When we make something new, people often ask "why don't you just add that to Basecamp?" There are a number of reasons, depending on what it is. But, broadly, making something brand new gives you latitude (and attitude) to explore new tech and design approaches. It's the opposite of grafting something on to a heavier, larger system that already exists. The gravity of existing decisions in current systems requires so much energy to reach escape velocity that you tend to conform rather than explore. Essentially you're bent back to where you started, rather than arcing out towards a new horizon. New can be wrong, but it's always interesting. And that in itself is worth it. Because in the end, even if the whole new thing doesn't work out, individual elements, explorations, and executions discovered along the way can make their way back into other things you're already doing. Or something else new down the road. These bits would have been undiscovered had you never set out for new territory in the first place. Ultimately, a big part of making something new is simply thinking something new. -Jason

Whenever I talk about working in real-time, making decisions as you go, figuring things out now rather than before, I get a question like this... "If you don't have a backlog, or deep sets of prioritized, ranked items, how do you decide what to do next?" My answer:  The same way you do when your made your list. You make decisions. We just make decisions about what to work on next as we go, looking forward, rather than making decisions as we went, looking backwards. Why work from what /seemed/ like a good idea before? Instead, work from appears to be a good idea now. You have more information now — why not use it? It's always baffled me how people who pluck work from long lists of past decisions think you can't make those same kinds of decisions now instead. It's all yay/nay decisions. Same process. Before wasn't magical. Before was just now, then. Why not look at now, now? Now is a far more accurate version of next. The backlog way is based on what you thought then. The non-backlog way is based on what you think now. I'll take now. One's stale, one's fresh. We'll take fresh. Then is further, now is closer. There's nothing special about having made decisions already. They aren't better, they aren't more accurate, they aren't more substantial just because they've been made. What they are, however, is older and often outdated. If you've got to believe in something, I'd suggest putting more faith in now. -Jason

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