Celebrating PI Day!

“I finally see where I belong” often starts quietly, almost by accident. A student wanders into a Pi Day event because there’s free pie, not because they think math has anything to do with them. They expect to feel like an outsider again—another room where the “real” math people will do the talking. But as they listen, they hear a guest speaker casually mention being the first in their family to go to college, or struggling with math in middle school, or switching careers into STEM later in life. The stories sound less like polished genius and more like persistence, doubt, and small, stubborn steps forward.

As the activities unfold, the room feels different from a normal class. There’s laughter during a silly pi‑recitation contest, teams arguing over who measured a circle more accurately, someone proudly wearing a homemade π shirt. Instead of being tested, everyone is invited to play: to estimate, to experiment, to be wrong and then correct themselves. In that environment, the student stops seeing math as a gate guarded by a few brilliant people and starts seeing it as a language that anyone can pick up, slowly, with practice.

What makes Pi Day powerful in this story isn’t the number itself; it’s the way the day reframes who “gets” to enjoy math. The student notices a teacher cheering loudest for the kid who improved their pi‑digits record from 7 to 15, not just for the one who recites 200. They hear peers admit, “I thought this was going to be boring, but this is actually kind of fun.” For someone who has spent years feeling like they’re on the outside of every math conversation, that small, shared enthusiasm signals something profound: you don’t have to be the best to belong here.

By the end of the day, nothing magical has happened to their test scores. What has changed is the story they tell themselves. Instead of “I’m not a math person,” it becomes “I’m a person learning math, and people like me are welcome at the table.” That internal shift doesn’t show up on a Pi Day poster, but it quietly shapes their future choices—raising a hand one more time, signing up for the next course, or even mentoring someone else who feels out of place. In that moment, surrounded by digits of π and crumbs of pie, they finally see where they belong—and it’s in the circle, not outside it.

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Why I Switched to a Hybrid Approach and Tripled My Team’s Delivery Rate

Agile was supposed to be the answer. Stand-ups, sprints, retros, these rituals promised faster delivery, happier teams, and stakeholders who finally felt in sync with engineering. For a while, it worked. My team hit a rhythm, delivered features quickly, and felt engaged in the process.

But over time, the cracks showed.

Velocity slowed to a crawl. Stand-ups became theater. Engineers dreaded sprint planning. Stakeholders kept asking when features would actually be done. And remote work made it worse with Zoom fatigue, Slack overload, and endless context-switching draining the energy Agile was supposed to give us.

At first, I blamed the team. Maybe we weren’t “doing Agile right.” So I doubled down on the rituals. More retros, stricter sprints, tighter velocity tracking. But the harder I pushed, the more Agile turned into bureaucracy.

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AI Is Changing The Economics of Software Development - Mike Cohn