Why I Don’t Have a Five-Year Plan

I’ve always been amazed, and a bit perplexed, by people who have five- or ten-year plans.

That’s not to say that I don’t have north star objectives: things centered around my values, hopes for my family and loved ones, and a broad set of professional aspirations.

But questions that get down to the next level of detail don’t work for me.

This is because I know what I don’t know about my future possibility set: the things that I can imagine today are a function of who and where I am today, and, if I keep making progress, my today view of what’s possible will be out of date in a year or two years’ time.

My mindset is fueled by the work of Stephen Johnson and the idea of “adjacent possible,” which is the core mental model for creating an innovative culture.  The idea is that the possibility set — for everything from evolution to new ideas — is a function of the frontier of current available biology / best thinking. The things that are adjacent to that frontier are the ideas that are possible today; and as that frontier moves, new ideas are possible tomorrow.

Take the work of 60 Decibels: we have a set of capabilities, positioning in a number of markets, and big plans for what the future holds. But the future paths, while all fitting under a clear strategic umbrella, are many. If I knew for sure which one would be the one we’ll be walking, then I’d be a soothsayer.

Imagine, then, the paths we could take, all representing big possibilities, and then roll the tape forward two years: one or two of those paths is going to be successful, success will breed investment into new capabilities, which will create more success and more opportunities.

Something that looks like this (and yes, more than one branch from today could survive until tomorrow, that’s just harder to draw):

As I imagine that extending out for two or three years, it’s not a useful exercise to imagine the perfect mix of products, or markets, or offerings that we “ideally” will have—exactly because we are faced with so much opportunity.

I can see the big, long term goals, and I can make the best strategic choices with the information I have today. I can integrate that new information quickly, adapt and adjust. But I cannot see further than the distance my headlights shine.

Strong ideas, loosely held.

What to Do When Your Commitment Wavers

Henry Ford famously quipped that, if he had asked them, people would have said what they wanted was a faster horse.

It’s easy to see how this insight applies to new products.

It is more profound to note that it also applies to social change.

Social change is the act of building a car that nearly everyone cannot see.

Worse, they have a vested interest in a faster horse—after all, change involves loss.

For the instigator of that change, the person at the center of that storm, believing in that vision for years is no small feat.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year…fighting for a vision that few can see, when change comes slowly, and feedback loops are imperfect.

(Because, unlike with a product, we don’t even have a traditional market sending back reliable signals).

It is human to doubt your own vision from time to time.

Indeed, when we are building things that might take a generation to come to pass, it’s a miracle we don’t doubt our vision every day.

Don’t be too hard on yourself if there are days when your confidence flags.

Days when you think, “the doubters may be right after all.”

Days when you wonder if people ever really will want that car that you’re so painstakingly building—aren’t they awfully happy with their horses?

I’ve found two things to help me on these sorts of days:

First, I turn to my own tribe of true believers: folks who remind me of what’s possible, why it matters so much, and how far we’ve come. Whether it’s the way they smile, their infectious enthusiasm, or the hard road they’ve walked, we all have people who can shine a light on us and help us remember the things we might have temporarily forgotten.

Second, I return to the clearest, simplest version of that change I’m trying to create, a story so powerful that has a logic of its own, is trivial to remember, and is easy for others to share.

Our story at 60 Decibels is that it’s crazy to think that you can create meaningful, lasting social change if you never listen to the people involved in that change.

What’s yours?

Supporting Your Team

So often we are confused by what it means to lead a team.

We think it is about fiery big speeches, painting a picture of the future, rallying the troops to scale that next mountain.

And yes, there are those days and those moments.

We all need to be reminded of our “why” and see ourselves in the great deeds of others, so we can push to new places.

But most days, what matters more is deeply paying attention to people, and turning that attention into actions that further their success.

Noticing what they said, and what they didn’t say, to learn what they need.

Being available for a task that might seem small but that we know is significant.

Anticipating an issue they may not have seen coming, and helping them head it off at the pass.

Continuing to think about them after they’re out of the room, and, later, saying things like, “You know that hard thing we talked about? Can I help you with it?”

Lending a hand to take their 75% chance of success and turn it to 100%—even and especially if doing so doesn’t make “sense” according to your and their job description.

People feel supported when they feel noticed, when they see you devote time and energy to their success when you’re apart, and when you take actions that make them shine.

Talk, in the end, is cheap…and actions, well, there’s a reason they speak so loudly.