Yesterday I had coffee in the morning with a bright enthusiastic 23-year-old engineer just starting out in her career. It was so refreshing and inspiring to hear the challenges and successes she has already experienced, even this early in her career.

Later, I talked to a wise 63-year-old colleague with wide experience and no shortage of opinions. He noted the changes happening in his industry, as well as the massive changes happening overall in society. It was not a negative comment, just observational.

I’m glad I spoke to both on the same day. We’re in good hands for the future.

I was discussing with a colleague the similarities between facilitating a risk workshop and a value engineering workshop. Both processes bring a group of subject matter experts together for a formalised discussion, with a goal to achieve specific outcomes. The risk workshop might focus on resolving failure modes, while the value engineering workshop looks for efficiencies of design.

In both cases, understanding the group dynamics is key. There will be a dominant personality, a quiet but knowledgeable one, someone with skin in the game, and another who doesn’t want to be there. Every group is different, but there are similarities.

Work should never be rushed. That’s easy to write; changing something so ingrained is not quite so easy to achieve.

Leaving enough time for tasks seems to be a lost art. Or rather, we try to fit too much into our days.

I remember as a junior, putting together my first hours estimate for my time on an engineering project. The person I was working for said, ‘whatever you think it will take, double it.’

It’s hard to accept, but often true. We find ourselves in a rush, simply because we have not left enough time to do the task.

It’s probable that not many people think about the difference between science and engineering. That’s ok; perhaps it doesn’t really matter.

Both career choices do problem-solving. Scientists solve problems by coming up with a hypothesis, and then set out to prove or disprove it.

Engineers solve problems with no single right answer: the shape of a bridge, the design of a rocket. The math and physics of it have ‘right’ answers, but the challenge of engineering is deciding amongst the options, often when all the information isn’t available. And there are budgets of time, cost, and risk to balance, too.

Defining competency inevitably recognises two aspects: knowledge and behaviour. In our engineers, we want a high level of both.

We want highly knowledgeable professionals who can give us the right answer to any problem within their expertise. Just as important as the right answer, is the accompanying behaviour to a set of professional principles and ethics.

It’s quite possible for individuals to rate highly on one aspect but not the other.

So while we don’t want an ethical person who makes constant mistakes, we also don’t want a person who’s always right but uses it in nefarious or unsafe ways.

A cairn is a human-made rockpile providing direction or warnings. The Canadian Inuit Inukshuk is one of the more famous cairn shapes, and I burst with pride whenever I see one. There’s one on the ‘land-bridge’ over the inner-city bypass in Brisbane, and I like that it’s there.

A symbol that provides direction or warnings is useful, especially in the days of GPS and social media.

Oh, and the reason for today’s topic: I’m on a bit of a break in tropical Cairns, Queensland this weekend. This Cairns was named after a person though; no rock piles to be found.

I wonder how youth today learn about the concept of falling dominoes. Even when I was a kid in the 1970s, dominoes were already an “old toy” my grandmother had for me to play with. They were boring.

But somehow, I learned the concept of the pieces being linked together, and saw how one falling affects the rest. It’s a still-used analogy – the ‘domino effect’.

Standards and procedures are, or should be, linked like dominoes. A good standard, or document system, is coherent and linked. There is a key “principles” document at the front, and the rest fit in underneath.

Webinars are a good way to transfer information. Similarly, podcasts have grown over the years as a way to connect. They both provide a good opportunity for just about anyone to present information, or, to present entertainment.

I listen to a lot of podcasts. Listening can be done anywhere, and maybe requires less active participation or concentration. Webinars require a bit more commitment to sit somewhat still; because I think the benefit of webinars is the visual.

Maybe webinars are better for technical information, and podcasts might be better for entertainment or light education. But I’m not sure about that.

Reading is a good way to enhance knowledge. We spend a lot of time reading – whether on websites, social media, books, emails, papers, newspapers, the list goes on.

But talking is perhaps a better way to communicate information. Talking allows more interaction, even if it’s just to see the body language or hear the voice differentiation from the talker.

Seeing or hearing that extra information over and above the written word can only help with the communication process. There’s a better chance that the message from the talker will be received and decoded more correctly. I can’t guarantee that though.

Sometimes, approaching something from a ‘random’ point of view is exactly what the situation needs. A random thought, or a random viewpoint, might just break through an uncertainty or blockage.

“Randomness” is a lack of predictability or pattern. It’s most deeply explored in mathematics and statistics. And random number generators, of course.

Wikipedia explains randomness in physical sciences, biology, mathematics, statistics, finance, and politics (specifically, voting).

I just like when I get the chance to have random thoughts. It’s always entertaining when some ‘random’ (person) shows up in your situation. And, choosing a random hundred words might be interesting too.

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.