Business isn’t something you learn in books. Or posts. Or threads. You can’t read your way to the right hire. You can't consume enough content to produce a product. You have to do. You learn business by doing business. Hiring by hiring. Products by building them. We know this is true in music. Never pick up a guitar? Go read 100 books on guitar. You'll suck just as much. You have to play. You can only learn guitar by playing. Business is music. Some things can be taught. Some are just knowledge. Business isn't that kind of thing. Products aren't those kinds of things. Like music. Like sports. Like anything physical. You have to do the thing to get better at the thing. In that way, business is more physical than mental. It's not a formula you can learn. It's not a series of lessons you can internalize. It's not a list you can complete. Business is muscle memory. It's built by doing. Go do. -Jason

One of the great lessons of nature: Randomness is the most beautiful thing. Every forest, every field, every place untouched by humans is full of randomness. Nothing lines up, a million different shapes, sprouting seeds burst where the winds — or birds — randomly drop them. Stones strewn by water, ice, gravity, and wind, all acting on their own in their own ways. Things that just stop and stay. Until they move somehow, another day. The way the light falls, the dapples that hit the dirt. The shades of shades of shades of green and gold that work no matter what's behind it. The way the wind carries whatever's light enough for liftoff. The negative space between the leaves. Colliding clouds. The random wave that catches light from the predictable sun. The water's surface like a shuffled blanket. Collect the undergrowth in your hand. Lift it up. Drop it on the ground. It's always beautiful. However it comes together, or however it stays apart, you never look at it and say that doesn't line up or those colors don't work or there's simply too much stuff or I don't know where to look. Nature's out of line. Just right. You too. -Jason

In the end, judgment comes first. And that means hiring is a gut decision. As much science as people want to try to pour into the hiring process, art always floats to the top. This is especially true when hiring at the executive level. The people who make the final calls — the ones who are judged on outcome, not effort — are ultimately hired based on experience and judgement. Two traits that are qualities, not quantities. They are tasked with setting direction, evaluating situations, and making decisions with limited information. All day long they are making judgment calls. That's what you hire them to do, and that's how you decide who to hire. Presented with a few finalists, you decide who you *think* will do a better job when they have to *think* about what to do in uncertain situations. This is where their experience and judgment come in. It's the only thing they have that separates them from someone else. Embrace the situation. You don't know, they don't know, everyone's guessing, some guess better than others. You can't measure how well someone's going to guess next time, you can only make assumptions based on other assumptions. Certainty is a mirage. In the art of people, everything is subjective. In the end, it's not about qualifications — it's about who you trust to make the right call when it matters most. Ultimately, the only thing that was objective was your decision. The reasons were not. -Jason

I'm republishing this for a friend who doesn't have a reliable place to publish this online. It's a letter she wrote and sent to a number of newspapers. Her family was a victim of the recent Franklin wildfire, and unlike other recent fires, the Franklin fire wasn't included in the Governor's emergency declaration for disaster relief. This has devastating downstream implications on those who lost everything, and their neighbors and neighborhoods. Here is her piece, in its entirety. Governor Newsom can change this with the stroke of a pen, and it's my understanding he's been presented with an opportunity to sign this into being, but has, as of now, refused. If you know anyone who can reach Governor Newsom and help make this happen for all the folks who suffered dearly in Franklin, please do. Thank you. —— Malibu's Forgotten Fire: Why the Franklin Fire Must Be Included in Disaster Relief On December 9th, my home burned in the Franklin Fire in Malibu. Just 19 days after it was contained, the Palisades Fire ignited and raged all the way to my neighborhood. The fire was only stopped because there was simply nothing left to burn. Despite this undeniable connection, Franklin Fire victims are not included in disaster relief efforts, leaving me and my neighbors in a dire situation with no support. During this time, I was unable to return to my property. Homes on my street still lack drinkable water and essential utilities. The communication poles burned down, making recovery even more challenging. The already difficult job of dealing with the Franklin Fire has been compounded by the Palisades Fire, yet we have been left out of relief efforts. The housing market is overrun, and price gouging has made anything available unaffordable. I don’t qualify for help because my fire “doesn’t count.” I don’t qualify for free toxin testing or free debris removal from the Army Corps of Engineers. I don’t qualify for streamlined tax relief or financial benefits. I am still waiting for any assistance to cover my family’s initial six-week stay in a hotel with our pets. What was initially expected to be a few months of hardship has now turned into an estimated two-year ordeal—because I am at the bottom of every priority list. The most devastating realization is that I am woefully underinsured for this disaster. If I were allowed to combine my insurance policy, I would have the funds needed to rebuild. But because the Franklin Fire is not included in the broader emergency declaration, I am prohibited from accessing this option. If the Franklin Fire were bundled with the officially recognized wildfires, I could qualify for the necessary coverage to repair my home. It is heartbreaking to see that just 19 days after the Franklin Fire, victims of the Palisades Fire have been granted sweeping benefits and streamlined permits. They will be able to rebuild their homes “like for like” plus an additional ten percent without the need for permits—not even for homes or septic systems. Meanwhile, I don’t qualify for this exemption. I don’t qualify for state-backed relief efforts. My neighborhood, which was undeniably part of this disaster, is being ignored. Instead, I am left with nothing but bureaucratic red tape and empty reassurances. Why is my neighborhood excluded from these crucial relief efforts? The answer is simple: Governor Gavin Newsom has not signed off on it. Other fires across Los Angeles—including those caused by arsonists—have been bundled into the broader wildfire relief programs. Fires that never even touched the Palisades are included. So why not the Franklin Fire? Malibu is not just a playground for the rich and famous. It is home to multi-generational families like mine. I was born and raised in Malibu. My grandparents’ home on Pacific Coast Highway, which they purchased in the 1940s, was lost in the Palisades Fire. My parents’ home—my childhood home—was lost in the Palisades Fire. My own home, where I lived with my husband and child, burned in the Franklin Fire just 19 days before. The Franklin Fire was still smoldering when the Palisades Fire ignited. We were still in a hotel, not yet having found a place to rent. We are part of this disaster, yet we have been erased from its response. It is time for the Franklin Fire to be included in the state of emergency declaration. We need access to relief, insurance flexibility, and the same streamlined rebuilding process granted to our neighbors. We are victims of this disaster, and we deserve to be recognized as such.

Be curious about what's new, sure. That's expected. But it's more interesting to be curious about what's old. 
What stood the test of time? What worked before and still works now? What survived through all the jabs that you assumed would knock it out, but didn't? That's worth attention. That's worth being curious about. Those are the things that are particularly interesting. There are the lessons. New will always be new. There will always be another new after the previous new. But what made it, what sticks around, what outlasts? What's durable? What's the reason that rare thing is still here? Longevity isn't a fluke. It's an opportunity to get on board when you missed it before. Curiosity about things still here isn’t just nostalgia — it’s a strategic way to filter the noise and find what truly matters, what truly works, and what's truly worth investing in. -Jason