Maps are easy to sell. If you know where you are and where you’d like to go, the map solves your problem. Maps are all around us: how-to, what-to, step-by-step.
The compass is more resilient but less descriptive. It shines a light, gives us clarity, but the next steps are up to us.
In an age of ubiquitous AI, answers are no longer in short supply. But questions are more valuable than ever.
Twenty years ago, I published my scariest book, The Dip. It frightened my publisher and the booksellers because it was about a topic rarely written about (quitting) and it deliberately did not contain much in the way of answers or procedures. The book was designed to give people clarity about something they’d been avoiding, and to provoke the difficult questions that can transform the path we are on.
Decades later, I still get earnest questions about quitting. Once you see it, it’s hard to unsee, which is the point of this sort of work. The existence of a compass helps us realize that it might help to know which way is north.
This fall, I’m back with The Knot. It’s not a sequel, but it rhymes.
Because sometimes, the question isn’t whether to push through or to quit. Sometimes, you’ve already decided the work matters. You’ve already decided the problem is worth solving. And still, we’re stuck.
A knot happens when we want two things that can’t both be true. We want to make a change, but we don’t want to risk disapproval. We want to ship the work, but we want a guarantee it will work. We want to move forward, but we’re carrying a commitment, a scorecard, a fear, or a story from the past.
The book is a compass with a simple north star: Problems can be solved. Our work has a purpose, intent, the change we seek to make. If we can name the baggage that’s holding us back or confusing us, progress is possible.
It ships next week.
The people who have read it can’t stop talking about it, because it helps us realize that better is possible. I hope you can share a copy with someone who needs it.