Category: Work and the workplace

Not All Conversations Are Transactions

We treat most workplace communication as if it were transactional: I send a message, you receive it. I deliver information, you process it. Success is measured by whether the exchange occurred.

But some conversations aren’t transactions at all. They’re acts of creation.

When two people genuinely work together toward shared understanding, when they practice what I’ve called “co-responding,” something emerges between them that belongs to neither person individually. This isn’t metaphor. It’s a describable phenomenon you can learn to recognize.

What emerges

Consider what happens when you and another person truly co-respond: you’re not just expressing yourself clearly and listening carefully. You’re asking “Is this what you meant?” You’re offering “Let me see if I understand…” You’re working together, iteratively, to create mutual comprehension.

Two things accumulate in this process:

  1. The effort itself. This is genuinely shared labor. The questions asked, the clarifications offered, the patience extended. This work exists in the space between us; and
  2. The understanding that results. When we successfully co-respond, the comprehension we create isn’t just two identical thoughts in two separate minds. It’s a jointly constructed meaning. You understand what I meant, I understand what you meant, and we both know that we’ve understood each other. This knowing-together exists between us.

These two elements, the accumulated effort and the achieved understanding, form something that persists.

How precedent accumulates

This precedent-setting isn’t abstract. It has tangible effects.

Each genuine exchange establishes conditions for the next. The relational space between you becomes more capable. Communication becomes easier, faster, more nuanced. Not because either of you individually got better at communicating, but because of what you’ve established together through prior exchanges.

You see this when a brief exchange conveys what would have taken paragraphs with someone else. “The Q3 situation” means something specific between you and this colleague because you’ve established that understanding through repeated co-responding. With someone new, you’d need twenty minutes of context.

You can feel the difference. With some people, conversation flows. You pick up threads months later as if no time has passed. Complex ideas require fewer words. You’ve established precedents through genuine co-responding that make this possible.

With others, every exchange feels laborious. You’re explaining the same things the same way for the fifth time. Nothing has accumulated between you. You’ve been talking at each other, and those precedents, of not seeking confirmation, of not offering clarification, yield only transactional results.

You see erosion in real time: someone asks “So what you’re saying is…?” and you cut them off with “No, just do what I asked.” That moment establishes what’s possible next time. And the time after that.

What precedent you’re setting

Here’s what unsettles me: most of us don’t recognize that every exchange sets precedent.

Each conversation establishes what’s possible in the next one. What you do—the questions you ask, the clarifications you seek, the patience you extend—becomes part of what exists between you. What you don’t do—the questions not asked, the assumptions left unexamined, the shortcuts taken—becomes part of what exists between you too.

These precedents accumulate. They don’t reset. The world doesn’t start over each time you have a conversation. You’ve had exchanges before. You either left things well-tended or you left an impression. If you’ve had several of those, they add up to something.

We measure communication by immediate outcomes. Did they understand? Did they agree? Did they comply? These questions treat each exchange as discrete, complete, forgettable.

But if every exchange sets precedent, then there are no neutral transactions. You’re either establishing conditions that make future understanding more possible, or you’re not. The care you take matters. Not because you’re “investing” for some future return, but because what happens now shapes what’s possible next.

Most of what we call “communication” in organizational life creates no precedent worth having. It’s transactional by design. Send the email. Deliver the message. Check the box. Move on.

The irony is that the transactional approach is less efficient. Without accumulated understanding between persons, every exchange starts from zero. You’re perpetually re-establishing context, re-explaining, re-confirming.

Whereas genuine co-responding creates precedent that compounds. The tenth conversation is easier than the first. Not because either of you got better at communicating, but because of what you’ve established together.

What this asks of you

If every exchange sets precedent, then communication isn’t about your eloquence or your message or your persuasiveness.

It’s about what precedents you’re willing to establish with another person.

Which requires time you might not want to spend. Patience you might not feel you have. Genuine curiosity about what the other person means, which is impossible if you already know what they’re going to say.

It requires treating understanding as something constructed together rather than transmitted from one person to another.

Most of all, it requires recognizing that the question isn’t “Did they get my message?” but “What are we establishing together?”

Not all conversations are transactions. Some are acts of creation.

The question is: which are you practicing?

And what becomes possible, or impossible, because of it?

==

 

photo by Tatiana P

Tools Are Never Just Tools. That Includes AI.

The tech industry isn’t just providing solutions in search of problems. It’s reshaping our understanding of what a problem is—and what it means to solve one—in ways that fit the tools it can profitably offer.

We often stop at the surface: the belief that every human challenge has a technological fix. But that belief is only the entry point.

First, there’s the quiet assumption that Silicon Valley not only has the means to solve problems, but the right to define them for the rest of us. Whose definition of “problem” are we working with?

Then, deeper still, there’s the logic of the market: the need to create new problems in order to justify new tools. Innovation, under this view, is less about discovery and more about manufacturing demand.

And at the heart of it all: the reshaping of human experience itself. A world where our ways of thinking, working, and relating must adjust to the logic of the tools—rather than the other way around.

This isn’t new.

Echoes from the Past

Fifty years ago, well-meaning American volunteers traveled to rural Mexico to “help.”

They brought ideas, energy, and middle-class assumptions. They believed they were modernizing communities, solving problems. But they imposed values that didn’t fit, created dependencies they didn’t see, and failed to listen to the people they came to serve.

The parallels now:

  • Tech workers building AI systems they believe will help humanity.
  • Imposing Silicon Valley values—efficiency, scale, optimization—on complex human problems.
  • Creating new dependencies in the name of progress.
  • Operating at a distance from the people most affected by their tools.

The logic hasn’t changed. Just the scale, the speed, and the rhetoric.

No Tool Is Neutral

You hear it often: “But they’re just tools.”

A casual shrug. As if that settles the matter.

But tools are never just tools.

Every tool carries assumptions—about the world, about what matters, about what needs fixing. A hammer assumes something needs hitting. A spreadsheet assumes life can be modeled in rows and columns. An AI system assumes something should be predicted, optimized, or automated.

These aren’t neutral starting points. They’re embedded ways of seeing.

Tools reflect choices—often invisible—about what counts as intelligence, which outcomes are desirable, whose data is worth collecting, whose voice gets heard.

And once introduced, tools don’t just sit there waiting to be used. They reshape the environment they enter.

Workflows bend to fit the tool. Expectations shift. Entire job roles get redefined. Soon, the way things could be is forgotten—because the tool has made a particular way of working feel inevitable.

Think of the smartphone. Not because the phone itself was some flawless leap forward—but because the world reorganized itself around its presence.

The pattern:
A tool arrives.
We adjust.
The adjustment creates new expectations.
Those expectations drive the need for more tools.
The room for real choice shrinks.

McLuhan, Revisited

Marshall McLuhan: “We shape our tools, and thereafter our tools shape us.”

But it’s not just a one-time shaping. It’s recursive:

  1. We build tools that reflect our worldview.
  2. These tools reshape how we behave, work, and relate.
  3. Our new behaviors lead us to build more tools.
  4. Which shape us further.

Each loop tightens the fit. Each cycle reduces friction—until the tool feels natural and the world it creates feels inevitable.

What changes everything now is speed. McLuhan observed cultural shifts over generations. Today, our behaviors are reshaped in months. Ecosystems, industries, even our attention—redesigned in real time.

The Pattern

When power wears the face of help, when solutions are offered without asking the right questions, when tools redefine what it means to be human—that’s when we need to pause.

Not to reject the tool outright.

But to ask: What values does this tool assume? What kind of person does it reward? What ways of being does it make harder?

Tools shape us. But we get to notice. We still have that responsibility.

Even—especially—when the tool says it’s here to help.

AI as the Latest Iteration

If this pattern has played out before, AI may be its most potent form yet. Not because it’s evil, but because it’s persuasive. And fast. And everywhere.

AI isn’t one thing. Large language models train us to think in particular linguistic patterns. Recommendation algorithms shape what we see and therefore what we think about. Computer vision systems define what counts as recognizable. Predictive systems encode assumptions about risk and value into consequential decisions.

Each operates differently, each shapes us differently. But they share something crucial: they all arrive with embedded assumptions about what matters, how intelligence works, and what constitutes progress.

AI doesn’t just offer answers. It frames the questions. It encodes definitions of intelligence, appropriateness, value, truth. And then it trains us—subtly, constantly—to match those definitions.

It’s easy to mistake AI for a neutral force. But AI systems are trained on data that reflect specific histories, specific cultures, specific blind spots. They’re designed to optimize, predict, and automate—as if those are self-evidently desirable things.

They aren’t.

And like the missionaries of progress before them, AI tools arrive not just with solutions, but with assumptions about what needs solving, how it should be solved, and who gets to decide.

The risk isn’t just bad code. It’s that we begin to see ourselves—our choices, our relationships, even our thinking—through the lens of what the system can recognize. And in doing so, we shrink ourselves to fit.

==

photo by Doug Vos

When Work Owns the Future: A Labor Day Reflection

Every Labor Day in Canada and the US, we pause to celebrate the contributions of workers. It’s a day of parades, barbecues, and a well-earned break from the office. But beneath the ritual is a harder truth: much of our future is already owned by work.

What if we thought differently about it? What if work weren’t defined only as the activity that earns a paycheck, but as something larger, beginning with our most basic needs as human beings?

Work Beyond the Paycheck

The word “work” usually points to paid labor, the thing we do to afford what we need. Yet that definition is narrow. It ignores a lot: the unpaid labor that sustains families, the creative pursuits that enrich our culture, and the daily acts of care that never appear on a balance sheet.

If we widened our view, work could mean any activity through which we meet life’s essentials: food, shelter, health, clothing, community. Once we start there, the familiar link between work and money becomes less obvious, even a little strange.

Needs First, Money Later

Imagine starting with the things we can’t live without. Very few of us grow our own food, sew our own clothes, or build our own shelter. We rely on a vast economic web to make these things available. We trade time and effort in one domain for the money that allows us to access what we actually need.

There’s a distance built into this arrangement. Most of us spend our days producing things we don’t directly use, while depending on others to produce the things we do. Earlier societies lived closer to the source of their sustenance. Today, if the system faltered, many of us would be unable to provide for ourselves in even the most basic ways.

That dependence raises a question: is the market economy the only, or even the best, way to organize our lives around our needs?

The Abstraction of Money

Money is a remarkable invention. Unlike bread or clothing, it isn’t consumed directly. It’s an abstraction, a placeholder for value. Precisely because of that, money can be used in ways no loaf of bread ever could: invested, speculated with, lent and borrowed.

And once lending enters the picture, so does debt. To borrow is to pull tomorrow’s resources into today at a price. That price is interest and, more importantly, time. Debt quietly rearranges our future, committing hours and years of labor not yet lived.

Debt as a Claim on the Future

Seen this way, debt is financial and temporal. It mortgages our days. The time we might have used for family, rest, or imagination has already been promised. A slice of the future is no longer ours to choose freely, thanks to past decisions.

This is where money’s abstraction becomes concrete: it reaches into our calendars and carves out blocks of our lives before we even arrive at them.

An Invitation to Rethink

So as we honor workers this Labor Day, perhaps we can also pause to ask: what would it mean to loosen money’s grip on the definition of work? What if we centered our lives less on earning and consuming, and more on directly sustaining ourselves, our communities, and the relationships that give life meaning?

Perhaps greater freedom lies not in working less or earning more, but in redefining what counts as work and in reclaiming a future that belongs to us, not to work.

==

art: Diego Rivera, Detroit Industry Murals (1932–1933)

The YouTube Mirage

In a previous newsletter, I questioned how we often equate Google searches with genuine research. This time, I turn my attention to another modern phenomenon that gives us the illusion of being informed—YouTube.

Watching a video about a topic doesn’t automatically translate to understanding. Exposure is not the same as comprehension. Let’s explore why.

During a management development program, a participant (Lee) excitedly shared that they had seen “a very interesting YouTube video” on the topic we were discussing.

Someone asked, “Great. What did it say?”

Lee’s response: “I can send you the link. You can all watch it yourselves.”

The group pressed gently: “But we’re here now, and we’re curious. Just give us the gist. Maybe we can discuss it.”

Lee couldn’t. They didn’t remember what it said—only that it existed and that it was about the topic.

The Mirage of Information

It’s a common scenario, and it reveals something essential about how we consume information today:

Awareness isn’t comprehension. Knowing a video exists doesn’t mean you understood it—or even watched it carefully.

Familiarity feels like knowledge, but isn’t. Passive consumption creates the illusion of insight without substance.

“I can send you the link” is a tell. It signals that the content itself wasn’t internalized, only bookmarked.

Information location is not information retention. Finding something is not the same as learning from it.

The illusion holds… until someone asks a question. That’s when the gap between exposure and understanding comes into view.

Consuming content without integrating it is just entertainment. Real learning changes the way you think, act, or explain.

Breaking the Illusion

To move from exposure to understanding:

  • Summarize what you consume. If you can’t say it simply, you haven’t learned it deeply.
  • Apply it. Could you use this idea to solve a real problem?
  • Talk about it. Discussion reveals blind spots that passive watching never touches.
  • Interrogate it. What’s missing? What doesn’t sit right?
  • Integrate it. How does this shift what you already believe or know?
  • Let it change you. Otherwise, it’s just passing scenery.

 

Knowing where the knowledge is isn’t the same as knowing. We live in an age of links. But links aren’t learning.

==

Those Who Are Quiet

You sit in meetings. While others talk, you listen. When you speak, what you say cuts through distraction and confusion. You notice things: voices that waver, hands that tighten, and eyes that glance away.

In discussions, you sit back and observe. You let understanding settle while others rush to speak.

When trouble comes, you don’t act until you know what’s needed. Under pressure, you stay with each moment until it becomes clear.

Your leadership gives others space to think for themselves. In your meetings, silence isn’t empty—it allows clarity to surface. You see strength in careful thought and sharp observation.

When you lead projects, patience becomes part of the process. Your teams learn the value of thoughtful pauses. You guide them gently, letting solutions emerge naturally.

When panic fills a room, you stay steady. While urgency demands quick fixes, you focus on understanding what’s wrong. Your calm steadies others when they falter.

When you speak—and you do—people listen. Your words carry weight because they’re thoughtful. You say what matters without wasting words.

Your strength is quiet, but it inspires. You help others find their clarity and confidence.

In a world where noise drowns out thought, your patience reveals what’s important. You show how waiting uncovers truth.

In hard times, people turn to you for your steadiness. You bring a quiet strength to a loud world.

I see you. I celebrate you. I honor what you bring.

==

Go HERE for more Essays.

Technology is doing more with less

Simon Sarris on careful technology:

Technology is doing more with less. This is a definition we should not lose sight of. The wheel allows one to move more weight, or with less effort. The gas boiler allows heating with less labor than coal. Email is faster and cheaper than postal mail. There are other tradeoffs made of course. (…)

 

If people hate technology and think it clashes with nature, I find it hard to blame technology. We have careless technology because we are careless in evaluating it. We demand too little of it, or we are willing to sacrifice too much for too little in return.

I am reminded of a Tolstoy quote that has always struck me: “People try to do all sorts of clever and difficult things to improve life instead of doing the simplest, easiest thing—refusing to participate in activities that make life bad.” I take this advice to heart, and I think it generalizes well. If you are stuck in a mall food court with only bad food, and you are hungry, you could always just stay hungry. (…)

 

I love technology, the removal of drudgery over the last 250 years is something we should all be more grateful for. It lets us appreciate nature more: we have more time, more travel, more food with less risk, less disease. It is easy to lose sight of just how much was gained so recently. (…)

But I dislike gadgets. I own no TVs, internet-of-things devices, home automatons, etc. In my opinion objects should not beep or be filled with blinking LEDs. Though I built my own house, I don’t own a microwave — it is simply not useful enough to justify the space or the ugliness. The stove is propane gas. I like candles. In winter we heat with firewood. Some of this is durability: these things work even when the power goes out (as it does a few times a year in this part of New Hampshire). They can do more, with less.

What is called tech — that is, what is new and digital — is not necessarily technology in any meaningful way. Often it is merely fashion. The blame cannot rest with the objects and apps, no matter how careless they are made. It is always only up to you to decide if you are getting more for less.

 

Inspiration: don’t wait for it

Simon Sarris:

Inspiration, the admixture of genius and motivation, is sometimes described as a force that strikes us after some patient lull or waiting period. This idleness is a mistake.

The Muse arrives to us most readily during creation, not before. Homer and Hesiod invoke the Muses not while wondering what to compose, but as they begin to sing.

If we are going to call upon inspiration to guide us through, we have to first begin the work.

So it is an error to wait around for inspiration, or to demand some feeling of readiness for an undertaking, or for a teacher or some other golden opportunity.

I think these slouching inclinations come partly from an overly-systematized experience during childhood school years, and partly from a fear of failure. In fact, when you stop waiting for others—for either their permission or instruction—and instead begin on your own, fumbling through, regardless of how ready you are, this could be considered one of the true beginnings of adulthood.

 

The idea that you are successful because you are hardworking is pernicious… and wrong

Minouche Shafik in The Guardian:

Shafik has joined the campaign against a winner-takes-all business culture that offers the spoils of capitalism only to those that rise to the top, putting her in the company of some of the world’s most prominent political thinkers.

 

While she has come a long way from her Egyptian birthplace, her questioning of privilege has remained consistent. “The idea that you are successful because you are smart and hardworking is pernicious and wrong, because it means everyone who is unsuccessful is stupid and lazy,” she says. Referring to her friend Michael Sandel, the Harvard philosopher, she says the next phase of history should be characterised by a shared endeavour, ending the extreme individualism of the last 40 years.

 

“The discussion we need to be having asks: what do we owe each other and what are our expectations of each other?” she says. People who think they have climbed the greasy pole on their own misunderstand how much luck had a part to play and how society, directly or indirectly, also helped them rise.”

The corporation: it’s something more than the people in it

John Naughton is surprised at journalists and commentators being horrified at corporations doing despicable things.

Don’t they understand that a corporations is essentially a superintelligent AI which is entirely focussed on achieving its purpose — which in the case of corporations these days is to maximise shareholder value? That’s why Facebook could be entirely run by clones of Mahatma Gandhi and St Francis of Assisi and would still be a toxic company.

I have been taking an unscientific survey among friends, acquaintances, and clients about the type of manager they have had throughout their careers. No list of types or categories. I just ask. Bob Sutton would not be surprised to learn that most of the answers can be clustered around the concept of asshole.

But Naughton’s idea here is different. He is talking about the corporation as a whole. He calls on John Steinbeck to illustrate his pont:

a passage from John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrathin which tenant farmers are objecting to foreclosure:

“Sure, cried the tenant men, but it’s our land… We were born on it, and we got killed on it, died on it. Even if it’s no good, it’s still ours…. That’s what makes ownership, not a paper with numbers on it.”

“We’re sorry. It’s not us. It’s the monster. The bank isn’t like a man.”

“Yes, but the bank is only made of men.”

“No, you’re wrong there — quite wrong there. The bank is something else than men. It happens that every man in a bank hates what the bank does, and yet the bank does it. The bank is something more than men, I tell you. It’s the monster. Men made it, but they can’t control it.”

The corporation is something more than the human persons in it. It’s a monster. They made it but they can’t control it.