There’s something I’ve been reflecting on lately, especially when comparing my previous work environment to my current one. Back in the day, I approached tasks from start to finish, almost as if I were the only person responsible for every part of the process. This “end-to-end” approach allowed me to see the workflow in its entirety, revealing connections, redundancies, and opportunities for streamlining that would otherwise be overlooked. It also helped to identify possible points of stress in the chain.

But now, in another environment, people are often focused on optimising their specific part of the process, which, in theory, seems logical. But in practice? It creates fragmentation. Teams push for efficiency in their siloed tasks, yet the overall process only sometimes benefits. It’s a classic case of “local efficiency” that often clashes with the business’s larger goals. I see this everywhere, and I think that we can do better.

You’ve got to think about big things while you’re doing small things, so that all the small things go in the right direction.

Alvin Toffler

Consider a thought experiment: what if we designed business processes as if a single person were responsible for the entire flow? Now, I’m not saying this is a practical solution—I know having one person handle a complex workflow is not feasible. However, as a theoretical model, it presents an interesting shift in perspective.

When you look at a process from start to finish through the lens of a single operator, the way you see connections and transitions changes. You’re no longer just interested in optimising the micro-efficiencies of individual steps but rather in how each step interacts with the next. Redundancies become evident, and shortcuts that improve the entire flow naturally surface. You’re no longer bound by the constraints of “this is my task, and I’ll do it the best way I can”—you’re thinking about how to get from point A to point Z as smoothly and quickly as possible. Your human tendency for energy preservation (laziness, if you want!) aligns with the efficiency of the process.

The big picture doesn’t just come from distance; it also comes from time

Simon Sinek

This idea resonates with one of the key tenets of the Theory of Constraints, particularly in manufacturing. Focusing on local efficiency in production lines—making each station as fast and effective as possible—often backfires. The real bottleneck lies not in individual tasks but in how they interact. Eliyahu Goldratt, the father of the Theory of Constraints, argued for the abolition of local efficiencies, urging businesses to focus on the constraints of the entire system instead.

The idea is simple: it’s no good if your task is 100% optimised, but your output waits in a queue for the next step to catch up. The process needs to flow, not just function. The same logic can be applied to business processes outside the factory floor. If you optimise each department’s tasks without considering how they fit into the overall business flow, you’re bound to hit inefficiencies somewhere along the line.

In my old job, I naturally embraced an end-to-end mentality simply because I was involved in most aspects of the work. I see how difficult it is to adopt that same vision in a larger, more segmented environment. People become laser-focused on their puzzle pieces, losing sight of the overall picture. And it’s not their fault—organisational structures often encourage this behaviour. Performance metrics are set up to reward localised efficiencies, not global ones.

“The trick to forgetting the big picture is to look at everything close-up.”

Chuck Palaniuk

However, a shift to a more comprehensive mindset, even if just theoretically, could be transformative. It forces you to ask questions like: What’s the bigger purpose of this task? How does it affect the next step? Is there a way to eliminate this transition? These kinds of questions lead to fundamental breakthroughs in process optimisation.

An entire business process cannot be redesigned overnight. But you can start small. Begin by mapping out the whole workflow as if only one person were responsible. Identify the interaction points between steps and ask whether these transitions are essential. Where do things get stuck? Where do handoffs create delays or misunderstandings?

Then, rather than focusing solely on improving individual tasks, work on improving their connections. It might be just a partial overhaul, but minor adjustments in this area can lead to significant gains in efficiency and effectiveness.

The end-to-end approach doesn’t dismiss the importance of specialised roles or tasks; it’s about seeing the bigger picture. Although theoretical models like this one are only sometimes practical in their pure form, they offer a valuable lens to rethink how we manage processes. Instead of optimising each fragment in isolation, we should focus on optimising the entire flow—much like a single operator would if they were responsible for every step.

By shifting our mindset from local to global efficiency, we can uncover the inefficiencies caused by fragmentation. It isn’t easy and requires a willingness to step back and see the bigger picture. But ultimately, this vision leads to lasting improvements and sustainable success.

Until next time, consider how adopting an end-to-end perspective might shift how you approach challenges in your workflows and personal life.

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Critical thinking is a crucial skill, if not the essential skill, for navigating the complexities of life and learning, but what does it indeed involve? How would you describe the basis of the skill?

At its essence, maybe with some simplification, I believe critical thinking hinges on two very different yet complementary emotional mindsets—diametrical opposites—that we must learn to adopt. Let me introduce these mindsets.

What are the facts? Again and again and again—what are the facts? Shun wishful thinking, ignore divine revelation, forget what “the stars foretell,” avoid opinion, care not what the neighbours think, never mind the unguessable “verdict of history”—what are the facts, and to how many decimal places? You pilot always into an unknown future; facts are your single clue. Get the facts!

Time Enough for Love – Robert A. Heinlein

“What kind of nonsense is this person trying to sell me? Are they intentionally misleading me or simply mistaken? Are there inexact facts or plain lies in their words? Let me find counter-arguments or counter-facts and expose the flaws!”

This mindset is about challenging the information presented to us. It’s a defensive stance—a mental shield that says, I refuse to be deceived. It requires sharp analysis, logical reasoning, and a willingness to dismantle arguments that do not hold up under scrutiny furiously. We actively look for inconsistencies, errors, and evidence contradicting the claims. What drives this mindset is a healthy degree of skepticism and even a touch of rebelliousness, which pushes us to dig deeper and question everything rather than passively accept what we are told.

And, in case you guessed it, yes, this mindset that gets you emarginated at parties and is what makes some kids ultra-annoying!

I’m not interested in feeling intelligent by listening to idiot talk. I’d rather feel like an idiot listening to a sublime person speaking.

Franco Battiato

“Why am I having difficulty grasping the brilliance that this person is trying to convey? Is there something essential I’m missing? I need to make a greater effort to understand—perhaps I need to ask more and better questions.”

The second mindset emphasizes humility. It involves recognizing that we don’t have all the answers and that the speaker or author might possess insights we have not yet fully grasped. This mindset encourages patience, curiosity, and a willingness to consider that there could be value we’re overlooking. It requires an open mind and an assumption that brilliance might be there, even if it’s not immediately apparent. This mindset is about learning, digging deeper, and connecting dots that were previously outside our perspective.

…the test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

The real challenge lies in employing both of these mindsets simultaneously. When we engage with information, we must allow the skeptic and the admirer to coexist. Falling into the trap of either extreme—being excessively skeptical to the point of cynicism or overly admiring to the point of gullibility—limits our ability to think critically. True critical thinking arises from the dynamic interplay between these two perspectives. The balance between these mindsets ensures a comprehensive approach to critical thinking.

The skeptic ensures we do not fall victim to misinformation, while the admirer helps us appreciate insights that might initially escape us. Together, these mindsets refine our understanding of the world, allowing us to both defend against deception and unlock hidden values. When these two approaches interact, they enhance our ability to discern truth from falsehood and brilliance from error.

Remember: critical thinking is a skill; you improve by practising repeatedly!

Until the next time you encounter an idea, ask yourself: Can I find the mistake and move beyond it, or can I learn something and progress? Either case, you will grow.

Don’t wait to practice: let me know in the comments if I made mistakes in this post or if I tried to fool you!

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I am confident that you are acquainted with the story of Icarus, the young man who flew too close to the sun with wings crafted from feathers and wax, going against his father’s warnings. The result was tragic: the wax melted, the wings failed, and Icarus plunged to death.

To my surprise, I just discovered that I had already cited Icarus in the blog post “Far Beyond The Sun.”

You might consider this myth as a straightforward cautionary tale: don’t ignore wise counsel, don’t aim too high, listen to your father, or else face dire consequences. It’s a warning against hubris, a moral lesson for those who try to reach for things that lie beyond their grasp.

Allow me to offer a fresh perspective on this age-old tale: is Icarus’s death possibly not his tragedy but his fortune?

Icarus saw the sun like no one had seen it before, that unreachable, brilliant source of light, and he just had to go for it. He was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He wasn’t going to stop. He couldn’t. For him, flying that close to the sun, even for a fleeting moment, was worth the fall.

“If we burn our wings
Flying too close to the sun
If the moment of glory
Is over before it’s begun
If the dream is won
Though everything is lost
We will pay the price
But we will not count the cost”

Bravado – RUSH

Imagine if he hadn’t flown further. Imagine if he had listened to his father, Daedalus, safely flying at a middle altitude, not too close to the sun to melt his wings, nor too close to the sea so that humidity would weigh them down. He might have lived a long life, never again experiencing anything as breathtaking, thrilling or unique as that single sunward flight. My point is this: what if, perhaps, the idea of living knowing that the opportunity to elevate himself so close to something so spectacular – and in turn, to be himself elevated by the experience – was a fate worse than the deadly fall itself?

Consider astronauts. Some of them have reached orbit, and some have touched the moon. What do you do after that? How can life on Earth compare? After returning to Earth, astronauts may struggle with reintegration into civilian life. The intense experiences of space travel can lead to a sense of emptiness or loss once the mission ends. This phenomenon has been noted in several astronauts; some experienced severe depression and alcoholism. The abrupt transition from a highly structured and purpose-driven environment to a layman’s life and the sudden disappearance of an exceedingly high objective can aggravate feelings of isolation and purposelessness. They’ve done something so monumental and groundbreaking that returning to a life removed from a higher purpose, a higher object, must have felt impossible. What could ever top walking on the moon? (For a deeper analysis of the phenomenon, you can look at this long article by NASA).

This post isn’t just about astronauts and other precursory mythical flyers. It is about anyone who, after having been near something so high and elevating, incurs the risk of living a dull, never entirely satisfactory, and regretful life. It underscores the importance of finding meaning in our pursuits, even if they lead us to extraordinary heights and troublesome aftermaths.

Olympic athletes, who reach the pinnacle of human performance, often grapple with this same issue. They’ve won gold medals, broken records, and become legends, but once that moment passes, what’s left? There are only so many Olympic Games and so many chances to prove yourself. After the peak performance, there’s often nowhere to go but down. The body ages, events don’t occur frequently, and training techniques evolve. In the blink of an eye, they find themselves staring at their gold medals, knowing they’ll never stand on that podium again.

As a last anecdotal example, let me cite the case of the research partnership between Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky (whose work I have already mentioned in the blog in this post). The two were a formidable team; their groundbreaking approach to human biases and prospect theory led to a new field of research – behavioural economics – and Kahneman was awarded the Nobel Prize in Economic Sciences in 2002.

After Tversky’s death in 1996, Kahneman expressed that he felt a “great void” in both his personal and professional life. He described Tversky as not only a brilliant collaborator but also as a close friend whose absence left a significant impact on him. Kahneman noted that their collaboration was characterized by a unique synergy where they complemented each other’s strengths and weaknesses, leading to groundbreaking insights into decision-making and behavioural economics. The separation from Tversky meant losing not just a colleague but also someone who challenged and inspired him intellectually. Kahneman’s reflections on their partnership highlight the emotional and cognitive toll of such a loss, emphasizing the importance of such a highly inspiring companion, someone of such high intellect and valour that he cannot be replaced.

“And if love remains
Though everything is lost
We will pay the price
But we will not count the cost”

Ibid.

One might be led to state that dying was, in a sense, Icarus’ good fortune. He never had to live knowing he would never again fly so close to something beautiful, immense, and inspiring. He never had to wake up every day looking back on that moment, profession, or person, knowing he could never experience it again. The real tragedy could have been surviving and spending the rest of his life weighed down by that knowledge – the day he touched the sun and knew it would never return.

What are we supposed to do then? Stop striving for excellence and live below our capabilities, or strive for excellence, knowing the drawbacks might last a lifetime?

Someone once told me the definition of Hell: The last day you have on Earth, the person you became will meet the person you could have become.

Areté – Brian Johnson and Phil Stutz

I am proposing an antidote to this paradox. I am not advocating to shy away from lofty endeavours. Quite the contrary! My suggestion for you, my Reader, is to be aware of what could happen and build a strong meaning around it. Try to give meaning to what happened or to what will happen as a result of your efforts, and you will become unfeasible; you will, in some sense, lose yourself in the process. Every piece of the puzzle will fall into its place as you knew it all along the journey.

Also, be ready to change course when one stream of your life has run dry. Life’s too short to refrain from giving our best shot at it and too long not to be ready to experience many possibilities.

Bertrand Russel has something unique to say on the matter:

Make your interests gradually wider and more impersonal, until bit by bit the walls of the ego recede, and your life becomes increasingly merged in the universal life. An individual human existence should be like a river — small at first, narrowly contained within its banks, and rushing passionately past rocks and over waterfalls. Gradually the river grows wider, the banks recede, the waters flow more quietly, and in the end, without any visible break, they become merged in the sea, and painlessly lose their individual being.

Portraits From Memory and Other Essays – Bertrand Russel

Until next time, strive for excellence and meaning.

“The meaning of life is to give life meaning”

Viktor Frankl

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The gradual loss of what defines us—the habits and actions that make us “us”—directly attacks our being and identity. This erosion can stem from a lack of time, constant stress, social pressure, the inability to develop good habits, lack of “productive leisure” such as engaging in hobbies, spending time with loved ones, or pursuing personal interests, or a sense of guilt.

Our sense of self represents everything that motivates us, drives us, spurs us on, and keeps us on the right path. In moments of uncertainty, we can say, “I am a person who does/does not do X, so I know how to act.” If we lose this, we lose everything.

“It was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it’s all we have left in this place. It is the very last inch of us, but within that inch we are free.”

Alan Moore – V for Vendetta

During uncertain times, instead of referring to our internal compass, we might turn to what seems most “appropriate” or “aligned” at the moment, rather than what is intimately correct and will lead us down the best path. This course of action will result in repeated mistakes and continuous frustrations until we doubt what we are and whether we can be something different and better.

In the absence of other elements to define us, our failures will take on a new guise and shape our identity. When we find ourselves in such a situation, it is crucial to break the vicious cycle. We might need a shock. Which one? I will leave that as an exercise for the Reader; it is a matter too personal to generalise.

Until next time, remember to reconnect with your true self, reinforce your core habits, and trust your internal compass by whatever means it takes. This conscious effort can be the shock needed to break the cycle and help you regain your sense of identity and purpose.

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Imagine a company where objects, seemingly with a mind of their own, mysteriously vanished or ended up in the wrong place. This was a daily puzzle that the employees, growing increasingly frustrated, had to solve.

Various teams were tasked with reuniting these lost items, but the endeavour always failed.
It was an exasperating cycle. Like many of us, the company’s initial response to complex issues was to add more teams and resources and to assign them to the problem. Yet, despite their tireless efforts, the problem persisted, leaving everyone feeling defeated.

Despite numerous attempts and many teams taking on the challenge, some items were always missing, and the problem persisted over time. It was found that in some instances, team A had an item of the pair. In contrast, team B had the other, and due to a lack of communication and task subdivision, they could not reunite them.

Yet the solution was far from what anyone expected. It wasn’t about more teams or intricate strategies. The answer was simplicity itself. All the remaining objects were gathered in one specific spot. Over time, through cycles and phases that remained a mystery, the objects found their mates and were reunited, bringing a profound sense of relief and renewed hope.

But this is not just a story about a company. It’s a strategy that transcends the corporate world. Honestly, there is no “company” here unless you were willing to consider my family “a company.” This is the strategy I’ve adopted at home for my own socks. Whenever a sock misses its partner, it gets placed in one designated spot. And like magic, sooner or later, the sock finds its companion. We did not try to understand the problem in its entirety. We skipped over all the complex dynamics, positioning ourselves downstream of the process flow.

Until next time, please remember that sometimes the best strategy is to wait for the problem to be solved after you set up the right conditions and avoid forcing teams (and family members!) to attend to pointless tasks.

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Last year in May, I visited Rome with my family. One afternoon, we had just dismounted from the subway train, and we had to wait in the queue to reach the stairs that led to the exit. Finally, we turned around the corner and saw something that surprised us: the long line was caused by everyone wanting to get up the escalator, while the other stairs were left, quite literally, still.

We decided without hesitation to climb on our own strength, and I was so happy that even the kids agreed to take that path despite being tired from walking for 20+ kilometres and having sore feet.

Step after step, I understood why it felt so good to be almost alone on the stairs: the sense of “being different” (good or bad that it is, I always feel good when I can be different from the majority without hurting anyone) and the small ephemeral pride given by taking my course into my own hands.

At each step, I tried to devise a different word that would inform us about where those small steps were taking me, my wife, and my kids: independence, character, force of will, strength, control over our bodies, and originality.

I can only hope those few steps will inspire us every day for years. Still, I wonder if we will remember the exact moment: as for any behaviour that you want to foster, you need strategies to turn it into a habit or routine.

Until next time, I will try to take the stars more often: I may not get wiser, but I may get thinner. Anyway, it’s worth a try!

“It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.”

Sir Edmund Hillary

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I asked
The answer was silence
I asked again
The answer was silence again
I asked once more
The answer was silence once more
Then I got it, and in silence, I finally found peace
The other answers shortly followed

Until next time, ask, but be ready to figure it out yourself, first by creating the right state of mind.

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Recently I paused to think about a habit of mine, and from it, I got a little insight that I’d like to share with you. Let me describe my practice first.

The situation is like this: there is a list of items (names, tasks, photographs… it does not matter. Even a screen or a page of generic text), and we need to find a specific one. Beware of the “we” part; it will get important later.

I usually have a good eye for spotting things on the fly: I’m an intensely visual person. Nevertheless, I like to gain an edge over my peers to speed up the tedious process, so I employ a simple trick. Instead of scanning the list from the top, I scan it from the bottom.

To understand why this allows me to be the first to spot the sought-after item, let’s think about the search in statistical terms – first, some assumptions: the item as qual probabilities of being at every position in the list. Every searcher has more or less the same “scanning speed”. And last but most importantly, probably 99.99% of the people scan the list top-to-bottom. This means that 50% of the time, I will be the first spotter, no matter how many people are searching. The reasoning is that the item has a 50-50 chance of being either in the lower or the upper half of the list, and the others and I will be scanning two distinct halves simultaneously. A bit more than 50% perhaps, given that I am generally quick, but anyway, much more often than if I had started searching from the same place as the others. The more searchers, the more the trick becomes effective, and over time your friends might start calling you Eagle Eye.

There are two exciting benefits to following this approach:

1. You will look quicker and more competent (a pleasing but quite useless matter)
2. The whole process becomes quicker: for how I see it, you are doing a favour to your fellows by effectively halving the time spent on a tedious non-creative task.

In a broader sense, I think that with this trick, you are bringing something that is always useful: a different point of view on the problem. You are performing a two-pronged pincer attack, with the bulk of the forces going along one line of attack and you encircling. The enemy (i.e. the problem) will be crushed in less time without additional effort. In what follows, think about more general problems, not just the item-in-a-list.

We have not reached the maximum possible efficiency yet. Now that I put this in writing, I realise that it could be helpful to coordinate the attack beforehand so that everyone can follow their unique attack manoeuvre, maximising the effectiveness.

In an “I am just thinking out loud” fashion, let me sketch what you could do whenever you face a problem with other people on your side.

1. Assess if the problem has more than one facet/direction by which it could be tackled. Benefit: this alone can give you more insight on the matter and maybe even jumpstart a solution
2. Divide the different facets and assign them to various members of the team. Better if everyone gets involved according to her best skills. Benefits: minimum waste and maximal engagement
3. Attack! Maybe you will reach more than one possible solution, and then you have the luxury of choosing either one or a combination.

I have a closing remark. Will this methodology be of any use when you solve a problem by yourself? Probably not; there is no “multi-pronged” approach, no parallelisation. On the other hand, getting used to considering multiple facets and different methods can, in the end, help you in reaching increasingly original solutions at an accelerating faster rate.

Until next time, let’s look at someone who incorporated downside-up thinking into his art.

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Many people like to state that they are “born in the wrong century”, implying that they would be best suited for a more traditional, romantic, utopic era of the past when humanity and manners were different and better.

I am not willing to question their claims, but I have the feeling that these assertions move from wrong assumptions. It is in fact both a curse and a blessing that our memory often coats the past with a glossy veneer of nostalgia, making us forget its worse parts.

For example, Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin in 1928. We rarely realise that before the twentieth century, children died en masse because of illnesses that are now considered trivial. I would have been already dead before I made it to elementary school myself.

Social matters are not much different: speaking of Italy (my country), I will present a list of facts without comments:

• Women’s right to vote was decreed only in 1945
• The death penalty was administered for the last time in 1947
• The Parliament abolished “Rehabilitating marriage” (the possibility, for a raper, to be atoned by marrying the victim) in 1981

For many other examples of how the world is getting better and better globally, open a random page of Factfulness by the late great Hans Rosling.

So, would I like to go back more than 80 years in the past, because I think manners were more refined, the music was purer, art more ecstatic, humanity was more honest or whatever other myth I may have in mind?

To put it simply, no.

However, I do have a strong feeling that I was born in the wrong century.

I was born too soon.

I have the impression that humanity is going through an endless purgatory, that we are not yet ready to make Earth the paradise it could be. Maybe in a few centuries or millennia, we could get over all the manifestly stupid and unjust tortures we inflict on our species.

Our yearly “humanity performance review” has shameless faults in discrimination, injustice, poverty, and war.

I want to go past that. I would love to see all the wrong left behind. Yet, I must live in the present, so I can only hope to change matters while history is in the making, not when it has already happened.

I wonder how much suffering we still have to witness, how many tears we have yet to shed.

Until next time, give peace a chance.

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There are many similarities between ourselves and a pencil: I will try to list some of the most evident ones to get at the end to the most curious one (at least for me!)

In the following sentences, I will leave out the subject: the intention is that you can swap it between “pencil/pencils” and “person/people”, and the text should flow in both cases. So let’s go for it!

At the very least, some are harder, some are softer, some are broken too early, and some are lost before leaving their best mark on the world.

Some mistakes you make with them are easily erasable, some are not, yet every correction leaves a bit of a crease or indentation.

They get dull, yet they can be sharpened.

Some are handled roughly, some are taken good care of, and some are sadly forgotten.

Good or bad, no matter what mark you leave with it, it will get less and less crisp with time.

The results you get from them can be better and more enjoyable when you join them with others.

Their inner core is everlasting. (Let me sidetrack for a moment to provide an explanation, at the cost of sounding nerdy. I am referring to graphite, which is the most stable form of carbon – yes, diamonds are not forever, they decay into graphite over thousands and thousands of years and to our human DNA, which I hope to be lasting for quite a while more)

Some like to be fancy and fashionably dressed. Some are down-to-earth and plain.

They are everywhere, and it’s easy to meet some you have never met before.

I’m sure you could point out many more similarities, and in a much more poetic way, if you are so inclined. However, patience is not always my strong suit, and I’d like to get straight to the one that struck me the most, the one that I feel closest to me.

What follows requires a bit of setup. Please bear with me. Try to remember what happens when you first put a pencil on a sheet of paper or, better yet, grab a pencil and experiment! Depending on the minute details on the tip, your first mark may not always be exactly where you want it to be. It can also be a lot sharper or more smeared than you prefer. The tip may have imperfections that cause a double “ghost” line. The point, especially when too sharp, may crumble a little and leave a stronger first dot on contact. The tip may also break completely, often if the pencil was already damaged and/or is used too vigorously.

If you were able to visualise those circumstances, then it will not be difficult for you to get this last similarity: every time they are met with a new situation, the final outcomes are at first unpredictable.

Maybe it is just me, but lately, I feel like every time is pretty much like the first time for me. I need to get sharp again, maybe to bring out a new piece of white paper and change the subject of my drawing.

Until next time, we will see what happens next.

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