The truth is, I’m not a good worker. I’ve had very few traditional jobs, and my performance on typical tasks was poor.
Work the exact hours, do precisely what’s asked, don’t ask questions and focus on what the boss wants.
We modeled ‘good worker’ behavior in school. “Will this be on the test?” was the key question for 100 years. Do what the teacher asks for, and don’t overthink it.
The indoctrination of compliance came from factory owners. It’s easier to run an industrial operation when you can treat your workers as interchangeable cogs, not individuals.
We took that idea to schools, to communities, and even to how some engaged in spirituality.
The good worker trope falls apart when the world changes fast. It becomes a hindrance when job security wavers. And it doesn’t really pay off when AI and the atomization of work mean that most of us are the boss now, even if we are on a payroll.
It’s better to be a good leader, a resilient contributor and someone who has the insight and guts to ask why.
On the 19th of October, I’m doing an open Zoom call for members of purple.space and those that might be curious about how cohorts and mutual support open the door to possibility.
You can reserve a spot here. It’s free, but there are limited spots.
Don’t bring a spreadsheet to a fear fight.
Change causes fear. And change is all around us.
The fear of the unknown. The fear of failure. The fear of uncertainty.
Mostly, we’d like safety. And when the world changes, safety feels like it’s in short supply.
One reason we have security theatre is that the performance of security often creates more of the feeling we seek than actual safety.
Taking your shoes off before you enter the airport. Installing a giant, clunky, loud, armored garage door. Viewing strangers with suspicion. Using false proxies and useless shortcuts to insulate ourselves (or seek to do so) from the changes and the unknowns we fear.
Statistics rarely overcome stories.
So what does?
Familiarity. And conversation.
“What would make you feel safe?” is a different approach than “there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Until we get familiar enough with the new status quo, what performance would be a helpful way to create the feeling of safety?
What if we could create even more of that feeling with a different approach?
And while we’re at it, what if we spent time becoming familiar with the thing you’re afraid of?
The most useful spreadsheets and facts are the ones that fearful people create to help them see their world differently.
Marketers and politicians too.
We don’t say them because it’s assumed. And because we’re afraid.
“I might be wrong.”
“I’m just guessing”
“This might be selfishly motivated.”
“It could be that I’m hallucinating.”
“I heard this somewhere but I don’t know firsthand that it’s true.”
“I know I sound certain, but I’m not.”
When an AI doesn’t say these things, we’re frustrated when they turn out to be the case. Because our default in interactions with machines is that they don’t dissemble, confuse or mislead.
Perhaps we should print these caveats out and read them before we read an ad, believe a scammy text or interact with an LLM.
Trust is the building block of cultures that matter. We have long manipulated trust for commercial and political ends, and now machines are following our lead.
It might be us.
Even when there are photos, videos or tape recordings, people find that they can’t agree on what happened.
Our vivid recollections can be vivid, but they might not be accurate.
What would happen if, for a moment, we imagined that our version of what happened might not be the only one?
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