Recently I (along with a few others much smarter than me) had occasion to implement a ‘real’ production system with Istio, running on a managed cloud-provided Kubernetes service.
“My next ulcer will be called ‘istio'” by Ian Miell
Istio has a reputation for being difficult to build with and administer, but I haven’t read many war stories about trying to make it work, so I thought it might be useful to actually write about what it’s like in the trenches for a ‘typical’ team trying to implement this stuff. The intention is very much not to bury Istio, but to praise it (it does so much that is useful/needed for ‘real’ Kubernetes clusters – skip to the end if impatient) while warning those about to step into the breach what comes if you’re not prepared…
“The most damaging thing you learned in school wasn’t something you learned in any specific class. It was learning to get good grades.
When I was in college, a particularly earnest philosophy grad student once told me that he never cared what grade he got in a class, only what he learned in it. This stuck in my mind because it was the only time I ever heard anyone say such a thing.
For me, as for most students, the measurement of what I was learning completely dominated actual learning in college. I was fairly earnest; I was genuinely interested in most of the classes I took, and I worked hard. And yet I worked by far the hardest when I was studying for a test.
In theory, tests are merely what their name implies: tests of what you’ve learned in the class. In theory you shouldn’t have to prepare for a test in a class any more than you have to prepare for a blood test. In theory you learn from taking the class, from going to the lectures and doing the reading and/or assignments, and the test that comes afterward merely measures how well you learned…”
The self-healing letter of complaint
You’ve been wronged. The service was terrible. You went unseen, disrespected and abused. You didn’t get your money’s worth. The software is sloppy, the people were rude, the entire experience was lousy.
A letter to the organization is called for. At the very least, you’ll get an apology, some free samples, and maybe, just maybe, they’ll fix the problem for everyone who comes after you. How generous of you to dig in and share the vitriol.
Better put a sharp point on it, personalize it and make it sting.
Here’s the thing: Every angry word you write is only going to confirm the story you’re already telling yourself, the story that’s still making you miserable. The more spite you put into the note, the worse you’re going to feel. You’ll relive the event again and again. And, it’s pretty certain, if a human reads the note, they’ll now feel lousy too. They might go home and kick their dog, it’s that visceral.
To what end? Is it going to increase the chances that change happens?
Here’s a different tack, a selfish one that pays off for everyone involved:
Write the most positive note you can imagine. Write about how much the brand/service/government agency means to you. Let them know just how much you trust them, how much they’ve helped you in the past. Lay it on thick, that’s okay, it’ll remind you of why you care in the first place, and it will build bridges instead of tearing them down.
Then, say, “Here’s what didn’t work” or “But I have an important suggestion…”
And, without adding the hurt and anger that you feel, explain what went wrong. Explain it clearly, in a useful way, but give the reader the benefit of the doubt. Assume she knows that it didn’t make you happy, that it completely ruined your wedding, that you’re never ever going to return. Just leave that part out.
After all, if you didn’t care about them, you wouldn’t bother writing a letter, would you?
Two things will probably happen:
- When you hit ‘send’ you’re going to feel better about yourself and the process you just engaged in, and
- It’s more likely that the long-suffering recipient of your note will actually take action
We can change the stories we tell ourselves.
A growing number of people feel like an old carton of milk, with an expiration date stamped on their wrinkled foreheads. One paradox of our time is that Baby Boomers enjoy better health than ever, remain young and stay in the workplace longer, but feel less and less relevant. They worry, justifiably, that bosses or potential employers may see their age more as liability than asset. Especially in the tech industry.
And yet we workers “of a certain age” are less like a carton of milk and more like a bottle of fine wine — especially now, in the digital era. The tech sector, which has become as famous for toxic company cultures as for innovation, and as well-known for human resource headaches as for hoodie-wearing CEOs, could use a little of the mellowness and wisdom that comes with age.
I started a boutique hotel company when I was 26 and, after 24 years as CEO, sold it at the bottom of the Great Recession, not knowing what was next. That’s when Airbnb came calling. In early 2013 cofounder and CEO Brian Chesky approached me after reading my book Peak: How Great Companies Get Their Mojo from Maslow. He and his two Millennial cofounders wanted me to help turn their growing tech startup into an international giant, as their Head of Global Hospitality and Strategy. Sounded good. But I was an “old-school” hotel guy and had never used Airbnb. I didn’t even have the Uber app on my phone. I was 52 years old, I’d never worked in a tech company, I didn’t code, I was twice the age of the average Airbnb employee, and, after running my own company for well over two decades, I’d be reporting to a smart guy 21 years my junior. I was a little intimidated. But I took the job.
On my first day I heard an existential tech question in a meeting and didn’t know how to answer it: “If you shipped a feature and no one used it, did it really ship?” Bewildered, I realized I was in deep “ship,” as I didn’t even know what it meant to ship product. Brian had asked me to be his mentor, but I also felt like an intern.
I realized I’d have to figure out a way to be both.
Amazon’s CEO annual letter to his shareholders is a must-read. Customer focus, decision-making or the importance of writing down important things… Here are my takeaways from Jeff’s latest.
Whatever we think of its founder and CEO, Amazon remains a remarkable example of great management. Since its 1994 start, the company enjoyed steady growth, relentlessly conquering new markets and sectors, coupled to exceptional resilience shown when the company weathered two market crashes (2000 and 2008). In addition, Bezos has demonstrated a consistent ability to convince his board and shareholders to let expansion take precedence over profits and dividends. (No one can complain: thousand dollars invested in Amazon’s 1997 IPO are now worth more than half a million, a 500x multiple).
This didn’t happen without damage. By some measures, Amazon isn’t an enviable place to work and the pressure it applies to its suppliers rivals the iron fist of Walmart’s purchasing department. All things considered, Amazon’s level of corporate toxicity remains reasonable compared to Uber, as an example.
Jeff Bezos is also able to project an ultra-long term vision with his space exploration project for which he personally invests about a billion dollars per year.
Closer to our concerns, he has boosted a respected but doomed news institution — The Washington Post — thanks to a combined investment in journalistic excellence and in technology, two areas left fallow by most publishers.
That is why I thought Bezos’ written addresses to his shareholders (here) are worth some exegesis.
Let start with last week’s letter. (Emphasis mine, and while quotes are lifted from the original documents, some paragraphs have been rearranged for clarity and brevity).
Bezos starts his 2016 missive with a question asked by staffers at all-hands meetings:
“Jeff, what does Day 2 look like? (…) [Bezos reply:] Day 2 is stasis. Followed by irrelevance. Followed by excruciating, painful decline. Followed by death. And that is why it is always Day 1.”
Then he enumerates the three obsessions that make Amazon what it is today:…
The Dutch toilet cleaner ‘WC-EEND’ (literally: ‘Toilet Duck’) aired a famous commercial in 1989 that had the slogan ‘We from WC-EEND advise… WC-EEND’. It is now a common saying in The Netherlands whenever someone gives an opinion that is clearly aligned with their self-interest. In this blog, I will examine the hypothesis that blogs are, on average, of higher quality than journal articles. Below, I present 5 arguments in favor of this hypothesis. [EDIT: I’m an experimental psychologist. Mileage of what you’ll read below may vary in other disciplines].
The implicit assumption is that if you study in multiple areas, you’ll only learn at a surface level, never gain mastery.
The success of expert-generalists throughout time shows that this is wrong.Learning across multiple fields provides an information advantage (and therefore an innovation advantage) because most people focus on just one field.
For example, if you’re in the tech industry and everyone else is just reading tech publications, but you also know a lot about biology, you have the ability to come up with ideas that almost no one else could. Vice-versa. If you’re in biology, but you you also understand artificial intelligence, you have an information advantage over everyone else who stays siloed.
Despite this basic insight, few people actually learn beyond their industry.
Each new field we learn that is unfamiliar to others in our field gives us the ability to make combinations that they can’t. This is the expert-generalist advantage.