The seduction of changing the world will ruin you

Here's how to do it better

We’re experiencing a cultural vibe shift—one filled with promise and opportunity now that the "woke nuns" of recent years have stopped metaphorically smacking our wrists for every perceived misstep. The air is thick with a desire to fix lingering issues, to rush into a kind of cultural justice as payback for what we’ve all endured. It’s tempting to embrace this momentum and dive headfirst into solving everything at once.

But let’s pause for a moment. Progress thrives on nuance, not overcorrections. If we’re not careful, we risk repeating the mistakes that got us here in the first place. Thoughtful choices, not reactionary ones, should guide us forward.

On a more personal note, you might be surprised to learn that writing isn’t my main gig. My 9-to-5? It’s a bit niche—I help organizations fix cultural and operational misalignments. Think of me as a mechanic, but for ideas and egos. I join teams—usually at startups or organizations struggling to execute their ambitious plans—and work with the C-Suite to tackle big-picture goals.

They’ll say things like, “We want to improve conversion by 10%,” or “We’ve identified a new sales opportunity—help us drive traffic to it,” or even, “We’re on a mission to prevent homelessness.” Noble goals, sure, but coming up with a brilliant idea is the easy part. The real challenge lies in validating assumptions, researching feasibility, ensuring there’s a market for the idea, and having the skills (and cash flow) to execute without everything falling apart.

The past decade has seen too many grand ideas forced into reality without enough groundwork. Half-baked research and emotional blackmail became the main vehicles for progress—like that nightmare boss who demands the impossible while vilifying anyone who points out the cracks. People clung emotionally to utopian visions, convinced they were the only path forward. Exhausting, unproductive, and, let’s face it, delusional. *cough* Theranos *cough*

When you’re too emotionally invested in a project, you lose objectivity. Suddenly, it’s not just a project—it’s your baby, your pride, your worth, maybe even your entire reason for existing. The “how” becomes irrelevant. Belief in its success overshadows logic, and anyone who questions it—no matter how rational—is immediately seen as the enemy.

Early in my career, I was that person—the one who treated every idea like a fragile masterpiece. If anyone dared critique my “brilliant” concepts (often for entirely valid reasons), it felt like a personal attack. I’d stew on their feedback, let it ruin my day, and maybe even hold a grudge. You know, healthy stuff.

But over time, I learned something invaluable…I am not my ideas. My worth doesn’t hinge on them being flawless or universally praised. It wasn’t about me—it was about the work. When I finally let go of my ego attachment, I realized the magic didn’t come from defending my ideas at all costs but from collaborating to test, refine, and create something better. Great ideas survive on merit, not on how tightly we cling to them.

I don’t judge the left for wanting to create a more equitable world for marginalized communities. Honestly, it’s admirable. Advocating for a better quality of life and destigmatizing difficult topics is both noble and necessary. That said, activism comes at a cost that often gets overlooked. The temptation to “burn it all down” when the system feels broken is strong—and understandable. But real disruption, the kind that changes history, is very slow and doesn’t aim to destroy anyone. It uplifts everyone.

In product design, disruption works because you don’t just erase what exists—you replace it with something dramatically better. Take ChatGPT, for example. Google, a giant in the tech world, is facing an existential threat as traditional search becomes increasingly irrelevant. But instead of clinging to moral high ground or resisting change, Google is investing heavily in developing its own AI products to stay competitive.

Their goal isn’t to crush ChatGPT with lofty rhetoric; it’s to outpace it by being 500 times better. Why? Because staying at the forefront means continuing to attract top talent, maintain their dominance, and build products people actually want to use.

But even for Google, these breakthroughs aren’t overnight successes. They’re the culmination of decades of trial and error, persistence, and innovation—not impulsive, short-lived crusades. Disruption works when it’s rooted in strategy and long-term vision, not just ambition.

This is why we celebrate people like Jane Goodall or Steve Jobs. They didn’t succeed by flipping off the old system—they mastered themselves first. Real change requires genius, relentless discipline, humility, and often a lifetime of work. Not everyone on your social feed is Gandhi, and that’s okay. But we’d do well to remember that meaningful, lasting influence doesn’t happen overnight. The kind of change worth celebrating is thoughtful, tested, and built to endure.

Sure, it’s tempting to imagine yourself as the next great innovator, storming in like a messianic figure, ready to save the world. But before you know it, you’re tangled in overly complex solutions to problems no one asked you to solve.

Don’t get me wrong, someone needs to tackle the big issues. But let’s be honest—most of us are just trying to find a decent parking spot, not solve world peace. The trick is knowing when you’re genuinely improving things and when you’re just throwing darts and calling it “progress” because you skimmed a couple of books on social justice.

So, don’t get swept up in the romantic idea of world-changing heroism. Keep your feet on the ground, your head out of the clouds, and focus on what’s within reach. Because the world can manage just fine without your “revolution,” thank you very much.

The ones who solve the big issues aren’t just dreamers; they know how to tell the difference between a great idea and complete nonsense. Let’s use product as an analogy—but you can swap that word with government, social justice, or anything else. The meaning holds.

Product culture isn’t about cranking out shiny features or building apps that crash the moment you open them. It’s about soul—turning ideas into things that actually work and add value. Enter the concept of the “feature factory.” Imagine Willy Wonka’s factory, but instead of whimsical chocolate, it’s an assembly line of pointless candy no one asked for. No strategy, no purpose—just worm-flavored gummies for birds that don’t even need them. Sure, you shipped 20 cases this quarter, but has anyone bought them? Nope. And the birds are still hungry.

Great product culture focuses on outcomes, not outputs. If Willy Wonka’s north star is ensuring every child experiences joy through chocolate, suddenly shifting to "candy for birds" would be a huge distraction. And if you’re passionate about birds, that’s fine—just go work somewhere aligned with that mission. The problem arises when you try to change Wonka’s mission into something it’s not.

This misalignment isn’t just a product problem. It’s the same issue driving societal breakdowns. Look at what happens when noble-sounding goals like equity or anti-racism become society’s north star. At surface level, these are ideals few would argue against—who doesn’t want fairness and inclusion? But dig deeper, and you’ll find they’re often implemented with overly simplistic frameworks that don’t account for complexity. The result? Efforts collapse under their own weight, not because the goals are wrong, but because they lack foresight and nuance.

On the flip side, populism poses a similar problem. Replacing federal agencies with decentralized city-states might sound revolutionary, but gutting existing systems without careful planning doesn’t solve anything. It just swaps one set of problems for another—often worse.

The real issue isn’t the ideas themselves. It’s the lack of thoughtful execution and the rush to replace existing systems without understanding what’s being built in their place. Big ideas are great, but without foresight, they don’t just fail—they implode. And when they do, everyone pays the price.

The root of the problem lies in the way we interact with public systems today. It often feels like navigating a Kafkaesque nightmare—endless paperwork, incomprehensible rules, and persistent potholes that never get fixed. This is what we call "design debt" in product development—when systems scale too quickly, forcing us to implement quick fixes that lack proper oversight and are prone to breaking. We keep piling on solutions without ever pausing to build something sustainable.

It’s like paying for Spotify Premium but instead of enjoying music, you’re stuck with static and a shady guy named Chad in accounting using your subscription fee to buy a yacht—while the artists never see a dime.

But imagine governance with the clarity of a great product team. Taxes could fund visible community improvements. Better yet, you could choose where your money goes and see its impact. That kind of transparency would inspire trust, involvement, and maybe even pride.

Here’s the catch. You can’t fix systems—government, product, or otherwise—without self-awareness. The closer you are to the people you’re trying to serve, the more humility you develop. You realize how little you know, and that’s when growth happens. Solving big problems requires stepping outside your ego, asking for help, and admitting when you’re wrong.

Without this humility, tearing down systems becomes reckless. It’s like swapping a car’s brakes for the accelerator without warning anyone. Progress becomes about satisfying egos, not delivering real value.

The first step is to celebrate accountability. When someone admits a mistake and makes a genuine effort to course-correct, that’s where innovation and growth happen. That’s how we build systems—whether for products, governments, or societies—that actually work. And if we embrace that and keep our egos in check, the sky’s the limit for us.