a solution in search of a problem
on cheeseballs and parenthood.
*due to my technical ineptitude, a prior version of this story was sent at 3:10pm in error
There is a running joke in consulting that the last thing you want to design is a solution in search of a problem. A product without a customer. Really any permutation of this idea that exposes the uncomfortable reality that while you are expending a lot of energy (and client dollars) developing some “solution” that you don’t really understand the needs of the client enough to provide them a lot of value. Yet, your company’s profit margins often suggest that these clients crave your role as a security blanket more than they do retaining their own employees.
As my son’s first birthday passes, I’m starting to realize that every new parent on the planet is a lot like this useless entry level consultant. Overworked and under rested, you spend a lot of your time just kind of milling around inventing problems to solve.
What is the optimal order of reading, changing and snuggling in order to produce maximum sleep? Will singing this ¾ of that lullaby I know one more time help engage baby enough to convert one more burp? How can we redesign baby’s resting position so that I can both scroll through hours of unrealistic parenting expectations while saving my arm from what feels like an intense acupuncture session?
Six months into spinning up solutions my tiny new client didn’t need, I went back to the place that pays me to send emails (a little ironic considering today’s snafu). We were having an office celebration which included a request to lug appetizers 36 miles by foot, train and subway to share with coworkers. I offered to bring my favorite NYT cheeseball recipe. It has celery, mint, cumin and pistachios and it’s compact, so it was perfect.
It wasn’t until we were midway through the party that I realized that, stay with me here, a cheeseball is also a lot like parenting and consulting. A third type of solution in search of a problem.
Babies (and clients) require so much guess work, a lot like the three part strategy needed to plan how to transport a cheeseball through 3 types of transit and 5 weather systems.
When presented in public people are intrigued by the outcome, but don’t really know how to engage with it. No one wants to be the first one to touch its cherub like roundness.
On the table, a cheeseball mills around somewhere between a large snack and way too much food before the meal. It tries to answer questions like: are you too impatient to wait just 20 more minutes for the main course? Do you need something to make these crackers less sad? Are you looking for a way to annoyingly assert yourself in the nut allergy conversation? A cheeseball is your solution.
You’re not very good at your job, but your client loves you anyway. Which is good news for both parents and cheeseballs because it takes a while for them to get better. For all the separate parts to morph into one new flavor, better than you never imagined possible.
Make NYT’s Cheese Ball with Cumin, Mint and Pistachios.
Reading - and rereading Five Little Bunnies by Dan Yaccarino (2016).
Listening - to this weird free jazz reading of Green Eggs & Ham.
Snacking - on a lot of pea-sized fruits and bunny crackers.
Watching - that Bluey episode about backpackers which is straight hilarious.
Smelling - like Maximum Strength Desitin. All. The. Time.
The caption under the cheeseball photo! 🤣 Happy Birthday to your little guy, Mia!