Growing New Body Parts | Anthony Atala

I especially encourage people who think growing a new heart or liver from your own cells is still science fiction to watch this one.  (Hint:  don’t take that bet.)


Where do Ideas Sleep?

I have always wanted to create a resting place for my ideas.  Next to my stack of papers that need sorting.  Close enough that I can reach my ideas when I want to play.  Available for others who want to play with my ideas when I’m not around.

This is that place.  Feel free to roam around, play with the ideas, and please feel the freedom to leave some of your own ideas playing here on the shelf.

http://ontheshelf.com/journals

The Memory Collector

I have a hobby; I’m a collector of memories. I really enjoy remembering times and situations from my past which were meaningful to me. Now in my forties, twenty years with my wife, and a child living an active and all too-quickly approaching pre-teen life, my memories have exceed my ability to…remember. Like the breadcrumb trail left to guide storybook children home, my memories are often represented with tangible things which have also become important to me. Pictures, documents, trophies, and knick-knacks which clutter my shelves and fill moving boxes are the placeholders for memories that I no longer have room for in my mind’s attic. I have begun to wonder if these breadcrumbs of my life will simply be eaten by the birds of time and carried off to be quietly forgotten. This memory overcrowding became evident to my wife and me a few weeks ago when we found yet another box of things from a prior move to our new house. It was a box filled with things to hang on our walls, or at least things that once had enjoyed honored places on the walls of our past. With great fondness we pulled each from their cardboard boxed and newspaper wrapped tombs, and we reflected about those meaningful times. We also noted with some regret that many of them are simply not reflective of who we are now. After some time lamenting the passing of time we decided that we wanted to create a memory room. We discussed that our memory room should be similar to what as J.K. Rowling elegantly described in her Harry Potter world as a pencive. Rowling’s pencive is a place (or thing) to store memories in and which can be used to occasionally relive those old memories. Our pencive, some might argue, will be something slightly less magical. While now referring to it as a memory room, we had been calling it our master bathroom. Yes, really, our master bathroom will now also function as our memory room.

Building our memory room was simple; it already existed and had (at least in my opinion) a very important role in our lives. Now transformed by nothing more than a few picture hooks, each morning I find myself seeing memories from our past. A certificate of an associate’s degree that has fallen off my resume, in a frame that I now think of as almost too hideous to hang even in a bathroom, but nonetheless reminds me of my first apartment. At the time that degree represented the most significant educational accomplishment of my life, and literally hundreds if not thousands of hours of effort. Next to it hangs a well-framed picture of the U.S. Army’s C-17 transport plane, which my wife and her team whose signatures adorn the picture’s matting helped to bring into existence. On another wall in our small memory room hangs a candid snap of my then twenty-something wife having a moment mixed with horror and exhilaration, shooting the rapids of a river and generally trying to not becoming “one” with what must have been a blur of passing river rocks. It is that last memory which I often think of most fondly, as I was not there to have experienced it. And yet I can see on her face in the picture from that particular day that it was, at that time in her life, a very important moment. We have come to conclude that it, and the others, are memories worth not losing to the passage of time in our busy lives.

I particularly love the idea of Rowling’s pencive, in part because one’s memories can be “relived” by others. Not long ago I lived that experience myself as my young daughter, my wife, my seventy-something father and I sat reading the poems of a grandmother who I never knew. She died before my memories had a chance to form, but she left behind her poems. It was her collection of her personal poems, elegantly bound by her family upon her death, which my wife was reading aloud to my daughter. They spoke of her thoughts, her dreams, and her fears. In one of her poems of note she talked of her brining home her first child, my father, now the old grandpa to my child. My wife’s soothing voice brought us all into the memories of my grandmother, and for a time we shared her memory with her. That seventy year old “memory” is now with us, as real as something that I experienced myself, and preserved within the pages of that collection. I found myself wondering how my grandchildren will know my memories, my perspectives as they changed and grew over time, and how my priorities have developed with my world view. Where will they turn to find my memories, and what have I done to ensure they will be there to be found?

My grandmother’s memories found their voice in her poetry, yet I am no poet. I have marveled at the letters from soldiers who have penned letters in foxholes from the wars of our founding fathers, to the equally brutal fields of Indonesia, and from the deserts this very day in another part of the world far away from my keyboard. With sincere gratitude to those making such sacrifices I do not find myself in the peril of war, but rather in the comfort of my home on the weekend enjoying an exquisitely beautiful day in Washington. Where then are the moments which will give birth to the records of my memories, which I can only hope will someday adorn the memory room of someone who cares about me. If not me, who will record the pictures of my memories, or mix ink with paper to record my thoughts? Upon melancholy reflection I realized that I do, in fact, record my memories. My ink has been replaced with bits in electronic memory and my paper merely exists in our now virtual world, but my blogs have become my snapshots to be returned to like the tattered photographs of my ideas, my emotions, and the signposts of what was important to me on that day. I find myself rereading blog posts only one season old, and yet they bring me back to ideas that would otherwise have been fleeting and perhaps lost. I find comfort in knowing that they are there, and that someday perhaps I may find a way to gather them into a collection even if only for someone to look back and say, “It’s time for me too to start gathering my memories.”

My thought for you today is your ideas today are your memories of tomorrow, and my hope for you is that they too become recorded in a way that enable you and your future loved ones understand who you were, what were then your priorities, and what you were thinking about. If my memory room is any indication, such written narratives, photographs, collected documents are worth keeping, even if they only find themselves adorning the private space that you occasionally visit. Your walks down your memories’ road may be short or merely occasional, but in my opinion well worth the effort of your travels.

One Sunday morning in September, near Seattle, WA.

Fits and Snarks

I’m a huge fan of dark chocolate, the darker and less traditional the better. Milk chocolate is just too boring for me; banally sweet, with little distinction from one sampling to the next. By contrast the complexity of the flavor of dark chocolate rarely ceases to amaze me and I actually look forward to being surprised when what starts out as brief bitterness develops into a rich and complex new experience that I can savor well after the chocolate is gone. Yet when I am presented with some new dark chocolate I find myself walking a tightrope of having enough, yet knowing when too much will leave me feeling ill. One of the traps for me is that not all dark chocolate is the same even when they might initially look so similar. With some types I can consume much more, but with others I find myself put off much sooner. I have come to view many parts of my world as being very similar to my experience with dark chocolate, wanting the experience of being surprised and appreciative of the complexity, while not wanting to cross the line of too much nor failing to recognize which types will make me feel ill.

Much like my inner chocoholic, I find myself somewhat addicted to participating in interesting discussions with smart people, especially with those of whom I occasionally disagree. I love the surprise of finding out that there was more to their feedback than just my initial bitter reaction. And like my consumption of dark chocolate, I have found that there is a fine line between giving and getting just the right amount and the right type of disagreement, before simply feeling ill from overindulgence.

If “Snarky” were a brand of feedback, it would definitely be my choice to both give and receive. It’s an acquired taste to be sure, but like a good beer, cognac, dark roast coffee, or my friend dark chocolate, once you develop an appreciation for it, most find that there is more to appreciate from snarkyfeedback than meets the eye (or insert appropriate sense here). For those who prefer for a definition, I have excerpted the definitions for “snarky” from the Urban Dictionary and included them below.

It is my opinion that snarkiness requires a level of dedication which some are unwilling, or perhaps unable, to allocate. Effectively contributing in a snarky manner means you must have paid attention to the contribution that you are responding do, you thought about it (even briefly), and thereafter put in the effort to say something more than the obvious “no” or “you’re wrong,” etc. Consuming snarkiness equally requires some dedication to look past the initial bitterness to see if there are layers of complexity to appreciate, as you simply can’t reasonably judge a snark without first thinking a bit about it.

So where is the downside to this world made of fine dark chocolate feedback? As you might expect, there are times and places for snarky dialog, and not all snarks sit as well in the stomach. The fine line I will attempt to draw here is the difference between “fits” and “snarks.” While I note that snarks may have a tinge of bitterness in their taste, in my opinion they are not delivered with an intent to be negative or self-serving. Snarks are not merely an outburst of bile, misdirected animosity, nor an excuse to simply be abusive; rather they are a thought provoking manner of communication which demonstrates a dedication to the topic at hand and to the person with whom you are communicating. Fits, on the other hand, or their less professional cousin the temper tantrum, root themselves in venom and a goal of something other than being helpful or productive. I must say here that I find no value in fits, and little value in people who make it their habit to routinely communicate in that way.

Fit happens!(ok, fits happen). With the regularity of the phases of the moon and the orbit of the earth around the sun, we all have our bad moods and those moods give rise to the occasional fit. For those who know me well, let me state the painfully obvious that I occasionally overshoot snarky and fall into the realm of a fit. It is never my intention to indulge in this fit-ish behavior, and so when receiving the occasional venom infused fit from someone else I try to make my first thought: They probably didn’t mean it, or at least not as much as I’m reading into it.

To be sure, this blog is meant to be aspirational. It was inspired by a fit which arrived in my inbox sill dripping in venom. As they sender described later, they were clearly having a bad week. This person is not one of the jerks we all know; they were truly simply having a very bad week. What I should have done was follow my own advice and simply say, “They probably didn’t mean it, or at least not as much as I’m reading into it.” I was close, I got there after a brief fit of my own which I delivered to their manager, who was a better person than I was that day and recognized that I “probably didn’t mean it…” The take away, however, was that I came back to that email the next day with a more understanding perspective and consumed it again with a desire to taste the subtle flavors that were buried under the burnt crust. There were great points in there, some of which I used to modify our standard practice for the benefit of the team. If I had just thrown away the remarks as a fit, or the contributor as a jerk, I would have lost out on something really valuable.

So let me offer this encouragement to you. Know your real jerks, and frankly do what you can to limit their time in your life. Know that good people have fits, some of which cause you to lose some respect for them. Try not to make that a permanent loss, as we all have those bad days. Have some thickness to your skin and shake off the smattering of venom sprinkles before you dive in and consume. If that doesn’t work, try and save your response for another day. When you can, invest the time and thought into a witty snark. It’s far more satisfying than just telling someone they’re wrong, and since telling them they are wrong rarely gets your point across in any event, you might just get them to understand the valuable nuance of your point.

Look for dark chocolate. I have the pleasure of being surrounded by peers who work for me, and for whom I work, who are as snarky and complex as any I have ever met. Most have their fit laden and occasionally jerky days, but with rare exception has any permanent loss of respect occurred (at least that is my perspective). If you live a life of milk chocolate and watery light beer, let me beseech you to contribute some dark chocolate of your own. People will respond in kind (after a suitable period of shock because you were snarky for the first time), and it will have been worth your while. I look forward to reading about your experience in the rich and complex world of snarkiness.

Definitions of Snarky from the Urban Dictionary

Snarky

A witty mannerism, personality, or behavior that is a combination of sarcasm and cynicism. Usually accepted as a complimentary term. Snark is sometimes mistaken for a snotty or arrogant attitude. – Her snarky remarks had half the room on the floor laughing and the other half ready to walk out.

Adjective – Any language that contains quips or comments containing sarcastic or satirical witticisms intended as blunt irony. Usually delivered in a manner that is somewhat abrupt and out of context and intended to stun and amuse.

Origin: Snark=”snide remark”.

Underestimating our Users

From both within and outside software development companies it has been a theme of mine for years that we designers and engineers tend to underestimate our users. I have raised this point in both positive and negative contexts. By way of some examples I have argued that we can never underestimate the level of effort that people will embark upon to get around security measures, and I have on occasion cited examples of underestimating the seeming dedication of some users to incorrectly use what my teams had considered simple and straightforward user interfaces. I have equally argued in the positive vein about the astounding diversity and creativity of users. In that regard it is my belief that well written software should encourage a “use it how you wish” behavior, and the code and user interface ought to be extensible enough to let users find new and creative ways to make use of features that we frankly had never considered. It is this last point of underestimating how users will mis-use our software in ways which thrill them that gave rise to this blog.

As I have written about before, I have a daughter. She is seven as I write this, a fact that she would adamantly correct to be seven and three quarters. You can see that from the start my perspective about her as a user and her perspective as an individual were slightly off base, but all will end well I assure you. As I love to do, I occasionally buy things for my “eight” year old, both for her enjoyment and also for my enjoyment of seeing how she will use them. This last Friday one of my friends and mentors, as well as being a fellow dad, took me over to the Microsoft employee store to talk video games. I am still debating and X-Box, but opted this week for a relatively inexpensive sim (simulation) game called Zoo Tycoon 2. As he and I discussed, I was concerned that it might be too complex for my daughter (another underestimation), but since she loves animals it would be good fun (oh, what was I thinking).

Home I rushed, traversing Friday night traffic and calling home to forecast the “present” I had bought for her. A brief few bites of dinner stuffed down, we rushed from the table, loaded up the game, and we started to play. To speed things along I skipped the instructions, set up her zoo in the Savannah and populated it with lions. It was very exciting for the first fifteen minutes until I put too many lions in pen (hint: don’t double click) and one of them killed and ate the other.

Now I’m not sure if any of the Zoo Tycoon engineers (versions 1 or 2) considered that my daughter wouldn’t expect one of her new “pet” lions to be killed and eaten by its brethren, but let’s just say both my daughter and I were equally startled. Her emotion was punctuated by her running from the room screaming and leaving a trail of heartfelt tears. All was better a half hour and several Lion King “circle of life” references later, but it was clear to me that it was time for me to stop superimposing my user perspective upon her and time to see how she would use the game.

Several hours later…

I should here stop and note for you non-Tycoons that you can also drop amusement park characters into your zoo. Specifically the adults walking around in really bad animal costumes type, who occasionally launch into the spontaneous break-dance. Regrettably, from my perspective, the lions will not eat them. When left to her own devices, at evening’s end my daughter had mastered building pens, placing animals and other objects, and…here it comes…, decided that she would build a pen of amusement park characters, each of whom she named “Bob.” Fifty of them in a small pen of dirt, fighting for room to break-dance. Oh I’m so proud.

So what did I learn and what would I hope to teach from this experience? Certainly never say seven without including and three quarters; And of course never underestimate the software ability of an eight year old raised in a family of techie geeks; What I really want to covey, however, is that the software let her have her fun in her own (albeit somewhat disturbing) way. Did she build the zoo of my estimation? Certainly not. Did she have fun and get value from the purchase? Yes, without a doubt. Therefore was the software then well written? Yes, I think so.

As we design I believe we must expect that users will do the unexpected. We must accept that for sure, but also try to encourage it and embrace it. If a given feature will only let them do it our way and they don’t want to, we have missed the point. If they want to spend hours herding and penning a gaggle of Bobs (hmm, Flock of Bobs?) then so be it. Our goal is not a specific behavior, but customer satisfaction. We don’t have to know better than our users, just enable and empower them to use the products as they deem appropriate. Good for them and good for us.

Note: no amusement park characters were harmed in the making of this blog.

Rising Above the Weeds

I was in the weeds this week. All I could see was what seemed like hundreds of tasks that I needed to make progress on, and at some point it seemed like a good idea to use a machete and my full force to hack them all down. As you might expect, that wasn’t a good idea at all.

After flailing about, however, I did remind myself of several lessons which I have learned in my past, and about which I needed to again remind myself.

The first lesson is that even though I am often in the role of teaching the principles of management, I need to remember that the act of doing from the “Learn / Do / Teach” model is often how I learn. It is a virtuous cycle, and needs to be continuous. In addition, part of my learning often comes from my making mistakes, sometimes big ones. It is a loose paraphrase from Thomas Edison, but I do believe that I make mistakes so I can tell by contrast when I make the right decision.

The second lesson I had forgotten was to listen for the theme. I have various trusted advisors who I try to truly listento, even when I don’t share their perspective. Some of those advisors are my management, some of them are from my team, some are my peers including my wife, and all of them are my teachers. Each began saying things to me in their own words this week which I failed to stitch together as a theme. If I had just heard and listened to that theme, it would have told me I was on the wrong road. One said to me, “Did you mean to kill that fly with a brick?” Another wondered aloud with me if my team saw my actions as fighting for them, or just fighting to be a fighter. One of them suggested that I may have hurt the feelings of someone on the team by inadvertently suggesting they may have done something wrong, a message I never meant to convey. And one finally had to bluntly say to me, “That was a mistake!” as well as some less flattering, but no less incorrect descriptions.

How Did I Get Here?

There are a lot of reasons I ended up in the weeds this week, but two that were both entirely within my control to have changed.In part I simply let myself get exhausted. I had a few fifteen hour days this week, perhaps only one of which was trulynecessary. I ignored the symptoms of exhaustion, then spent even more long days working on items that seemed more critical than they actually were. I started getting sick, and then once again ignored the advice of my advisors to “Go home and rest.” One of them actually said to me, “We tell people to go home and take care of themselves when they are sick. Is thisyour idea of leading by example?” Hmm, do you hear the theme?

I also ignored one of the principles that I teach which is, “Know when to take your foot off the gas.” This week I found myself focused on small tactical issues rather than overall strategy. Some days and even weeks can be like that, and we need to be able to adjust the energy and focus we apply to any given task. When I am working on strategy and trying to motivate people I can be pretty high energy. When I am dealing with someone on a simple tactical task, hitting them with all of the energy that I use for strategy is like, “killing a fly with a brick” – or more than a little overkill. Task work at full force is also frustrating to me because I don’t see results as fast as that much energy should be producing, and it is totally exhausting for everyone involved. The advice I offer is that sometimes what is truly important is just coastinginto a turn, so you can hit the gas later on the straightaway. Ok, that racing analogy is worth briefly elaborating on, as it is part of the theme I missed. One of my trusted advisors let me play their Xbox racing game this week. It was my first time playing, and I found myself actually refusing to take my foot off the gas pedal (literally the gas pedal this time). As a result I repeatedly smashed myself into the wall. WOW, can I miss a theme or what?!

Apologize

This week in the weeds and smashing into the walls also reminded me of something equally important when you do make those inevitable mistakes, at that is to be the first to apologize. I take this lesson from Dr. Gordon Graham, a captain from the California Highway Patrol, who later in his career became an expert on managing risk, and ultimately a renowned risk management consultant who among other successes has changed dozens of CHP’s guiding policies. Gordon is a tall burly man, just the kind you want to be there to protect those in need and to ensure justice is done, even if by force. His top point of advice for individuals and companies trying to reduce and manage risk, “Teach people a willingness to apologize.” Yes really, that is his advice. Gordon noted that some may think you are weak for apologizing, but to ignore them. Risk will eventually weed those people out. The mistakes you make, but which can be corrected or at least mitigated by immediately recognizing and apologizing for your mistakes are WELL worth the scorn from the few folks who will never get it. I’ve written two apologies resulting from this week, with another one left to go. Some will I’m sure be less appreciated than others, but each will be my way of saying that I am committed to continuously learning while I do, and this was clearly a learning week.

Reminders to Myself

Rest before you exhaust yourself. Some things really can wait until tomorrow or next week. Ask for help if you can’t find the time to rest. Being tired makes it harder to find those opportunities.

Listen for the themes. Every time you hear someone say something and you think, “that was an odd thing to say to me,” stop for a minute or two and ponder why. Were there several comments like that? Can you find the theme? Is it time to ask a trusted advisor what they think of what was just said to you?

Some tasks are just simple tasks, and they don’t need your 100% passionate effort. I gave myself one hour to write and post this blog. If it is not done by then, I will be done with it for now. That’s OK.

Apologize. Do it immediately, don’t worry about being viewed as week, and don’t look back. The odds are with you that you did the right thing.

Elevators and Other Things I Hate to Love

I am winded today. No, not long winded, that’s every day. I’m out of breath because I walked up the stairs to my office. I work on the fourth floor, which may not sound like much to you, but I work in a building which has magic stairs. Doubt me, do you? I can prove it to you. I just walked up four flights, but the stairs from floor two to three was twice as long as the stairs from floor one to two. In fact, the stairs from three to four were at least ten times a long as from two to three. SEE THAT, hard evidence!

I love elevators, for so many reasons. They come when you call. They take you where you want to go. They provide time for interesting conversations that have even been named for their style, “elevator pitches.” Heck, I have had dogs for years that were less responsive to my call than elevators which I had only met that very first time by pushing their button to tell them that I was waiting and expected them to do something about it. Ah, the obedience and utility of the common elevator, how I love thee.

I also love having mentors, and in fact have a huge group of people that I consider my mentors. My mentors cause me to think or consider acting in a way that may be against the lazier inclinations of my nature. This blog is actually about two of them. They, who like so many others in my life, may not even know I consider them mentors. One of the two is my manager, and the other is a manager who works for me. Both are about my age, both have children about the age of my daughter, and both find time every day to work out. One is even a yoga instructor. Truly, I can’t fathom it. Do they have a magic timepiece that extends their days like the magic stairs that extend my climb? (Just a theory, I have no proof yet.) In part they are my mentors because they show me things I want to change about myself which may be possible, and because neither of them seems to want to force me to make those changes. In fact, they do little more than (intentionally or unintentionally) lead by their example. I find myself wanting to spend time with them for just that reason.

My manager and I arrived at my building yesterday, each heading for the fourth floor. I called for my trusty friend the elevator (who of course came as always), and we started to step in. My manager then said, really more to him than me, “I hate elevators.” I was aghast, how can one disparage the value of such a loyalty. But hate them he does, in favor of stairs, which he pointed out were just a few feet away from the elevator (hey, I wondered what that door was). I asked him if he wanted to take the stairs (please say “no” – please say “no”) “No,” he said (yeah!!), but he looked somewhat disappointed at himself. It was a look that I found oddly disturbing, and one that made me think why I wasn’t disappointed in myself.

Later that afternoon I was waiting for the elevator with the manager on my team (aka the yoga instructor). The doors opened but before I got in I said, “We could take the stairs.” With her arms full of laptop, unwieldy papers, and the other things that fill our arms and make us unstable as we roam about, she paused, looked into my face and said, “Sure, let’s do that.” And so through the odd little door near the elevators I went for the first time. You know, it’s kind of nice in there. They have windows and everything.

So here I sit in my office. My breath long since caught, penning this ode to my long lost friend the elevator, whom I will still probably see on occasion. In taking the time to catch my breath I also found a few minutes to think fondly of two of my mentors who inspired me to do this little bit of exercise and maybe live just a little bit longer to be part of the lives of my family and friends. I wonder if they know how much I appreciate it? Maybe I’ll tell them during our next “stairway pitch.”