Communicating by the written word is both fabulous and fraught.

It is fabulous when the meaning of the sentence, chapter, or hundred words, makes an impact or makes one think a little differently.

It is fraught when the meaning of the sentence, chapter, or hundred words, is misinterpreted, badly presented, or just plain incorrect.

With writing, there are nuances, contexts and interpretations that are easily missed.

The spoken word can be a little richer, a little more impactful, and a little more fabulous. The meaning of a spoken hundred words might be felt a little deeper then when it’s read.

If you subscribe to social media, you also probably comment. It’s pretty difficult to partake in social media without commenting. Or, at least, having an inner dialogue of commentary on a social media post, even if you don’t make it public.

For most, posting is all about the reactions. Otherwise, writing in a journal would suffice.

Unfortunately, LinkedIn only keeps a year or so of posts available. I can’t (easily) go back to 2019 to review comments made back then. I should’ve done screenshots. Fortunately, I have a document with everything I’ve said. Just not what you’ve said. My loss.

With over 400 of these (almost) daily posts, I’m bound to have a few favourites. Some of the posts need a bit more explanation; they’re deeper than 100 words allows. Some have a bit of a double meaning. Others try to make a point that might not have quite hit the mark. A few of them had quite a bit of commentary, and I want to revisit those.

So, for the June “beyond 100” webinar (these webinars are held on the 10th of each month), I’ve selected a bunch of posts that deserve a bit more, beyond the 100 words.

I’ve listened to a podcast about a woman who had a stroke when she was 27, and temporarily lost her vocabulary, and more interestingly, her inner monologue.

It’s something I don’t think about often – and that is how often I talk to myself in my head. As we all do – our inner monologue. It’s how we sort through problems, plan our next steps, and rationalise everything going on around us.

It’s quite a powerful part of us; and one of those things, like a sore back: we don’t realise its importance until it hurts, or we don’t have it anymore.

Taxonomy is the practise and science of categorising and classification.  A taxonomy is a scheme or map applicable to a specific context.  For example:  the organisation of your email folders is a taxonomy; same with all those folders on your laptop.

We use taxonomies in our work all the time, whether we realise it or not.  They usually aren’t very well developed, or they don’t reflect an efficient organisational storage.

Taxonomies help us find the information we’re searching for.  Though I’d prefer a different word for it; it makes me think of taxation. Neither topic tends to be very inspiring.

Back in 2001, I was a recent permanent arrival from Calgary into Brisbane. In order to keep in touch, I knew where the public phone booths were. And there were lots.

I remember calling my mother often from the large bank of phones next to the Post Office.

In 2001, there would’ve been significant opposition if all of the phone booths were removed. In 2021, there are hardly any phone booths, anywhere.

Something better came along: Wi-Fi and smartphones. And the phone booths just… disappeared. There was no need for government intervention, legal cases, or protests. Something better came along.

It’s possible that you thought I’d pontificate about ‘just society’, or ‘justice’ here in 100 words. Alas, no, I’m referring to the other use of just:

“I just need a minute of your time”.

Using ‘just’ as an apologetic modifier may be polite, but it diminishes the importance or difficulty of a task or ask.

“I’m just checking you received my email”.

“This meeting is just to kick-off the project”.

Use it when referring to something recent or imminent: “I’m just about done”.

Using it in any case except time-based comments detracts from the point.

So, just try not to.

I issued an engineering outputs report today at ‘draft’ status. It’s always a significant relief to get those out the door.

What doesn’t get enough attention, though, is what happens next. I’m guilty of it too: sending a report with the words “please review”, and expecting the reviewers know what to look for, how much detail to look at it with, and whether to mark up grammar and cross-referencing errors. (Because for draft status, I sometimes don’t spend a lot of time getting those last two just right).

Draft reports, issued for review, should also come with clear review expectations.

Communicating engineering outputs means being able to communicate with numbers and words. In the process of adding value to the information we receive, and passing it on for the next step of the process, there will always be either numbers or words involved.

Numbers could mean graphs, calculations, charts, infographics, or tables. Words would usually be the explanation and interpretation, often of the output from numbers.

Numbers are finite, organised, logical, and either true or false. Words are ambiguous, wandering, descriptive, and can suffer from run-on-and-on. One is not better than the other, and engineering outputs absolutely require understanding both.

The lunar eclipse was visible this evening. I took the time to watch the shadow cross over the moon, turning it red.

In astronomy, the word totality means the moment of total obscuration of the sun or moon during an eclipse.

It also means ‘the whole of something’: fullness and completeness.

Totality is a word that is not used very often; and it seems it can mean either obscuration, or the whole entirety of something.

The second meaning should always be applied to the work we do.

Work that adds value should be done in totality, but not by obscuration.

I had several cups of coffee today. I really like coffee, so it wasn’t a burden.

The reapostson for all the coffee was back-to-back in-person networking meetings; meeting people in person over a coffee to discuss life, the universe, and work opportunities. There’s no doubt that humans need to meet in person to make connections.

It made me wonder, though, what we did in the 1990s, before there was a café at the lobby of every building. Networking and business development still happened, but in a different way. And so, perhaps 30 years from now, it will be different again.

I’ve been reviewing a stack of reports for the past week. They detail the outcomes of a series of risk management workshops held recently.

What I’m dealing with now is the tedium of reviewing the output documents. These are the artefacts left behind: the record of the outcomes.

Reviewing line after line of similar - but not the same – information is tedious. But this can’t be automated: it needs to be done by a person who was at the workshop, and who knows what to look for. It’s tedious, but this is one of many things that engineers do well.

I vaguely remember my ‘introduction to electrical engineering’ course in first year university. I remember there were imaginary numbers involved, and I remember the importance of knowing if a circuit needed to be in series or could be in parallel. In the first case: one thing at a time. In the second: multiple processes could occur at the same time.

There’s a piece of advice out there that says, “slow down, accomplish more”. That might be true. The one I like better, though, is “Do one thing at a time”. For humans, working in series is better than in parallel.

“Sometimes you’re the windshield, and sometimes you’re the bug.”

That’s a line from a 1991 Dire Straits song (covered, better I think, by Mary Chapin Carpenter in 1992).

It’s a good metaphor for the days when we’re kicking goals (or smashing bugs), compared to the days that we feel like a smashed bug ourselves.

Fortunately, we do get a chance to be both (while the actual non-metaphorical bug, well, doesn’t).

So when you feel like the bug smashed on a windshield, there’s a very good chance you can come back at 100% or better. Remember that this too shall pass.

Don’t listen too closely to what you say in conversation. Or maybe, do, but don’t be surprised by some of the inane things that are uttered.

I’ve become aware that I say “interesting!” all the time. To everything. “My dog’s going to the vet today.” “Oh, interesting!”. No, not really, but I say it anyway.

The other overused one I hear is “…and that kind of thing”. Trailing off the conversation with “…and that kind of thing” is extraneous, and a little lazy.

Like writing, speaking succinctly has its advantages. But do make it interesting, and that kind of thing.

The symbolism of the ‘spinning plates’ is appropriate. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen the action live, though. Maybe at a Cirque du Soleil show.

The analogy is good: we feel like the circus performer who has to keep all those plates in the air, on those tiny poles, way up there in the air. And when one slows down, we have to spin it again so that it doesn’t fall off its perch.

Too many tasks, too many priorities, too many expectations – these can have the same effect. The thing is, we’re really not performing in the circus.

I had a call today from an ex-colleague. We worked together ten years ago on a construction project in western Queensland. Early starts, long days, 28 days on/9 days off work cycle. You know the type of project: it had challenges and some great teamwork and many tough days, and there were good connections made.

That’s in my past now; but that phone call reminded me of those times, and how it all shapes and makes us. The projects, opportunities, successes, and failures: it’s all part of life.

The things you are doing today will become part of your past.

Similar to the project management triad (cost, schedule, quality), there’s a theory of human behaviour, which is also a ‘pick two’ triad.

Warren Thorngate stated it’s ‘impossible for a theory of social behaviour to be simultaneously simple, general, and accurate’.

Simple theories usually can’t be generalised into different situations or contexts. Or if you have a general theory, it tends to be very complex with lots of different pieces to it so that it can be applied generally.

This makes for a complicated truth. The more general a simple theory, the less accurate it will be in predicting specifics (Gergen).

This is an open letter to the talkers out there.

I’ve noticed I’ve been interrupting lately. Please accept my general apology for that.

I started timing your side of the conversation because I wondered if I was imagining it. But no, I’m not: you’re talking for a very long time, without pause.

The thing is, your stream-of-consciousness talking at me covers many, many interesting points I’d love to converse with you about. But those fleeting thoughts become old news as you randomly move onto something else.

So, I’m sorry when I do jump in… I’m really just trying to participate.

I’m working with a group of engineers who are trying to define when a Standards requirement has been met.

The first debate is whether it is “conformance” or “compliance”. That question, to me, is fairly straightforward: we conform to the Standard; comply with legislation. If the Standard is named in the legislation, we comply with the legislation when we conform to the Standard. Clear as mud.

The next debate is trickier: how to demonstrate that compliance/conformance. We’ve established four methods so far: spreadsheets, judgement, validation/verification, or utilisation of an internal technical authority.

Expectations differ, and there are many solutions available.