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Stepping back from Sett has left a lot of room for me to reflect. What went wrong? Of those things that went wrong, which were avoidable, or will at least be avoidable in the future? Two big things always surface, the first of which I'll talk about today.
When Sett started out, I spent most of my time innovating, imagining, making decisions, and building. The building was a very specific sort of building-- the kind where you're going a hundred miles and hour, shooting for 80% perfect. Something out of nothing, not perfection out of something.
By the end of Sett, I was spending my day programming and dealing with customer support. We were servicing our technical debt, meaning I was filling in that last 20% of polish that we had left the first time around. On top of those things, I was trying to figure out how to get us making money.
The biggest difference in these duties is something that maybe only I, or close friends, could spot. I'm really good at the first group, and pretty bad at the second group.
The boat we keep at the island is named the SS Hassle. The process for buying it involved punching a hole in the side of it, patching that hole, buying a new motor because the first one stopped working, sleeping in the car for two nights because the new motor didn't work either, and manually moving the boat a few hundred feet by sliding it over wood. Until that moment of pure euphoria, when we finally got it running, we lived in a world of frustration.
Since then, it's run perfectly. We've used it to cross the harbor a few dozen times and, thanks to our neighbor fixing it up for us, it starts on the first pull every time. It's deep and wide, so we can carry plenty of people or almost a thousand pounds of concrete (three times, in case you're wondering).
I remember how frustrating it was trying to get the thing working, but only in a foggy third-person sort of way. My only real emotion associated with it is amusement, thinking about the comedy of errors that was our lives for three days.
When I think about the boat now, that whole episode is just a footnote. Mostly I think about how much I like our boat and how glad I am to have it.
My cousin is deciding which college to go to. There's pressure, because this is going to be one of the biggest decisions of her life. I was thinking about that tonight as she and her mother talked about schools all over the US with all sorts of pros and cons.
The course of her life will be determined by the school she chooses. Mine was, and I dropped out after a year and a half. I made a friend who I learned gambling with, which funded my life for seven years. I met one of my best friends while I was there.
She'll go for four years, so I imagine it will have an even larger impact on her. It's daunting, just to think about, really.
At the same time, I don't think it matters much where she goes. Huge decision, huge impact, low importance.
Whenever I see a headline that begins with "New Study Proves...", I skip over it and move on to the next one. I love science, and I even like studies, but I have a big problem with the way studies are framed today, especially in the media. There are two major things wrong with these so-called scientific studies, which, combined, give us misleading and often outright incorrect headlines which many of us use to inform our decisions.
The first principle that is crucial to understand is that correlation is not the same thing as causation. For example, people who send their children to private schools are more likely to be convicted of stock market fraud than those who don't.
New Study Shows That Sending Children to Private School Could Lead to Criminal Behavior in Parents!
Well, no. People who have the money to send their kids to private school are more likely to be in a position to conduct stock frauds. There is a link between the two things, but it is not a causal link. In other words, sending your children to private school is not going to turn you into a criminal.
For a while I just accepted that I wouldn't have good tea when I traveled. I drank good tea in my RV, or at Samovar, but would drink nothing but water when I was on the road.
I slowly began to experiment with ways to have tea on the go, and now I really have a whole system down for efficiently carrying and brewing tea on the go.
The easiest thing to do is cold-brewed matcha. Breakaway Matcha offers extremely high quality matcha in single-serve packets. All you do is drop one in a nearly-full water bottle, shake it for fifteen seconds, and enjoy. This is always my go-to for my anti-jetlag strategy. As soon as I wake up, I shake up a bottle of matcha.
I've been wanting to write this post for a long time, because it's the kind of post that will allow me to write more posts, linking this one as background. Because it's so important, I've been waiting for the right time to write it. Sometime like now, when I'm fed, tea-caffeinated, motivated, and have a few hours with no anticipated distractions.
Expected Value, or EV, is the fundamental building block of decision-making. If you don't understand it, whether by name or not, you are not making optimal decisions. If you do understand it, at least you stand a chance.
EV is a term that describes the mathematically predicted outcome of an action. The EV of you finding a dollar on the ground is one dollar. Whenever you find a dollar on the ground, you gain one dollar, so that's the value of that event.
Let's say that you and I are going to flip a coin. If it's heads, nothing happens. If it's tails, you give me a dollar. The expected value for you is negative fifty cents because half the time nothing will happen, and half the time you'll lose a dollar.
I travel a lot. Not as much as a lot of business travelers, but maybe in the top 1% for independent travelers. That means that I spend a lot of time on planes, in airports, and experiencing just about every air-travel scenario possible.
People get to airports ridiculously early in fear of missing their flights. I almost never get to the airport more than forty-five minutes before my flight departs, and have only missed three flights in that time. One was because I had bad information on how long it took to get to the airport, another was because the guy driving the canoe to the airport stayed up all night doing cocaine and then slept in, and the most recent was because I forgot I had switched my flight to an earlier one. I've never missed a flight when I got there forty-five minutes early.
Now, this only applies if you don't check bags. If I can travel for months on end with a half-empty nineteen liter backpack, I'm sure that you can travel for any duration with the largest-allowed carry-on.
Check in for flights generally closes an hour before the flight takes off. Sometimes this is a soft deadline and you can actually check in later. It's best, however, to check in online twenty-four hours before your flight. Almost every airline in the world allows this, and you can choose a good seat.
When I think about a lot of the good things that have happened to me over the course of my life so far, a huge number of them can be directly attributed to my willingness to act very quickly. I think that the benefits of near-instant decision making, even/especially on big decisions, are hugely underrated.
Right now I'm on a train running between The Hague and Amsterdam in the middle of a five-country two-week trip. The flight cost me $300 because I saw a deal pop up and booked the flight within minutes. I wasn't planning on going to any of these countries, but the opportunity knocked and I answered.
Living with the pickup artists in Los Angeles was a major turning point in my life. I continue to benefit from that decision, even though I was probably the least qualified person to live in that house at the time. The only reason I got the spot was because I called immediately upon finding out that it was open. Many others were considering it, but while they were waffling, I pounced.
The decision to purchase the island happened within 72 hours. Maybe it would have stayed for sale forever and we did have the luxury of time, but maybe not. Since that time I haven't seen nearly as good an island for sale in that price range.
Later in the day, after spending hours exploring the pyramids in Cairo, we rented some busted up four-wheelers and took to the desert behind the pyramids. Driving over a huge dune, pyramids being revealed as you ascend, is a truly breathtaking sight. You can almost imagine what it would have been like to ride a camel across the desert and to see them for the first time. One thing that would have been different back then, though, is that you wouldn't see any trash. Today the desert is littered with flattened plastic bottles, clothes, and even an occasional boot.
For a visitor, it's sad to see the trash. The desert is more beautiful than one would expect. It's full of striated rocks, fossilized shells from when the Nile was much higher, and coral from the same time. But the Egyptians, for the most part, don't notice or care about the trash. The desert has it good compared to most of the city. Every bit of street has a little bit of trash on it, and some parts have a lot.
At first, when you see someone dump a bag of fast-food detritus out of their car window, it's alarming. But after even a couple days, it seems normal. The last night I was there I had a small plastic bag I couldn't find a trash can for, and part of my brain wanted to just throw it on the street. It would be a drop in the ocean. So I understand partly why it happens: momentum.
Visiting somewhere like Tokyo is the exact opposite. Even though the city is maddeningly absent of trash cans, the thought of littering would never even cross your mind. The city is pristine, and you'll never see a resident litter. Their momentum is the opposite of Egypt's.
I was enveloped by a red granite box, not much larger than myself. There was no lid, so I could look up at the red granite ceiling. I lay in the tomb of Cheops in the largest pyramid of Giza. Our guide switched off the ventilation fans for a few minutes to create silence. I imagined that I was King Cheops, risen from the grave.
The scale of the pyramids is something that can't be appreciated until you're right next to them. They were the tallest man-made structures on earth when they were built, and remained that way for 3800 years. I stared up at the ceiling and thought about how a mummy lay for thousands of years where I lay, the ceiling looking exactly the same for that entire time.
Each block that makes up the pyramids is enormous. Moving a single one a foot would be a feat none of us would attempt without a lot of friends and some modern equipment. I understand why conspiracy theories about aliens surround the pyramids. The idea that humans could have built them seems absolutely absurd. They're just too big and too perfect.
The pyramids are also a lot more precise than I imagined they were. The lengths of the sides are off by less than an inch. The angles are nearly perfect. The room that I lay in, built from massive hunks of granite, seemed to be perfectly rectangular.