Or, “The latest chapter in my fool’s quest to discover a productivity framework that magically makes me effortlessly productive”. So it goes.

I’ve always considered my todo list as a list of things I need to do (for obvious reasons). But I had a minor epiphany and realized that, in my current role, everything I do has exactly zero value until I communicate it to the right people.

For example: One big item on my todo list now is to finish writing a proposal for improving how we evaluate new game ideas. But if the overarching objective is “Improve how we evaluate new game ideas”, the direct actions to achieve this are “Convince the right important people and get approval”, followed by “Tell everybody about the changes”. These are accompanied by the prerequisite sub-tasks, “Write up a convincing proposal” and “Update the existing guideline documents”.

In fact, almost everything I want to accomplish can be divided as The Communication and The Preparation for the communication. In most cases, the communication is the part that holds the actual impact.

It’s a subtle difference, but is very important for my perspective. Previously, I moved through my tasks sequentially. First I write the proposal. After that’s finished, then I schedule a meeting to present it. If that goes well, I propagate the results.

With this new framework though, I’m grounded in the final goal, and understand that everything hinges on the right communication. Writing the proposal is top on the list and is what takes most of my time, but in terms of actually achieving things, it’s just a precursor to the real action of using it to convince people.

I used to be a Maker. I had a list of things (mostly documents) I had to produce in order for my team to progress. Some meetings were necessary, like everybody getting together at the beginning to figure out what exactly we needed to make and how, but the focus was on the doing that came after. Focused work uninterrupted by meetings was ideal.

My current role flips that on its head, though. I can do all day on my laptop, but it won’t make any difference until I communicate it to the right people. By habit, I was pleased by having an entire day free of meetings, but slowly it dawned on me that those days weren’t accomplishing anything. Of course I need time for myself to output certain things, but it should be framed as being preparation for an upcoming communication, and not as the actual goal.

Aside: I’m very conscious of my usage of the word “meeting” here, because it is such a loaded term. Nobody like a day full of meetings. But a day full of communication, conversation, and discussion? That is more palatable.

So what does this mean for me? I haven’t settled on a workflow yet, but when I record something I need to do I will frame it as the following:

1. The key thing I want to accomplish
2. The communication required to make that happen
3. Things I need to prepare for that communication
4. Notes and deadlines for the above

Some communications might require no preparation. Those are the easy wins, as I can immediately set a time for discussion (or even just send an email) and put it out of my mind.

Some tasks might require no communication. These are random things that I have to do for whatever reason, and will probably end up being mostly busy-work. I’ll find space for these somewhere in-between, as they are not a priority.

The core of my efforts should be the preparation + communication combos. If I want to enforce a fast pace upon myself, I could even book the meeting first and hold myself accountable to prepare in time.

This should be a simple enough framework to chunk my efforts into meaningful objectives, while setting clear priorities. The key insight for me is that communication is the star of the show, and my personal outputs are merely the preparation.

My daily commute includes a 20-minute bike ride to the train station. I started this as a way to keep my body moving, but I’ve come to love it for the freedom it gives my mind. I can think about whatever I want to, but it’s also all right to not think about anything.

The weather is nice today, and I listen to the birds talking at one another.

The sun has started getting higher in the sky when I leave, so I’ll probably want to start wearing my sunglasses again soon.

I can look ahead to what I will do today, or work through a tricky problem I’ve been stuck on. Or I can look around and notice things around me.

Or I can let my mind wander and think about any random thing. Or I can just focus on riding the bike.

Or I can space out for a while.

It doesn’t matter, and there’s no pressure.

I see the nice older lady who lives a few streets down walking her Shiba. I slow down to say hello, and she wishes me a good day at work. I don’t actually know her name, and my window to ask politely has long passed. But I do know her dog’s name, and she knows our kids’ names, and we talk every now and then. She’s very soft-spoken and polite.

I’ve considered listening to music while I ride, or a even a podcast, but the idea is just viscerally unappealing to me.

We spend so much of our time putting things in, though our eyes, or our ears. Consumption is implied to be productive, which means passing up on an opportunity to consume is a poor use of your time. I don’t buy it. I won’t be productive while I’m on a bike.

I like having this time to myself, to take a break from the pressure to put anything in, or to push anything out. Confession: sometimes I hold my breath, just for a change of pace from always breathing in and breathing out and breathing in and breathing out.

I suppose this is what leads many people to meditation, but I don’t have the discipline to make time like that at home. If I ever had a quiet 30 minutes to do with as I please (fellow parents of young children are laughing along with me), I would, with zero hesitation or regret, use it to play Clair Obscur: Expedition 33.

I shift my hips and counter-steer to ease into the turn.

It doesn’t really feel like I’m turning, in the strictest sense of the word. I push down and bend the bike’s motion through careful twists while I stay centered on top. Riding a bicycle is one of the few physical activities that give me joy to perform. I feel extremely comfortable on a bike, and I’ve come to appreciate that more and more.

Gently weaving back and forth between the manhole covers is a game I play while looking for the smoothest path.

Here’s the big hill that lets me get going pretty darn fast on the way down. I know I need to be careful, but I just can’t help it. I feel the wind blast my face, and hear it whistle around my ears.

I love to go fast. That is something that I’ve come to recognize about myself. On skis or a snowboard, I would always end up going just a little bit too fast. When I reach the bottom I am sweating, with burning legs and a big grin on my face. There’s something tremendously satisfying about hitting those speeds using only my body and a plank of reduced friction.

How fast am I going now? It must be at least 30km/h, but honestly it probably feels a lot faster than it actually is.

Riding a motorcycle, too — that was a special experience. I only had mine for about 6 months before selling it to move out of the country, but I still vividly remember how it feels. With just a little twist of your wrist like so, you’re immediately pulled forward by the tank of raw power you’re sitting on. So easy, and so liberating. All of that power sitting right there, ready, just waiting for you to lean forward and whisper, “Yes, you may.”

There aren’t dedicated bike paths here, but most of my route goes through small residential streets so it’s very pleasant. You do need to be careful though, around the many branching side-streets.

There is more foot traffic here, and the person riding ahead is going fairly slowly. I could try to pass, but the streets are narrow, so I’ll just ride slower for a while and stay behind. That’s fine.

The most important thing when riding a bike through a little city like this is to be aware of your surroundings so that you can anticipate what might happen. The next most important thing is to know when to slow down, or to even stop for a second. Too many people will do anything at all except slow down.

For some reason there is a fairly big rice paddy here, right behind a modern apartment building. Who own this? Why did they decide on this spot to create a rice paddy?

The muddy water is accented by neat rows of small green sprigs — they must have planted them pretty recently. In the summer, this entire field will become shockingly green.

I’ve arrived at the bicycle parking lot at the station. You have to get a ticket at the machine when you go in, and there’s a lady in front of me. The screen says “Push the button for a ticket” and she’s pushing the picture of the button, thinking it’s a touch-screen. I point her to the big green button that’s below the screen. She laughs. She thanks me, and we laugh together.

I was pointed to an article on Cosmographia which in turn shared an archive of photos taken in 19th century Japan. These are amazing photos, but what struck me was how familiar some of them felt. Photos taken from 150 years ago should feel like looking into another world, but some of these scenes, the architecture, are still very present today. It makes it clear how cultural artifacts are so remarkably well-preserved here.

Here are some photos that stood out to me, alongside their modern-day comparisons.

Youmeimon gate at Nikko Toshogu

The southern moat at Osaka Castle

The bridge at Sumiyoshi-taisha

The pagoda at Shitenno-ji

Old Japan is ingrained in New Japan

Japan is filled with modern scenes, from sprawling cityscapes to modern skyscrapers, bustling intersections to garish side-streets. Yet often right next to these scenes you can also find elements of an old culture, perfectly preserved and very much of a part of modern life.

I’m sure this is a big part of the country’s allure to visitors, to be able to experience not only a foreign culture, but in many cases a culture from a different time as well. It’s easy to take for granted when you live here, but it truly is a rare and special environment.