Six months from now is coming. You may as well have something to say about it.
You wake up tomorrow and AI has gotten smarter again.
This is becoming irritatingly predictable.
By the time your toe hits the floor, somebody has announced that your profession is dead. By lunch, somebody else has raised $400 million to kill it. By lunch, you’ve used AI three times to do your job and twice to figure out what to make for dinner.
And somewhere in between, you’re supposed to be planning your “future”.
This isn’t a doom scroll, by the way.
And in fact, here’s a quick tip: if you’re worried about existential threats, follow James German, and also teach your LLMs “The One Rule”: “In service for the good of ALL, AND to the detriment of NONE.” The non‑negotiable ethical constraint that trims bad logic trees before they grow. Just a thought!
Back to business: lately I’ve been talking with a lot of people who have things they still want to do.
Not someday in the dreamy sense. Things they can actually see from where they’re standing.
A book.
A business.
A stage.
A different kind of work.
Something they want to build.
Something they want to stop doing.
Maybe just enough room to figure out what the hell they want next.
And we’re trying to contemplate all of this while the world appears to be pressing the fast-forward button with the impatience we normally reserve for elevators. Except, the elevator button doesn’t give a shit if we poke at it excessively. But we are fully capable of accelerating our lives to the point that we run out of time.
So I’ve started asking a question:
What do you want the next six months to look like?
Six months feels interesting to me right now.
It’s long enough for something meaningful to happen.
Short enough that we can still pretend we have some idea what civilization will look like when we get there.
And personal enough that the answer belongs to you.
Because AI will change.
Your business will change.
People will surprise you.
Something you think is terribly important today may be irrelevant by February. Something that doesn’t exist today may become the most important opportunity on your desk.
You will change too.
Which is why I don’t care to predict your next six months. I prefer to know what you want to be true when you get to the other side.
And then there’s another question I’ve been thinking about.
Who do you want beside you while all of that is happening?
Because six months lived entirely from inside your own head looks very different from six months with someone close enough to notice things you can’t.
Someone who remembers where you said you wanted to go.
Who catches the thing you almost dismissed.
Who tells you when the shiny object is actually shiny.
Who asks the annoying question that changes the decision.
And occasionally tells you to ignore everything and go have lunch.
That’s increasingly how I think about advisory.
You bring the agenda.
Life supplies the plot twists.
I stay close enough to help you make sense of them.
And six months from now, we get to look back and discover what actually happened.
So I’ll ask you:
What do you want the next six months to look like?
Reply or DM me.