After Game 5's win, I was feeling confident that the Toronto Blue Jays would win the World Series. History placed us at roughly a 75% probability of success. Polymarket had even flipped in favor of the Jays for the first time. We were up 3–2 in the series and heading home.
But of course that didn't happen on Saturday. Toronto lost.
We Torontonians will always remember the 2025 Blue Jays and how fun of a season it was, but history doesn't care about second place. What history will remember is that the Los Angeles Dodgers went back-to-back and strengthened their baseball dynasty. This is to be expected.
But here's the thing, if you watched the series, you'll know that it could have gone either way. We lost in Game 7 in extra innings, after looking like the better team throughout most of the series.
What if Isiah Kiner-Falefa had taken a slightly bigger lead at third? What if that ball had never gotten improbably wedged under the outfield padding? What if Andy Pages had collided with Kiké Hernandez and not made the catch? The list goes on.
My point is not to be a sore loser — congratulations to Los Angeles — my point is that a few millimeters are all it takes to separate sadness from celebration. (Inches also work, but I prefer to use the international standard for weights and measures.)
It's a good lesson for life and business. Small, consistent changes can be all that it takes, especially because over time they compound.
It reminds me of something that chef Daniel Hadida says in this video when talking about Restaurant Pearl Morissette (in the Niagara Benchlands). He says, "I'm willing to go significantly harder to achieve slightly better." And that's because slightly is all it takes.

The above charts — taken from a recent Financial Times article by John Burn-Murdoch called "The troubling decline in conscientiousness" — should be viewed as alarming. For some of our key personality traits, it is showing a decline in extroversion for all age groups, a decline in agreeableness (except for the 60+ crowd), a spike in neuroticism (again, except for the 60+ crowd), and a massive decline in conscientiousness, particularly for young people aged 16-39.
Why does this matter?
Well, according to Burn-Murdoch's article (tweet summary here), the two strongest predictors for overall life success are conscientiousness and neuroticism. These traits are more important than a person's socio-economic background and raw cognitive abilities. They predict career success, the likelihood of getting a divorce, health and life expectancy, financial stability, and more.
Conscientiousness is defined as "the quality of wishing to do one's work or duty well and thoroughly." But simply speaking, conscientious people tend to dependable, disciplined, and committed. They are careful and deliberate, rather than careless and impulsive.
Neuroticism, on the other hand, is generally defined around emotional reactivity. Psychologists define it in terms of the degree that someone is prone to things like anxiety, self-doubt, and sadness. Someone with high neuroticism might, for example, feel easily stressed, worry excessively, and/or dwell on past mistakes. This trait predicts outcomes that run in the opposite direction of conscientiousness: lower career satisfaction, higher divorce rates, reduced life expectancy, and so on. It can also heighten risk perception, which makes neurotic people more likely to overlook potential opportunities.
So once again, it is alarming that these two traits are shifting meaningfully in the wrong directions for young people. Burn-Murdoch puts at least part of the blame on our hyper-connected and high-distraction digital lives. He also hypothesizes that AI could exacerbate this problem. If you're a high conscientious person you might use LLMs to supercharge your abilities; whereas if you're a low conscientious person you might use them to further check out.
The good news is that these traits can be trained. We are all products of our habits and environments. And I'm finding it personally helpful to even just write about these findings. It is also reminding me of a good friend of mine from grad school who used to always espouse something that he liked to call "casual intensity." His thinking was that you need to be on top of things and get shit done. But don't stress about it. Be confident in your abilities.
I think that's a good way to try and approach things.

A few weeks ago I accidentally sparked, via this tweet, an entertaining debate about what it takes to be called a developer. This led to my post "Do you even develop, bro?", where I explained my view on when it might be appropriate. (Spoiler: It's a broad term.) But my friend Brendan Whitsitt of Imprint Development has just published an even better post on the topic. It's called "Developer vs. Dirt-Flipper" and you should give it a read.
In it, he says this:
So if we tried to sketch a Platonic ideal for what a developer is, we might say that the ideal developer would have a solid understanding of, and experience in, all phases of development, including construction. This person will have a holistic perspective that attempts to optimize across all phases of a project rather than just one part.
This doesn't relate directly to the debate of who should be called a developer, but I think it's an insightful comment. Developers have very specific skillsets, but they also tend to be generalists. Our job is to stitch together lots of different disciplines and elements to ultimately produce a space that people can live, work, play, and/or do other things inside. The more you know about the entire process, the better you can be at any one part.
I even think this transcends just the development process. The more you know and understand about cities, market trends, human behavior and countless other things, the more thoughtful you can be about formulating new developments. It's never ending and it makes for an interesting line of work. But I do think this raises the question of: When is it valuable to specialize?
For example, some development companies like to follow a division of labor model. One team focuses on acquiring new sites, one team focuses on approvals/entitlements, and so on. Once a particular phase is completed, the project gets passed on to the next group. And in theory, these specialist teams should be able to go deeper and harder than a team forced to spread their time.
But on the flip side, it means that the person trying to buy sites might not be thinking about what a pain in the ass it will be to build on. They may just be trying to get deals done. Let the other team worry about building the thing. So personally, I've always liked the accountability that comes with taking a project from beginning to end — it's never somebody else's problem. It's your problem.
Of course, even if you don't do this, you're still a developer.
Cover photo by Max Langelott on Unsplash
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