 8,000 students graduating from UT. That great paragon of analytical rigor, Ask.Com, says that the average American will meet 10,000 people in their lifetime. That’s a lot of folks. But, if every one of you changed the lives of just 10 people — and each one of those folks changed the lives of another 10 people — just 10 — then in five generations — 125 years — the class of 2014 will have changed the lives of 800 million people.

800 million people — think of it — over twice the population of the United States. Go one more generation and you can change the entire population of the world — eight billion people.”

Awesome speech. Thank you, Admiral McRaven, for putting together this masterpiece.

We’re onto post 3/4 in the series on Admiral McRaven’s wonderful speech (click for part 1/4 and 2/4)

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The ninth week of training is referred to as “Hell Week.” It is six days of no sleep, constant physical and mental harassment, and one special day at the Mud Flats. The Mud Flats are area between San Diego and Tijuana where the water runs off and creates the Tijuana slues, a swampy patch of terrain where the mud will engulf you.

It is on Wednesday of Hell Week that you paddle down to the mud flats and spend the next 15 hours trying to survive the freezing cold mud, the howling wind and the incessant pressure to quit from the instructors. As the sun began to set that Wednesday evening, my training class, having committed some “egregious infraction of the rules” was ordered into the mud.

The mud consumed each man till there was nothing visible but our heads. The instructors told us we could leave the mud if only five men would quit — just five men — and we could get out of the oppressive cold. Looking around the mud flat it was apparent that some students were about to give up. It was still over eight hours till the sun came up — eight more hours of bone-chilling cold.

The chattering teeth and shivering moans of the trainees were so loud it was hard to hear anything. And then, one voice began to echo through the night, one voice raised in song. The song was terribly out of tune, but sung with great enthusiasm. One voice became two and two became three and before long everyone in the class was singing. We knew that if one man could rise above the misery then others could as well.

The instructors threatened us with more time in the mud if we kept up the singing but the singing persisted. And somehow the mud seemed a little warmer, the wind a little tamer and the dawn not so far away.

If I have learned anything in my time traveling the world, it is the power of hope. The power of one person — Washington, Lincoln, King, Mandela and even a young girl from Pakistan, Malala — one person can change the world by giving people hope.

So, if you want to change the world, start singing when you’re up to your neck in.

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Another beautiful beautiful story from Admiral McRaven.

This story triggered a memory of a blog post from a few years ago where I’d observed something similar. When we’re stuck in shitty situations, it is easy to underestimate the power of some humor and cheer.

Small things can go a long way when we’re all up to our neck in mud.

Continuing from yesterday’s anecdote from Admiral McRaven’s excellent commencement speech, today’s post is another anecdote called “Sugar cookie.”

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Several times a week, the instructors would line up the class and do a uniform inspection. It was exceptionally thorough. Your hat had to be perfectly starched, your uniform immaculately pressed and your belt buckle shiny and void of any smudges. But it seemed that no matter how much effort you put into starching your hat, or pressing your uniform or polishing your belt buckle — it just wasn’t good enough. The instructors would find “something” wrong.

For failing the uniform inspection, the student had to run, fully clothed into the surfzone and then, wet from head to toe, roll around on the beach until every part of your body was covered with sand. The effect was known as a “sugar cookie.” You stayed in that uniform the rest of the day — cold, wet and sandy.

There were many a student who just couldn’t accept the fact that all their effort was in vain. That no matter how hard they tried to get the uniform right, it was unappreciated. Those students didn’t make it through training. Those students didn’t understand the purpose of the drill. You were never going to succeed. You were never going to have a perfect uniform.

Sometimes no matter how well you prepare or how well you perform you still end up as a sugar cookie. It’s just the way life is sometimes.

If you want to change the world get over being a sugar cookie and keep moving forward.

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Powerful idea. Beautifully articulated.

I came across an awesome commencement speech by Admiral William McRaven titled “Make Your Bed.” He shared 10 lessons he learnt from his SEAL training. There were a few anecdotes that resonated deeply. I thought I’d start with this one.

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Over a few weeks of difficult training my SEAL class, which started with 150 men, was down to just 35. There were now six boat crews of seven men each. I was in the boat with the tall guys, but the best boat crew we had was made up of the the little guys — the munchkin crew we called them — no one was over about five-foot-five.

The munchkin boat crew had one American Indian, one African American, one Polish American, one Greek American, one Italian American, and two tough kids from the midwest. They out-paddled, out-ran and out-swam all the other boat crews. The big men in the other boat crews would always make good-natured fun of the tiny little flippers the munchkins put on their tiny little feet prior to every swim. But somehow these little guys, from every corner of the nation and the world, always had the last laugh — swimming faster than everyone and reaching the shore long before the rest of us.

SEAL training was a great equalizer. Nothing mattered but your will to succeed. Not your color, not your ethnic background, not your education and not your social status.

If you want to change the world, measure a person by the size of their heart, not the size of their flippers.

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Word.

I made a couple of dumb mistakes over the weekend.

These were largely inconsequential mistakes – the kind that I won’t remember in a few years.

But, that didn’t stop me from kicking myself and feeling frustrated when I thought of them.

Why was that?

Perhaps I was falling prey to over-estimating the current moment.

Or perhaps my ego was hurt at my displays of obvious stupidity.

Or perhaps I simply expected better of myself.

Or perhaps it was a combination of these and a few other reasons.

Regardless of these reasons, there was also the fact that all the self-kicking + frustration accomplished nothing.

It was all wasted energy.

I knew this when it happened. It didn’t stop me from doing it wrong though.

To know and not to do is not to learn.

Much to learn I have.

Growing up in South India, summer fruits always had a place in my heart.

Mangoes were always special. Watermelons were a highlight in the scorching heat. And, watermelon juice was thus a treat. So was lemon juice – with a pinch of salt – after a game outside. Nature’s gatorade.

Since we moved to the United States, we’ve added other summer fruits to our list – blueberries and grapes have been climbing up the list.

But, my favorite new discovery over the past couple of years has been a new fall fruit I’ve come to love – persimmons. As wonderful as mangoes and watermelons are, eating either requires a fair bit of effort.

Persimmons, on the other hand, can be eaten as easily as an apple – but are (arguably) much tastier. They have the right amount of firmness and are filling.

So, I’m feeling especially grateful for persimmons today. They make fall extra special.