What’s with the asterisk?

Imagine I told you this story:

“This morning, I woke up, got dressed, and went downstairs to the kitchen. There, sitting on the counter, was my notebook. Sipping my coffee, I opened the front cover to read the five words that inspire me every day.”

This is a story about … nothing. 

Nothing happened. And yet, what question are you dying for me to answer?

What are the five words? What did the notebook say??? I GOTTA KNOW… 

Alright, calm down, I’m getting there, but first, what just happened? I told you a story where nothing happened. This isn’t some grand narrative arc about a hero embarking on a quest. There’s no society-shaking implications here, no industry-altering innovation. So why would you want to hear more?

Because you’ve got questions, and you can’t wait to find the answer.

I have questions, too. Constantly. Why are things like this? Is there something better? What about this, or that, or that? Who’s done this, and how? Why do this at all? Why don’t we do that, and why do we do this?

Questions are what prompted me to launch my podcast, Unthinkable, and write my book, Break the Wheel -- without which you wouldn’t be reading any of this right now. Those two projects are the lone reason I can do what I do today.

Questions are why any of us should create. Writing -- or really, creating anything -- is not the act of sharing what you already understand. It’s the process of trying to understand. After all, creativity is born of curiosity.

I think resonant work starts with wanting to make something better and to find answers when all you have are questions. 

That’s what stories are, too: the consistent process of raising questions in the minds of your audience, then answering them. That’s why you’d care for me to continue, even though the story I told you was about nothing. “I opened the front cover to read the five words that inspire me every day.” What are those words? Please continue this story. I GOTTA KNOW.

Questions introduce tension and raise the intrigue and the stakes for the audience. That’s what causes us to stick and stay, to remember, and to develop trust and love, and the tiny but transformative technique at the center of great stories is the open loop.

An open loop is a moment of tension left unresolved. The loop begins to open, but you haven’t closed it -- yet. People are hardwired to crave that closure, and that’s what turns something flat into something gripping. A story. 

Sometimes, we can introduce tension overtly by asking questions to our audience. (“Why are things like this, dear reader?”) Mostly, those questions are more implicit -- the result of a story left unfinished or a promise yet to be fulfilled. (What are those five words on Jay’s notebook???). The loop opens, and we desperately want it to close. 

As creators, we need to learn to operate in uncertainty. First of all, our process should start with questions, not answers. That’s the spark of curiosity that takes us on a journey to understand something and to change things for the better. That doesn’t happen when we simply publish stuff that feels easily answered by a quick google search. So the creative process begins in uncertainty. We can learn to be driven by it.

Second, irresistible experiences are imbued with that sense of uncertainty. No tension, no questions, no intrigue, and no stakes … no story. If your trade is creating things meant to be consumed by others, then you must learn to trade in uncertainty. Opening loops, then closing them, are exactly what makes someone stick around and what makes an experience satisfying.

Because they want answers. They want closure: intrigue, followed by a satisfying payoff; tension, followed by a resolution. 

Thus, open loops are these hidden but omnipresent techniques in great stories and memorable experiences. No matter what you create, you’re in the business of living in uncertainty. 

That’s the job of creating work that matters. It’s not about who arrives. It’s about who stays. And those people evangelize our ideas to others, and the movement gains momentum. 

Don’t just grab attention. Hold it. Don’t try to be “relevant.” Try to be their favorite. 

Because that’s the job. And our jobs get a whole lot easier when we ask important questions, investigate unsolved problems, and wield tension as a tool to grip people, inspire them, and spark change.

So why the asterisk?

Open loops come in many forms. Sometimes, they feel grand. Even before the first episode aired, the very name of Game of Thrones opened a loop for us. Who will sit on the throne when this is over? That loop remained open for ten years later. (Oh. Wait. Him? Really? I have some notes…)

(Turns out the payoff needs to match the initial intrigue to satisfy audiences. Otherwise the open loop was empty hype. The closure matters too.)

Not all open loops are so big and far-reaching, however. Many are much smaller, and these are the ones we can use to pull out meaningful stories from the seemingly day to day. We may not tell stories like Game of Thrones, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t surrounded by stories worth telling. For example, simply by using the word “but” in that previous sentence, I wrote a more enjoyable, higher impact sentence. 

“But” is the smallest storytelling device and the tiniest open loop there is. It’s a dense little dose of tension, a question you can raise before answering it in the clause that follows. “But” is the tiniest storytelling tool -- at least, that’s what I thought. Because then I remembered the asterisk.

When you see a sentence end with an asterisk, you’re immediately intrigued. It’s like a spiky little promise of something to come, something more, something deeper, and something nuanced. Reality is messy. There’s more to the story. We still have questions. Find the footnote for the answers. If your question starts here...*

*...then your answers may be here. 

Why the asterisk? By including it in my logo, I hope to remind myself (and you) to always embrace the power of uncertainty. I want us to question the conventional wisdom more, to look past superficial explanations, and to poke holes in the “best practices,” in order to find the truth. I hope to remind myself that reality is messy, nuance matters, and this creative work we do is about depth in a world trending shallow.

Why the asterisk? Because the real work of creators unfold in the minutiae, the tiny things, the little details or footnotes others ignore. That’s why I love deconstructing the created work. Because there, the craft unfolds. Creativity isn’t a gift. It’s a practice. 

Why the asterisk? Because it’s a way to speak softly but with significance -- especially important in a world when others seem to shout. I love when a narrator or keynote speaker ends an immersive experience not with a blast of energy but with a short, powerful idea, practically whispered … and as they approach that line, they set the tone. Your eyes start to widen. You nod your head in agreement. (Damn!) You feel like they’re speaking to your soul. Then, speaking softly, they say something significant. It’s like saying, yes, this is our daily reality and our daily struggle, but don’t forget... * 

* ...there’s more to this work and this life.

Why the asterisk? Because of the storyteller who inspires me most: Anthony Bourdain. He’s why I so desperately want to make what matters -- and help others do the same. I think the business and career categories largely miss that Bourdain-like quality. We don’t need to focus all our ideas on the largest brands, the trends of the week, the vapid career advice to “follow your dreams.” We can face reality, with all of its mess and nuance and yes, even the routine or regular stuff, and like Bourdain, we can dig deeper and find meaningful stories. 

We can stop acting like experts and start acting like explorers. That begins by asking better questions, and pursuing them without bias or certainty. Your knowledge may be finite, but your curiosity is endless. That’s what made Bourdain’s stories so powerful: endless pursuit of curiosity. Everything felt like it ended with an asterisk. Nothing was black or white. He dove headfirst into the messy gray areas and explored. And the reason he inspired is that we were on the journey with him. 

We should all think more like that. Invite others to join a journey between the status quo and something better. You don’t have all the answers, but you’re trying to find them. “Join us.” 

We all want to make what matters. We need to cut through all the self-proclaimed social media gurus, all the puffed-out chests and their false promises of shortcuts, hacks, and cheats. We can set aside the need to have the answers and, instead, invite people to join us as we explore. If we truly want to make what matters, let’s invite others to join the journey, rather than promise a shortcut to the end.

Why the asterisk? Because of those five little words written in my notebook. 

Five little words Anthony Bourdain had proudly tattooed onto his body, years before he left this world. 

Five little words that perfectly sum up open loops, and asking questions, and storytelling, and being open to nuance and change and the mess of reality. 

Five little words that I want to embrace when I create, neatly summed up by the asterisk:

I am certain of nothing.*

* And you’re invited.