Category: Style

You can’t build a vision

Great visionaries know better than to try.

Founders are encouraged to think bigger, dream bigger, and change the world. Investors ask about the ten-year roadmap before the company has ten customers. Every pitch deck ends with an enormous market and an even larger ambition.

Ironically, none of history’s great companies were built by executing their original vision.

Many founders have misunderstand what a vision is. They believe it is the product they should build. In reality, it is a vague direction they want to travel.

This seems backwards until you realize that a vision is not a blueprint. It is a compass.

A blueprint describes something that can be built today. A vision describes a future that cannot. Trying to build the destination first is one of the fastest ways to build something nobody wants.

Instead, great founders ask a different question.

“What is the current established working system that I can make a derivative of that points in the right direction”

The distinction sounds subtle, but it changes everything.

SpaceX did not begin by building a city on Mars. It started by trying to build a rocket (in fact buying existing rockets) that could reliably reach orbit and eventually be reused. “Making humanity multiplanetary” was never the first product. It was the reason for building the first product.

Amazon did not launch as the everything store. It sold books because books were one of the easiest retail categories to digitize. Only after mastering logistics, fulfillment, warehousing, recommendations, and customer trust could it expand into everything else. Patience is Bezos’ super power.

Uber did not replace transportation. It simply made hailing a ride easier. The broader transformation of urban mobility emerged from years of iteration after customers had already adopted the first step. And transportation is far from replaced.

Even Apple followed this pattern repeatedly. The Macintosh was not Steve Jobs’ ultimate vision for personal computing. In fact Lisa was a visionary product that failed terribly. The iPod was hardly the invention of portable music. In many respects it was an exceptionally well-executed digital Walkman. Yet it became the foundation for the iPhone, which became the foundation for an ecosystem that Jobs could never have shipped on day one.

There is an uncomfortable lesson hidden inside all of these stories.

Visionaries don’t build their vision.

They build the first stepping stone that reality will allow. They don’t fight the world to manifest their vision to life against all odds. They fight their ego to build what’s possible today. They hope the two will meet one day.

Many founders resist this because it feels like compromise. They worry that solving a smaller problem somehow means thinking smaller. They want to standout and be impressive.

The opposite is true. I am impressed by the success of the unimpressive.

Reducing an ambitious future into something customers will actually buy is one of the hardest acts of product design. It requires sacrificing elegance for momentum, completeness for usefulness, and pride for learning.

Almost anyone can imagine a better future. Make claims of what the future will look like and sell that.

The rare skill is translating that future into something almost disappointingly ordinary, shipping it, learning from reality, and repeating the process until the original vision slowly emerges.

History suggests that this is not the exception.

It is the process.

Can You, Did You, and Taste

Three stages separate ideas from products, and products from things people love.

The first stage is capability.

Can it be done? Can the software be written? Can the company be started? Can the product be built? Can the problem be solved?

These questions matter because capability is the foundation upon which everything else rests. Nothing can be executed, adopted, or admired until it is first plausible.

This is where most people rest comfortably.

The surprising thing about capability is that proving something can be done often provides many of the same emotional rewards as actually doing it. Once someone becomes convinced they could build the company, write the book, get in shape, learn the skill, or launch the product, the pressure largely disappears. Potential becomes a source of comfort.

The entrepreneur enjoys imagining the startup. The author enjoys discussing the book. The engineer enjoys architecting the system. The athlete enjoys knowing they could get serious whenever they decide the time is right. People tend to love their own brains and marvel at what it can achieve. Potential is attractive because it is free from accountability. It cannot fail because it does not yet exist.

Did you actually do it?

The second stage is execution. It only lives in the past tense. This is where the conversation changes. Ideas become products. Plans become companies. Discussions become outcomes. Concepts become features available for use and critique to the public domain. The world stops evaluating intentions and starts evaluating evidence.

A customer cannot buy potential. A user cannot interact with ambition. An investor cannot generate returns from possibility alone (though they push this rule as much as possible). The market, unlike our friends and colleagues, is remarkably indifferent to what could have happened. It only responds to what did happen.

People who reach this stage deserve significant credit. The distance between an idea and reality is far larger than most people appreciate. Building something that survives contact with the real world is difficult. Something complete, end-to-end. It accomplishes its intend (big or small) and no hand holding or excuses are needed for it to be used properly. Launching is difficult. Selling is difficult. Maintaining momentum is difficult.

Most people never get there. And I am being generous with “most”.

Yet many who do arrive at execution mistakenly believe they have reached the finish line. They assume that because something works, people will care. They assume that because a solution is objectively better, adoption will naturally follow. They assume that utility alone is enough. They believe a logical use case exists and therefore usage will follow. A good plan and execution is all that is needed.

History suggests otherwise.

The graveyard of technology is filled with products that worked. Many were faster than their competitors. Many were technically superior. Some were years ahead of their time. Their failure was not one of engineering. Their failure was assuming that human beings make decisions primarily through logic.

Taste.

Taste is one of the most misunderstood concepts in business because it is often reduced to aesthetics. People hear the word and think about typography, color palettes, industrial design, architecture, or fashion. Those things matter, but they are only symptoms of something deeper.

Taste is the ability to understand how another human being will experience what you have created.

It is the recognition that people do not merely consume functionality. They consume stories, emotions, identity, aspiration, status, trust, culture, and delight. A chair is not simply somewhere to sit. A restaurant is not merely a place to eat. A home is not simply shelter. A product is not just a collection of features. Even a purposefully poort taste for those that are tasteless is, in fact, a taste. The trickle down story line of decisions and focused intent lead to those that have the same test to become interested. Taste is not being fashionable, it is knowing people need clothes and certain groups of people like cheap clothes, some like expensive clothes, and some like expensive clothes that are on sale – but they know which group of tasters they want to have.

Every meaningful creation eventually becomes an experience.

This is why two products with nearly identical functionality can produce radically different outcomes. One becomes beloved while the other is forgotten. One creates a movement while the other creates a user base. One becomes part of a person’s identity while the other remains a tool.

The difference is often explained by taste.

The creators who understand taste recognize that presentation is part of the product. Storytelling is part of the product. Culture is part of the product. The emotional experience surrounding something is not separate from what is being built. It is one of the things being built.

Most people spend their lives asking whether something can be done. A much smaller group proves that it can. The rarest creators understand that neither capability nor execution guarantees significance.

The first stage asks whether something is possible.

The second proves that it is.

The third determines whether anyone cares.

Folks still wonder “why MCP?”. Here is a step-by-step comparison

Not much feels different. And that’s exactly why it confuses people. They expect magic.

I want a list of users. Here’s my pseudo-code way of sorting it out ways of doing it.

Traditional-coder scenario

Human: “I want user data from your system.”

Human goes to the docs
Finds the right endpoint
Sets up auth
Writes code: GET /users
Parses the response and uses it

The human is doing discovery, auth, integration, and parsing.

AI without MCP

Human Prompts: “List users from System X, using this doc [url]”
AI tries to reverse engineer endpoints and payloads
Maybe works, Maybe hallucinates
Human does not get coffee, they have to watch the AI progress and steer it.

The AI is the one reading the docs, but the developer is still doing work.

MCP scenario

Human: “List all users from in a Modal”

That’s it. Human goes to get coffee.

AI checks connected MCP servers
AI asks: “Do I have a tool for this?”
Finds a structured tool like list_users exposed by that service’s MCP server

That tool defines:

  • What it does
  • What inputs it needs
  • How auth works (handled server-side)

AI calls the tool through the MCP client
MCP server executes the call safely
Structured user data comes back
AI keeps going with real data

AI: “Modal with Users is ready for your review”

Human Browsing Web

Human says, “I want to get Users for the [service]”
Human opens Chrome and goes to https://%5Bservice%5D.com
Human click “Users” on the page.
They read list of Users on the page and spams them (or whatever else humans like to do these days.)

You don’t manually open a socket and craft packets. Your browser speaks a standard protocol and every website that follows it “just works.”

MCP is trying to be that layer, but for AI using software tools instead of humans using web pages. The key part is the contract. The AI is not inventing how to call your system. It is using a capability your system formally exposed over a shared protocol.

Multi-Prompting Makes Multitasking Real

For years we treated multitasking as a skill. A badge of honor. A sign that someone could juggle more than the rest of us. But anyone who has actually tried real multitasking knows the truth: it never works as well as the multitasker thinks. The human brain simply is not built for parallelism. It is built for rapid switching, and rapid switching has real cognitive taxes.

Yet a strange thing has emerged in the age of AI. A new pattern. A new form of workflow. Not delegation, not automation, not parallelization. Something in between.

I call it multi-prompting.

Multi-Prompting as an example

Multi-prompting is what happens when you have several active projects, each one running in near-real time, with the help of an AI system you guide through tight loops of prompting and review. You prompt one project, then the next, then the next. By the time you return to the first, the AI has completed executing the task (in detail). You immediately see the results, assess them while the objective is still fresh in your short-term memory, refine the prompt (or create a new task), and send it back into motion.

The entire loop across multiple projects might take only a few minutes.

The key is that nothing has left your mind. The objectives for all active projects remain in active memory, and the micro tasks are executed almost instantly. You are still steering. Still directing. Still deciding. The system is not replacing your cognition, it is amplifying it by absorbing the tedious layers of implementation. It is doing so without making tiny errors like typos; the fist things that begin to fail when a human multitasks entire objectives.

Why It Is Not Delegation

Delegation is a full transfer of work. You hand something to someone else, they go off and implement it, and you hear about it later. Your mind no longer holds the details. You wait for updates. There may even be days where it never crosses your mind. That bandwidth is completely freed up.

Multi-prompting is the opposite. The work never leaves your head. You retain the objective. The AI takes on the lower level implementation, the same way spell-checking takes on mechanical proofreading. You remain fully engaged. You never stop being the author of the work. You simply stop being the one doing the slowest parts.

The cognitive loop stays intact.

Why Multi-Prompting Works When Multitasking Fails

Human working memory can hold only a small number of active threads at once. Research usually puts the upper bound around four to seven items: https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0010027704000314

Traditional multitasking forces those threads to fight for attention. We lose details. We forget sequences. We get the order wrong because the interruptions break our mental stacks.

Multi-prompting shifts the burden. The AI holds the intermediate states, the logical steps, the incremental implementation. Your mind only holds the mission. The objective stays crisp because you are not spending your limited working memory rehearsing each substep.

You get to move to the next objective immediately. And when you return, nothing has decayed. The context is still there because the AI is preserving the continuity through rapid iteration.

A New Human Work Pattern

This is not a small shift. The human tech interface has gone through three major phases of labor:

  1. Humans do the work.
  2. Humans delegate work.
  3. Humans direct work.

Multi-prompting quietly introduces a fourth:

  1. Humans co execute work.

It is not automation because you still drive the objectives. It is not delegation because nothing is handed off. It is more like working with multiple cognitive extensions that each operate at computer speed while you maintain the higher level coherence.

Your mind becomes the conductor. The AI becomes the orchestra.

And suddenly you can work across many projects without losing the plot of any of them.

The Future of Daily Work

In ten years, people will look back at how we worked in 2023 and realize how primitive the workflows were. We had powerful machines but we used them in single threaded patterns carried over from the industrial age. Multi-prompting is one of the first glimpses of a different kind of knowledge work. One where human intention stays front and center, while machines handle the cognitive drudgery that used to slow us down.

We will not call this multitasking. We will not call it delegation. We will probably give it a better name than multiprompting.

But the shift is already here.

One minute of human direction. One minute of machine execution. A continuous loop. And a new concept of our internal thinking flow and what one person can accomplish.

Socratic AI: The debate-based Writing Method to create better content

When asking AI to write articles, I think most people prompt apps to “Write about this…”. They provide some details about what to write, more or less, and then use AI to help with the editing. It’s a kin to having an editor or ghost writer.

I started in the same way, but always felt like I was battling the AI instead of working with it. I’ve come to use it very differently. Not do I love this new method but I learn a lot from the experience each time.

Instead of asking AI to write for me, I use it to think through concepts with me. To have it debate or question my thoughts. To specifically “not write an article” for quite some time until I think we are on the same page. This can sometimes take weeks strewn with small chats with long breaks in between until a new thought spark up again.

This whole approach started by accident when I discovered more personality with GPT 4. One day I got riled up from reading some shallow post. It sparked a mental argument with myself to try and see how “the other side” could come to such a different conclusion. On a whim I gave ChatGPT a chance to give me the other side and it surprised me. It not only delicately agreed with my POV, but it gave another potential position followed by “if you could change the circumstance how would you do it?”

It didn’t just echo my points. It pushed back. It made counterarguments. It sharpened the conversation. I ended up having a long conversation with the AI. By the end of it, I understood my own idea better. I felt like I had a smart, patient thought partner who genuinely got what I was trying to work through. It was mind blowing.

That’s when it hit me. If GPT can do this with abstract ideas, why not use the same kind of back-and-forth to help me write?

That’s how this process was born. I’m not starting with a goal to create a draft. I’m starting with a goal to think through a conversation and see where it leads.

What I’ve found feels like a modern revival of the Socratic dialectic. It gives me a space where I can toss out half-formed thoughts, question assumptions, test ideas, and refine them through dialogue. Some go nowhere, but all end with a better grasp of my original thought or counter thoughts.

I keep all my writing in a single project so GPT has context from everything I’ve written or said before. When I want to explore something new, I open a fresh thread and say:

“I don’t want anything created yet. I want to jot thoughts down and then I’ll let you know if I’m ready to create something or if I want to dig deeper.”

Then I just post whatever comes to mind. No outline. No goal. Just the original vapor of a concept. Sometimes I ramble. Sometimes I loop back or take side paths. Sometimes I ask:

“What do you think?” or “Is there a counterpoint I’m missing?”

And it responds. Not with a final draft, but with friction. With momentum. With more angles to explore.

I think best in conversation. I rarely find clarity in a vacuum. Often I will argue a point with someone and walk away with a whole new version or perspective on my belief. Often, I push on ideas, debate myself, and churn.

So when GPT became more conversational, it clicked. It felt like I finally had a thinking partner who didn’t judge, remembered everything, and has no distinct side. The result isn’t just better writing. It’s better thinking.

Once the idea has been explored enough, I ask GPT to turn the thread into an article. Since it has been there for the full conversation and already knows my tone from past articles, the first draft usually comes back pretty close to what I want.

It is never final, but far more inline and final than anything I have ever tried to create with AI before.

Once I am done I end the thread with my final post in my project:

“Here’s the one I actually used. Save this to memory. No more feedback or follow up needed.”

Over time, it learns me. My tone. My rhythm. The kinds of lines I keep, the ones I cut, and the ones I repeat for emphasis. It becomes both a mirror and a co-writer.

So no, I don’t start by asking GPT to write something. I start by asking it to listen. To push back. To help me think through things better. This isn’t AI-assisted writing, it is AI-assisted dialectic.