Constraints are the Brief, not the Problem.

Most constraints have an expiry date. Almost nobody writes them down.
Constraints are the Brief, not the Problem.
Photo by Bryson Hammer / Unsplash

Ambitious, magical plans are usually vague. Cautious plans are usually specific. That's why the cautious ones actually happen.

When I coach people on their career, I try to move them towards specific, actionable plans, with start and end dates. Those plans are much more likely to succeed.

Listen to how people describe what they want next. The big version is always fuzzy. "Something more meaningful. More freedom. Work that matters. I have a dream to do X".

Nobody can act on any of that, so nobody does.

Then ask them about their constraints. "The bills. The partner's job. The school year. The visa."

Suddenly everything is exact. People know those down to the month.

The precision is already there. It's just pointing at the reasons not to move.

Last week was about widening the list of things you could do. This is the opposite move, and you need both.

Constraints are what turn a long list of options into a short list of starts.

A brief is a list of restrictions

Give a designer a blank page and nothing happens for a fortnight. Give them a budget, a set of dimensions, one material and a deadline, and the work starts that afternoon.

No designer treats the restrictions as an insult. They rule out the ninety percent that was never going to happen, which is the only reason the remaining ten percent gets built.

Career plans work the same way and get handled back to front.

Most people start with the dream, then meet the constraints one disappointment at a time.

Constraints have expiry dates

Here's the part that many people miss.

A constraint feels permanent. Very few of them are. The training contract has eighteen months left. The exams are two years out. The fixed rate ends in a specific month you could look up in about ninety seconds.

So write the date next to each one. Know your timeline.

When I did this properly for the first time earlier this year, my timeline shifted. Things I thought were a long way away, suddenly became clearer in reality.

The list immediately splits in two. Things that are true indefinitely, which shape what the plan is. Things that are true until a date, which shape when it starts. Most people treat both as walls. Only the first kind is.

That's the whole difference between "I can't" and "not yet, and here's the month."

Three questions to answer

Twenty minutes, in this order.

  1. What does a good week look like? Not a good year. A week. Hours, people, where you are, what you're doing with each day.
  2. What's genuinely non-negotiable, and until when? Date next to each. Be honest about which ones you've never actually checked.
  3. Which constraint is secretly an asset? The thing tying you to a city is also a network. The obligation eating your Thursdays is also a skill nobody paid you to build.

Question three is the one people skip, and it's where the surprises are. If the answers come out thin, my core values guide is a decent way in. Values first, then design.

When I coach people, I often work through these questions to bring clarity to a situation that sometimes feels vague.

Done properly, this makes the plan smaller than the one you'd have described over coffee. It also makes it roughly ten times more likely to happen.

Next week: the evidence you're sitting on and haven't counted.

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