"In 8.3 miles, take a left on De Diego Boulevard." The voice on the navigator's iPhone counted down as we got closer to our destination. "In 7.5 miles, take a left on De Diego...."
Ugh. I hate the talking map.
But regardless of my feelings about it, the voiced gps is a critical tool here. So today we were listening to some disembodied voice tell us where to go, and we followed it blindly.
In between instructions, I thought of how our mission has changed since we first came. When we first arrived in Puerto Rico, we were desperate to get people and material onto the island (well, we are still desperate to get materials here).
But we are now focusing on a whole new set of variables. How do we increase productivity on a time-and-materials contract? How do we ensure that the lines are assigned to crews who can complete them fastest? How do we acquire access to staging areas where we can put stuff where it is easy to get to? When do we stop using the generator that we put in to power up a community down south?
As we answer those questions, our focus changes.
It really isn't all that different from listening to the disembodied New Zealand female voice defining the road I am going down. She can't really see where we are going, she doesn't know what the traffic is like (I know, current technology is getting there, but still), and she doesn't know what tree has fallen across the road and is going to make us turn around and find another route.
She also gets stuff wrong. Sometimes she sends me down a one-way street the wrong way - which happened. Or tells me to take a left, which would take me across a four-foot concrete barrier and across oncoming traffic on a six-lane highway - which also happened. Or takes me to a gated community that is ALSO named Calle 2....
But she knows where the roads are. And she gives you a good general map of the landscape. And she can help navigate the way there. She can even re-calibrate your path, depending on which gated community you accidentally turned into.
Our plan of action - every plan of action - is the same way. We have a lot of information that we use to come up with the path we will follow. And there is a certain point at which it is better to commit to the path you are on, despite a little bit of traffic (we got stuck for 45 minutes in a choke-point on the road today, because we weren't willing to find a new path). Until there is clear benefit for changing the path, we stay the course.
But if we are clinging to the words on the page - the road map we agreed to at the beginning - we are sending bad money after good. Some times, we have better, more recent information than we knew when the plan was established. When that happens, our path changes.
"In 4 miles, take a left on De Diego...."
We are further down the road. We are no longer where we started, and slavishly following the original instructions is stupid.
We took a left on De Diego. We got to the yard. We counted trucks and talked to the yard manager. We got information about how desperate they were for the materials. We heard about their concerns about salvaging the material from old poles. We took down names. We got a feel for the frustration they feel, about the safety concerns (a guy fell 50' from a tower last week - and survived) and about what they need to do their work well. Some were defensive. Some were challenging us. Some evaded.
All of them are here to fix the problems. All are going down the path with us. And trying to bring the lights back on. Suggesting different paths, arguing with us about how to light up the island.
They are like us. They are here.
Estamos aqui.
Ugh. I hate the talking map.
But regardless of my feelings about it, the voiced gps is a critical tool here. So today we were listening to some disembodied voice tell us where to go, and we followed it blindly.
In between instructions, I thought of how our mission has changed since we first came. When we first arrived in Puerto Rico, we were desperate to get people and material onto the island (well, we are still desperate to get materials here).
 |
| Empty trucks parked on the yard in the middle of the day. |
As we answer those questions, our focus changes.
It really isn't all that different from listening to the disembodied New Zealand female voice defining the road I am going down. She can't really see where we are going, she doesn't know what the traffic is like (I know, current technology is getting there, but still), and she doesn't know what tree has fallen across the road and is going to make us turn around and find another route.
She also gets stuff wrong. Sometimes she sends me down a one-way street the wrong way - which happened. Or tells me to take a left, which would take me across a four-foot concrete barrier and across oncoming traffic on a six-lane highway - which also happened. Or takes me to a gated community that is ALSO named Calle 2....
But she knows where the roads are. And she gives you a good general map of the landscape. And she can help navigate the way there. She can even re-calibrate your path, depending on which gated community you accidentally turned into.
Our plan of action - every plan of action - is the same way. We have a lot of information that we use to come up with the path we will follow. And there is a certain point at which it is better to commit to the path you are on, despite a little bit of traffic (we got stuck for 45 minutes in a choke-point on the road today, because we weren't willing to find a new path). Until there is clear benefit for changing the path, we stay the course.
But if we are clinging to the words on the page - the road map we agreed to at the beginning - we are sending bad money after good. Some times, we have better, more recent information than we knew when the plan was established. When that happens, our path changes.
"In 4 miles, take a left on De Diego...."
We are further down the road. We are no longer where we started, and slavishly following the original instructions is stupid.
We took a left on De Diego. We got to the yard. We counted trucks and talked to the yard manager. We got information about how desperate they were for the materials. We heard about their concerns about salvaging the material from old poles. We took down names. We got a feel for the frustration they feel, about the safety concerns (a guy fell 50' from a tower last week - and survived) and about what they need to do their work well. Some were defensive. Some were challenging us. Some evaded.
All of them are here to fix the problems. All are going down the path with us. And trying to bring the lights back on. Suggesting different paths, arguing with us about how to light up the island.
They are like us. They are here.
Estamos aqui.
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