danoshinsky.com

I just finished Taylor Jenkins Reid’s new book, “Daisy Jones & The Six.” I suppose the word “finished” isn’t quite right — I cancelled plans and stayed in so I could keep reading it. If you liked “Almost Famous,” or if you’ve watched “History of the Eagles,” or if you have strong feelings about Fleetwood Mac, you’ll probably enjoy this one, too. It’s a fictional oral history of a chart-topping ‘70s rock band that burned out too quickly, and halfway through, you’ll be convinced that they were real.

The book doesn’t just nail the rock and roll voice of the era — it also has a few quotes that feel like they’re ripped from a rock documentary. Here’s one I’ve been thinking about the past few days, from a member of the band:

Warren: Let me tell you the sweet spot for being in rock ’n’ roll. People think it’s when you’re at the top but no. That’s when you’ve got the pressure and the expectations. What’s good is when everybody thinks you’re headed somewhere fast, when you’re all potential. Potential is pure fuckin’ joy.

I’ve been lucky to have been there in the early days of some incredible projects, when you realize that you’re onto something good, and the potential paths start opening up in front of you. Sometimes, an idea sparks just right, and you’ll find yourself jotting down page after page of ideas, or having a conversation with a co-worker where every potential next step excites you. There isn’t pressure, and there aren’t any expectations. It’s just you and your team and this idea. You don’t know what’s up ahead, but you’re thrilled about the potential of it anyway.

What I can tell you, too, is that those moments can be frightening. You may doubt yourself: Do I have enough experience to take this opportunity on? Am I good enough to do this? (You do, and you are.)

If you’re excited about the idea or the opportunity, press on. Embrace the moment. Run with it. Those moments of true, limitless potential are special, rare, and worth chasing. Embrace those moments — they really can be pure fuckin’ joy.

———

That photo of the cover of “Daisy Jones & The Six” comes via the Instagram of the author, Taylor Jenkins Reid.

I started my first job in journalism 16 years ago this summer. I’ve been working in email for seven years. I’ve got some experience to fall back on, but sometimes, I fall back on that experience too quickly. Someone will pitch an idea, and I’ll dismiss it. No, I’ll say, I tried that five or ten years ago. It didn’t work.

And when I say “It didn’t work,” what I’m really saying is: “That never works.”

But that’s not necessarily true! What worked a decade ago might not work today. What didn’t work a year ago might work now. And if I’m too quick to dismiss those ideas, we might miss out on a potentially valuable opportunity.

The challenge is seeing something you’ve seen before — for the first, second, or thousandth time — and trying to explore the idea as though you’re seeing it for the very first time.

I was thinking about that last week. Most days, I eat lunch quickly at my desk in the first available 10-minute window after noon. But on Thursday, I had a bit more time. I took my sandwich, went out, and found a spot a few blocks from the office to sit and eat. I’d never sat in that spot before, and started looking around. And just across the street, I noticed a building going up, still half-complete. When I looked up, I spotted something in the reflection of the glass:

The World Trade Center, poking out from behind another building.

I work in the World Trade Center. I’ve seen that building from just about every angle, from Brooklyn and Jersey, from planes flying into LaGuardia. I’ve seen 1WTC a thousand times, but never from that angle. From most parts of the metro area, the building looms above the rest of the skyline. But from here, up close, I saw something different: a stalk of a building, stretching upwards to find a small piece of the Manhattan sky.

I’ve been thinking about that for a few days now. If it’s possible to see something so iconic as the World Trade Center with fresh eyes, what else have I been missing? What else do I need to approach from a new perspective?

I’ve been lucky to have tried a lot of interesting things in my work. Now I’m trying to figure out what else I can try — again, for the first time.

———

I took that photo of 1WTC.

A few weeks ago, I read an article in the MIT Sloan Management Review, by Jeanne Ross, titled, “Why Hypotheses Beat Goals.” It makes the argument that instead of setting goals, more companies should be willing to make educated guesses about what will happen next — and then try to proves those hypotheses out. As Ross explains:

A hypothesis emerges from a set of underlying assumptions. It is an articulation of how those assumptions are expected to play out in a given context. In short, a hypothesis is an intelligent, articulated guess that is the basis for taking action and assessing outcomes.

Hypothesis generation in companies becomes powerful if people are forced to articulate and justify their assumptions. It makes the path from hypothesis to expected outcomes clear enough that, should the anticipated outcomes fail to materialize, people will agree that the hypothesis was faulty.

Building a culture of effective hypothesizing can lead to more thoughtful actions and a better understanding of outcomes. Not only will failures be more likely to lead to future successes, but successes will foster future successes.

Every place I’ve worked has set aggressive goals, and I still think that should be part of the process at any workplace. But I have been thinking a lot about Ross’ theory in the context of project prioritization — looking at a long list of ideas and deciding which ones to work on next. At some companies, prioritization is driven by “sizing,” which is the process of estimating how big or impactful a particular project could be. Sizing is supposed to ensure that the team prioritizes work that they know will have significant impact. Other companies tend to focus on hypotheses — we think that if we try X, it might result in Y. They still care about the end results, too, and often have data to support their hypothesis, but they’re willing to take on a bit more risk in the process.

There isn’t a right answer here, although my bias is towards hypotheses over sizing. I’d rather spend more time trying new projects, testing new ideas, and analyzing what’s already been done, as opposed to tying up resources trying to project the potential impact of a particular project. 

I’m a bit biased for another reason: So often, when I’m working with a team on something brand new, there isn’t a lot of data for us to work off of. How big could this newsletter be? How much traffic could it drive? What will this product look like a year or two out? We might not have the answers — or even be able to make a semi-educated guess! — because we haven’t tried anything like it before. At a company that focuses heavily on sizing, that type of project almost never makes out of the concept phase, since there will always be other ideas that are easier to project in the short term. But at a hypothesis-oriented company, that idea might get off the ground because leadership is willing to try something that hasn’t been tried before, even if it might fail.

In the long run, I think it’s important for teams to set ambitious goals. The real question is: How will you decide what projects are most important en route to those goals?

———

That photo of a dashboard comes via Luke Chesser for Unsplash.

Sally and I had a moment a few weeks ago. We were out on a weekend night with some friends for a birthday dinner. Our friends wanted to go out for karaoke, and who were we to say no to off-key renditions of Alanis Morissette and Journey? Around 1 a.m., we both started to fade. But I asked if we could stay for a few more songs. “One day,” I told her, “we won’t live in New York, and we won’t be able to do this with these friends anymore. Let’s just enjoy this while we can.”

It’s hard to live in the moment. I know I’m guilty of sneaking a peek at my phone during dinner. I’ll get lost in my thoughts while in conversation with a friend.  And sometimes, if we’re out for the night, I’ll catch myself thinking about what I have to do the next day — errands, work — instead of enjoying what we’re up to that night.

I’ve written before that for every stage of life, there’s a Todd Snider song. And here’s the one I keep coming back these days. It’s called “Enjoy Yourself”:

Todd sings:

Enjoy yourself, it’s later then you think
Enjoy yourself, while you’re still in the pink
The years go by, as quickly as a wink
Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it’s later then you think

It helps to take a few moments to remind myself of what I have. Right now, I feel so lucky to have this job, to have an incredible marriage, to have such a wonderful family, to have my health, to get to travel, to live here in New York. Sometimes, it takes a night like the one at that karaoke bar to remind myself: Who knows how long all of this lasts? Enjoy the moment while you can.

———

That photo of a karaoke bar comes via Ilya Ilford for Unsplash.

I wrote a few weeks ago about the importance of learning to say “no.” Sometimes, you have to say no to ideas — even ones you like — to make sure that you have the opportunity to focus on more important things.

But there’s an key corollary to that concept: Part of learning how to say no is learning when to leave something out of your work.

There’s a wonderful essay from John McPhee, in The New Yorker, about the power of omission. He writes:

Writing is selection. Just to start a piece of writing you have to choose one word and only one from more than a million in the language. Now keep going. What is your next word? Your next sentence, paragraph, section, chapter? Your next ball of fact. You select what goes in and you decide what stays out. At base you have only one criterion: If something interests you, it goes in—if not, it stays out. That’s a crude way to assess things, but it’s all you’ve got. Forget market research. Never market-research your writing. Write on subjects in which you have enough interest on your own to see you through all the stops, starts, hesitations, and other impediments along the way.

McPhee is writing specifically about the process of writing — but his words apply to any sort of work. Whatever you put your attention or your time into, you have to choose what to leave out, what to say no to. What’s left should be what matters most.

———

That photo of an edit in progress was taken by Joanna Penn and used here thanks to a Creative Commons license.