For years, I planned my work the way most people do.
- Set goals.
- Break them into milestones.
- Pick a platform.
- Decide what to build.
It looked disciplined. It felt
ambitious.
And yet, something kept breaking.
The outputs existed — articles,
analyses, newsletters — but they didn’t compound. Each new project felt
like starting again, just slightly more experienced.
That’s when I realized the problem
wasn’t execution.
It was where everything was
starting from.
The
mistake most smart professionals make
We’re taught to think like this:
Decide what you want → plan
backwards → execute.
That works when:
- The problem is well-defined
- The path is known
- The environment is stable
But modern knowledge work doesn’t
look like that.
Most of the time:
- The problems are fuzzy
- The data is incomplete
- The value only becomes clear after you engage deeply
Trying to pre-plan outcomes in this environment leads to two traps:
- Performative work
— doing things that look productive but don’t sharpen judgment
- Premature productization — packaging ideas before they’ve proven they matter
I was doing both, even when I
thought I was being careful.
The
quiet insight that changed everything
What finally clicked was simple, but uncomfortable:
Analysis, writing, publishing, and
even products are not the work.
They are the results of the work.
So the real question became:
What is the source that reliably
produces good analysis, clear writing, and useful products?
- Not platforms.
- Not goals.
- Not habits.
The source had to be something
upstream — something that, if strengthened, would make everything else better downstream and almost automatically.
Shifting
from outputs to engines
Businesses don’t obsess over
individual sales.
They obsess over:
In other words, they design
engines, not outcomes. These engines are what delivers the outcomes that we all see as success or failure.
So I stopped asking:
- “What should I build?”
- “What should I sell?”
- “What should I publish this year?”
And started asking:
- “What kind of work environment produces good judgment?”
- “What forces me to think clearly instead of sounding
smart?”
- “What setup improves my decision-making even when
motivation is low?”
This is where the idea of a project
loop emerged where thinking leads the way. This is done by asking questions about that which you want to do. Thinking before action is the way to go.
Why
projects matter more than plans
A project is different from a goal.
A goal is abstract:
“Build digital products.”
A project is concrete:
“Interrogate this dataset and
explain what decisions it actually supports.”
Projects have:
- A source (data, reports, real-world situations)
- Constraints (time, clarity, evidence)
- Pressure (something at stake intellectually or
socially)
Under pressure, judgment is forged.
Without pressure, work becomes
ornamental.
The
project loop (in plain language)
Here’s the simplest version of the system I now run everything through:
- Start with a real source
Public data, research, reports, narratives — something external and stubborn. - Identify the decision pressure
What are people trying to decide here?
Where are they likely to be wrong? - Form a defensible judgment
Not an opinion. A conclusion that accounts for limits, trade-offs, and uncertainty. - Create a minimal artifact
An article. An essay. A note. Just enough to explain the judgment honestly. - Expose it to the world
Without hype. Without selling. - Observe what comes back
Questions. Confusion. Reuse. Silence. All of it is feedback. - Check for repetition over time
Does the same confusion keep showing up?
Does the same explanation keep working?
Only after repetition does
productization even enter the conversation.
Why
I stopped forcing products and services.
One of the most counterintuitive lessons was this:
If you’re still excited about an
idea, it’s probably too early to sell it.
Real products don’t come from
excitement.
They come from repetition of process and/or feedback.
When you find yourself explaining the same thing:
- To different people
- In different contexts
- With the same core logic
That’s not boredom — that’s a signal.
It means:
- The thinking has stabilized
- The confusion is real
- The value is transferable
Until then, writing publicly is not
wasted effort.
It’s soil enrichment.
What
this changed about my platforms
Instead of treating every platform the same, each now has a clear role:
- My blog
holds finished thinking — work that has survived pressure.
- LinkedIn
is where judgment meets real professionals and real contexts.
- Substack
is a workshop — slower, quieter, and more tolerant of unfinished ideas.
None of them exist to “build an
audience.”
They exist to test and refine judgment publicly.
Products, if they appear, will
emerge from that process — not from a brainstorm.
Why
this approach feels boring (and why that’s good)
There’s no dopamine hit in this
system.
No viral loop.
No illusion of speed.
What replaces excitement is:
- Clarity
- Fewer decisions
- Less self-deception
Boredom is often the feeling of optionalities
collapsing.
And that’s exactly what serious work
requires.
What
success now looks like
I no longer measure progress by:
- Number of posts
- Number of ideas
- Number of products launched
Success now looks like:
- Clearer thinking
- Faster problem framing
- Better questions
- Fewer but stronger outputs
If the source is sound, results will
accumulate.
If the source is weak, no amount of publishing will save it.
The
principle I’m carrying forward
If I had to compress everything into one line, it would be this:
Don’t optimize what you produce.
Optimize what produces you.
The rest will follow — quietly,
slowly, and for the right reasons.