Why I Write

No one will read it, so why do I write it?

Um, this is awkward. I bet you think this is about you, kind reader, don’t you. I don’t blame you for thinking that—after all, why would anyone write something that’s not intended to be read?

I’ve been writing extensively for years and have rarely published anything, despite the opportunity that comes with publishing and the growing ease to write. Since becoming a professional, a plethora of self-publishing platforms have prospered, peers in my field have successfully developed personal brands, and AI is available to ingest my writing style and generate anything I could write, better than I ever could. By modern definitions of productivity, writing privately makes little sense—yet I continue to labor through my writing, keeping it mostly to myself.

Why? For me, writing has a specific purpose: it is my mechanism to learn and understand.

It started when I was in college. I found that the most effective way for me to study was to rewrite my notes. I’d rewrite them in new ways more fitting to my understanding. I’d annotate formulas with full-blown theories. I’d create diagrams that connected thoughts visually. It was effective in reinforcing what I was learning, so I carried that through to my professional life.

Recently, I had a professional learning opportunity leading the integration of my innovation agency with a large management consultancy. There was so much learning coming at me, about organizational dynamics, scaling a creative workforce, the interconnection between purpose, strategy, culture—so much to digest. I wanted to synthesize what I was experiencing into more strategic thinking.

So, I did what I always do in moments like these: I wrote.

Writing pushed me to answer the new questions that developed throughout the integration. To understand the historical roots of the acquiring firm’s culture, I read The World’s Newest Profession, by Christopher McKenna. To understand why creative agencies like mine are both celebrated and dismissed, I read The Cult of Creativity, by Samuel Franklin. To contrast the generalist-led value of my agency against the specialist-led value of the consultancy, I read Range, by David Epstein. To seek problems to solve for a new future value proposition of the combined entity, I read a critique of the entire industry, The Big Con, by Mariana Mazzucato and Rosie Collington. And, of course, I wrote down all that I had learned experientially to bring more clarity to it.

In putting pen to paper, I synthesized my understanding of it all. I connected the histories and the cultures of both firms I was integrating to understand why they were stubbornly how they were. I compared my experiences with the consulting critiques and wrestled with the paradox of agreeing with the critiques and the impact I’m confident I made with clients. Ultimately, it made me think about the future and form a strategic perspective. Months later, satisfied with the perspective I developed, I put down my proverbial pen.

As the writing sat on my desk gathering dust, I began applying my newfound understanding. I guest lectured on how strategy consulting is evolving in the age of AI. I intellectually sparred with clients, drawing us closer and exposing future collaboration opportunities. I started developing a new consulting model that matched my perspective and iterated it alongside clients. The value of my writing was not from the output it produced, but from the deeper understanding that resulted.

You might be asking yourself, well, if writing is for your internal understanding purposes only, why are you publishing this?

Touché, reader.

Over the last few years, there has been a dramatic uptick in the number of clients asking how to make their workforce more strategic. Specifically, I’ve been asked how to make organizations more “future-ready,” “innovative,” “creative,” “paradigm spotting,” and the like. The requesters are undoubtedly preparing for the anticipated effect of AI on their white-collar workforce.

Leaders are recognizing—whether through mandate, observation, or fear—that most organizations are optimized to execute prescribed tasks. As AI makes task execution table stakes, the agency that comes from understanding becomes the differentiator. Smart leaders recognize this isn’t just an individual problem—it’s systemic. Individuals often blindly churn out tasks, but they do so for an organization that trades in output rather than understanding.

When I was first asked, “How do I make teams more strategic?” it took me a while to answer. I dismissed the processes and frameworks commonly taught—those were just tools in a toolkit, suggesting strategy equated to the development of more outputs. I wanted to answer the question at its deepest point. Eventually, aided by reflecting on why I write, I formed my answer.

I distilled it down simply: it’s about being able to identify what needs to be learned, deeply understanding it, and applying that understanding to the task at hand.

For me, writing is a mechanism to do just that—to gain, synthesize, and apply a deeper understanding. Writing may not be what helps you or your teams learn and understand, which is why this isn’t a recommendation for everyone to start their own Substack. But as more organizations get smarter about valuing understanding over outputs, figuring out a mechanism that sparks curiosity and understanding will make you and your team more—strategic, innovative, creative—all of the above.

Upon this reflection, I’ve started publishing my writing to more easily share my understanding, and, if I’m honest, to hold myself more accountable in doing it thoroughly. My first attempt to publish surfaced my writing motive immediately. When I handed the initial draft of my consulting perspective to an editor, it was more than 5,000 words, on an admittedly dry topic, overly academic in style, non-polarizing, and wasn’t titled “5 ways to find meaning in life.” It was optimized for understanding, not output. Rightfully thinking of the reader, my editor immediately cut it down to 1,000 words. But given all the benefit I derived from the thousands of “extra” words I wrote, I’ll never optimize for the reader. No offense to you, of course.

So why do I write? Well, you just witnessed me figuring it out for myself. But I’m publishing it on the infinitesimal probability that it will inspire others to find a similarly impactful mechanism for themselves.