What couldn't you ship?
Great excerpt from Jason Hong's article in this month's Communications of the
The most impressive story I have ever heard about owning your research is
from Ron Azuma's retrospective "So Long, and Thanks for the Ph.D." Azuma
tells the story of how one graduate student needed a piece of equipment for
his research, but the shipment was delayed due to a strike. The graduate
student flew out to where the hardware was, rented a truck, and drove it
back, just to get his work done.
Stories like that pluck at my heart strings. Best part of Back to Work,
Episode 1 was this, when around 19 minutes in Merlin Mann said:
I was drinking, which I don't usually do, but I was with a guy who likes to
drink, who is a friend of mine, and actually happens to be a client. And, we
were talking about what we're both really interested in and fascinated by,
which is culture. What is it that makes some environments such a petri dish
for great stuff, and what is it about that makes people wanna run away
from the petri dish stealing office supplies and peeing in someone's desk?
What is it, what makes that difference, and can you change it?
In time, I found myself moving more towards this position — as we
had more drinks — that it kind of doesn't really matter what people do,
given that ultimately you're the one who's gotta be the animus. You're the
one who's actually going to have to go ship, right?
And, my sense was — great guy — he kept moving further toward, "Yeah,
but...". "This person does this", and "that person does that", and "I need
this to do that". And I found myself saying, "Well, okay, but what?" What
are you gonna do as a result of that? Do you just give up? Do you spend all
of your time trying to fix these things that these other people are doing
And, to get to the nut of the nut; apparently — I'm told by the security
guards who removed me from the room — that it ended with me basically yelling
over and over, "What couldn't you ship?!" "What couldn't you ship?!" "What
couldn't you ship?!"
... If we really, really are honest with ourselves, there's really not that
much stuff we can't ship because of other people...
... When are you ever gonna get enough change in other people to satisfy
you? When are you ever gonna get enough of exactly how you need it to be to
make one thing?
Well, you know, that is always gonna be there. You're
always gonna find some reason to not run today. You're always gonna find
some reason to eat crap from a machine today. You're always gonna find a
reason for everything.
To quote that wonderful Renoir film, Rules of the
Game, something along the lines of, "The trouble in life is that every man
has his reasons." Everybody's got their reasons. And the thing that
separates the people who make cool stuff from the people who don't make
cool stuff is not whether they live in San Francisco. And it's not whether
they have a cool system. It's whether they made it. That's it, end of
story. Did you make it or didn't you make it?
The way I see it, you should never stop asking yourself:
What's really going to be different about tomorrow that you couldn't go make
happen today? Why isn't past inaction indicative of what's going to happen
today, or tomorrow?
What reason do you have to believe that appropriate steps to deliver on your
vision are in flight, and what would it take for you to go drive them harder.
What losses might you have to cut in order to get some thing done,
rather than a theoretically more perfect no thing. For some outcomes, it
really does take a village. I wouldn't expect anybody to single-handedly ship
the Great Pyramid.
Of course, sunk costs are powerful siren, so you have to be very careful to
evaluate whether compromises still allow you to hit the marks you care about as
true goals. But, at the end of the day, all those trade-offs roll up into one
subtly simple question:
What couldn't you ship?
Toiling away with hand swept clocks
Meticulously combed-through kilo-SLOCs
More and more features borne to bear, but
For all continents, a continent unaware.
Streams of commits slake developer thirst
Screams from sales pitches, ever averse
Product with no need but a product indeed, as
People with Real Problems want and bleed.
Words on a page, referred to as "plan", but
Equivocate: business, science fair, fighting the man?
Wanton tech fails on bang per buck
Without users, committer, your work doth suck.
By the 1840s, a "Railroad Mania" was raging, with stocks selling on
multiples of passenger miles, a precursor for multiples of page views that
Yahoo stock would trade on 150 years later. An inventor named Charles
Babbage complained that "the railroad mania withdrew from other pursuits
the most intellectual and skillful draftsmen." [...] Investors made money,
investors lost money, but in the best and worst of times, the railroads got
built, and people and goods were shuffled about.
—How We Got Here, A Slightly Irreverent History of Technology and Markets
I think that, these days, Babbage would be looking for the systems programmers.
Paradox of the generalist
Classic management advice is to build a republic: each team member specializes in what they're good at. It just makes sense.
You nurture existing talents in attempt to ensure personal growth; simultaneously, you fill niches that need filling, constructively combine strengths, and orchestrate sufficient overlap in order to wind up with a functioning, durable, kick-ass machine of a team. A place for everyone, everyone in their place, and badassery ensues! (So the old saying goes...)
But what if, instead, you could simultaneously fork off N teams — one for every team member — and make that team member simultaneously responsible for everything? What would happen to the personal knowledge, growth rate, and impact of each member?
Let's take it one step farther: imagine you're that team member. All of a sudden it sounds terrifying, right? If you don't know it, nobody does. If you don't do it, nobody will. If you don't research it, you'll have no idea what it's about. If you don't network, no contacts are made. If you don't ship it, you know it will never change the firm/industry/world.
So, you think like you've been trained to think: you disambiguate the possible results. What could happen? Maybe you'd crumble under the pressure. Maybe you wouldn't be able to find your calling because you're glossing over the details that make you an artisan. Maybe you'd look like a fool. Maybe you would ship totally uninteresting crap that's all been done before.
But, then again, maybe you would grow like you've never grown before, learn things that you never had the rational imperative to learn, talk to interesting people you would have never talked to, ship a product that moves an industry, and blow the fucking lid off of a whole can of worms.
And so we arrive at one tautological cliché that I actually agree with: you never know until you try. And, if you choose wisely, you'll probably have a damn good time doing it.
At the least, by definition, you'll learn something you couldn't have learned by specializing.
Chemistry and compatibility
There's a spectrum for the working compatibility between two people.
On the far left of the spectrum, there's negativity. You hate the other person's guts, and can't work with them at all. There's some personality conflict (which could simply be, "That person is an asshole") or some impasse that would require psychotherapy to bridge.
On the far right of the spectrum, there's chemistry. Effectively, you want to have their technological babies. You finish each other's... that's right, sandwiches. Or sentences. Or parser combinator libraries. When you stumble with a task or concept, that person is there to pick you up with a how's-it-going or whiteboard marker, and that's a two way street. You work together like the badass components of a emergently-more badass machine. Bio-digital jazz, man.
And smack dab in the middle, there's plain ol' compatible. This is like the "friend zone" of the working world. It's fine, and you can go on that way indefinitely, getting things done at a reasonable clip, but it probably doesn't get the creative juices flowing. You're scheduled to meet at a waypoint instead of bushwhacking away at the thicket together.
It takes time, effort, and luck to find people that you have working chemistry with — they're understandably rare. The effort has to start somewhere, though. Maybe it's a good exercise to imagine a person that you're just working-compatible with: if you bore to them your technological soul, might you get something going on?