Subtract To Get To Your Truth

“Knowledge is subtractive, not additive—what we subtract (reduction by what does not work, what not to do), not what we add (what to do).”

— Nassim Taleb

On August 6th, 1986, Bob Dylan walked off the stage at Paso Robles State Fairgrounds alongside Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers and he knew he was done. Dylan had one more stretch of shows lined up with Petty the following year—The Temples in Flames Tour—but after that, it was time to hang it up.

It had been 25 years since an unassuming kid from Hibbing, Minnesota showed up in Greenwich Village to immerse himself alongside his heroes in the folk-music community. And it was a legendary run. But Dylan acknowledged the reality of what his fans, critics, and peers had already voiced, his best days were behind him.

Dylan could no longer fill stadiums on his own and had to rely on big names like Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers or The Grateful Dead to draw crowds. He struggled to write new material—not that he had much desire to do so. And despite the hundreds of songs he had written over the course of his career, there were only a handful he would consider playing. 

During the Summer tour in 1986, Benmont Tench, the keyboardist in Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers, often pleaded with Dylan to include different songs in the set, like “Spanish Harlem Incident” or “Chimes of Freedom.” Dylan would muster up some excuse or play it off until he was able to divert the attention away from himself. 

The reality is that he could no longer remember where most of the songs he wrote came from. He couldn’t relate to or understand how he might even attempt to bring those songs back to life. They were a mystery lost to the past. 

Dylan’s plan was to coast through the final tour with the same 20 songs and try to come out unscathed before he went into hiding. That was the deal he made with himself to get through one more run.

The next year before kicking off his final tour with Petty, Dylan was scheduled to play a few shows with The Grateful Dead. He traveled to San Rafael, California to rehearse with The Dead at their studio. After an hour of rehearsal, it was clear that the strategy he used with Petty wasn’t going to work. The Dead were adamant about playing different songs from the depths of Dylan’s catalog. Material he could barely recall. 

He sat panicked and knew he had to get out. The Dead were asking for someone he felt no longer existed. During a lull in the rehearsal, Dylan falsely claimed he left something at the hotel. He stepped out of the studio and onto Front Street to plan his escape.

After wandering for a few blocks, Dylan heard music coming from the door of a small bar and figured that was as good of a place to hide out as any. Only a few patrons stood inside and the walls were baked in cigarette smoke. Towards the back of the bar, a jazz quartet rattled off old ballads like “Time On My Hands.” Dylan ordered a drink and studied the singer—an older man in a suit and tie. As the singer navigated the songs, it was relaxed, not forceful. He eased into them with natural power and instinct. 

As Dylan listened on, there was something familiar in the way the old jazz singer approached the songs. It wasn’t in his voice, it was in the song itself. Suddenly, it brought Dylan back to himself and something he once knew but had lost over the years—a way back to his songs. 

Earlier in his career, Dylan wasn’t worried about the image that others projected upon him, the expectations, or the fame. All he cared about was connecting with the song and doing it the justice it deserved. He was there to bring the words to life—a conduit of sorts. The old jazz singer had reminded him of this simple truth and where to pull from.

Returning to The Grateful Dead’s rehearsal hall, Dylan picked up where he left off like nothing happened. He was rusty and it would take years for him to truly get back to form, but he settled back into a state of relaxed concentration by returning to his principles that were buried underneath all the success, failure, praise, and criticism.

As he continued the final tour with Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers, over the first four shows Dylan played 80 different songs, never repeating a single one, just to see if he could do it. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t always pretty. But he was starting to tap back into himself and knew how to reach the music again. 

Where am I?

In our own lives, we inevitably reach moments where we feel like we’ve lost ourselves along the way. Where am I? How did I get here? What am I even trying to do? We feel like fragments of our former selves. Exhausted rather than energized by the challenges we face. 

Dylan is not alone in his experience. When we lose the connection to ourselves, our work, careers, and lives grow stagnant. We can’t create anything meaningful if we’re absently going through the motions. Gradually, then suddenly we become strangers to ourselves. 

As the emptiness creeps in, there’s a temptation to go into hiding. We fixate on our faults and let that feeling wash over us. We lose ourselves in the darkness. And when we get stuck here, we compromise our own integrity and the integrity of our work.

Life is deceptive in this way. We overcomplicate things. We inflate the importance of things that don’t really matter. We lose track of what brings us to life—the things we find deeper meaning in. We let our guiding principles fall out of focus. 

In the messiness of life, we make small compromises that add up over time. We say yes to the wrong things and no to the right ones. Things start to pile up. And the more we stack on top of ourselves, the deeper we bury our own priorities. Eventually, the weight of it all drags us down and obscures our vision. 

At this point, we can continue adding more, doing more, always saying yes, never saying no, breaking ourselves to meet the expectations cast upon us. We can continue floundering and creating more distance from ourselves. Or we can step back and ask, is this still serving me? What do I need to shed to come back to myself? What’s at my foundation?

Finding our way back

Sometimes the way back to yourself is through subtraction. 

This starts with peeling back the layers that have built up over the years.

What’s hidden underneath it all? 
What was your original motivation in your work? 
What got you here in the first place? 
What did you know then that you’ve since forgotten? 
What about this once brought you joy?

Finding a way to return to the simple truths we once knew can help us realign ourselves. Our foundation reminds us of what we set out for.

Far too often we attribute our identities to things that are beyond our control. We get caught up chasing what’s external to us because we trick ourselves into believing that’s what makes us who we are. But we are not our jobs, companies, titles, or paychecks. We are not the criticism, praise, accolades, or rejection we face. We exist beyond that. 

When we are just starting out, we instinctively understand this. We focus on internals and creating from what we know to be true about ourselves. We build from what inspires us. And that is enough. Because that’s all we really know. 

As Dylan faced this struggle, inspiration from an unlikely source brought him back to a beginner’s mindset and the principles he understood early in his career before everything got so carried away. Performing was about reaching for the truth within the song and putting that front and center. 

This mindset allowed him to tap back into himself. He was able to once again find meaning in his songs and remember why he was doing what he was doing. He embraced his responsibility to perform each song to the best of his ability. 

From this point on, Dylan focused on playing smaller theaters and more intimate shows—drawing songs from every stage of his career, reinterpretations, new songs, and rarities. Returning to the basic truths he lost along the way led to his resurgence as an artist. Rather than signaling the end of his career, The Temples in Flames Tour helped Dylan uncover the start of something new.

Letting go to remember

Connecting back to yourself starts with cutting away the nonessentials and reminding yourself how you found your way here in the first place. Subtract to get to the truth of things. 

In the process of letting go, you start to remember who you are and what you find meaning in. 

This doesn’t mean you should try to recreate the past. You can’t go back in time. Dylan wasn’t trying to bring a younger version of himself back to life. He was just returning to the principles that set everything in motion and rebuilding from there.

A beginner’s mindset can help you distill the real parts of yourself—the anchors that give you substance and depth. By paring down to what’s real and what’s within your control, you tap back into what sustains you. And as you sift through the rock, dirt, and debris, you free yourself to move with conviction towards bringing your best work to life. 

How to Time Your Leaps and Set Yourself Apart

Using the Sigmoid Curve to reinvent yourself, take risks, and accelerate growth

In January 1961, a nineteen-year-old, unassuming kid from Minnesota hitched a ride and headed eastbound for New York to pursue a career in music. He wanted to get closer to the heart of the folk music in Greenwich Village and see if he could cross paths with his idol, Woody Guthrie. Over the next three years, he would release four critically acclaimed albums and become widely regarded as “the voice of a generation.”

The world would soon know that kid as Bob Dylan. And it was precisely that moment in time — after four successful albums — when he decided to completely change his sound from his acoustic roots and “go electric.” As he defied expectations, he threw the folk community into a fit of rage.

The obvious thing would have been to stick with what was working and fallen in line with his audience’s expectations. But validation was never Dylan’s primary motivation. He cared more about his own growth as an artist, seeking meaning over influence at each step of his career. As a result, he achieved exactly that — lifelong influence.

Dylan resonates with people because his songwriting tracks his own development as a human being. Each album reflects who he was — his observations, experiences, and imagination — and who he refused to be at each point in time. Dylan’s life is a master class in embracing the impermanence of identity and authenticity.

In the almost six-decades since, he’s altered his voice and bridged different genres. Beginning in folk, moving towards rock, and experimenting with country and Christian albums along the way. His entire career demonstrates a remarkable ability to shift strategies and reinvent himself.

But Dylan is not alone in this. Most top performers are obsessively focused on reinventing themselves and changing strategies as they near the top. It’s what gives them their edge and helps them lock into a “learn + grow” pattern while circumventing the decline.

Houston Rockets guard James Harden works tirelessly during the NBA off-season to experiment with new shots and develop new moves. But it’s not like his existing repertoire stopped working during the previous season. This is just how he challenges himself to stay engaged and push the limitations of his own game. Harden never confines himself exclusively to the things that have worked in the past. He’s always looking ahead, focused on accelerating his own growth.

As a result, Harden is able to suspend his opponents in a cloud of confusion — they never know what to expect and rarely have time to adapt. Harden’s ability to reinvent himself creates a walking nightmare for other teams on the court. The best they can often hope for is that he’s having an off night.

The same mentality applies to Tiger Woods changing his golf swing at the top of his game. And it’s the reason companies like Apple, Amazon, and Google have been able to sustain success over decades.

This is not to say that you’ll never miss. Bob Dylan’s released albums and experimented with sounds he would likely laugh at today. James Harden’s had his share of flops that didn’t quite work out. And Apple’s launched failed products — some you’ve heard of and others that have died before ever making it to market.

But it’s much easier to recover if you’re out there taking risks, looking forward, and committed to a growth mindset.

The Sigmoid Curve

Growth comes from allowing yourself, your strategy, and your sense of authenticity to evolve. At a certain point in time, the strategy that worked for you up until now will falter. That’s part of life.

One way to adapt is to think of personal growth as a sigmoid curve — an S-shaped curve that follows learning, growth, and decline. The goal is to maintain an upward trajectory. This means hijacking the curve and your experiences, as best you’re able to, when you reach the peak of a growth curve.

In the early days, growth is nonlinear. Outcomes rarely match input. Think about starting a new job — for the first six months you’re just trying to keep your head above the water. Eventually, things start to come together and you reach an accelerated period of growth where you begin to realize some of the rewards and outcomes you set out for.

But you likely won’t get through life on a single strategy without it growing stale or ineffective. 

Remember, life is motion. You will evolve. Obstacles will evolve. Context will evolve. That’s why it’s important to shift strategies when you’re at the top of your game. Otherwise, you often end up giving back the gains you’ve made.

If you want to keep moving forward and reinvent yourself, you have to outwit the inevitability of the sigmoid curve. As James Kerr suggests in his book, Legacy, “The key, of course, is when we’re on top of our game, to change our game; to exit relationships, recruit new talent, alter tactics, reassess strategy.”

Bob Dylan, James Harden, and every top performer who has sustained success over the course of decades demonstrate a fundamental understanding of this principle. They seldom give back the gains they’ve made. Instead, they build upon them. They remain insatiable in their desire to learn and grow. Even when it comes at the expense of personal comfort and opens them up to outside criticism.

Close to six decades later we can step back and admire someone like Bob Dylan’s trajectory — how he pushed himself to grow, defy expectations, and channel that into his art. Time makes this seem inevitable, as if all he had to do was fall in line with destiny. But that fails to take into account the years of criticism, outrage, and uncertainty he faced.

Staring Down the Criticism

The real challenge is that when you reinvent yourself and shift strategies, you’re sure to be criticized. People hate change. And people are convinced they know what’s best for you. Pair these and you’re guaranteed to face a barrage of commentary from those without skin in the game. Critics will be quick to point out that you should have stuck with what was working instead of taking what appears to be a step back into a learning phase.

Dylan was shredded by the folk community when he went electric. Harden gets ridiculed by the press every time he goes a few games and struggles against his own limits with a new shot.

Reinventing yourself is not for the faint of heart. But it’s a risk that pales in comparison to remaining still and failing to evolve.

If you listen to outside advice and never switch things up, you all but guarantee a life void of meaning and a spiral towards irrelevance. By clinging to the same strategy, tactics, or identity for too long, you fall out of harmony with the motion that defines life.

And this is how you wake up to John Daly, Sugar Ray or Blockbuster staring back at you in the mirror. The same people who told you to stay the same have abandoned you because you’ve abandoned yourself.

Timing Your Leaps

Above all else, you have to allow yourself and your own sense of authenticity to evolve. That’s the only path towards peak performance, and it demands occasional discomfort.

To outwit the sigmoid curve, you have to make a series of carefully timed leaps. The trick is knowing when to make those leaps.

When you feel like you’re nearing the top of your growth curve, that’s when it’s time to start thinking about what you can switch up. This might mean testing a new strategy or taking on more responsibility. Or it might mean pursuing a new career path or an outside learning opportunity. Or perhaps it’s just switching to a new team to preserve your sense of engagement and continue challenging yourself.

A shift in strategy doesn’t always need to be drastic. But it does need to be deliberate.

Otherwise, things become too easy and too familiar within the confines of your comfort zone. And when you become trapped in a decline, it’s all too easy to cling to an expired identity and give away the progress you’ve made.

Much of life is knowing when to shift strategies — when to call it quits, when to stick it out, when to evolve your approach. If you can perfect this, you can bypass the decline phase altogether, and jump from one “learn + grow” period to the next. And this is what sets apart the top performers in every discipline.

It’s difficult to realize when you’re nearing the end of a growth phase. It requires first developing a deep sense of self-awareness and prioritizing room for reflection. This should be paired with experience — both personal and vicarious.

The usual signs are when you start to notice a decline in personal engagement and the meaning you find in the work. This signals that it’s time for a new approach.

Remember, you’re a human being. Emotion is an inherent part of your decisions. The best you can do is pause and create space for reflection. The more dispassionate you are in coming to a decision, the more you should trust it.

For example, when you’re pissed off at a manager, that’s not the time to make abrupt decisions. Create space. Allow yourself to be upset for a few hours. After a week, when you’re less entrenched in that moment, you can see things for what they are and make a more rational decision.

When I feel a calm sense of it is what it is, I’m not upset, but I accept it’s time for a change that’s when I know it’s time to switch things up and test a new strategy. When I’m in an emotional state — especially when I’m upset and playing through imaginary conversations in my head — that’s when I know I need to pause before making a decision on a potential leap.

Allow Yourself to Evolve

It’s easy to get locked into a rigid thought process with a single strategy if you stick to the map without ever looking up. But when you stop reaching for absolutes, you’re able to embrace the motion inherent to life. Everything is fluid.

The best thing you can hope to do is remain in harmony with your own sense of authenticity and the motion that defines life. By embracing this, you’re able to better challenge yourself, embrace a growth mindset, and create meaning.

If you want to create your best work and make a meaningful difference in the world, you’re going to have to grow to get there. This comes from timing your leaps and finding the courage to reinvent yourself — especially when it feels uncomfortable, counterintuitive, and the world least expects it.

Bob Dylan’s determination to evolve as an artist and his refusal to accept what people expected of him helped him grow into one of the greatest songwriters of our era.

James Harden’s ability to reinvent himself every NBA off-season is what allowed him to go from the sixth man behind Kevin Durant and Russell Westbrook is his early days with the Oklahoma City Thunder to an MVP and the cornerstone of a franchise.

In visualizing the sigmoid curve, you’re trying to jump at the precipice of growth and catch hold of another learning curve one layer above — just as Dylan and Harden demonstrated. This is how you lock yourself into a “learn + grow” mindset.

Strategies are tools that you can use to take thoughtful action and connect your guiding principles with your day-to-day. Put them to use for you. Blend them. Change them. And always be willing to shift directions when something’s become stale or no longer works for you.

Above all else, allow yourself to evolve. Growth is born from a willingness to leap before you feel ready.

Authenticity Is Your Now

Authenticity is not a fixed point on a map. It’s fluid, much like your identity, and shifts over the course of your life.

It’s easier to trick yourself into believing the feel-good advice that your voice comes from a sudden revelation. You just have to wait for that moment. And once you’ve found it, the entire picture comes into focus and remains that way for life.

But authenticity is found through fragments. It evolves over time. It’s a moving target that falls out of focus and can be lost to the chaos of life.

Authenticity is less about identifying a singular purpose and voice that should define your entire life. It’s about finding and trusting your voice today. In other words, embracing the impermanence of your identity, knowing that it can and will change.

How you live your life–your interests, principles, and priorities–will evolve over time. As you grow, you’ll add depth to your voice. If you remain the same for too long, that’s when you know you’ve stopped learning or are clinging to an expired version of yourself.

It’s easy to get caught up in the expectations you hold for yourself or that others project upon you– who you should be, where you have been. If you fuel these doubts, you can opt out of the unknown and find comfort in your plateau. But you won’t grow through the familiar, and you won’t find alignment.

Your sense of authenticity–your now–is something that’s all your own. It’s discovered, developed, and deepened, by the obstacles you face, the uncertainties you navigate, and the inspiration you find along the way.

If you want to create something that matters–to both yourself and others–you have to create from where you currently are in your life. That’s how you build momentum and depth. Trust yourself.

It’s the difference between artists and entrepreneurs who get lucky once and those who sustain success over decades. If you cling to what got you there in the first place, you’ll fail to evolve and render yourself irrelevant.

Artists who reinvent themselves fight for projects that allow them to grow, stretch their abilities, and discover new things. In doing so, they create from a place that resonates with them at a single point in time.

Over the course of years, a series of single brush strokes reveals an evolving sense of authenticity.

Bob Dylan, one of history’s great songwriters, has reinvented himself time and time again throughout his career. He’s altered his voice and bridged various genres, beginning in folk, shifting towards rock, and experimenting with country and Christian albums along the way.

Five decades later we can step back and admire his trajectory–how he’s pushed himself to grow, defy expectations, and channel that into his art. Time makes this seem inevitable, as if all he had to do was fall in line with destiny. But that fails to take into account the years of criticism, outrage, and uncertainty Dylan faced.

Authenticity–creating from who you are today, despite expectations tearing you in different directions–is not for the faint of heart.

Dylan threw the folk community into a fit of rage when he “went electric.” He could have stuck with what was working and fallen in line with their expectations, but validation was never his primary motivation. He sought meaning over influence at each step of his career. As a result, he achieved exactly that–lifelong influence.

Dylan resonates with people because his songwriting tracks his own development as a human being. His songs reflect who he was–his observations, experiences, and imagination–and who he refused to be at each point in time. Dylan’s career is a master class in embracing the impermanence of identity and authenticity. The fragments of himself that he brought to life shows he understands this in a deep way.

“There were a lot of better singers and better musicians around these places but there wasn’t anybody close in nature to what I was doing. Folk songs were the way I explored the universe...”

— Bob Dylan

There’s no single template for finding your voice as it exists today. It’s different for each person. Legendary director, Steven Spielberg, was quite different from Dylan. Dylan had unusual depth which he developed at an early age. Spielberg developed his own sense of depth over decades.

Spielberg’s progression from Jaws (1975) to Schindler’s List (1993) demonstrates this. In those eighteen years, he grew by finding projects that spoke to him at a specific point in time. What felt authentic to him in 1965 was entirely different than 1993. That doesn’t negate his early work, he was just creating from a different place.

Spielberg’s voice evolved through his films, just as Dylan’s did through his albums. That’s why they’ve remained relevant for so many years. They’ve changed, adapted, and grown. But most importantly, both have had the courage to speak from where they were in each present moment.

Both faced criticism along the way for unpopular decisions, but that’s the irony of the whole thing. People are enraged by change, but if you stay the same you guarantee failure. You lose touch with yourself, a sense of fulfillment in your work, and a deeper connection to your audience.

Before you release your work into the wild, fight like hell to make sure it first resonates with you.

No one gets it right each time. There will be times you lose your sense of authenticity. Not even Dylan and Spielberg are immune to the chaos of life. But when the intention and awareness are there, it’s easier to rebuild and rediscover a sense of momentum.

Life is motion. Authenticity is about finding harmony in that motion.

It’s not always easy, but it’s meaningful. Allow yourself to evolve through uncertainty. When you find the courage to speak from this place, you add unusual depth and clarity to your voice. That’s what draws people in.

Start by reflecting on what resonates with you at this point in your life–experiences, interests, observations, values. Authenticity is your now. No matter where you are, trust yourself to create from who you are today.