What is FullStory? How you answer that really depends on your job and how you use the tool. I’m not trying to be obtuse; it’s just that FullStory is an analytics (SaaS) platform that captures everything your users do on your website. Understood in its most basic form, FullStory allows you to watch (Literally! Like a DVR) how a user engaged with your site down to the mouse movements, clicks, pauses, everything.
You can mine user sessions for all sorts of reasons, whether they’re for product marketing managers, customer support, design, user experience (UX), user interface (UI), development (finding errors, fixing bugs), etc.
I began paying attention to FullStory way back in 2014. A couple Xooglers from Atlanta I’d kept up with were two of the three founders and I was enthusiastically watching to see what they were cooking up.
Fast forward to late 2015 and I started seriously inquiring about roles at FullStory, had a few conversations, and started imagining the possibilities. The timing wasn’t quite right then but all was kept on the backburner. Things quieted down for a bit though I think it stayed on the backburner until late 2016 when things started getting “serious.”
Now here I am.
I’m going to be handling content marketing. You could say my job title is FullStory-teller. I hope to do for FullStory a lot of what I did for a certain minimalist footwear site. I’m just getting started, but you’ll be able to follow along at blog.fullstory.com; also, if you’re not already there, add me on instagram and twitter (these are my personal accounts).
Very excited about the future here. There is just so much potential, excitement, and opportunities.
The expression “canary in a coal mine” originates from coal miners using canaries as a kind of early warning system. The miners would take the birds into the mine and periodically check-in on their status. The delicate canaries were more susceptible to gases like carbon monoxide, so if they suddenly stopped moving, miners would be alerted of dangerous air conditions.
Hence, the expression “canary in a coal mine” is an idiomatic way of talking about events that portend negative things to come.
If you aren’t familiar with Casey Neistat, allow me to remedy the situation.
Casey Neistat is likely the most burgeoning YouTube star of 2016. Here’s his channel. I’m approaching a year having subscribed to his daily vlog videos and to my eye what Neistat is doing on YouTube is a testament to the democraticization of video content.
Clayton Christensen (along with a few other co-authors) is soon releasing a book called Competing Against Luck that will go more in-depth on Christensen’s “Jobs-to-be-done theory,” which is a way to reframe product design and product selling away from fallacious, post ergo hoc propter hoc data and towards first principles.
I keep thinking about being digitally isolated. What is “digital isolation?” In a nutshell: today we are more connected to anyone/everyone than at any point in history yet (paradoxically) we feel ever more alone. Stranger still, it seems we have chosen this as our preferred mode of existence. There’s even a joke about it: there are nine ways to reach me on my phone without talking to me; pick one of those.
It’s incredible that we can find people like us all over the world with whom we can connect in a meaningful way about a certain idea, topic, or shared interest. The Internet has made that kind of deep, direct communication a reality and it’s helping people find others who are like them. With such fantastic connectivity, you’d think people would feel less alone.
On any given random, unusual, defining personality trait or unique(-ish) personal interest, this may be true. However, some data indicates that when it comes to topics of great importance (e.g. how we feel about ourselves, about others, about family, about sex, etc. versus what we think about politics, morals, religion, or our favorite TV show/sports team), it seems we’ve got fewer people to talk to than ever.
Take, for instance, a study published by the American Sociological Review that indicates that from 1985 to 2004, 43.6% of the population reports that they only discuss important matters with either no one or with only one other person. From the study, “The Modal number of discussion partners has gone from three to zero.” And that was as of 2004!
That’s not good. You see, while the Internet functions fantastically at satisfying our highest level needs — think: our convictions about politics, morals, religion, or just our favorite music, sports team, or TV show — it’s not so great when our human needs become more basic (See: Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs). Here I’m talking about our sense of place in a community, our effectiveness at connecting to friends and family, and our more basic sense of satisfaction with day-to-day life.
Where is the breakdown? From what I can tell, it stems from our ability to be too surgical in our interactions with other human beings. Imagine needing to tell someone you care about (a friend, a boss, a spouse) something that may upset them. You can tell them over the phone, in person, or over email. Which method gives you the most control? I think for most it’d be the email: we can be very precise in crafting the message, we can shield our emotions, and we can save ourselves from seeing the reaction (one we anticipate will be negative) of the recipient.
Or think about how we interact on social networks like Facebook. There, we are able to blast out what we’re doing through text, photos, or even video. While the common complaint about Facebook posts is that the stuff shared is overly mundane (e.g. photos of what we’re eating), the truth of these communications is that they are all overly filtered.
One of the most popular services on Facebook of recent note is Instagram. Instagram empowers us to apply filters to our photos to make them look better, which given how most camera phone photos look, is a much needed service. So Instagram’ed photos are hugely popular–so much so that they are cliche.
Instagram is just a more specific version of what Facebook is generally. On Facebook (or any digital platform), we get to be the editors of who we are to the world. The result? What we share about ourselves amounts to being an “Instagram’ed” version of who we are. It’s polished. Selective. Distilled. And perhaps a little cliche.
It’s not that we never “dress to impress” or filter ourselves to others in “meat space.” Clearly we do. It’s just that doing so is so much harder when we’re sharing physical space with someone else. When we spend time physically with other people, we don’t even have to say anything at all. An agenda isn’t required.
Today, it’s easy to think of the quiet time spent with another person as time we could be spending reading email, checking favorite websites, playing games on our digital devices, or engaging in some other activity (something to fill the voice). We do think of these micro-instances this way. More and more we never need to waste time without engaging something or someone somewhere.
When we trade this (ostensibly unused) time with others for distraction, what do we lose?
Whenever something bad happens to a friend or loved one, I often struggle to find something meaningful to say to express my condolences and concern. I often just say, “I’m here for you if you need anything.” I want to “be there” for my friends or family. But what does “being there” mean?
Rather than being some vacuous statement, I think “being there” for someone else is a hugely important part of having a meaningful relationship. “Being there” is being available–physically and mentally–to embrace the people I care about but it usually only happens if the other party sees me as being available.
Being there is giving them my time and attention and letting them waste it in silence if they choose. It’s being vulnerable to them–the power to spend my time however they choose (and it goes both ways). If they need to burn some time around me in silence that’s fine. If they need to get something out then being present to that person gives them the chance to scrounge up the courage to have it out.
To date, I don’t know of any way to “be there” for someone else digitally. Being reachable by 10 ways via 5 computers/tablets/mobile devices is not the same as being available.
(Come to think of it, the nearest technology that gets at availability may be instant messaging where you appear “available” to chat … but that’s still not the same as physically being available to others.
So there are two things at play. We increasingly choose filtered communications over unfiltered communications thanks to ever-more ways to digitally relate to other people (or distract ourselves) and there’s less and less time spent being present to those we are physically near.
The result? We feel more alone. Our digital world isolates us.
And when the going gets tough, we don’t know where to turn or who to talk to because there’s no status update on Facebook for needing a shoulder to cry on right now nor are we comfortable unloading our personal fears and anxieties or even our simple joys to our digital friends–the ones we’ve never met in person who happen to share a fancy for Medieval cooking or hilarious Internet memes on reddit.
This is how it is today in a world where we are ever-more connected to others, we lack the sort of connection that matters most: simply being present to the relationships that matter, even when those interactions are nothing more than wasted time in another’s presence.
The time spent actually being present to the people we care about is never wasted: it’s the opportunity to be real. To be there. How do we get back to that? That’s the kind of connectivity that lasts.
David D. Friedman had a thought-provoking post over over the weekend — Middlemen, Specialization and Birthday Parties. Therein he talks about how specialization and division of labor have allowed for us to cheaply outsource various aspects of our lives that were formerly almost necessarily DIY. Below is an example I can relate to now that I’m living as a parent in my own era of kid’s birthday parties — and note Friedman’s reaction (second paragraph):
This afternoon I attended my grandson’s birthday party. It was held at a facility obviously designed for holding children’s parties. The entertainment, preceded by a safety video, consisted of playing on and in large inflatable structures—slides, a bouncy room, an obstacle course. That was followed by cake and pizza, after which everyone went home, the birthday boy accompanied by a bag of unopened presents.
Looking at it as an economist, it is clear that the change from then to now represents an increased use of the division of labor, something that, as an economist, it is hard for me to object to. And yet I do, and I do not think the reason is entirely a conservative preference for the way things used to be. For somewhat similar reasons, I find having guests over for dinner a different, and better, practice than taking them out to a restaurant. Homes have an emotional dimension to them. To invite someone into your home, whether an adult colleague or a child’s friend, is to some small degree to treat him as part of your family.
I tend to agree. I also can’t help but think there’s a tie-in here to buying a friend a gift card rather than a gift. Sure, giving a friend cash or a gift card is like saying, “Hey, I know that no one knows what you want better than you do, so you make the choice and get what you want!” The reality, for me anyway, is that gift cards make the gift, on some level anyway, work. Now I have to remember to allocate the cash to buying something. I have to remember I have the gift card. Whereas getting a gift in hand is more of a risk on the gifter, it also is more personal. I learn something about the giver in the process. I also recognize that the giver sacrificed their time to pick the gift out. These little things somehow add a lot of depth to the experience — at least they do for me.
I like Friedman’s mention of having friends over to your house in lieu of going out to eat. While we haven’t intentionally engaged in a preference of eating-in with friends over eating-out with them, we probably do it about 50% of the time. Going to have to try to bump that up, if possible. Recently, we’ve done a lot more takeout for these meals with friends, which helps some with the work, but still keeps the gathering more personal and relaxed. I’d never really thought about how you lose some of the emotional dimension by eating out at restaurants instead of in your house. It’s a great point.
Overall, I feel like friendships and family-friendships are incredibly hard to build these days. Everything seems over-formalized, requiring lots of advance planning to get together with other couples and couples with kids. “Playdates” are a normal thing now, which just strikes me as a little bizarre.
Anyway, I’m digressing from Friedman, so I’ll stop. Anyone else feel like he does? Like I do?
I keep returning to the idea of action (doing) over inaction (thinking). I also have been likening doing vs. thinking as similar to producing vs. consuming. The problem with the consumption/production dichotomy is that the lines aren’t always clear as to which is which. Sometimes you have to consume to produce.
Things I consume:
food/energy/time (necessary consumption)
blogs/books/tweets/email (some necessary, some unnecessary)
television (almost entirely unnecessary)
Things I produce:
blog posts/emails/ideas (derivative of consumption)
work/research/analysis (requires consumption)
What I mean by producing “well being” is that I create satisfaction through expending effort. It seems that production takes effort. I have to push my body through the mild discomforts of squatting 275 lbs. to have the satisfaction (as strange as it is) of a fatigued body. I have to work through the mental gymnastics of writing out my thoughts to create a blog post. I have to gather data and cajole understanding to create analysis. It takes work.
Production has costs.
But perhaps the greatest cost of production is breaking the inertia of not doing anything at all. Or worse still, imagining all the things you could (should) be doing but never doing any of them. Not only does all of this low-grade effort fail to produce anything at all, it also reinforces thinking over doing. It habitualizes inaction. It amplifies the inertia.
This is why failure to move is the state of paralysis. It’s a tautology, but it also boils down inaction to it’s most basic component: not doing.
I’ve been thinking about this lately because I have so many ideas bubbling around in my head, most of which could be “big.” And it’s that notion that these ideas have huge potential that makes me fear screwing them up. Meanwhile, by nature of being “big,” they also have explicit costs. I can very easily envision how much work they will take to make them succeed. And wouldn’t you know it? The more I think about them, the harder it becomes to act on them.
And like all productive efforts, all I have to do to break the state of paralysis is to move.
This strikes me as relevant to mastering any skill, and reminds me of George Leonard’s “Mastery” (a bit of a summary of Mastery can be found by Todd Becker, who prompted me to read Mastery in the first place — it’s a quick, inspiring/challenging book).
Watching that video reminds me of how I “became an artist.” I did a lot of art/cartooning as a kid and people would say to me, “You’re talented.” Being an artist was then, and still is today, looked at as some sort of “gift” bestowed from the heavens (and or my genetics). I’ve never believed this personally though.
How I became an artist was much simpler: I kept trying to copy the cartoon image of Super Mario over and over and over again, doing it better and better each time. I remember doing it 20-30 times one night for my classmates in maybe 1st grade. What I didn’t realize at the time was that I was inadvertently practicing how to copy something I saw with my eyes and put it down onto paper. Without any prompting or structured learning from parents or teachers, I trained myself as a five or six year old to draw cartoons.
This is the lunchbox that made me an artist:
This is how we learn: practice, perseverance, stumbling, and trial and error.