Richard Feynman was one of the great scientists of the 20th century, making significant contributions to physics and other related fields. Part of what made him stand out was his gift for teaching. He had a remarkable knack for explaining some of the most complex things in ways anyone could understand. He was also a model of the desire to deeply understand how things worked, often deriving a result in several ways to be more confident he was right.

The Feynman learning technique is typical of how he approached understanding something deeply and helps explain some of his teaching skills.

Spend time writing about a topic as if explaining it to someone.

Then practice explaining it, speaking and drawing as if you were a teacher at the front of the class. You may figure out some other aspect wasn't as clear as you thought and need to look into something.

Refine any gaps you reveal until you can share the topic fluently and clearly.

Then, simplify your language by replacing complex words and ideas with simpler ones and considering analogies to help people relate.

Now, you can explain it because you deeply understand it, too.

"You can know the name of that bird in all the languages of the world, but when you're finished, you'll know absolutely nothing whatever about the bird."

— Feynman's father, from Surely You're Joking Mr Feynman?

I loved the Fun to Imagine interviews to experience some of Feynman's joy and skill for teaching.

The sketch was inspired by this excellent animated video of the Feynman Learning Technique.

Though he was primarily a theoretical physicist, Feynman also made lasting contributions to the field of computation. If you want to get into those, you might enjoy the Feynman Lectures on Computation from the last course he taught at Caltech, edited, no less, by my Dad.

The Feynman Learning Technique

Writing has power. Power grows through repetition. And repetition, should you reuse the last words of a sentence at the start of the next, is called anadiplosis.

Like the amazing addition of alliteration, anadiplosis is a simple device to give more oomph to your words. Words that are barely changed but pack a lot more punch.

Even if you can't remember the specifics, there's something about Yoda's wisdom that make the logic sound impeccable and irresistible and the message deep. Deep, at least partly, from anadiplosis.

"Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering."

I learned about anadiplosis—and pleonasm, and ordering adjectives—from the entertaining and educational, The Elements of Eloquence by Mark Forsyth. Anadiplosis is from the ancient Greek ana meaning again, and diplous meaning double. The Greeks were fond of their techniques for persuasive speeches.

Anadiplosis

The frog boil metaphor illustrates how it's easy to miss small changes that build up over time until it's too late. The scenario, as told, is that of a poor frog who would leap away from hot water but, if put into cooler water that is gradually warmed, won't respond in time to getting boiled.

As a metaphor, it describes a powerful and pernicious shortcoming in how we perceive the world. A student kitchen that gets messy mug-by-mug, a business with gradually slowing sales, a river that is slowly polluted, a road that gets busier each day, a bay that sees fewer fish each year, content that drifts, cancer that slowly spreads, a story or behaviour that becomes normal, a website that gets slower feature-by-feature, or a climate that slowly warms are all cases where we may not be happy where we end up, but we didn't notice how we got there.

It's hard to respond to gradual change, especially when it spans generations. Jared Diamond called it out as a potential fate of the Easter Islanders and how they could have cut down the last tree. One barnacle is nothing, but many barnacles can cause significant headaches for big ships.

Fortunately, there's a flip side. Many, many things are getting better without us realising. Small positive changes, such as in attitudes, education, or healthcare, add up over time—the Destiny Instinct can mislead us. Fast and slow layers make a system, like a forest, more robust. Getting one percent better each day leads to a 37x improvement in a year. And enough molehills can make a mountain.

What a frog does, in this case, is not, apparently, true—don't try it—it's much better as a metaphor, not an experiment.

The frog boil metaphor

Feedback is how we get better. It's how we find out what we couldn't see ourselves. But there are many reasons why it's more challenging to gather than we might hope.

You might have a design prototype, a book or article draft, a new practice you want your team to adopt, or a project you've been working on. Feedback will make it better, but it's easy to feel anxious.

You might want to avoid having to talk to people. Maybe you're worried about what others think—perhaps they won't like it. Maybe you'll have to start over. Maybe you'll hear what you know deep down. Maybe you might see that others could do it better than you, that it shouldn't be you that's doing it. Maybe you'll find out that you're a failure.

If we care about achieving the best outcome, we can dispel most of these fears with a few moments of reflection—of course, I'm not a failure for trying!—but it doesn't mean they feel any less real at the time. As is often the case, action can be the solution, and gathering feedback is, in my experience, usually energising and confidence-building—now you can see what will make your project fly.

Jane Austen was known to read her novels aloud to her family for both evening entertainment (pre-Netflix) and to help revise and hone her writing.

Remember, the first draft is always perfect.

Don't take things personally or yourself too seriously.

Don't get attached to one option—attach yourself instead to a great outcome.

To avoid sunk costs clouding your judgment, seek feedback before you're too invested.

Share multiple options when you can. It makes it easier for others to give comparative feedback and reduces the chances of taking it personally.

Remember how valuable good feedback has been in the past.

Consider who to gather feedback from. Sometimes complete strangers can help (who cares if they don't like it?), and other times a friendly face can ease you into it.

Remember the spectrum policy to focus on the good in an idea.

Feedback fear

The tomato test, or tomato slicing test, is a handy way to see if your knives could do with sharpening. The idea is that a properly sharpened blade should slice through the taut skin of a tomato with minimal pressure.

Somewhat counterintuitively, most cooks seem to agree that sharp knives reduce the risk of accidents as you don't have to push down as hard as with blunt knives.

To do the tomato slicing test: Place a tomato on a board and gently run the knife over the top surface. A sharp blade will glide through the tomato skin, cutting it precisely all the way down. You shouldn't need to apply any pressure if the knife has weight. If you need to push down to pierce the skin, it could be time to sharpen.

Cutting the top off the tomato first allows it to sit stably on its end, so you don't have to hold it.

Alternatively, you could use a serrated knife which is handy for foods with a hard outside and a soft inside.

The sharper the knife, the less mess you'll make and the easier you can ghost cook.

The tomato test

Collective effervescence is an eye-catching name for the magic of shared experience and moving in unison. As described by the French sociologist Émile Durkheim, it picks out those times when people come together in synchrony for an experience that's different and often greater than those you can have alone.

It might be gathering and singing at a music festival, swaying to the music as one being at a concert, experiencing the wonder of nature together, when the crowd erupts together as a goal goes in and hugging the person next to you, taking a yoga or spinning class, worshipping together, the pilgrimage to Mecca, or that magical Shawshank Redemption moment listening to the duet from The Marriage of Figaro as one. Despite my feeble clarinet skills, I remember a brief goosebump feeling when the school orchestra played it all correctly. And I remember my hair standing up when Twickenham Stadium carried Swing Low, Sweet Chariot in unison.

Collective effervescence is something we missed during the pandemic. It was identified in Dacher Keltner's book Awe as one of the 8 Wonders of Life.

Also see: forest bathing, notice when you're happy, 5 ways to wellbeing

Collective effervescence

Temptation bundling is a self-enforced technique that combines something you want to do with something you find hard to do.

If you find it hard to work out at the gym, you can make it more appealing by only watching your favourite shows when you're there. If you struggle to get down to working on a project, combine it with the only time you order your favourite drink. The hope is that the treat is enough to get you stuck into the hard task.

Temptation bundling is a kind of commitment device like that used by Odysseus.

Temptation bundling is from Katy Milkman, who also taught me about the Fresh start effect, and has a book called How to Change. It's also one of the techniques discussed in James Clear's Atomic Habits.

For a study evaluating temptation bundling, see: Holding the Hunger Games Hostage at the Gym: An Evaluation of Temptation Bundling, Milkman et al., Management Science, 2014

Temptation bundling

Stay organised in your hotel room with this one weird tip. When arriving at a hotel room clear the desk and fold a bathroom towel or flannel to make a little square space and use it as a store for all your useful stuff.

OK, so it actually does seem a little unusual, but having tested it on all hotel stays over the last few years I can say that it genuinely helps me not lose key things, like room keys, around my hotel room. It also reduces the chances that I'll leave without something important like a passport. Maybe give it a try.

This tip I learned from Dan Pink's Pinkcast episode where he calls it his hotel inbox — the place to leave everything when he walks into the room.

Hotel HQ

A Pyrrhic victory is one where your own losses or damage make it nearly as costly as defeat.

Perhaps that business rival finally went out of business after you lowered prices so much that you can now barely get by. Maybe you managed to prove you were right at the cost of ruining a relationship. Or it could be that the kids did in fact get in the car and go out on that blasted walk only for everyone to have a miserable time, angry at each other for the rest of the day.

Or maybe, as King Pyrrhus of Epirus found in 279 BCE, you won several battles against the Romans while losing so many of your best warriors as to make you wonder at the worth of the whole campaign.

Pyrrhic victory

While each volcano is unique they can largely be divided into red volcanoes and grey volcanoes.

Red volcanoes typically have effusive eruptions dominated by the classic red-glowing lava flow or lava lake. The constant mild eruptions of lava let gases escape reducing the chances of gas build-up and larger explosions. A classic red volcano is Kīlauea in Hawaii.

Grey volcanoes are known for explosive eruptions. Trapped gases and heat can build up within the volcano releasing explosive eruptions that can shoot ashes and rock high into the sky and cause fast-moving pyroclastic flows of solidified lava and ash. Grey volcanoes are typically much more destructive than red volcanoes and can exhibit some behaviours like their red counterparts. A classic grey volcano is Mt St Helens.

I learned this distinction from the remarkable film Fire of love.

Order of adjectives (came to mind as I wrote 'classic red-glowing lava flow' - try the adjectives in other orders =) )

Red volcano, grey volcano

Braille is a tactile writing and reading system for the blind and visually impaired. It was invented by Louis Braille when just 15 in 1824. Respect! I don't know about you, but when I've tried braille on signs occasionally, it's always seemed difficult to train my fingers to differentiate the shapes and the dots. Perhaps it would have helped if I'd known how it worked.

Braille is based on a pattern of 6 dots, like a 6 on dice, with different letters, numerals, or sounds being different combinations. It doesn't match the shapes of written letters though, instead breaking the alphabet up into groups of 10. The first 10 letters are combinations of the top 4 dots. The following 10 letters repeat the combinations and add dot 3 in the bottom-left. Then the remaining letters, except w start again adding with dot 6 added. W wasn't in Louis Braille's original French alphabet so appears tacked on at the end.

Since its invention, it's gone through multiple iterations and languages, and there are combinations for punctuation (some common ones formed by shifting down the original 10 combinations), numbers, accented letters, maths symbols, and more. There is also agreed-upon shorthand where a letter may mean a common word eg l for like, and there are contractions where a symbol may mean a sound or set of letters like 'ch'.

The sketch shows the Latin alphabet for modern English braille.

Braille

At times we've probably all been confused or struggled to understand a talk or a class. When I'm lost or confused my rule of thumb is to ask, even when it's not easy.

The desire to understand what's being said fights with the urge not to interrupt the talk or ask what may be a dumb question — perhaps everyone else already knows? But in my experience, if I'm confused, others likely are too.

It helps to believe this because I know that asking will probably help others and not just myself — asking is a public service. It's very easy as a speaker to assume that others will know what you know and so jargon and TLAs (Three Letter Acronyms - really an initialism) so easily slip in. When someone asks it helps include everyone again.

And you're not just doing a favour for the audience by asking — it's a gift for the speaker too. If I'm giving a talk I want people to get what I'm sharing and not suffer in silence thinking they're stupid and I'm confusing. I want everyone to follow from start to end. It's one more good reason to thank people for the questions you receive.

Let's banish confusion and all get to the end together by asking the question.

This advice stands provided you've been paying attention along the way.

I was surprised to find there are a number of, mostly older, sketches on questions and asking:

Ask the question at talks

It's hard to beat the feeling of the warmth of the winter sun on your face. There's a word for it too: apricity. Uplifting, hopeful, calming — even a few short moments to bask in an unexpected, weak but glorious gleam of winter sunlight is wonderful.

A brief burst of apricity warms the spirits and your skin. It reminds me of distant warm, long, summer days, and the promise of spring in a few months. If it has been bleak and cold, apricity is that much more welcome.

From the UK's position in the Northern hemisphere, with the sun low on the horizon, you can let the sun hit full in your face in the middle of the day without craning your neck or leaning back. It's never too hot to seek shade, and often just the right brightness that facing it dead on with your eyes closed is ideal. Together with the long shadows of winter, the effect can have you swept up with the rays, letting them soak into your skin and transporting you away from the cold under your feet.

From the latin aprico, 'to warm in the sun', and in turn aperio, 'lying open', it has been around since at least 1623. It feels to me like we'd benefit from its resurgence.

Apricity

So does the willingness to seek out data. If none of us has data to share then we can't help but bring our own personal biases, preferences, and opinions to the table — anyone might be right, but who's to say (often the HiPPO: the Highest Paid Person's Opinion)? It's why I love this quote from W. Edwards Deming:

"Without data you're just another person with an opinion."

Perhaps you've been in a car with several backseat drivers who all seem to know better than the driver. Or maybe you've been part of a review for a new initiative where everyone has their own views of what will make it succeed. Or a discussion on what's driving some unexpected behaviour. We can't know who's right until we bring some data. It's amazing how even a little data can avoid an "I'm right, you're wrong" situation.

And where there isn't data, framing a discussion on how to quickly gather data or experiment to find out which approach may be best so often focuses a team, removing ego and opinions.

After all, as Jim Barksdale, former Netscape CEO said:

"If we have data, let's look at data. If all we have are opinions, let's go with mine."

Without data you're just another person with an opinion

Attribution bias includes a set of more specific biases where we may attribute behaviour to fixed personality traits or characteristics of a person rather than specific circumstances or actions. For example, a child may be labelled a genius or gifted when they actually had a supportive environment and worked hard, or someone may be labelled a loser rather than recognising specific circumstances that led to some failures.

Criticism — one of the four horsemen of relationship apocalypse — can become toxic when it's attributed to someone's personality traits. For example, calling someone 'lazy' rather than sharing how it makes you feel when they don't keep the place tidy.

A form of attribution bias may be applied to whole societies via the Destiny Instinct.

Specific examples of attribution bias include the fundamental attribution error and self-serving bias.

Attribution bias

Is it advise or advice? Devise or device? And if you're using British English, license or licence, practise or practice?

Handily, the general practice is to use an 's' for the verb, and a 'c' for the noun. So advise is something you do, and advice is something you give.

In American English, there is only license and practice for both verbs and nouns. However, in British English, you would you use license if you were licensing someone and what they received would be a licence — with a 'c'. And in British English, you would practise when you went to practice.

Some places suggest thinking of the '-ice' at the end as ice which is a noun. Whatever works for you.

License/licence and practise/practice are homophones

Also see, stationary and stationery, compliment and complement, affect and effect

Advise vs advice and other s and c's

The two most commonly used temperature scales are Celsius and Fahrenheit. The Celsius scale, named after Swedish astronomer Anders Celsius, sets 0C at the freezing point of water and 100C as the boiling point of water at 1 atmosphere of pressure — normal air pressure at sea level. The Fahrenheit scale has 32F as the freezing point of water and 212F as the boiling point. With 180F between freezing and boiling that means each degree Celsius is 1.8 degrees Fahrenheit.

Several accounts of the creation of the Fahrenheit scale exist but the general gist is that Daniel Fahrenheit set 0F at the freezing point of a brine mixture, 32F at the freezing point of water, and another point at body temperature around 96F (now 98.6F). He divided up the scale between these points giving a scale with helpful resolution.

It's interesting to think that for most of history there was no comparable way to say how hot or cold something was.

Having spent time on both sides of the Atlantic I've tried to get at least somewhat familiar with both of them. To convert between them in my head, at least around most air temperatures, I use a quick approximation. As 32F is 0C and for each one Celsius you move almost two Fahrenheit, you can roughly go from Fahrenheit to Celsius by subtracting 32 and dividing by 2 (or a little less to be closer). So 50F is approximately 9C (actually 10C), or 86F is approximately 27C (actually 29.4C). Not perfect, but often good enough if you're trying to work out if it'll be hot out. To go from Celsius to Fahrenheit it's the reverse, times by 2 and add 32.

A simple anchor point to keep in mind is that 82F is near enough 28C—you just swap the digits around.

Both scales are now actually defined relative to the Kelvin scale which sets the lowest point of 0K at absolute zero where basically all movement stops. Zero on the Kelvin scale is around -273C. As such the Kelvin scale, though helpful for scientists, is not very practical for talking about the weather.

Fahrenheit and Celsius

Redshift refers to light being 'shifted' towards the redder end of the spectrum — longer wavelengths — as objects move away from each other. If a light source is moving towards us then light is blueshifted, shifting towards the bluer end of the spectrum, shorter wavelengths.

Imagine waving a spring back and forth to create a wave and then starting to run away – the waves would be stretched longer. Because the universe is expanding 🤯 distant galaxies are moving away from us faster than nearer ones — imagine how the chocolate chips in a cookie move away from each other as the cookie bakes and grows in an oven. By comparing the redshift of light seen from distant galaxies with what we would expect to see it's possible to use redshift to determine how far they are away.

Redshift is an example of the Doppler effect, or Doppler shift, in action. It's more commonly known by the stretching or compressing of soundwaves as, say, an ambulance moves towards or away from you, or how the sound in front of a moving aircraft eventually can produce a sonic boom.

Redshift

Optimism bias is a tendency to believe that things will turn out well in spite of past evidence or circumstances.

It can be extremely helpful. It allows us to attempt things that many may deem impossible. It probably helps drive entrepreneurs even when everyone is doubting them. Optimists are often healthier and happier.

But it can also undermine us. We might overestimate our chances of success because of what we want to happen rather than what's likely to happen. We may feel pressure from others to give a rosier outlook — like when you might underestimate a timeline when speaking with your boss. We might want others to succeed, or they may be paying us money and be hoping for good news. We probably think we'll get more done next week. We probably think we'll be more disciplined than we will be. We might think that this time it'll be different, or that everyone can't be wrong. Or we may be just discounting evidence without realising it.

Related: Hofstadter's Law, survivorship bias, Kitty Hawk moment

Optimism bias

A ghost grid is a guide for organising thoughts, information and sketches, that doesn't compete with content.

Content itself can also be the ghost grid to highlight changes and help draw comparisons — as when you might sketch options for extending a house or designing a garden.

A grid is useful for structure and creation but needs to fade back from content or disappear when no longer needed. Like freeing data from its data prison, a ghost grid emphasises content and information without non-data-ink taking attention.

I learned the term ghost grid from Edward Tufte's Seeing with Fresh Eyes: Meaning, Space, Data, Truth.

I rarely buy other notebooks for work than a dot grid, preferably in a funky colour. Some of my favourites: Leuchtterm dot grid hardcover, Moleskine dot grid softcover, Moo soft cover dotted journals