It was about 10 degrees in Boston, and I was on the T on my way into Cambridge. And as we pulled in to Kenmore station the conductor notified us that all Green Line trains would be going out of service. So my train — and every train before us and after us — dumped all of its passengers out into the freezing cold to find another way to get wherever they were going.
There were a few shuttle buses, but they barely made a dent in moving the crowd. Every single taxi was full. After a few minutes, there were easily over a thousand people huddling outside in the freezing cold trying to figure out what to do.
I reached into my pocked and tried Hailo, but all taxis in the area were booked. Uber gave the same response — but on my second try I was able to snag an Uber car. So: five minutes later, I got a phone call and a black Lincoln pulled up next to me. I offered to share it w/ the group of people directly next to me, but no one was going my way. So I hopped in and was whisked away from an overcrowded frozen nightmare in a warm, comfortable car.
Totally made me feel like a superhero.
But not necessarily in a “save the world” way — more of a “wow I have a superpower” way.
It was about 10 degrees in Boston, and I was on the T on my way into Cambridge. And as we pulled in to Kenmore station the conductor notified us that all Green Line trains would be going out of service. So my train — and every train before us and after us — dumped all of its passengers out into the freezing cold to find another way to get wherever they were going.
There were a few shuttle buses, but they barely made a dent in moving the crowd. Every single taxi was full. After a few minutes, there were easily over a thousand people huddling outside in the freezing cold trying to figure out what to do.
I reached into my pocked and tried Hailo, but all taxis in the area were booked. Uber gave the same response — but on my second try I was able to snag an Uber car. So: five minutes later, I got a phone call and a black Lincoln pulled up next to me. I offered to share it w/ the group of people directly next to me, but no one was going my way. So I hopped in and was whisked away from an overcrowded frozen nightmare in a warm, comfortable car.
Totally made me feel like a superhero.
But not necessarily in a “save the world” way — more of a “wow I have a superpower” way.
When I got to the Media Lab and told the story to Nate his (correct) reaction was: “well, a black car swooping in to rescue a white man is kind of the definition of privilege. Wouldn’t it be more amazing if there were a way for everyone to take advantage of the network of transportation options swirling around?”
Of course this is correct — while I was able to snag a ride out of the ether, there was still a huge market mismatch: thousands of people standing around looking for transportation, and hundreds of cars driving by with empty seats. Yet no way to connect them.
Ride sharing is not a new idea — there is no shortage of startups working on the idea — SideCar & Lyft for car rides, Weeelz for taxi rides, etc. — but it is something that is culturally and technically difficult to implement. Lyft got its start (I think) on college campuses, where sharing rides to events is a much more natural phenomenon.
In times of crisis we are more likely to stray from our normal behavior and try new things. NYC famously mandated taxi sharing for all trips into Manhattan during the 2003 blackout and again after Superstorm Sandy. Nate and I got to discussing if there wasn’t an opportunity to use yesterday’s class of crisis — a medium-sized but somewhat predictable one — as another “thin edge of the wedge" to make ride-sharing more of a mainstream networked activity.
For instance, I’d gladly sign up to be part of the “boston transportation crisis network” — as a driver or a passenger, and basically pre-volunteer to give rides to people when this kind of thing happens again. I would like to know the number of times per year when the green line breaks down at Kenmore on very cold days — I bet it’s a lot. So there would be a decent chance of predicting it and then giving folks in the network a little bit of advanced warning.
If you think about it, weird anomaly events are perfect for launching new, behavior-changing activities. It was during the inauguration of 2009 that Airbnb got its start — by giving people a chance to “crash the inauguration" by participating in peer-to-peer apartment renting. At the time, it was *way* outside the mainstream to do something like that. But the craziness of the event made it fine, and now it’s a regular thing to do all over the world and Airbnb is a billion dollar business.
My other favorite behavior-changing anomaly is snow. My favorite place in the world is NYC in a snowstorm. Everything changes. Instead of walking on the sidewalk and keeping to yourself, you walk in the middle of the street and talk to your neighbors as well as strangers. During the Washington DC Snowpocalype of 2010, there was a lot of peer-to-peer shoveling happening.
I wasn’t in NYC after Sandy, but I have to assume that there were similar kinds of networked behavior that were positive but would have been hard to imagine under normal circumstances.
Maybe the idea is that people become more open to networked / peer-to-peer solutions when our infrastructure fails us — because they have to be.
If you think about it that way — it’s a pretty profound idea. Not to be pessimistic, but in our current environment, many of our institutions are failing. And we will have to become comfortable with other ways of solving our big problems. Health, education, energy, transportation, etc.
So maybe there’s a launch lesson in here for folks building peer network businesses that rely on cultural change that’s difficult to achieve under normal circumstances. Think about the traditional infrastructure you’re replacing — and think about the moments or events when they are most apt to fail, giving people the most natural incentive to change their behavior in ways they wouldn’t otherwise.
Happy MLK Day everyone. I just spent the last half hour reading MLK’s Letter from a Birmingham Jail. To be totally honest, I don’t think I’ve ever read it in its entirety before. It is incredibly powerful and moving. I encourage anyone reading this to take some time with it today. I pulled a few quotes here. King’s letter makes the case — in exceedingly eloquent and persuasive terms — for nonviolent direct action in the face of injustice. And discusses the historical precedent and moral imperative for distinguishing between just and unjust laws (including a framework for drawing that distinction), and for disobeying unjust laws. It hammers home the point that we can’t blindly accept “the law” if we don’t take into account the context in which it was created or the morality and justice of the ends it seeks. Part of the beauty of it is the guided tour of the history of changemaking, conflict and progress that Dr. King takes us on — all the way from Socrates, to the Boston Tea Party and the American Revolution, to the Holocaust, to of course the Civil Rights movement. It’s kind of incredible the extent to which we have to learn and re-learn the dynamics of societal norms and the process by which we arrive at and live under the rule of law. At the heart of the letter is tension between a moderate “take it slow” approach (embodied at the time by the white southern church, whose leaders the letter was addressed to) and more extreme “force change now” approach (embodied at the time by Elijah Muhammed’s Muslim movement). King’s articulation of the rationale for a measured and pure — yet intentionally impatient — nonviolent approach is incredibly thoughtful and reasoned. It’s part inspiration and part how-to for anyone working to create positive change in the face of resistance from the status quo. I can’t equate the civil rights movement with the digital rights movement, and I won’t do that here. But that is the corner of the activism world that I sit in, so it’s the lens that I’m reading this through. And I can’t help but think about the passing of Aaron Swartz, and the path he charted in the pursuit of social justice, as I read Dr. King’s words. So many of the conversations I’ve been having this past week have revolved around this question of how we view and respond to acts of civil disobedience. More importantly, I want to use today to reflect on both the (incredible yet entirely incomplete) progress that we’ve been able achieve as a nation since 1963 when this letter was written, and the profound and powerful moral foundation for change that Dr. King’s letter provides.
I always spend a lot of time around the turn of the new year thinking about self-improvement. This year is no different. Last summer, at a charity fundraiser for a friend, I bought several sessions of personal coaching. Throughout the fall, I’ve been working with my coach, Lisa Lahey, using her methodology called “immunity to change.” The basic idea is that, given an articulated personal goal you are trying to meet, you may also have a series of “hidden goals” that you don’t realize you’re working towards — and these hidden goals may be in conflict with your positive goals. The resistance inherent in this conflict is our immunity to change. So, the trick is to identify these hidden goals, then further identify what big assumptions (about yourself or your life) are behind those hidden goals, and then do a series of experiments to test those assumptions. Ideally to ultimately prove yourself wrong about the assumptions and vanquish the hidden, constraining goals. For me, the big goal is to close more loops. One of my worst tendencies is to leave things 80% done (just ask Cescalouse about my home improvement projects). A big part of my job is to keep momentum going — to close loops and keep energy moving through whatever projects I’m working on. I can’t become a bottleneck or a place where ideas stagnate and lose energy. One of my hidden, competing goals is that I’m an urgency addict. I tend to procrastinate — ruminating on the size and severity of whatever I’m procrastinating from — until pressures build to such an extent that I am forced to power through in a burst of goal-line adrenaline. I “get high” from powering through work on a deadline — and I feel the need to get high by a (presumably false) assumption that my stack of work is overwhelming and super human effort is required to get through it. Unfortunately for me (according to the immunity to change framework), this pattern has been working for me — so the bad behavior is reinforced by a track record of getting things done despite myself.
This is bad for several reasons. Most importantly: it burns energy needlessly (worrying about things rather than actually doing them), and it reduces collaborative leverage (the more out in front you are on something, the better chance to get external engagement).
So here’s what I’ve been doing to combat my immunity to change: I am consciously shifting my thinking from “big to dos” (i.e., large items on my to do list which are scary and incite procrastination) to “moving the ball forward”. Given any project on my plate, the new approach is “Ok, I’ll spend an hour and get as much done on {project X} as I can”, rather than “oh man, I really need to {item x}”. Seems like a simple thing, but it actually has been surprisingly powerful. Yesterday I cut my whole day into hour-long blocks, where I moved the ball forward on each of my big projects for an hour. It worked. Items that might have otherwise triggered stress and procrastination dissolve into “getting things done for an hour”. Moving the ball forward for an hour is progress, no matter how you cut it. In addition to (and perhaps more importantly than) reducing the “looming burden” of a large number of big independent tasks, taking this approach creates focus. And focus is perhaps the most powerful tool we have (and often the most elusive). This is just a start. We will see if it sticks. But I think it is useful and perhaps it can work for others as well.
When I got to the Media Lab and told the story to Nate his (correct) reaction was: “well, a black car swooping in to rescue a white man is kind of the definition of privilege. Wouldn’t it be more amazing if there were a way for everyone to take advantage of the network of transportation options swirling around?”
Of course this is correct — while I was able to snag a ride out of the ether, there was still a huge market mismatch: thousands of people standing around looking for transportation, and hundreds of cars driving by with empty seats. Yet no way to connect them.
Ride sharing is not a new idea — there is no shortage of startups working on the idea — SideCar & Lyft for car rides, Weeelz for taxi rides, etc. — but it is something that is culturally and technically difficult to implement. Lyft got its start (I think) on college campuses, where sharing rides to events is a much more natural phenomenon.
In times of crisis we are more likely to stray from our normal behavior and try new things. NYC famously mandated taxi sharing for all trips into Manhattan during the 2003 blackout and again after Superstorm Sandy. Nate and I got to discussing if there wasn’t an opportunity to use yesterday’s class of crisis — a medium-sized but somewhat predictable one — as another “thin edge of the wedge" to make ride-sharing more of a mainstream networked activity.
For instance, I’d gladly sign up to be part of the “boston transportation crisis network” — as a driver or a passenger, and basically pre-volunteer to give rides to people when this kind of thing happens again. I would like to know the number of times per year when the green line breaks down at Kenmore on very cold days — I bet it’s a lot. So there would be a decent chance of predicting it and then giving folks in the network a little bit of advanced warning.
If you think about it, weird anomaly events are perfect for launching new, behavior-changing activities. It was during the inauguration of 2009 that Airbnb got its start — by giving people a chance to “crash the inauguration" by participating in peer-to-peer apartment renting. At the time, it was *way* outside the mainstream to do something like that. But the craziness of the event made it fine, and now it’s a regular thing to do all over the world and Airbnb is a billion dollar business.
My other favorite behavior-changing anomaly is snow. My favorite place in the world is NYC in a snowstorm. Everything changes. Instead of walking on the sidewalk and keeping to yourself, you walk in the middle of the street and talk to your neighbors as well as strangers. During the Washington DC Snowpocalype of 2010, there was a lot of peer-to-peer shoveling happening.
I wasn’t in NYC after Sandy, but I have to assume that there were similar kinds of networked behavior that were positive but would have been hard to imagine under normal circumstances.
Maybe the idea is that people become more open to networked / peer-to-peer solutions when our infrastructure fails us — because they have to be.
If you think about it that way — it’s a pretty profound idea. Not to be pessimistic, but in our current environment, many of our institutions are failing. And we will have to become comfortable with other ways of solving our big problems. Health, education, energy, transportation, etc.
So maybe there’s a launch lesson in here for folks building peer network businesses that rely on cultural change that’s difficult to achieve under normal circumstances. Think about the traditional infrastructure you’re replacing — and think about the moments or events when they are most apt to fail, giving people the most natural incentive to change their behavior in ways they wouldn’t otherwise.
Happy MLK Day everyone. I just spent the last half hour reading MLK’s Letter from a Birmingham Jail. To be totally honest, I don’t think I’ve ever read it in its entirety before. It is incredibly powerful and moving. I encourage anyone reading this to take some time with it today. I pulled a few quotes here. King’s letter makes the case — in exceedingly eloquent and persuasive terms — for nonviolent direct action in the face of injustice. And discusses the historical precedent and moral imperative for distinguishing between just and unjust laws (including a framework for drawing that distinction), and for disobeying unjust laws. It hammers home the point that we can’t blindly accept “the law” if we don’t take into account the context in which it was created or the morality and justice of the ends it seeks. Part of the beauty of it is the guided tour of the history of changemaking, conflict and progress that Dr. King takes us on — all the way from Socrates, to the Boston Tea Party and the American Revolution, to the Holocaust, to of course the Civil Rights movement. It’s kind of incredible the extent to which we have to learn and re-learn the dynamics of societal norms and the process by which we arrive at and live under the rule of law. At the heart of the letter is tension between a moderate “take it slow” approach (embodied at the time by the white southern church, whose leaders the letter was addressed to) and more extreme “force change now” approach (embodied at the time by Elijah Muhammed’s Muslim movement). King’s articulation of the rationale for a measured and pure — yet intentionally impatient — nonviolent approach is incredibly thoughtful and reasoned. It’s part inspiration and part how-to for anyone working to create positive change in the face of resistance from the status quo. I can’t equate the civil rights movement with the digital rights movement, and I won’t do that here. But that is the corner of the activism world that I sit in, so it’s the lens that I’m reading this through. And I can’t help but think about the passing of Aaron Swartz, and the path he charted in the pursuit of social justice, as I read Dr. King’s words. So many of the conversations I’ve been having this past week have revolved around this question of how we view and respond to acts of civil disobedience. More importantly, I want to use today to reflect on both the (incredible yet entirely incomplete) progress that we’ve been able achieve as a nation since 1963 when this letter was written, and the profound and powerful moral foundation for change that Dr. King’s letter provides.
I always spend a lot of time around the turn of the new year thinking about self-improvement. This year is no different. Last summer, at a charity fundraiser for a friend, I bought several sessions of personal coaching. Throughout the fall, I’ve been working with my coach, Lisa Lahey, using her methodology called “immunity to change.” The basic idea is that, given an articulated personal goal you are trying to meet, you may also have a series of “hidden goals” that you don’t realize you’re working towards — and these hidden goals may be in conflict with your positive goals. The resistance inherent in this conflict is our immunity to change. So, the trick is to identify these hidden goals, then further identify what big assumptions (about yourself or your life) are behind those hidden goals, and then do a series of experiments to test those assumptions. Ideally to ultimately prove yourself wrong about the assumptions and vanquish the hidden, constraining goals. For me, the big goal is to close more loops. One of my worst tendencies is to leave things 80% done (just ask Cescalouse about my home improvement projects). A big part of my job is to keep momentum going — to close loops and keep energy moving through whatever projects I’m working on. I can’t become a bottleneck or a place where ideas stagnate and lose energy. One of my hidden, competing goals is that I’m an urgency addict. I tend to procrastinate — ruminating on the size and severity of whatever I’m procrastinating from — until pressures build to such an extent that I am forced to power through in a burst of goal-line adrenaline. I “get high” from powering through work on a deadline — and I feel the need to get high by a (presumably false) assumption that my stack of work is overwhelming and super human effort is required to get through it. Unfortunately for me (according to the immunity to change framework), this pattern has been working for me — so the bad behavior is reinforced by a track record of getting things done despite myself.
This is bad for several reasons. Most importantly: it burns energy needlessly (worrying about things rather than actually doing them), and it reduces collaborative leverage (the more out in front you are on something, the better chance to get external engagement).
So here’s what I’ve been doing to combat my immunity to change: I am consciously shifting my thinking from “big to dos” (i.e., large items on my to do list which are scary and incite procrastination) to “moving the ball forward”. Given any project on my plate, the new approach is “Ok, I’ll spend an hour and get as much done on {project X} as I can”, rather than “oh man, I really need to {item x}”. Seems like a simple thing, but it actually has been surprisingly powerful. Yesterday I cut my whole day into hour-long blocks, where I moved the ball forward on each of my big projects for an hour. It worked. Items that might have otherwise triggered stress and procrastination dissolve into “getting things done for an hour”. Moving the ball forward for an hour is progress, no matter how you cut it. In addition to (and perhaps more importantly than) reducing the “looming burden” of a large number of big independent tasks, taking this approach creates focus. And focus is perhaps the most powerful tool we have (and often the most elusive). This is just a start. We will see if it sticks. But I think it is useful and perhaps it can work for others as well.
