Michael E. Gruen

Don’t fix problems—unwind them.

Humanity’s problem-solving process is demonstrably flawed. When we attempt to solve problems, our first instinct is correct conundrums with fixes. However, fixes tend to ignore the causes and roots of problems. In this manner we treat symptoms, not problems.

I am not talking in abstract: people’s flawed approach to problem-solving shows up everywhere in modern life, ranging from mandatory drug cocktails to automobile design.

Example 1: Drugging the Youth

In recent years there’s been a marked increase of diagnosed personality disorders among students. Students with short attention spans are labeled ADD; those with gobs more energy, ADHD. In response, we medicate—sometimes without option—to “fix” chemically-imbalanced kids.

It’s an easy solution: medicate kids and they’ll behave “normally”. As a society, this is how we addressing the ADHD “problem”. But, we’re actually just treating a symptom.

Consider why a kid might score as ADHD: their energy levels might be out of whack due to a high-sugar and largely high-fructose corn syrup diet, or their physical inactivity might be leading to heightened stress levels, leading to social anxiety and poor behavior. Or, their environment at home might not be ideal.

…or, he might just be an 8-year old who’s extremely curious about the world and explores it on a bike and by poking inquisitively at the dirt. Maybe our idea of normal “order” as it relates to Attention Deficit Disorder is flawed, or that we’re doing things to our kids that cause ADD. Instead of examining this, we seek to medicate. We treat the symptom.

Without looking at the secondary effects of medicating kids (or looking in the mirror, for that matter) let’s look at another example where we treat the symptom instead of the problem—and what probably most people don’t think about as a problem at all.

Example 2: Starting and Stopping Cars

First, let’s reframe a car trip as a set of problems:

As designed, cars transport a certain number of people from one point to another. Since you can’t just put people in a box and expect magic to take you there, there are a number of problems that need solving:

1. The car won’t move! The problem: it needs to go.
2. The car is now moving! The problem: it needs to stop.

This is how we fix these problems:

1. The car won’t move! Let’s spend energy: The engine will get it to move!
2. The car is now moving! Let’s spend energy: The brakes will get it to stop!

In both instances, we treat each part of the process as a problem needing a unique solution. But, what if we were to reframe it? Let’s think of braking a “un-going”:

1. The car won’t move! Let’s spend energy: The engine will get it to move.
2. The car’s is now moving! Let’s give the energy back to the engine and we’ll stop!

You’ve heard this called regenerative braking. While the technology is primitive, the concept is not. Ideally, the transaction cost of moving a person from point A to point B should only require energy to overcome wind resistance and friction. (And even there—futurists will tell you—there’s room for improvement.) We, however, currently spend energy at every step of the process: we treat each stage as a discrete problem to solve, not a discrete problem to undo.

In our minds, starting and stopping are both problems. But, opposed to identifying and treating them like opposing problems where one is the solution to the other, we treat them individually like symptoms. Where the cost could have been simply the cost of initiating and managing the start, stop, and travel friction, our universal solution is pricey and costly at every stage.

In terms of energy output, it seems our cars were primarily designed to expend energy, and secondarily to transport us from one place to another.* Inasmuch, when we “fix” problems by treating its symptoms, we generate new problems to fix. Over time, these problems layer over each other into never-ending abstraction.

Feedback loops

Unfortunately, we’re addicting to solving problems, not undoing them. Our economy is fundamentally based on solving problems and pain points, and common perception is that it’s cheaper to address problems by patchwork than to rethink how problems arose in the first place and undoing the situation.

And, unfortunately, it is. Treating problems symptomatically is easier. It’s easier to describe and easier to act upon and easier to think about with a divide-and-conquer methodology. There are fewer moving parts in each part of the problem, and any externalities created through “solving” the problem are somebody else’s problem, or a problem we can put off until later.

Ultimately, we create more work for ourselves—problems beget more problems, and these ill-conceived “solutions” don’t adequately address underlying problems, if at all. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry once noted, “Perfection is attained, not when there is nothing more add, but when there is nothing left to take away.”

Let’s stop fixing problems and start removing them.

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*On that note, hasn’t anyone else found it weird that we take up half of our available roadway in New York City for the storage of empty cars?

What’s perhaps most disturbing about the 2010 Olympic Luger Noder Kumaritashvili’s death was its familiarity.

When I first watched the video of 2010 Olympic Luger Noder Kumaritashvili’s accident, I was struck—not by the gruesome or graphic nature of the clip—but by its familiarity. Like many gamers, I’ve seen this sort of thing before. Countless times:

Life doesn’t have a reset button. But, when videographers and reporters depict events in a similar fashion—showing only the incident and none of the aftermath—the mind tends to catalog the event in abstraction. Without the sense of finality or consequence, significance is lost.

Those sensitive to violence will have more trouble letting go of what they just saw: for them, the image shocks them and significance isn’t as likely lost. But, for others used to violence and realistic depictions of violence, it’s more likely to be stored as another datapoint for how a human body can crumble at speed.

In discussing this with my friend, Ben Edwards, he remarked how age groups have responded with stark contrast: on average, people tend to be increasingly upset in correlation with age. And it makes sense: the younger you are, the greater chance you’ve been exposed to abstracted violence. The older you are, the greater chance you’ve either experienced real violence or none at all.

I’m not claiming that familiarity with violence is the problem here; but, rather, in presenting violence in the same cut-away shot as a video game does reduces its meaning and impact. And, while I understand that the “money shot” is in those critical albeit violent moments, the media should take note to craft a story that does not shy away from the aftermath of the incident. The Huffington Post has an appropriate feature.

How we remember what we’ve seen is more important than what we’ve seen. And, in order to distinguish real events from virtual events, we need to be mindful: how we frame violence changes the way it’s absorbed. A viewer need not have to review or watch the aftermath of a violent event. But, it’s important that we frame the violence appropriately so we can make sense of it, remembering that the victim often doesn’t get a reset button. Or, if you’re not going to frame it properly, don’t show it at all.

Those who know me know my affection for Continental Airlines… that was until a two days ago.

I flew Continental Airlines because of their no bullshit policy: a flight includes a seat, pillow, meals, and all the accouterment you’d expect from a high quality airline. Coupled with great customer service, smooth check-in, and fair prices, it all made sense.

Until today. Today, I checked in and was informed on the e-ticket check-in kiosk that there was a $15 charge per bag. I’ve heard of other airlines doing this, but not my dear Continental. I pay the $15 (I couldn’t carry on the bag if I wanted to due to TSA liquid regulations… but don’t get me started on that one) and walk through security.

Waiting for my flight, I call Continental for clarification on the change in policy. Mostly, I was concerned because nowhere within my normal routine of booking a flight on continental.com was any clear and obvious mention of a bag charge. The conversation went something like this:

“Hi. My name’s Michael Gruen and I have a question about your new bag checking charge. I don’t recall any mention of this when I purchased a ticket, nor in my frequent-flier mailings; I’m not happy about the change and I’d like to talk about it.”

“The website clearly states the baggage policy change. If you have a question about that, I can forward you on to our website technical team.”

“I don’t recall anything about that on the website while booking my ticket, nor do I think you’ve made an earnest (if any) effort to notify your frequent fliers and OnePass members of the fare change. Really, this is kind of bullshit.”

“Oh dear! I don’t have the patience to deal with swearing. Releasing call.” *click*

Oh, Continental, that was smart: hang up on audibly upset, albeit polite customer who’s willing to work with you. I call back.

“Hi. My name’s Michael Gruen and [...] I’m not happy about the charge and I’d like to talk about it.”

“The charge went in to effect about a month ago. When did you book your ticket?”

…blah blah blah, and then the rep said…

“Yes, your ticket falls under our new baggage policy.”

“I’m sure it does. I’m saying I recall no mention of the change, nor any effort on your part to alert me to this charge between my purchasing the ticket and my showing up, with bag, at the airport. And I’d like to talk about what we can do here.”

“That’s a question for our website technical support team.”

“But, it’s not a techni—” *click-transfer-hold music*.

Seriously, Continental? You effectively hung up on me twice over a $15 charge on a $300 ticket to O’Hare from Newark on a Boeing 737-300. This isn’t a commuter flight, and I’ve flown Continental in nearly every month this year.

So, I immediately call American Express (a company I still strongly endorse) and, after a 5 minute discussion, they put in an inquiry on my behalf into the issue and will get back to me via e-mail. And, if they can’t work it out, they encourage me to dispute the charge.

In the end, I don’t mind paying $15 on top of my $300 ticket to check my bag. I just want the airline to be upfront about it and, if they’re charging for baggage, lower the ticket price accordingly.

So, congratulations Continental– you’ve earned your $15 bag checking charge (assuming American Express doesn’t nullify that) but lost a raving fan and customer. I encourage you to call your marketing department and learn how much it cost to earn my business in the first place.

Update: Continental just charged me $50 to fly standby.

Update #2: That “confirmed” window seat turned into a middle seat when I arrived at the gate. Then, they checked my carry-on bag because there was no more room.

Update #3: Ticketing agent blames me for delaying the plane by bringing a carry on. I am livid.