While you might think turning a yellow spot into the sun is mainly about strong execution, it’s equally about inventiveness and vision. There are situations where I wouldn’t have been able to describe what the person ended up creating. I had a version of what “great” looked like in my mind—and they surpassed it in ways I wouldn’t have been able to articulate in advance.

Arielle because Balsamiq is a newsletter sponsor. She shared a story that’s an example of turning a yellow spot into the sun. Here’s what she said: “Something I did that completely changed my career in its early years: I kept a work journal. I noted down decisions I made as an IC and manager, decisions my managers made, the outcomes, the impact, and what I learned. I wrote down those "inside thoughts" we all have during meetings. I wrote down the advice I HATED and why, as well as the helpful stuff. I wrote down pivotal interactions with clients, peers, leaders, and direct reports. I wrote down specific phrases different leaders liked to use. It was almost scientific—I applied basic tactics I learned in science/psychology classes about field observation. I still reference that journal to this day.”

Most people in her shoes would have said, “I need a mentor. I need someone to teach me strategy. I need support. I need to ask execs to explain their decisions and get their feedback.” Not Arielle. Arielle took a little (i.e. the lived experiences she was getting on the job, like all her peers)—and she turned it into a lot.

There is no set of rules (beyond the first principles I cover here each week) to memorize. It’s the same foundational principles, like knowing your assets/levers/constraints, asking the question behind the question, thinking rigorously, etc.

Before you move on to the next shiny object, consider if you’ve really squeezed every last drop of juice from your current endeavor.

People celebrate the strategy at the beginning and the outcome at the end, but if you look more deeply, there was usually good decision-making and craft at each step, which layered up to greatness. That’s why turning a yellow spot into the sun isn’t only for dramatic projects. It’s equally about elevating stuff most folks think of as boring and small.

Keep an eye out for anything that makes you stop in your tracks, even small things. Note what makes it feel magical and add it to your mental swipe file.

I find it tremendously hopeful that “Stoner” is thriving in a world in which capitalist energies are so hellbent on distracting us from the necessary anguish of our inner lives. “Stoner” argues that we are measured ultimately by our capacity to face the truth of who we are in private moments, not by the burnishing of our public selves.

The story of his life is not a neat crescendo of industry and triumph, but something more akin to our own lives: a muddle of desires and inhibitions and compromises.

The deepest lesson of “Stoner” is this: What makes a life heroic is the quality of attention paid to it.

Americans worship athletes and moguls and movie stars, those who possess the glittering gifts we equate with worth and happiness. The stories that flash across our screens tend to be paeans to reckless ambition.

It’s the staggering acceleration of our intellectual and emotional metabolisms: our hunger for sensation and narcissistic reward, our readiness to privilege action over contemplation. And, most of all, our desperate compulsion to be known by the world rather than seeking to know ourselves.

The emergence of a robust advertising culture reinforced the notion that Americans were more or less always on stage and thus in constant need of suitable costumes and props.

Consider our nightly parade of prime-time talent shows and ginned-up documentaries in which chefs and pawn brokers and bored housewives reinvent their private lives as theater.

If you want to be among those who count, and you don’t happen to be endowed with divine talents or a royal lineage, well then, make some noise. Put your wit — or your craft projects or your rants or your pranks — on public display.

Our most profound acts of virtue and vice, of heroism and villainy, will be known by only those closest to us and forgotten soon enough. Even our deepest feelings will, for the most part, lay concealed within the vault of our hearts. Much of the reason we construct garish fantasies of fame is to distract ourselves from these painful truths. We confess so much to so many, as if by these disclosures we might escape the terror of confronting our hidden selves.

revelation is triggered by literature. The novel is notable as art because it places such profound faith in art.

We can finally define what it means for someone to be differently free from you. They are people who are playing just a slightly different game than you are. That difference makes them a reliable sources of non sequiturs in your life. Waiting for nature to present you with a parrot or a piece of corn to awaken you out of a finite game is a tricky, chancy business.

Differently free people change the equation in an interesting way. When you include a person in your life, it is because they have a definite worth (possibly negative) in whatever finite game you’re asleep in at the time. This means there is at least some overlap between their game and yours; some similarity between how you keep score and how they do. Some meaningful relationship (possibly adversarial)  between how you define winning and how they do.

This means you have a model of the person in your head. One that predicts how they will value things.

it is the parts that don’t overlap that matter. There are things that have a defined worth in their lives that are non sequiturs in yours, and vice versa. When you see through the eyes of a differently free person, you expect to see a landscape of presumptively valued things. A landscape based on your predictions of how they value things. When the other person appears to value something that doesn’t even register with you, for a moment, that thing turns into a non sequitur, a candidate parrot. It lingers just a little bit longer in your own mind than it would if you yourself saw it. Long enough that you do a double take and notice it consciously.

My alternative to the heuristic, which many of you have heard in off-blog conversations, is that I am only interested in people as long as they are unpredictable to me. If I can predict what you’ll do or say, I’ll lose interest in you rapidly. If you can keep regularly surprising me in some way, forcing me to actually think in unscripted ways in order to respond, I’ll stay interested. It’s reciprocal. I suspect the people with whom I develop long-term relationships are the ones I surprise regularly. The ones who find me predictable don’t stick around. We’re not talking any old kind of surprise, but non sequiturs. Surprises that you can’t really relate to anything else, and don’t know what to do with. Mind-expanding surprises rather than gap-closing surprises.