🧭 Directionally Correct

We've all been there.

Those moments when the sheer number of decisions in front of you and tasks that demand your urgent attention are on the brink of making you collapse. When your obligations outpace your capacity by an ultra marathon's worth, and your executive function has long since fled the C-suite.

It's okay, my friend. We've all been there.

It's hard to find some type of resolve and calm in those moments. And lately, when I have found myself in those precarious situations, I've found an unexpected voice tapping about in my head: David Pierce, editor-at-large of The Verge, describing things as "directionally correct."

The Verge is a tech blog (and wonderfully self-described last website on earth) so it's admittedly an atypical pairing with the problem statement I'm describing. It's not that there's some new piece of technology that can come along at those moments of analysis paralysis and pull you back from the ledge (but, like, if anyone does invent/find that device/app/system, ya gotta let me know); rather, it's this broader concept that I find fascinating and helpful.

In podcasts, David often uses that phrase to describe some type of product or process in the tech world that has known flaws or is too immature to be considered a proven concept, but that is nonetheless on the right path.

The direction, however selected or motivated, is right. There's something profound to that statement.

In a way, it's an avenue to zoom out from the specifics of a particular scenario and make the high-level assessment instead of neurotically ensuring that every piece is exactly as it should be. Is this thing, on balance, when evaluating the pieces that seem right and the pieces that are obviously imperfect, moving in a meaningful and productive way? If yes, it's directionally correct, and that matters. It suggests momentum and a clear reason to keep going.

Longtime readers know that I am fairly obsessed with the idea of the sum of the parts and their influence on the whole. When we talk about things like identity, it's not formulaic or obvious, nor should it lend itself to oversimplification. We are messy creatures, and we are, in a very real sense, every experience and interaction and quality all at once.

So what if, when the component pieces aren't adding up and the sense of dread sets in from the manifestly exhausting list of things to do, you can take a step back, breathe, and ask yourself that simple question: is this directionally correct?

It may be that you need to tap into a trusted friend or colleague for a more objective analysis. Sometimes we get so darn fixated that we completely lose sight of the bigger picture, and we need someone else to pull us out of that hyper-focused state.

Be you in need of the opinion of another or not, you should, in any given situation, be able to say with clarity whether you are moving in the right direction. If the answer is yes, well, keep going. Sometimes the only way out is through.

But the problem with that phrase is that it's often said as a broad spectrum truism, though I doubt that's how Frost meant it. In reality there's often a blindingly obvious alternate route: retrace your steps and get the hell out of there.

Which is to say, if your assessment is that you're heading the wrong way, consider turning around. There's no shame in doing so. Consider pausing on the myriad demands, if only for a moment, and interrogating if you're piling things on without intention or likelihood of success. There's only benefit in doing so.

Because the thing about being correct is that it often requires correction to get there.

Correctly Yours,

-Rye