A couple years ago, everything in my life started moving at once.

I was winding down my own company, trying to find a new job, and preparing to actually start that job once I landed it.

Each of those was a full project in itself. Each required a different kind of energy, focus, and emotional bandwidth.

And, of course, life didn’t pause so I could work through them one by one.

In the middle of that mess, progress didn’t look like neatly crossed-off checklists. It looked like simply sitting down and knowing what to work on next.

Without realizing it, that clarity—however fleeting—became my gold standard. I started asking:

What helps me find direction?

Not perfection. Not pace. Just direction.

Here are some of the answers I’ve found since—and how they shape my approach to progress today.

The Illusion of Linear Progress

As a kid (and into young adulthood), I was taught to think of progress as linear.

School was one of the first systems that trained me to expect it: clean semesters, fixed goals, clearly scoped assignments.

I start at point A. I move steadily toward point B. I get graded along the way. Then I move on to the next thing.

But real life doesn’t follow that rhythm.

It loops. It branches. It pauses and resumes. Projects go dormant and wake up months later.

Still, it’s easy to hold on to the idea that success means being “on track.”

Here’s the thing: Life doesn’t lay out a clear path.

When I started learning about systems thinking, I found another lens. It taught me to see (and seek) patterns and loops instead of ladders. To notice feedback loops.

Systems thinking helped me realize that returning to the same point with a new perspective isn’t failure, it’s evolution.

The Cost of Forcing Clarity

When I was running my business, The Okrēo, I kept trying to apply linear models to something that was inherently nonlinear.

I wanted a start and a finish. A clean arc. But I was forcing structure onto a landscape I hadn’t fully explored.

The harder I pushed to define every step, the more the system resisted. Eventually, I burned out.

We’re often told to build maps before we’ve walked the terrain.

But clarity doesn’t always come first. Sometimes, it emerges from the walking.

It’s like the difference between imposing a grid on a forest vs. letting paths emerge through repeated steps. I don’t know most of the obstacles at the outset—I find them along the way.

That realization shaped how I build today: I want tools and ways of thinking that adapt as I move—not ones that demand rigidity.

Emergent Progress & Nonlinear Movement

Some of my most meaningful progress has looked like… nothing at all, at first.

Take my lifting habits, for example.

When I stopped aiming for specific numbers and instead built a rhythm—lift a few times a week, however I could—I got stronger.

How strong? In many ways, I’m stronger today than I was 10 years ago. Not because I pushed harder, but because I showed up more consistently.

The same thing happened with reading.

In 2023, I chased a goal of 2 books per month. I hit 24, but by December, reading felt like a chore.

Now I just read before bed. In 2024, I read over 30 books—and only noticed because I updated my notes at the end of the year.

One small rhythm beat one big goal.

Now, instead of asking “How do I control the outcome?”, I ask:

“How can I set the table for something good to happen?”

It’s like creativity: I can’t force it. But I can create space for it to emerge.

Rethinking Metrics

I no longer measure progress by outcomes alone. Now I ask:

  • Did I show up mindfully?
  • Did I make a good-faith effort to do the thing I said I wanted to do?
  • Did I apply what I learned last time?

Some days, that’s a full gym session. Other days, it’s push-ups between meetings. Both count. Because both honor the rhythm.

Lately, I’ve preferred to set rhythms over outcomes. And from those rhythms, tempos emerge.

Progress feels less like what I produce—and more like whether I’m staying in the pulse of something.

Like music, I often don’t notice I was in rhythm until I fall out of it. But when I do, I know. Because it felt right.

And that makes it easier to find again.

Design to Drift

If you’re feeling behind or overwhelmed, the first thing I want to say is:

There’s a better way.

You don’t get to harmony by creating noise. You get there by making intentional additions and subtractions to the orchestra of your life.

The goal isn’t to hustle your way into peace. That’s a contradiction that’s gotten way too much airtime.

So if you’re running like mad expecting calm, ask yourself if that’s even possible.

These days, I use a system called The Drift Method (~drift)

It’s built around flows—ongoing efforts that can shift with my pace and capacity. Every flow has context. Notes. Kits. Next steps.

That way, I can leave a project for weeks or months and come back without starting over.

To keep with the music metaphor: ~drift helps me stay in key and in rhythm with whatever I’m working on—for however long I’m able.

Your Rhythm Over Their Timeline

Progress doesn’t have to look like a finish line.

It doesn’t have to be fast.

It doesn’t have to be linear.

It can be a rhythm. A pulse. A return.

There’s an alternative to the “hustle and grind” mindset. An alternative to burnout as a prerequisite for success.

If you’re in the mess right now, try asking:

What would it look like to drift through this?

What can I return to, even for a moment, that helps me feel like myself again?

And what if that counted as progress?

Because maybe it already does.

Try The Drift Method

The Drift Method is open and adaptable. There’s no one way to use it—just principles and a system to help you move forward.

🔹 Learn more — Take a look at the Drift Method resources on the website.

🔹 Start using The Drift Method today — Get the free Starter Guide, or set up in minutes with the Notion Kit.

Here’s to letting your work flow.