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F I X I N G T H E 7 F A T A L
F L A W S O F T H I N K I N G
Copyright © 2016 by Matthew E. May
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-1-259-64239-5
MHID 1-259-64239-9
e-ISBN 978-1-259-64240-1
e-MHID 1-259-64240-2
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

May, Matthew E.
Winning the brain game : fixing the 7 fatal flaws of thinking / Matthew E.
May.
New York : McGraw-Hill, 2016.
LCCN 2015051017| ISBN 9781259642395 (alk. paper) | ISBN 1259642399
(alk. paper)
LCSH: Thought and thinking. | Reasoning. | Decision making. | Mind and
body.
LCC BF441 .M3495 2016 | DDC 153.4/2--dc23 LC record available at
http://lccn.loc.gov/2015051017
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix
Preface: Mind Over Matter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi
Introduction: 7 Fatal Flaws . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
PA R T O N E
Misleading
CHAPTER 1 Leaping . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
CHAPTER 2 Fixation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
CHAPTER 3 Overthinking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
PA R T T WO
Mediocre
CHAPTER 4 Satisficing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
CHAPTER 5 Downgrading . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109
PA R T T H R EE
Mindless
CHAPTER 6 Not Invented Here (NIH) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
CHAPTER 7 Self-Censoring . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149
Appendix A: Solution to The Prisoner’s Release . . . . . . . . . . 169

Appendix B: Solutions to Chapter 2 Insight Problems . . . . . . . 171
Notes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175
Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
T his book almost wasn’t. Undoubtedly due to one or

more flaws in my thinking, I had somehow convinced
myself that most of the world no longer had the time
or interest in reading books, and that the volume of noise
in the form of information was already so overwhelming to
most people that another book would only speed the satu-
ration level. It was self-censorsing at its finest, and it took a
good bit of poking and prodding from my wise advocate and
agent John Willig to convince me I was wrong, and to give it
another go. He had help from Knox Huston, my terrific editor
from McGraw-Hill. I am grateful to them both for getting me
to practice what I preach, to look at things from another per-
spective, and to produce an elegant solution. I am really proud
of this little book, and I think it may indeed be my best work.
For the first time in a decade of authorship, I have a book
that has broad appeal and universal applicability, regardless of
one’s walk in life. That’s cool. Thank you, gentlemen.
As to the content of the book itself, I have several think-
ing partners I would like to thank, not simply for lending me
their expertise and advice in the production of this book, but
for their counsel and mentorship over the past several years.
I am quite fortunate to have as distant colleagues some of the
world’s most noteworthy thought leaders, including those
whose wisdom figures centrally in Winning the Brain Game.
For helping me distill and decode matters of neurosci-
ence and the clear distinction between the mind and the
brain, I have Dr. Jeffrey Schwartz to thank. Jeff is a master at
helping people unlock their brains, and has been a colleague
and advisor to me for many years.
For helping me understand the nuances of revealing
hidden assumptions and teaching me techniques to engage
what he refers to as “the opposable mind,” I have the bril-
liant Roger Martin, dean emeritus of The Rotman School
and Thinkers50 leader, to thank. For well over a half decade,
Roger has been a mentor and collaborator.
On matters of professional curiosity, constant experi-
mentation, and serious play, I have the relentless provocateur
Michael Schrage of MIT to thank. Just when you think you
know something, Michael has the uncanny ability to inject
the very question that lets you know you don’t.
Finally, I wish to thank the ever mindful Ellen Langer for
graciously spending a bit of her time with me and sharing a
story that I had not heard or seen written before.
If you enjoy Winning the Brain Game, it is because I had
these individuals to help me bring it to life.
PREFACE
Mind Over Matter

You have to learn the rules of the game. And then you
have to play better than anyone else.
—ALBE R T E INSTE IN
W hat would you do if someone handed

you a difficult problem to solve right
now? Would you don your thinking
cap, look up to the right, touch your chin, knit your brow,
shrug your shoulders, then throw your hands up in the air
after a few minutes, declaring the problem to be impossi-
ble to solve? Would you search your memory banks for how
you or someone solved a similar problem in the past and,
coming up empty-handed, search Google to see if and how
others might have solved it? Would you immediately and
instinctively launch into a concerted effort to brainstorm
top-of-
mind solutions in a shotgun fashion, hoping that
some mental spaghetti might stick to the wall? Would you
smile, surrender, confess to having no clue, ask for the solu-
tion, then upon hearing it, slap your forehead and cry, “Of
course! Why didn’t I think of that?” Would you experience
a sudden creative insight, see the solution immediately, but
then second-guess yourself, unconsciously judging your solu-
tion to be too simplistic and too obvious to be a good one,
and voluntarily kill a great idea?
xii P reface
Hard for me to say, because I don’t know you. But the

odds of you doing something very similar are very good. In
fact, you will probably do it sometime today. Meanwhile,
that nasty problem goes unsolved.
But it doesn’t have to be that way.
I intended this book to be a mindful guide—complete
with a super-curated set of battle-tested tools—for using our
minds to win the games our brains are hardwired to play on
us, the patterns of tricks that while effective in handling rou-
tine problems and quick-fix situations, become traps when
we need to invoke our best thinking. This struggle of mind
over matter is the brain game. (See what I did there? I made
a distinction between the mind and the brain. Keep that in
mind as you read on.)
I stumbled on these patterns over 10 years ago in my role
as a professional facilitator, working with Toyota’s U.S.-based
corporate university. We were using a few different thought
challenges, based on real business stories, as icebreakers for a
course called Principled Problem-Solving. We were surprised
first by how many people failed to solve the challenges, sec-
ond by the redundancy in the solutions offered up, and third,
but most importantly, by the repetitive nature of thinking
and behavior patterns.
I left my gig with Toyota after spending eight years with
them, but kept using similar, real-world thought challenges
in workshops, seminars, and speaking engagements all over
the world. No matter where I went or to whom I gave the
problems, the results were eerily similar. Over 100,000 peo-
ple have now gone through these exercises with me, and in
spite of all that has been discovered and written about the
brain and the mind during the past three decades, I continue
P reface xiii
to observe these patterns. The evidence I’ve collected is over-

whelming, and points to seven readily observable behaviors,
which I call fatal flaws of thinking . . . mental glitches, if you
will, that if left unchecked may just leave us wondering why
our deepest problems never get solved.
I confess that I never set out to conduct a long-term study,
for I am neither scientist nor scholar. I’m far better at apply-
ing all those wonderful scientific discoveries and putting into
practice what scholars propose in theoretical frameworks, to
see whether what they say should work actually does in the
real world. In that way, I’m much more like the jeweler seek-
ing to fix a stuck gear in a wristwatch than the philosopher
pontificating on a theory of time.
When it comes to the frontiers of consciousness and cog-
nition, I have neither the inclination nor intelligence to study
or explain in any real depth the vastly complex inner workings
of our grey matter. I can’t even pronounce most parts of the
brain cited in books and articles. Furthermore, that territory
is quite well- traversed, from the work of early- t wentieth-
century Gestalt psychologists to modern day fMRI-wielding
cognitive neuroscientists, and widely available in myriad
other books and articles. It is best for all concerned that I
simply summon and synthesize all that amazing insight and
point it toward my real worry, which is how to master our
greatest asset—our mind—to our best advantage in winning
the brain game. (Catch that? I did it again.)
Nor do I wish to delve deeply into the rather broad and
nebulous space we call creativity, and creative problem solv-
ing. I’m far more interested in removing the obstacles that
may be blocking one’s naturally creative mind from more
regularly producing the brilliance I know it’s capable of. In
xiv P reface
that sense, this book is more like a repair manual that helps
your mind fix the seven fatal thinking flaws your brain com-
mits. (Third time!) If I could change the world in one single
way, that would be it. It’s the great ambition of this little
book, and if Malcolm Gladwell is correct in asserting that
little things can make a big difference, the odds may just tip
in my favor.
The question, of course, is how to effect such a tip? First,
by exposing these flaws to the widest audience possible. I’ll
need your help to do that. Second, by revealing a tad of the
mechanics behind why they are so prevalent. I’m fortunate
to have spent time with some of the foremost psychologists
and neuroscientists, and this much I know from working
with them: there is a significant distinction between the
brain and the mind. The brain is passive hardware, absorb-
ing experience, and the mind is active software, directing our
attention. But not just any software—it’s intelligent software
capable of rewiring the hardware. I could not have said that
with confidence a few decades ago, but modern science is a
wonderful thing.
The third and final way is by introducing you to the
seven “fixes”—tools and techniques that I as well as others
have developed, and which through my work I have found to
be among the most effective and practical ways to not only
neutralize the fatal flaws of thinking, but also forge new neu-
ral connections in the brain.
I will ask you to keep a simple mantra in mind at all times:
What appears to be the problem, isn’t.
What appears to be the solution, isn’t.
What appears to be impossible, isn’t.
P reface xv
This book represents a short and user-friendly distillation

of everything I’ve learned in my three decades of facilitat-
ing and coaching individuals and teams as they pursue their
most important challenges. In an effort to continuously
improve my own and others’ mental capability, I’ve watched
tens of thousands of people, incorporated the work of highly
regarded scientists, scholars, and strategists, experimented
with hundreds of both original and borrowed techniques,
and made hundreds of mistakes. My aim is to spare you from
having to do all that on your own. It is a book that is meant
not simply to be read, but to be used. Again and again. Not
a bad deal for 20 bucks.
While I cannot grant you the gift of flawless thinking, it
is indeed the thought that counts.
INTRODUCTION
7 Fatal Flaws
We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking
we used when we created them.
—ALBE R T E INSTE IN
I t’s 2005. I am seated in a corporate conference

room on the top floor of an eight-story build-
ing in southern California, surrounded by 12
highly skilled bomb technicians from the Los Angeles Police
Department who have been hand-picked and gathered to
address a complex challenge regarding new methods and
approaches needed to respond to bomb calls in the new
age of everyday terrorism. They received their training at
the same Kentucky facility that trains all bomb technicians
in the United States, regardless of military or paramilitary
branch.
The problem is as wicked as a problem could possibly
be: how to handle fluid, potentially catastrophic situations
involving highly lethal improvised explosive devices (IEDs)
capable of massive devastation and death in public places.
The current strategy isn’t working as well as they need it
to, because a new breed of terrorism has entered the mix, one
that is unpredictable, constantly changing, operates an essen-
tially leaderless organization, defies all conventional warfare,
1
2 WINNING THE BRAIN GAME
logic, and rationality, and has no qualms about taking the

lives of civilians . . . or their own lives, for that matter.
I am excited to have been chosen to be the facilitator over
the course of the next two days, at the end of which they
will present their solution to LAPD’s counterterrorism senior
command staff. I am also as apprehensive as I’ve ever been,
with any team, anywhere, in any setting.
These are the most highly paid officers in the entire
department, the guys and gals who have to cut the right
wire, so to speak. It’s a job that requires quick thinking,
quick reads, quick decisions, and quick action—all under
enormous pressure in a situation that presents them with
something they’ve never seen before. They often must impro-
vise in a split second. They do not have time in the field to
think deeply.
Above all, they are men and women of action. Sitting
in a brainstorming session with some civilian who possesses
absolutely no experience or expertise in doing their incredi-
bly challenging job isn’t exactly their cup of tea. They didn’t
volunteer to be here. They’d rather be out chasing bad guys
and protecting the world from the evil crazies. The fully
armed officer to my left takes off his gun belt and riot stick,
then leans over to whisper, “I’m only here because I was
ordered.” This doesn’t help my level of apprehension. I am
unarmed.
There’s a good bit of discomfort, skepticism, and tension
in the air. So while I have no explosives training, I do need
to defuse the situation just a bit. I certainly have no authority
over them, but I do “own” the process. I need to not only
establish some rules of engagement, but do so in way that
opens minds and encourages divergent thinking, because
7 F atal F laws 3
that’s what’s needed here. Go-go “Git ’er done” thinking

won’t cut it.
By way of introduction, I ask the good problem-solvers
to raise their hand. Every hand goes up. No surprises there,
bombs are problems, and problem-solving is the air they
breathe. I tell them to keep their hands held high, which they
do with surprising obedience. I continue the query, by ask-
ing those who consider themselves great learners to now raise
their other hand. Same result, all hands up. Twelve LAPD
officers with both arms up in the air. I can’t resist: “Do I
ever wish I had a camera right now.” Grins, groans, eyerolls,
snickers. Then, I ask the true innovators to keep their hands
up. Every hand down. No takers. None.
I didn’t ask that question to destroy confidence, but to
change the frame. I make the point that as a practical matter,
innovation, problem-solving, and true learning—the kind
where new knowledge is actually created by the learner—
employ the same iterative process: questioning, framing,
hypothesizing, ideating, testing, reflecting. So, I’ve essen-
tially now dubbed them innovators.
The ice may be melting, but it’s not quite broken. Because
they’re accustomed to working closely with a partner, I split
the group into six pairs and give them a quick thought chal-
lenge to tackle, one based on a real problem and involving
something they’re fairly familiar with—compliance—but
one that is much simpler than any problem they will ever
face on the job.
My hypothesis is that the LAPD bomb techs will do what
everyone else I had ever seen work on this kind of challenge
had done, in all the same ways, and in all probability fail to
solve the problem.
THOUGHT CHALLENGE*
Imagine that you own a luxury health club. As part of

the membership perks, each of the 40 shower stalls—20
men’s and 20 women’s—is stocked with a bottle of very
expensive ($50), salon-only shampoo, which is only avail-
able in beauty supply retail stores to licensed hair stylists.
The customers love it and rave about this particular perk.
Unfortunately, bottles disappear from the showers all the
time. In fact, the theft rate is 33 percent, presenting a costly
situation, not to mention a bad experience for members
reaching for the shampoo, only to find the bottle gone.
Your staff must constantly resolve complaints among your
“honest” members. You’ve tried a number of things to
solve the problem: reminders, penalties, and incentives to
try and reduce theft, but nothing so far has worked. The
front desk even sells the bottles at a very slim profit margin.
You decide to ask your employees, all of whom are
hourly, to help solve the problem, and give them several
nonnegotiable conditions: the solution must completely
eliminate theft; it cannot involve discontinuing or limiting
the current shampoo offering in any way (one full-size
bottle of the current brand per stall must not change); any
solution must be of extremely low, and preferably no, cost
(pennies per stall, at most); there can be no additional
burden on the member; and the solution must be easy to
implement, without disrupting the normal operation of
the club.
* This problem is based on a Los Angeles-a rea health club. I turned the story
into a thought challenge.
7 F atal F laws 5
You tell your employees that they are free to be as inno-

vative as they wish and do anything they want, as long as
all conditions are met.
I reiterate to the bomb tech team that they are free to be

as innovative as they wish, come up with any solution they
wish, be as wild and crazy as they wish, but that their idea
will be peer-graded by the rest of the room on the basis of how
well their solution meets all of the conditions, while violating
none. And because working under time pressure is part of
their job, I give them just five minutes to come up with their
best idea. I challenge them to match their problem-solving
chops with those of the part-time health club employees,
who in fact solved the problem elegantly. I put a little skin in
the game and tell them that the team that comes up with the
best idea gets a special gift. It’s now a friendly competition.
I’d been using another version of this exercise* in a cre-
ative problem-solving seminar at the University of Toyota,
and my observations of several hundred participants over
the course of several months had begun to reveal some inter-
esting patterns. I liked these types of challenges for several
reasons. First, because they are based on very real business
problems and, as mentioned, are far less complex than every-
day work-related problems. Second, because these sorts of
conundrums catch people doing many if not all of the things
that prevent them from seeing the solution that achieves the
maximum effect with the minimum means. I have for years
used this as the simple definition of an elegant solution.
* I will share another version of the exercise with you later in the book.
THE ELEGANT SOLUTION
One that achieves the maximum effect with minimum means.
Try your hand at solving this thought exercise. Put this

book down and let your mind play with the possibilities.
I’ll even double your resources: you have 10 minutes. Enlist
the help of someone else if you like—some people prefer to
collaborate. Jot down all your ideas, select the best one, and
then we’ll continue.
Seriously, try it. I’ll wait. The rest of the book will be
more meaningful if you do.
Back? How did it go? Do you think you came up with the
elegant solution? If you’re like 95 percent of the people I give
this kind of problem to, including the LAPD bomb techs,
you undoubtedly came up with several ideas.
Here are the most frequently given solutions:
• keep bottles at the front desk to check in and out

• hire a locker room attendant to check them in and out
• put travel-size bottles in the stalls
• install cameras
• loyalty program offering a free bottle for keeping a
clean record
• install lockable pump-top dispensers in each stall
• have a gym bag-checker at the exit
• discontinue the shampoo in the stalls
• charge a separate fee for shampoo
• sell the shampoo at cost
7 F atal F laws 7
• “most wanted list”: pictures and names of offenders

• chain the bottles somehow to the wall
• put the shampoo in unmarked bottles
• install “do not remove shampoo” signs in stalls
• give out free sample-size bottles at the front desk
• hire shower security guards
• puncture the side of the bottle near the top
• install radio-frequency identification (RFID)
• consider loss due to theft a cost of doing business
• keep the bottles near empty at all times
Unfortunately, all of these solutions violate one or more of

the conditions imposed—some more than others, of course—
and none of them represent the rather elegant solution pro-
duced by the health club employees, which I will get to in a bit.
THE SEVEN FLAWS & FIXES
Every time I watch folks wrestle with this challenge, I’m con-
stantly amazed at how people so consistently fall victim to
the same patterned thinking traps and exhibit the same kinds
of behaviors over and over again. I was not disappointed as I
watched the bomb techs work.
The scientific community has a whole host of sophisti-
cated labels and pet names for these behaviors, as well as a
long laundry list of other patterns, but let me simplify things
a bit: they are fatal thinking flaws. There are seven of them.
Each carries with it the potential to kill a great idea, and
prevent an elegant solution from ever seeing the light of day.
That there happen to be seven is purely coincidence!
1. Leaping
When I watched the LAPD bomb techs work on the problem,
they immediately began offering up solutions in rapid-fire
fashion. They spent nearly all their time doing one thing:
brainstorming. Or as designerly types call it, ideating. (Hor-
rible word. Hate it.) What struck me as curious was that they
invested little if any time doing what they were all actually
trained very well to to do: first gather the facts, then synthe-
size them into a theory of the crime and the motive behind
it, before ever trying to solve it. Sherlock Holmes would’ve
been disappointed, having advised Watson in no uncertain
terms, “It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has facts.
Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories instead of
theories to suit facts.” In real terms, they bypassed entirely
any discussion of why people were stealing the shampoo.
Moreover, the conditions of the challenge are generally
ignored. I have observed that it appears to be easier, or at
least more common, for people to think “outside the box”
than inside it; and that is not necessarily a good thing.
Immediately and instinctively leaping to solutions in a
sort of mental knee jerk almost never leads to an elegant solu-
tion to an unfamiliar, complex problem, because not enough
time is devoted to framing the issue properly. In the thought
exercise, I listed facts and constraints in a slightly disguised
attempt to paint a picture of the desired future. I did not,
however, explicitly frame the problem. I wanted to leave that
to the LAPD bomb techs, and to you.
Perhaps you thought you were solving the problem of dis-
honesty, which is one way to frame the challenge. But it is not
the only way, nor is it the best or most useful way, because
your chances of alchemically transforming dishonesty to
7 F atal F laws 9
honesty in the context of petty theft are, well, nil. There is

an art to framing and reframing problems, and part of the
art is in the timing. The fix for the Leaping flaw is generating
multiple ways to frame the problem. In other words, instead
of coming up with answers right away, you come up with
questions right away. It’s called Framestorming.
In this case, figuring out why people are stealing the
shampoo is key. Dishonesty is indeed one cause, but one too
abstract to correct. There are others, including accessibility to
a highly desirable item. The bottle of shampoo is too tempt-
ing, at least for a third of the health club’s patrons. Once you
understand that, you can frame the problem to focus on the
question of how to make it utterly undesirable to remove the
bottle of shampoo, without incurring cost or burden to any-
one. Remove the temptation, eliminate theft entirely.
Framing a problem properly has everything to do with
whether it gets solved elegantly.
2. Fixation
Fixation is an umbrella term for our general mental rigidity
and linear thinking—our go-to mindsets, blind spots, par-
adigms, schemas, biases, mental maps, and models—that
make it easier for us to make it through the day, but harder
for us to flex and shift our perception. The term itself comes
from what psychologists call “functional fixedness.” Our
brains are amazing pattern machines: making, recognizing,
and acting on patterns developed from our experiences and
grooved over time. Following those grooves makes us ever so
efficient as we go about our day. The challenge is this: if left
to its own devices, the brain locks in on patterns, and it’s dif-
ficult to escape the gravitational pull of embedded memory
in order to see things in an altogether new light. In other

words, those deep grooves make it tough to go off-road and,
as the Apple tagline goes, think different.
Fixation and Leaping are interconnected . . . two sides
of the same coin. If you spend a bit more time framing the
problem properly, you can often avoid getting mentally stuck
in gear. In the shampoo bottle challenge, your brain may
have blocked any notion of decomposing the image of the
bottle itself: bottle with top, one unit, inseparable.
The health club’s elegant solution? Remove the tops of
the shampoo bottles. Problem solved. No one wanted to put
a topless bottle of shampoo in their gym bag!
If you’re thinking that this solution will irk the 67 percent
of the patrons who weren’t stealing shampoo, well, that’s just
your Fixation flaw speaking. The cure for Fixation is what
I call inversion, and captures the essence of several creative
thinking techniques used by designers and artists to radically
shift their thinking from the current reality of how things
are in order to pursue the possibility of how they could be:
Steve Jobs was known for his “reality distortion field”; Stan-
ford engineering professor Robert Sutton often refers to vuja
de, which is the opposite of deja vu*; his Stanford colleague
and creativity professor Tina Seelig suggests that to spur new
thinking we take the current conditions of the situation and
think of the polar opposites; TED Ideas editor Helen Wal-
ters argues that we should regularly “flip orthodoxy.”
* If deja vu is the feeling that a certain event has happened before, vuja de is
the direct opposite . . . an event or situation that should be familiar is sud-
denly very different. The late comedian George Carlin jokingly coined the
term, describing it as “the strange feeling that, somehow, none of this has
ever happened before.” https://youtu.be/B7LBSDQ14eA
7 F atal F laws 11
3. Overthinking
On the other end of the thinking spectrum from Leaping
is Overthinking, which can be thought of as our knack for
creating problems that weren’t even there in the first place.
Overthinking is a rather deep bucket filled with a host of
variations on a theme: overanalyzing, overplanning, and
generally complicating matters by adding unnecessary
complexity and cost. In looking at the list of most com-
mon theft-prevention solutions, notice that many require
the addition of resources of some kind: manpower, money,
material. Most of them not only violate the conditions of the
challenge, but are completely impractical. We often ignore
the most important constraints of a given problem, which
blocks the discovery of a more elegant solution.
Why do we overthink, overanalyze, and complicate
matters? Why do we add cost and complexity? Most inter-
estingly, why do we all do it so naturally, intuitively, and,
perhaps most disturbingly, so consistently?
Part of the answer is that we’re hardwired that way.
Through eons of evolution, our brains are designed to drive
hoarding, storing, accumulating, collecting-type behavior.
We are by nature “do more/add on” types. When it comes
to problem-solving, this instinct translates into adding com-
plexity and cost as a first course of action, especially when
we recognize the problem as being a complex one requiring a
deeper level of thinking, analysis, and planning. “I can solve
the problem, but it’s going to take more resources” is the oft-
heard refrain. But it doesn’t necessarily take genius to spend
resources . . . it does, though, to work within the resource
constraints you’re given. What cost and complexity did you
add in trying to solve the thought problems?
Another part of the answer is a simple lack of a reliable

approach that enables us to grapple with uncertainty, risk,
external forces beyond our control, and rapidly changing
circumstances that eschew any sort of traditional planning.
We’ve lost the required childlike learning and experiment-
ing capability needed to make innovative problem-solving
simpler, safer, and speedier. MIT’s master of business exper-
imentation Michael Schrage calls that capability “serious
play,” and puts it this way: “Innovation too often is too slow,
too expensive, too complicated, too risky, too rigid, too dull,
too little, and too late.”1 Schrage doesn’t even like the word
“idea” and prefers to couch all challenge-chasing efforts in
terms of “simple, fast, and frugal” tests meant to reveal the
validity of a concept.
He’s right. Until any concept is raised to the level of real-
ity, it is merely a guess, or set of guesses, in need of testing.
The simple fix for Overthinking is Prototesting, a combina-
tion of prototyping and testing. From a back-of-the-napkin
sketch to a first draft to a minimally functional mockup to
technical A/B testing to the reverse engineering of a set of
strategic choices, Prototesting enables us to tangibly tease
out the mental leaps of faith made in crafting any kind of
solution and run a simple test quickly and cheaply in order
to learn. Prototesting lends proof of concept, with the
intent being to prove an initial concept is worth developing
further.
4. Satisficing
People favor action and implementation over nearly all else,
and certainly over incubation. By nature we satisfice, a term
combining satisfy and suffice, and coined by Nobel laureate
7 F atal F laws 13
Herbert Simon in his 1957 book Models of Man. We glom

on to what’s easy and obvious and stop looking for the best
or optimal solution, the one that resolves the problem within
the given goals and constraints. We over-compromise and
suboptimize, accepting the halfway solution and relying
on our ability to push it forward. Unfortunately, when it
comes to complex problems, that usually amounts to a rather
Herculean but useless effort akin to pushing water uphill.
We fool ourselves into thinking “good enough is,” thereby
creating something that demands massive work in order to
succeed. By thinking less, we end up working more.
Breakthrough thinking demands something to break
through. Generally, it’s the space between conflicting goals,
causing creative tension. With the shampoo example, I delib-
erately set goals in conflict under a short time frame to force
a creative tension in your mind to raise awareness of what
your brain is doing.
Did you refuse to make trade-offs, refuse to compromise
on the criteria, or did you simply pick a solution at the 10-
minute mark and rationalize why it would work?
As Rotman School professor and renowned business
strategist Roger Martin tells us, “By putting in the neces-
sary thinking work and refusing to accept the unattractive
trade-offs, we can unleash our ability to build new and better
models and create value for the world.”2 At the heart of Mar-
tin’s integrative thinking methodology is a synthetic process
that calls up what he terms the opposable mind, which merges
the very best parts of two opposing but satisficing solutions
in an elegant mash-up that defeats the tendency to satisfice
and settle for anything less than the best solution.
The fix for Satisficing is thus: Synthesis.
5. Downgrading
Downgrading is the close cousin of satisficing, with a twist:
a formal downward or backward revision of the goal or sit-
uation, often resulting in wholesale disengagement from the
challenge. It comes in a few basic flavors. First, there’s the
twisting and sifting of facts to suit our solution, arrived at by
Leaping or Fixation. Second, there is the “revised estimate.”
The result is the same: we fall short of the optimal or ideal
solution, pick one that gets us most of the way there, then sell
the upside and downplay the downside.
Basically, we commit what amounts to preemptive sur-
render, which in a perverse way enables us to do what we
really want to do, which is to declare victory. We do it all the
time, because no one wants to feel like they didn’t succeed.
It’s not very resourceful, creative, or heroic.
But here’s the thing: you can’t win a football game by
aiming for the 97-yard line. You can’t score a run in baseball
by only making it to third base. You can’t reach Mars by
shooting for the moon. You can’t . . . well, you get the drift.
Studies of brainstorming sessions reveal that idea gener-
ation generally stalls after about 20 minutes. At that point
most groups stop and turn their attention to evaluating their
ideas. However, the research shows that teams with the best
ideas don’t stop there. Rather, they embrace the psycho-
logical barrier and push through the stall zone, somehow
resetting their minds to opening up new channels of widely
divergent thinking.
The fix for Downgrading is Jumpstarting, defined just as it
is in the dictionary: starting a stalled vehicle whose battery is
drained by connecting it to another source of power. Jump-
starting redoubles your focus on both your will and your
7 F atal F laws 15
way, the two elements needed to attain any well-set goal, to

give yourself a boot in the brain in lieu of disengaging or
abandoning the challenge entirely. Jumpstarting combines
simple techniques that not only have recent studies shown
to be quite effective for pushing past the surrender mark, but
that I know to work in well in the field.
In considering the shampoo problem, did you think: 0
percent theft is impossible, throw up your hands and simply
give up, turning the pages until you found the solution some-
where in the narrative? If you did, I bet the teacher caught
you peeking at your neighbor’s answers on that third-grade
math quiz in elementary school.
I watched the bomb techs do the equivalent. They ran out
of obvious ideas well before the five-minute mark, and imme-
diately began looking at the other pairs around the room,
looking for answers. Interestingly, even when a stolen glance
yielded an idea they hadn’t thought of, they would wrinkle
their nose or shrug their shoulders, dismissing it out of hand.
This brings up the final two flaws, which deal with the
outright rejection of ideas. There is a nuanced difference
between rejecting ideas of others and rejecting ideas of our
own, so I will treat them separately.
6. Not Invented Here (NIH)

NIH is a well known acronym in management literature*
for “Not Invented Here” syndrome, defined as an automatic
negative perception of, and visceral aversion to, concepts and
solutions developed somewhere else, somewhere external to
* In a database search of scholarly papers, I found over 600 journal articles

referring to NIH syndrome.
the individual or team, often resulting in an unnecessary

reinvention of the wheel. It means, “If I/we didn’t come up
with it, I/we won’t consider it,” and “I/we can do anything
you/they can do, better.” We don’t trust other people’s solu-
tions. While there may be a basis in neuroscience related to
triggering our threat response, our expression of it is always
the same: shutting out another person’s or group’s idea imme-
diately and without due consideration merely because they
came up with it. The next time you’re in the lobby waiting
for the elevator to go up to your office or hotel room, count
how many people hit the up button even though they can see
that you’ve already pushed it. That’s NIH.
How much time did you spend pondering why previous
solutions didn’t work? I’ll bet almost none. The LAPD bomb
techs sure didn’t. The impulse to do something, anything,
and fast, leads us to focus on execution, and as a result we
ignore the facts. In laying out the thought exercise, I specif-
ically said that reminders, incentives, and penalties had not
worked in the past. Yet it never fails: in every session in which
I use this kind of thought exercise, I’m given some form of
at least one of those. Go back a few pages and see how many
of the popular ideas are really just another form of what
hadn’t worked in the past . . . reminders, incentives, penal-
ties. Perhaps you caught yourself thinking, they didn’t do it
right, which is acceptable if you intend to focus on learning
why those previous attempts failed, because doing so would
eventually lead you to reframing the problem. But simply
pushing your version of the same idea just because those
other attempts didn’t originate with you is harmful NIH.
As Walter Isaacson pointed out in his biography of the
late Steve Jobs, most people know Apple took the graphic
7 F atal F laws 17
user interface from Xerox, an act “sometimes described as one

of the biggest heists in the chronicles of industry.” According
to Isaacson, Jobs was proud of it, and said: “Picasso had a
saying—‘good artists copy, great artists steal’—and we have
always been shameless about stealing great ideas. “
And therein lies the fix for NIH. Instead of calling it
stealing, however, I will simply steal the phrase Procter &
Gamble’s open innovation program—Connect & Develop—
coined when in 2000 newly appointed CEO A. G. Lafley
decreed that fully 50 percent of the company’s innovations
must come from outside the organization: Proudly Found
Elsewhere (PFE). Implementing a PFE strategy is quite lit-
erally an opening of the mind to let in, leverage, and recycle
the ideas and solutions of others.
7. Self-Censoring
When we reject, deny, stifle, squelch, strike, silence, and
otherwise put ideas of our own to death, sometimes even
before they’re born, it is an act of Self-Censoring. I believe
Self-Censoring is the deadliest of the fatal flaws, because in
my admittedly subjective opinion, any voluntary shutdown
of the imagination is an act of mindlessness, the long-term
effects of which eventually kill off our natural curiosity and
creativity. Like NIH, Self-Censoring is a special form of Fix-
ation, bordering on mental masochism: we field or create a
great idea, we recognize it as such, but deny or kill it anyway.
I often think of it as “ideacide.”
Whether it’s because we’re too critical or because we recoil
at the impending pain of change and disruption of normalcy,
Self-Censoring arises out of fear. That fear shrinks us, men-
tally. We lose our childlike, uncensored urge to play, explore,
and experiment. We render ourselves mindless. When that

happens, we are vulnerable to our other thinking flaws, such
as Fixation and Overthinking, which become both judge
and jury. Then we slap ourselves on the forehead when some-
one else “steals” our great idea.
I know for a fact that the elegant solution to the thought
challenge exists among the participants and is often sug-
gested in small team discussions far more times than it is
selected as the best idea. I distinctly saw one of the bomb
techs slap his teammate on the arm and whisper through
gritted teeth: “I knew we should just take the tops off!”
Being what I consider the deadliest of the fatal flaws,
Self-Censoring requires a potent fix, one which has founda-
tions in the larger and broader concept of mindful awareness,
or mindfulness for short. Not to be confused with Asian
meditation- based philosophies seeking to suspend think-
ing, mindfulness is active thinking centered on achieving
a higher order of attention, considering different perspec-
tives, and noticing moment-to-moment changes around you.
David Rock, in his book Your Brain At Work, defines it as
“living in the present, being aware of experience as it occurs
in real time, and accepting what you see.”
The fix for Self-Censoring is based on a classic tool, intro-
duced by philosopher Adam Smith over a century and a
half ago, which he called “The Impartial Spectator.” It is a
method for attuning your attention in a way that indeed puts
you in the present and gives you a more unbiased perspective,
in much the way our attention is focused when we travel to
a new place. As visitors we are outsiders looking in: naturally
mindful, fully present, noticing details the locals now take
for granted. Psychologists refer to it as self-distancing, and as
7 F atal F laws 19
the name implies, the concept is one of distancing yourself

from, well, you. Researchers at the University of Michigan
recently discovered that the simple practice of replacing
the first-person pronoun “I” with either the third-person
pronoun “You” or their own name in working through a
stressful situation reduced anxiety, rumination, and what
athletes call “choking.”3
Thus the seventh fix: Self-Distancing.
WINNING THE BRAIN GAME
Fixing the Seven Fatal Flaws of Thinking
FLAW FIX
Leaping Framestorming
Fixation Inversion
Overthinking Prototesting
Satisficing Synthesis
Downgrading Jumpstarting
NIH PFE
(Not Invented Here) (Proudly Found Elsewhere)
Self-Censoring Self-Distancing
Leaping, Fixation, and Overthinking make up Part One

of this book, which I’m calling Misleading, because of the
power these flaws have to lead us astray. Part Two looks
at Satisficing and Downgrading, and is labeled Mediocre,
because these two flaws undercut our best thinking and per-
formance. Part Three covers NIH and Self-Censoring, which
from my observation and experience are not quite as dom-

inant and prevalent as the others, but certainly equally as
deadly, if not deadlier, and are properly classified as Mindless.
In reality, all seven of these thinking flaws are not truly
separate and distinct, but rather interrelated variations on a
general tendency to let our lazy brains take over and orches-
trate the symphony of thought our minds are capable of.
Regardless of playing field, I believe mindful thinking is the
new competitive advantage, and the seven fixes are a magic
set of tools for achieving it. In my work with professionals
and organizations of all kinds, I have found them to be best
in class. The seven can all be placed in a larger toolbox prop-
erly labeled Reframing.
Reframing is the singular response to the question of how
to respond to our mantra, which as you may recall is: what
appears to be the problem, isn’t; what appears to be the solution,
isn’t; what appears to be impossible, isn’t.
So what happened in your own problem-solving? If you
didn’t arrive at the actual and elegant solution as your best
idea, my bet is that you got tripped up by one of the seven
fatal thinking flaws, just like the LAPD bomb squad. If you
did in fact arrive at the elegant solution, you are to be con-
gratulated. Give this book to a friend. You don’t need it, and
I can’t help you.
Back to my story.
As I explained these mental “glitches” to the bomb techs,
they began to loosen up and lean in. They chimed in with
examples of how these various traps had played out on the
job and even in their personal lives. They arrived at the
desired conclusion: don’t let these traps prevent the new
strategy from being anything less than elegant.
Another random document with
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CHAPTER VIII.
DANIEL POLLITT, ESQ., AND FAMILY.
The grand dinner-party at 500, Princes Gate, was over, the last
silken train had swept down the steps, the last brougham had
bowled away, and a somewhat bored-looking young man indulged in
a stretch and a prodigious yawn, and strolled slowly back to the
library, where the master of the house, a spruce little person of sixty,
with a rosy cheek and active eye, stood before the empty fireplace
(the month was June) with his coat-tails under his arms, engaged in
chewing a tooth-pick. Wealthy he may be, judging from his
surroundings, but he is certainly not distinguished in appearance; his
scanty locks are brushed out into two sharp horns over his large
ears. In spite of his blazing solitaire stud and faultless claw-hammer
coat, he is plebeian; yes, from the points of his patent leather shoes
to the crown of his bald head. It is difficult to believe that he is the
uncle of the aristocratic young fellow who has just entered and cast
himself into a deep armchair. What the French call “the look of race,”
is the principal thing that strikes one about Mark Jervis. It is
afterwards—possibly some time afterwards—that you realize the fact
that he is remarkably handsome, and considerably older than you
took him to be at the first glance. His smooth face and sunny hazel
eyes are misleading: young Jervis is more than nineteen, he is five
and twenty.
“Well, Mark, that’s over, thank God,” exclaimed Mr. Pollitt. “I hate
these big dinners; but your aunt will have them. She says we owe
them; women are never backward in paying those sort of debts. It
was well done, hey? That new chef is a success. Did you taste the
Perdreaux aux Chartreuse—or the Bouchée à la financière, or that
cold entrée?”
“No, Uncle Dan,” strangling another great yawn.
“Ah, you sly dog! You were too much taken up with Lady
Boadicea! She is considered a beauty—at least her picture made
rather a stir. What do you think? How does she strike you?”
“To me—she looks like a wax doll that has been held too close to
the fire—and she is about as animated.”
“Well, you can’t say that of the American girl, Miss Clapper—
there’s a complexion!—there’s animation!—there’s a stunner for
you!”
“A stunner, indeed! She thrust her money down my throat in such
enormous quantities that I could scarcely swallow anything else!”
“Then why the deuce did you not stuff some of mine down hers,
hey?” chuckling. “I saw you at Hurlingham this afternoon.”
“Did you, sir? I had no idea you were there.”
“It was a frightful squash—hardly a chair to be had; the Royalties,
a fine day and a popular match, brought ’em. I suppose that was the
new pony you were trying, brown with white legs. How do you like
him?”
“He is not handy, and he is a bit slow. He is not in the same class
with Pipe-clay, or the chestnut Arab; I don’t think we will buy him, sir.”
“Lord Greenleg was very anxious to hear what I thought of him. He
only wants a hundred and thirty—asked me to give him an answer
there and then, as he had another customer, but I thought I had
better wait till I heard your opinion. Is the pony worth one hundred
and thirty guineas? What do you say?”
“I say, cut off the first figure, and that is about his value,” rejoined
his nephew shortly.
Mr. Pollitt looked blank. He rather liked buying ponies from lords,
even at a high figure, but a hundred guineas too much was a stiff
sum. He knew that he could rely on the young fellow’s opinion, for
lazy as he seemed, lounging there in an easy chair, he could both
buy a horse and ride a horse—which does not always follow. The
languid-looking youth was a hard rider to hounds, and a finished polo
player.
“Then I suppose we shan’t mind the brown, eh, Mark?” said his
uncle rather dolefully. “After all, it is getting late in the season, and
his lordship has another offer.”
“Has he!” expressively. “Oh, then, that is all right.”
“Your side played up well to-day, my boy!”
“And were well beaten—two goals to four. Johnny Brind is no good
as a back. He sits doubled up in his saddle, like an angry cat, and
lets the ball roll out between his pony’s fore legs—and his language!”
“That did not come as far as my ears. I saw you speaking to Lord
Robert Tedcastle. You were at Eton with him—you might bring him
home to lunch some Sunday; and that Italian prince, did you come
across him?” anxiously.
“No; I did not see him.”
“I noticed you having a long talk with that young Torrens; what was
he yarning about? He was nodding his head and waving his hands
like a cheap toy.”
“He was telling me of his plans. He and his brother are off to
America next week, they are going on to Japan, Australia, and India.
I say, Uncle Dan,” suddenly sitting erect, “I wish you would let me
travel for a couple of years and see the world.”
A silence of nearly a minute, and then Mr. Pollitt burst out—
“Now, this is some stuff that young ass Torrens has been putting
into your head. To see the world! What world? You see it at home.
England is the world. You have the best of everything here—the
handsomest women, finest horses, best food and drink, best——” he
paused, and his nephew, who was nursing his leg, blandly
suggested “climate.”
“Climate be hanged! best society,” bawled Mr. Pollitt. “The fact of
the matter is, you young chaps don’t know when you are well off.
Travel—see the world—skittles!”
“I know that I am exceedingly well off, thanks to you, Uncle Dan,”
rejoined his nephew, quietly. “I have capital polo ponies, a first-rate
stud of hunters, a splendid allowance—but a fellow can’t play polo,
and hunt, and go to balls and theatres all his life; at least, that’s not
my idea of life. I have nothing to do, no profession, you know; you
would not hear of my going into the service.”
“No—I hate the army—what prospect does it offer the young idiots
who are slaving to get into it—to live vagabonds, and die beggars!”
“There was the diplomatic corps; but I’ve not brains enough for
that.”
“Bosh! You don’t want a profession, taking bread out of other
people’s mouths. You are my heir—that’s your profession. As to
intellect, there is a great deal too much intellect in these days; the
world would be far easier to govern if there was less! You have
brains enough, my boy, you did very well at Oxford.”
“I know that I am very fortunate,” repeated the young man, “and
that thousands of fellows would give anything to stand in my shoes.”
“Clarence for one,” interrupted his uncle, with a loud chuckle.
“But I’m sick of the eternal treadmill round of the London season—
Ascot, Goodwood, Cowes, Scotland. Then back to London, and we
begin the whole business over again. We see the same people, and
do the same things.”
“How old are you, Mark?” broke in Mr. Pollitt, excitedly.
“Five and twenty.”
“One would think you were eighty-five! But it is all the rage to be
bored and blasé, and to give out that life is not worth living. You are
in the height of the fashion, my boy! The fact of the matter is—that
you are too prosperous. A blow of real trouble, cutting to the very
bone, would do you no harm.”
“Perhaps so. Properly speaking, I believe I ought to have been a
poor man’s son, and had to work my way. I feel that I could do it. I
would not have minded being a soldier, a sailor, an explorer, or even
a stock-rider.”
“In fact, to put the matter in a nutshell, anything but what you are.”
“Well, Uncle Dan, you have fought your way up to the front, step
by step, and won your spurs, and enjoyed the battle. I should like to
take some weapon, and strike into the fray.” Here he suddenly got
up, and came over to his uncle, and, putting his hand affectionately
on his shoulder said, “I would like to do something to make you”—
with a nervous laugh—“proud of me;” and as he looked into his
uncle’s shrewd little face, his eyes shone with repressed excitement.
“I’m proud enough. You are my own flesh and blood—a good-
looking chap, a capital rider, and a gentleman; a bit too fond of
dabbling with your nasty, dirty oil paints, a bit dreamy and Quixotic,
but——”
At this juncture the door was gently pushed open, and a long,
hooked nose came slowly into the room, followed by a tall, thin,
elderly lady, attired in a clinging mist-coloured robe, and blazing with
diamonds. A sallow, discontented-looking person, with a high-bred
air, despite her touzled fringe.
“So you are both here!” she murmured sweetly.
“Yes,” assented Mr. Pollitt; “and here is Mark,” waving a short
square hand towards him. “What do you think is his last craze,
Selina? He wants to travel for a couple of years, in order to see the
world. Just like the hero of a fairy tale.”
Mark hastened to place a chair for his aunt, into which she gently
sank, keeping her eyes steadily fixed on his as she did so, and
gradually narrowing her gaze to a cat-like glint.
“Do you know that I rather like the idea!” she remarked, after a
momentary silence. “I think it is a shocking thing for a young man to
waste his life, lounging in clubs gossipping and gambling, or playing
a game on the back of a pony. Travelling improves the mind and
enlarges the ideas.” Here, catching sight of Mr. Pollitt’s face of angry
scorn, she lost no time in adding, “You know, it is all the fashion to
travel, it’s only the second-rate people and nobodies who stay at
home. Lady Grace and Lord Kenneth are going out to India this cold
weather, so is the Duke of Saltminster, the Marquis and Marchioness
of Tordale, and crowds of other smart people.”
Smart people were to Mr. Pollitt, as his crafty wife knew, the very
salt of the earth; and his expression changed from that of repressed
fury to grave attention.
“India! Perhaps I would not mind so much,” he admitted, after a
pause. “The boy was born there, and he could look up his father.
Yes, and he might have some shooting, and pick up a few tigers, and
nice acquaintances and companions.”
“Oh, but, of course, Mark could not travel alone, dear. He must
have a pleasant and experienced——”
“Bear-leader or keeper; or what would you say to a chaperon?”
broke in her husband.
“My dearest!” she gravely expostulated. “You know perfectly well
that it would be frightfully dull for the poor boy roaming about the
country with no one to keep him company, not knowing where to go,
or what to say. Now Clarence,” and she hesitated.
“Yes—now Clarence. What now?” sharply.
“Clarence,” speaking very distinctly, “was stationed in India for
eight years. He is an experienced Anglo-Indian, has hundreds of
friends, talks Hindostani fluently, and could get no end of shooting
and introductions to native princes” (great emphasis on princes). “He
would be a capital guide for Mark.”
“Umph!” with a short laugh. “I’m not so sure of that, Mrs. Pollitt.”
“Oh, my dear Dan, he is perfectly steady now. Why, he is thirty-
five, and has sown his wild oats. I never quite believe in these
wonderfully good young men,” and she shot a swift glance at Mark.
“Except Mark, of course, and he ought to have been a parson, and,”
with a little sneer, “he may yet become a missionary.”
“But India is no novelty to Clarence,” protested Mr. Pollitt; “and, by
all accounts, he made it too hot to hold him. Mark can easily tack
himself on to some party of friends, and do the tour with them. You
say that the Rothmores——”
“Oh yes,” impatiently; “and they have made their arrangements
months ago. Mark cannot tack himself on to people, as you express
it; it would not do at all. On the contrary, he must have some one
tacked on to him. The trip will be a boon to my brother, as well as to
your nephew. Poor Clarence loves India. He is frightfully hard up; he
would be an ideal companion for Mark,” turning to him. “What do you
say, Mark? Answer us quite frankly.”
And under these circumstances what could Mark say but, “Yes; oh,
certainly. Clarence is a good sort.”
“And at any rate, he can well be spared from home,” added Mr.
Pollitt, dryly.
“Then you will consent to Mark’s request, darling?” said his wife,
rising and tapping him playfully with her big feather fan. “Think of all
he will have to tell you, and of all the pretty things he will bring us.”
“As long as he does not bring a wife!” growled the old gentleman.
“Well, well, well, it is not often that you and Mark are on the same
side in a debate, or that you second the resolution. When you
combine, you are too strong for me. I’ll think it over.”
Mrs. Pollitt gave her nephew by marriage a quick significant
glance, for this speech distinctly showed that the bill before the
(head of the) house had passed, and that it now only remained to go
into a committee of ways and means.
CHAPTER IX.
PERMISSION TO TRAVEL.
Mark Jervis had been agreeably surprised by his aunt’s

enthusiastic co-operation; thanks to her powerful alliance, he had
carried his point, and was to spend twelve months travelling in India,
accompanied by Mrs. Pollitt’s brother, Captain Clarence Waring. The
latter was about to revisit his former haunts in an entirely new
character—that of mentor and companion to a young man—and,
moreover, a wealthy young man. All the world has heard of “Pollitt’s
Pearl Barley,” and “Pollitt’s Patent Fowls’ Food.” Are not its merits
blazoned in flaming letters in railway stations, in fields bordering the
rocking expresses that thunder through the land? Does not the name
of “Pollitt” greet the miserable eyes of sea-sick travellers, as they
stagger down the companion ladders of ocean greyhounds? In short,
the enterprise of Daniel Pollitt, and the fame of Pollitt’s pearl barley,
is of universal renown.
Although he has never boasted of the fact, or assured his
intimates that “he began life with the traditional sixpence,” Mr. Pollitt
is a self-made man. He talks freely enough of his wife’s relations, of
his nephew’s famous pedigree, but he has not once alluded in the
most distant fashion to his own little family tree. Yet he has nothing to
be ashamed of. His father was a gentleman by birth, a poor curate,
who had left two almost penniless orphans, Dan and a sister, several
years younger than himself. The former, while yet in his early teens,
had clambered on to a stool in an office in the city, from thence
(unusual flight) he had soared to success and wealth. Thanks to
indomitable industry, shrewdness, and pluck, he was now a
merchant of credit and renown. The latter, who was a remarkably
pretty and well-educated girl, accompanied a lady to India, in the
capacity of governess, and, in a startlingly short time, married
Captain Jervis of the Bengal Cavalry, a good-looking popular officer,
with a long pedigree and a somewhat slender purse. By all accounts,
the marriage was a happy one. At the end of six years Mrs. Jervis
died, and their only child, a boy of five, was sent to school in
England. Five years later, he was followed by his father, who rushed
home on three months’ leave, in order to see little Mark as well as
his tailor and his dentist. Major Jervis, a bronzed, handsome,
distinguished soldier, made an excellent impression on the plodding
city man—his brother-in-law, who cordially invited him to stay with
him at Norwood, where he had a luxurious bachelor establishment.
And here, over unimpeachable claret and cigars, the Indian officer
unfolded his plans.
Little Mark was about to have a stepmother, the lady was a Miss
Cardozo, of Portuguese extraction, dark, handsome, not very young,
but enormously wealthy, and quite infatuated about little Mark’s
papa. Her grandfather had been a military adventurer, whose sword
and swagger had gained him the heart and treasures of a Begum.
Miss Cardozo’s father was an indigo planter, in those good old times
when indigo crops brought in lacs of rupees, and she was his sole
heiress and an orphan. Besides the Begum’s wealth and jewels, she
owned property in the Doon, property in the hills, property in Tirhoot,
shares in banks and railways, and large investments in the funds.
Mr. Pollitt’s shrewd little eyes glistened approvingly as he
absorbed these particulars.
“Cut the service, bring her to England, and take a fine country
place,” was his prompt suggestion.
“No, no, she hates England; she was at school over here. She
dreads our winters, and rain and fog,” replied Major Jervis. “And she
likes my being in the service. I can tell you that our men and horses
are something to see! Mércèdes—that is her name—delights in
pomp and show and glitter, and is much attached to India; and to tell
you the honest truth, Pollitt, I’m partial to the country too. I have been
out there twenty-two years, ever since I was eighteen, with only two
short furloughs, and it’s a country that suits me down to the ground.
My near relations in England are every one dead, I have no ties
here, all my friends and interests are out there, and I don’t mind if I
end my days in the East.”
“And what about Mark?” demanded his listener.
“Yes, that is the question,” said his father. “It’s hard lines on the
boy, to have no home with me—but later on he shall go into the
service, and come out to us. You have been wonderfully kind to him I
know, having him here in his holidays, and he is very fond of you, as
he ought to be. I feel rather guilty about him, poor chap; he is ten
years old and I have seen nothing of him for half that time, and now,
goodness knows how or where we may meet again. Of course no
money shall be spared on his education, and all that—but——” he
paused.
“But I’ll tell you what you will do,” continued Mr. Pollitt. “I’ll put the
whole matter in a nutshell. You are making a fresh start, you and the
boy are almost strangers, so you won’t feel the wrench. Give him to
me, I am fond of him, I have no family—he is a handsome, plucky
little fellow, with poor Lucy’s eyes—I will ensure him a first-class
education, bring him up as my son, and make him my heir, and leave
him all I am worth; come now?”
“It is a splendid offer, Pollitt, but I am fond of him too. I cannot
provide for him as you would, I can only set him out in the world with
a profession, and make him a small allowance, for of course
Mércèdes’ money will be settled on herself. If I resigned him to you,
in years to come I might repent, I might want him back.”
“In years to come you will probably have half a dozen other sons,
and be thankful to have one of them off your hands.”
After considerable discussion—Jervis, the father, a little reluctant;
Pollitt, the uncle, exceedingly eager and pressing—the matter was
concluded. Mark was to correspond with his parent as regularly as
he pleased, but he was to be, to all intents and purposes, his uncle
Daniel’s son.
Major Jervis made the most of his five weeks in England. He
invested in a new and gorgeous uniform, a new battery of guns,
saddlery, presents for Indian friends and his fiancée, and saw as
much as possible of Mark. The more the pair were acquainted the
better they liked each other. They went to the Tower, Madame
Tussaud’s, the Zoo, the theatres. Mark invariably accompanied his
parent to tailors, boot-makers and gun-smiths, and became
subsequently quite the authority on these matters at school. His
soldierly, open-handed sire, who loaded him with gifts, who told him
tales of the stirring deeds of his ancestors, of his own swarthy
sowars, of tiger-hunting and elephant drives, speedily became his
hero and his idol.
On being sounded as to his own choice of a profession, Mark,
after taking thought for a considerable time, gravely announced to
his father and uncle, “that he would prefer to be a bachelor.”
“And by no means a bad choice,” roared Mr. Pollitt, in great glee.
“Stick to that, my boy, stick to that, copy your old uncle.”
“I don’t think he will,” remarked Major Jervis, with decision; “he will
take after me. We are a susceptible race, we Jervises, and I’ll give
him till he is two and twenty.”
The day of parting was a dismal one for father and son. The child
struggled desperately to be a man, to shed no tears, and bore
himself wonderfully, at any rate in public, but after the cab had driven
off, he rushed away and shut himself up in his own little bedroom,
and flung himself upon the floor, and abandoned himself to the
bitterest grief he had ever experienced, and he was ten years old.
Some years after this scene, Mr. Pollitt, to every one’s surprise,
married a faded, elegant-looking woman, of good family, but
portionless. He bought a house in Princes Gate, rented a grouse
moor, deer forest, and hunting box, and invested in some celebrated
diamonds. He had now amassed a great fortune, and at the age of
fifty-five, retired from business, in order to spend it. But here arose
an unexpected difficulty, he did not know how to enjoy the result of
his labours, save by proxy. He looked up to his handsome well-born
nephew to manipulate his thousands, much as a child appeals to an
experienced friend to work a new mechanical toy. All his own youth
had been spent among great city warehouses, on wharves, and in
offices. He had never ridden, save on the top of an omnibus, he
could not drive, shoot, row, or even fish, and, alas! it was now too
late to learn. He, however, took to field sports in the character of a
spectator, with surprising enthusiasm. He walked with the guns on
his moors, and was much excited respecting the bag. He gave fancy
prices for his nephew’s hunters, and attended every meet (on
wheels), where there was a prospect of seeing their performance,
following the line, and keeping the hounds in sight as far as possible,
by means of short cuts and glasses.
He was a truly proud man when he saw his nephew’s name in the
Field as foremost rider in a sensational run. The worst of it was, that
Mark hated notoriety of any kind, hung back where he should come
forward, came forward when he should have hung back; had actually
no desire to lease a theatre, keep race-horses, or even gamble; in
short, he had not a single extravagant taste. (Here, indeed, was a
most singular case. How many fathers are there in these latter days
who feel hurt and disappointed because their sons will not spend
thousands?) On the other hand, Mrs. Pollitt was only too ready to
assist her partner in laying out large sums. She had many needy
connections, and hoped to do great things for them; but she found,
to her deep chagrin, that the personal spending of her husband’s
wealth was denied her. She had a liberal dress allowance, diamonds
of the first water, equipages, a fine establishment, a French maid;
but she might not thrust her hand into her lord and master’s purse
and scatter largesse to her poor relations, and—what was a truly
hard case—she might not even attempt to arrange an alliance
between Mark and one of her nieces. No, Mr. Pollitt was resolved
that his heir should marry rank. It must be “Mr. and Lady Somebody
Jervis,” and with Mark’s good looks, money, and birth, there would
be no difficulty in this little matter. Then Mark must go into
Parliament, settle down as a great landed proprietor, and ruffle it with
the best. Thus was his future sketched out by his uncle, who wisely
kept the sketch to himself.
Mrs. Pollitt was surprised to find her dear Daniel so obstinate and
impracticable on several trifling matters. For instance, she had made
up her mind to change the spelling of his name, and had even gone
so far as to have her own cards printed, “Mrs. D. Murray-Paulet, 500,
Princes Gate.”
“How lucky that Daniel has a second name!” she said to herself as
she complacently examined her new title a few days after her
marriage. She tripped across the room and held a card playfully
before the bridegroom’s spectacles, and the tiresome man had
exclaimed—
“Who is she? I can’t stand visitors. Here, let me clear out first, if
she is coming up——”
“The new card trick,” as he subsequently called it, had been their
first trial of strength, and the bride had succumbed with tears.
“Change his name!” he had roared— “his name, that he had
made! Never! He was proud of it. It was the wife who changed her
name on marriage, not the husband. Was she aware of that?”
Another subject on which she had had to yield was the
housekeeping bills; they all passed through Mr. Pollitt’s hands, who
settled them by cheque, consequently there were no pickings.
Mrs. Pollitt had her own particular schemes; she could not offer
her kinsfolk much solid assistance, but did what she could. To her
sister and nieces she distributed dresses and mantles scarcely worn;
she gave them drives, boxes at the theatre, tickets, and perpetual
invitations to dinner, lunch, and all her parties; to her brother
Clarence such sums as she could spare from her pin-money.
Clarence was ten years her junior, gay, débonnaire, and good-
looking. He had a pair of handsome, insolent blue eyes, a well-
cultivated moustache, an admirable figure, and a rather overbearing
manner. He was a complete man of the world, who had many
pecuniary troubles, no fixed principles, and but few scruples. He
was, nevertheless, pleasant, and by no means unpopular.
Captain Waring had spent every penny that he possessed (and a
good many pennies belonging to other people); and when his
regiment came home from India, he had been compelled to retire
from the service, and had been living ever since on his friends and
his wits. This Indian trip would be a capital thing for him, all
expenses paid; and if he and Mark remained away a year, some of
the other connections might get a footing at Princes Gate. The
aphorism, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” does not apply to
uncles and nephews.
If Mark were never to return, it would not break his aunt’s heart. If
he had not been her husband’s favourite, she might have been fond
of him. He was exceedingly presentable; she liked to exhibit him in
her carriage or opera-box (a gratification she seldom enjoyed). He
was always polite, always thoughtful of her comfort, always
respectful, though he had shown himself ready with a forcible reply
on one or two critical occasions; but he did not understand the art of
administering flattery, and she consumed it in large doses. Now here
Clarence was supreme; it was he who had solemnly assured her that
she bore a striking resemblance to Sara Bernhardt. Yes, golden
voice and all; and the poor deluded lady believed him, and attired
herself in clinging draperies, and combed her fringe well over her
brows in order to emphasize her undeniable resemblance to the
great actress. Once, when she questioned Mr. Pollitt on the subject,
he had laughed so uproariously—so like a husband—that an
apoplectic seizure seemed imminent.
Captain Waring was most enthusiastic respecting this Indian
scheme, and naturally gave the project his warmest support. Tête-à-
tête, he said, “It’s a first-class notion of Mark’s. The uncle keeps him
far too tight in hand. No wonder he wants to break away and see the
world and live his own life, poor devil!”
“What nonsense!” protested Mrs. Pollitt, irritably. “He has plenty of
liberty and a latch-key.”
“And does not know how to use one or other. Besides, the uncle’s
proud eye is always on him; he follows him about like a dog—worse,
for dogs are not admitted into clubs! However, this twelve months’
holiday in a far country will be a most blessed relief to the boy and
A1 business for me. I’m on my last legs; and if this had not turned
up, I’d have had to make strong running with Miss Clodde. She is
common and repulsive looking, but has thirty thousand pounds. I
hope I may never be so desperate as to marry her—at any rate, I
have a year’s respite.”
“How do you know she would have you, Clar?”
Clar’s laugh was an interesting study in manly assurance.
“I really wish you were married,” continued his sister rather
peevishly.
“Yes; to a rich elderly widow who has had her fling—that is my
style.”
“What a horrible way of talking! You are really too dreadful. I
suppose this trip will be rather costly?”
“Ra—ther!” emphatically.
“And you will be the treasurer?” opening her pale eyes to their
widest extent.
“I’m not so sure of that,” shaking his head. “Of course, as I am the
manager, and am personally conducting this tour, all payments ought
to come from me. ‘The uncle,’ however, is rather shy of having
monetary dealings with his brother-in-law, as you know by sad
experience. However, I may be able to work it, once we are in India,
and you may depend upon me for making the most of my time and—
opportunities. I was so hard up, I was thinking of taking a leaf out of
Charlie Wilde’s book. He writes hymns and tracts——”
“How absurd you are! What preposterous nonsense! Charlie
Wilde, who has never entered a place of worship for years, write
tracts!”
“I tell you that he does!” persisted Clarence. “He has a wonderful
knack, and does the pathetic and emotional style A1. Gets about ten
pounds apiece, and invests the money in a flutter on the turf.”
“Well, Clar,” said his deeply shocked sister, “I cannot compliment
you on your companions; and, whatever you may come to, I hope
you will never arrive at such a pitch of wickedness as that.”
On one point Captain Waring and Mr. Pollitt were most warmly
agreed, viz. that “the trip must be done in good style if done at all.”
Mark was inclined to travel “on the cheap,” his uncle had
complained, and had protested against a large quantity of baggage,
a battery of guns, and a valet.
“Thirty pair of boots!” he cried. “What rubbish! I am not going to
walk round India!”
“But Clarence says you can’t do with less, and he must know
better than you do,” argued Mr. Pollitt. “I wish you to travel like a
gentleman, not like a bag-man. There is where you disappoint me,
my boy—you make no show, no dash; your tastes are all for quiet—
your favourite character is the violet, and you prefer a back seat. You
are going out in the same steamer with a lot of nobs—I’ve seen to
that—and it is as likely as not that you will join forces when you land.
These swells take to you. As for me, they only take to my dinners,
and my deer forest. However, as long as you are in the best set, I
don’t care—I’m satisfied.”
“I think Clarence and I will stick to ourselves, and not join any
party, sir; we will be more independent. He has sketched out our
beat—Bombay, Poonah, Secunderabad, Travancore, Madras,
Ceylon, Calcutta, the hills; and that puts me in mind to ask if you
have any idea of my father’s whereabouts?”
“Bostock and Bell, Bombay, are his agents,” evading the question
and his nephew’s eyes.
“I know that; I have written to their care steadily for the last six
years.”
“And never had an answer?” with ill-concealed satisfaction.
“No, except a ‘Pioneer’ at long, long intervals.”
“Just to show that he is alive? Let me see, it is eight years since
he left the service and went to live at a place called the Doon. He
wrote pretty regularly up to then; and when Mrs. Jervis was killed in
that carriage accident, he never sent a line, only a paper. Poor
woman! I believe she led him a devil of a life. She was insanely
jealous.”
“I suppose I can get his address in Bombay—his real address, I
mean?”
“Yes, I should think so.”
“And then I shall look him up—at once.”
“If he will be looked up. The Jervises are an eccentric family. I
heard some queer stories of them not long ago.”
“But my father never struck you as eccentric, did he?”
“No. And, of course, you must try and see him; but don’t let him lay
hands on you and keep you, my boy. He was a handsome,
persuasive sort of fellow, and had wonderful personal charm—when
he chose to exert it. India has cast a spell upon him, and kept him
with her for the best part of his life. Don’t let India do the same by
you.”
“No fear of that,” with emphasis.
“Well, I’m sorry now you are going out there, for several reasons. I
would have preferred China or Australia, but Waring has his say and
his way.”
“And I had my say and my way too, Uncle Dan. India is my native
land; I remember it distinctly—the servants with their dark faces and
big white turbans, my little chestnut pony, which was called the ‘Lal
Tatoo,’ and I want to see my father. You know we have not met for
fifteen years.”
“I know,” assented Mr. Pollitt, gloomily, and added, after a pause, “I
wonder now, if it would be possible for you to throw me over—and
stop out there with him!”
“There is not the smallest probability of that. Besides, my father
does not want me.”
“And supposing that he did!” exclaimed Mr. Pollitt, suddenly
jumping up and beginning to walk about the room. “Bear this in view,
that you must make up your mind between us! You cannot be son
and heir to two men! You can pay him a visit of a week, or at most a
month; but if you postpone coming home at his request—I warn you,
that you may stay in India till I fetch you! To put the matter in a
nutshell, I wash my hands of you for ever! Not one farthing of my
money will you see,” he continued, speaking in great excitement. “I
shall leave every shilling to hospitals, you understand that, eh?” he
gasped, breathless.
“Yes, and it would be but just. I cannot live with my father in India
and be your adopted son at home, but you are needlessly alarmed. I
shall turn up again within a year without fail. I’ll take a return ticket if
you like.”
“Well, that’s a bargain, my boy. I’m a bit jealous of your father, and
it’s a nasty, low, ungentlemanly feeling. I must confess that I have
been glad that he, so to speak, dropped you. But he handed you
over to me when he married the Begum, and you are my son—not
his.”
The day of departure arrived; the valet (a somewhat garrulous
person, with superb references), in charge of three cabs loaded with
baggage, preceded the travellers to Victoria, whilst Mr. and Mrs.
Pollitt drove the young men in the family landau, in order to see the
last of them.
As Mark and his uncle slowly paced the platform, the latter, who
had been incessantly fussy all the morning, said—
“Now, I hope nothing has been forgotten, and that you have
everything you want?”
“I’m sure we have—and ten times over.”
“You will write often—once a week—if only a line, eh? Mind you
don’t forget us.”
“No fear of that, Uncle Dan.”
“And remember our bargain. Though I have not taken return
tickets, after all. Don’t stay longer than the year. I don’t know how I’m
to get on without you. I can never use the mail-phaeton now, for I
hate sitting beside the coachman—and—you know, I tried to drive
once—and the result. There will be no one to take me on the river on
a hot afternoon—other people but you think an old fogey has no
business there. Oh, I shall miss you! I’ve lodged money for you in
Bombay with Bostock & Bell’s” (naming a magnificent sum), “and
when it’s done, you must come home, for I won’t send you another
stiver. It’s in your name, of course—you will be paymaster.”
“All right, uncle.”
“Keep your cheque-book locked up. Don’t let a tiger get hold of
you, or one of those scheming, husband-hunting women that
Clarence talks about.”
“You may make your mind quite easy on that score,” with a rather
derisive smile.
“Well, time is up, my dear boy. I am sorry you are going; take care
of yourself. God bless you!” wringing his hand as he spoke.
Meanwhile Mrs. Pollitt and her brother had also been having a few
parting words.
“Now, Clar,” she said impressively, “I have done a good thing for
you. This is a splendid chance. Be sure you make the most of it; if
you please the ‘uncle,’ as you call him, he will help you to something
better by-and-by.”
Clarence nodded sagaciously. He was in the highest spirits.
“You are not really limited to time, you know,” she continued, in a
whisper.
“I know,” and there was a significant look in his right eye, almost
approaching to a wink.
“And you will be manager—and paymaster.”
“Guide, councillor, and friend, you bet.”
“And now, dear boy, do be prudent; don’t get into any more
entanglements with grass widows; don’t get into any more betting or
gambling scrapes—promise me.”
“I shall be as steady as old Time or young Mark himself, and I
can’t say more. Well, good-bye—and thanks awfully, Lina. I must say
you do stick to your own people”—adding, with a hasty kiss—“I see
we are off.”
As the carriage moved slowly past the Pollitts, who were standing
side by side, Clarence flung himself back with a boisterous laugh, as
he exclaimed—
“I declare, the uncle seems quite cut up—ha, ha, ha! Upon my
soul, I believe the old chap is crying!”

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Appendix A: Solution to The Prisoner’s Release . . . . . . . . . . 169

T his book almost wasn’t. Undoubtedly due to one or

Mind Over Matter

W hat would you do if someone handed

Hard for me to say, because I don’t know you. But the

to observe these patterns. The evidence I’ve collected is over-

This book represents a short and user-​friendly distillation

I t’s 2005. I am seated in a corporate conference

logic, and rationality, and has no qualms about taking the

that’s what’s needed here. Go-​go “Git ’er done” thinking

Imagine that you own a luxury health club. As part of

You tell your employees that they are free to be as inno-

I reiterate to the bomb tech team that they are free to be

THE ELEGANT SOLUTION

One that achieves the maximum effect with minimum means.

Try your hand at solving this thought exercise. Put this

• keep bottles at the front desk to check in and out

• “most wanted list”: pictures and names of offenders

Unfortunately, all of these solutions violate one or more of

THE SEVEN FLAWS & FIXES

honesty in the context of petty theft are, well, nil. There is

in order to see things in an altogether new light. In other

Another part of the answer is a simple lack of a reliable

Herbert Simon in his 1957 book Models of Man. We glom

way, the two elements needed to attain any well-​set goal, to

6. Not Invented Here (NIH)

* In a database search of scholarly papers, I found over 600 journal articles

the individual or team, often resulting in an unnecessary

user interface from Xerox, an act “sometimes described as one

and experiment. We render ourselves mindless. When that

the name implies, the concept is one of distancing yourself

WINNING THE BRAIN GAME

Fixing the Seven Fatal Flaws of Thinking

Leaping, Fixation, and Overthinking make up Part One

from my observation and experience are not quite as dom-

Mark Jervis had been agreeably surprised by his aunt’s

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

This book represents a short and user-friendly distillation

that’s what’s needed here. Go-go “Git ’er done” thinking

way, the two elements needed to attain any well-set goal, to