Timescales

Humans are notoriously bad at predicting timescales—really bad. Think about it: how often have you started a task thinking it would take just an hour, only to find yourself working on it late into the night? Why do new projects, especially in software, almost always take longer than we anticipate? And remember those bold predictions from the 19th century? By now, we were supposed to be zipping around in flying cars.

These are just a few examples of a broader phenomenon I’ve been reflecting on lately: we consistently misjudge how long things will take.

One key reason for our poor time estimation is optimism bias. We tend to overestimate our efficiency and underestimate potential challenges, assuming things will go smoothly. This sets us up for unrealistic expectations. On a personal level, we often fail to consider distractions or unforeseen complexities. In larger, more complex projects like software development or infrastructure construction, we don’t account for technical setbacks, bureaucratic delays, or miscommunication among stakeholders. 

Optimism bias is a deeply ingrained psychological tendency. It stems from our hope that we can accomplish more in less time than is realistically possible. This bias isn’t just an individual trait—it affects collective decision-making as well.

Our inability to accurately predict timelines has far-reaching consequences. When governments, organizations, or industries miscalculate the duration of complex projects or reforms, the fallout can be severe. Resources get wasted, public frustration builds, and trust in institutions erodes. Infrastructure projects that drag on, often with budget overruns, disrupt communities and lead to economic inefficiencies. Similarly, underestimating the time required for social or political reforms can create disillusionment. Citizens expect rapid change but are often met with slow, incremental progress. This disconnect between expectation and reality can foster cynicism and weaken trust in leadership. It might even contribute to political instability, as people become frustrated with what they perceive as broken promises. In fact, I believe this growing impatience is one reason for the rising popularity of right-wing politics in many Western democracies. People are turning to alternatives that promise quicker, more decisive action.

Yet, some people seem to navigate these complexities more effectively. They appear to defy the unpredictability of timelines and achieve remarkable success. But are they really breaking the mold? I don’t think so. Instead, I believe these individuals are better at understanding the context in which they operate—and crucially, the timescales involved in their decisions. Consider an example: Let’s say you’re convinced that solar power is the future of energy. That’s a valid belief, but the more important question is: over what timescale? Widespread adoption of solar energy could take decades. If you ignore that reality, your belief remains just that—a belief. Worse, it’s not actionable in the present. And unless you’re working in long-term government policy, the present—and the near future—is what matters most for decision-making. Thirty years from now, you might have the satisfaction of saying, “I told you so,” but by then, you may have missed other opportunities because you misunderstood the timeline of your conviction.

Ultimately, success isn’t just about having the right ideas; it’s about understanding when those ideas, and the external factors needed to enable it, will play out, and aligning your decisions with that understanding. This, I start to believe, is the real magic sauce behind being able to make real progress and having real impact.

Excellence as founder

I never believed in micromanagement—probably because I never needed it as an employee. I was always self-driven and curious, which often led me to surprise my superiors with unexpected results. I was fortunate to work in environments where everyone around me was like that—first in academia, then in my first industry role. These experiences shaped me, making me believe that everyone was like this: self-driven, curious, treating work as more than "a job” and ultimately capable of achieving great things.

After years of running my first software startup, enduring painful lessons, and ultimately failing to scale, I realize now how naïve I was. Since I never believed in micromanagement to begin with, I didn't think it was necessary in a startup. I assumed that if I just hired motivated people, things would naturally fall into place. And to an extent, I did succeed in hiring motivated, genuinely good people. But I learned that while motivation is a necessary condition for success, it's not a sufficient one. Motivated, pleasant people create a good company culture, but if they lack the ability to push boundaries, think unconventionally, and figure out solutions in a high-stakes environment, that "niceness" amounts to nothing. What you really need are people who go beyond the ordinary—who push past what 95% of equally motivated people do. You need excellence.

As Reid Hoffman (I think) famously said, you need "exceptional talent in all positions" if you want to build something truly big. I now understand why. For the future, I would never again assume that people will "grow" into excellence. You can't bet on anyone's growth trajectory. Exceptional growth can happen, but it's a bonus, not a given. As a founder, you need to hire people who already know what they’re doing and are excited by uncertainty—who are ready to figure out the unknown from day one. Otherwise, you're taking on too much risk as a founder. One of my past investors used to say, "As a startup, you have the freedom to do whatever you want, but you don’t have two things: time and money." Read that again. You don’t have the luxury of fooling around. For most first-time founders, this is challenging in many ways, but the core challenge is figuring out "what excellence looks like."

This is where it gets interesting, because I don’t think enough people talk about this: you have to figure out what excellence looks like. What does an excellent sales leader do? What does an excellent product person look like? What should you expect from an exceptional engineer? What do top-tier startup CEOs do to build partnerships and network? As a startup CEO, it’s your job to get a sense of what excellence looks like and whether you have it in your company. And to do this, you need to micromanage—not in the sense of controlling every move, but in being deeply involved with everything and everyone. You need to point out when something could be done better or faster and constantly push the boundaries - and you need to surround yourself with people who want exactly that.

Now, let me clarify: if you have a business idea that (for whatever reason) has a high likelihood of success, the approach might be different. In such cases, a team of motivated and diligent people may be enough to follow the established path and execute well. But most startups don't have that kind of certainty. Most are searching for product-market fit, which is why it's crucial to set a higher bar for talent and ensure every key position is filled by someone exceptional.

As CEO, your job is also to develop a sense of what excellence looks like and communicate that vision to your team. If your sales leader doesn't know how to handle SalesOps, you need to find a way to teach them, even if that means setting it up yourself based on what you’ve learned from others. Or, if necessary, replace them with someone who does know what excellence in that area looks like.

In my first startup, I failed to do all of this. It was the biggest, most painful lesson I've ever learned. In hindsight, it seems obvious. But at the time, I didn't see it. Even when people tried to tell me, I couldn't hear them. I was blinded by a misplaced sense of loyalty and the belief that excellence would eventually emerge if I just gave people time. That loyalty led to mediocrity and stagnation. It wasn't until late in the journey that I finally understood, flipped the switch, and embraced the responsibility of being "all over everything." It helped, but by then it was too late.

Well, now I know.