
THINKING
Things I’ve been thinking about.
Work. People. Change. Ideas. Leadership. Momentum.
And all the strange, messy stuff
that happens in between.
Short thoughts. Real questions.
No ten-point frameworks.

That may be one of the strange things about transitions: we often don’t recognize them while they’re happening. We tend to think of a transition as an event.
The resignation. The new job. The move. The launch. The reorganization. The first day. The last day. Those are easy to put on a calendar.
But I’m increasingly convinced that the actual transition usually starts much earlier. Something stops fitting quite the way it used to. The questions change. Your energy shifts. You begin imagining something different before you have any idea what “different” actually looks like.
Maybe it’s the space where A no longer quite fits and B hasn’t fully arrived.
I recently made a pretty major professional transition myself, stepping away from an organization I founded and led for many years to build something new with Way Ahead. It's been exciting, challenging, uncomfortable, and energizing—sometimes all of those things before lunch.
But when did that transition actually begin?
It wasn’t my last day. It wasn’t the day anything officially started. It probably wasn’t even the day I wrote WORK → TRANSITION in that journal.
By then, something was already underway.
That little arrow may have been less of a decision and more of an acknowledgment. And I think the same thing happens in organizations all the time. We announce a change and call that the transition. New leader. New strategy. New structure. New program. New direction. Then we build the implementation plan, assign responsibilities, create the timeline, and start checking boxes.
All of that matters. But people don’t experience transition as a checklist. Someone can be sitting in the new structure while still holding onto the old one. Someone else may have moved on months before the official announcement. A team can know something needs to change long before anyone is willing to say it out loud.
And sometimes the most important work isn’t figuring out the destination. It’s figuring out what the space in between requires from us.
What needs to be left behind? What is worth carrying forward? What assumptions no longer work? Who needs to be part of the conversation? What are we learning now that we couldn’t have learned before things started moving?
I’m not sure good leadership means making that uncertainty disappear. I think sometimes it means being willing to stand in it long enough to understand what’s actually happening. To listen. To ask better questions. To make a decision when one needs to be made. And then to move.
I keep coming back to that arrow in the journal. An arrow doesn’t tell you much about the destination. It tells you there is movement. Maybe that’s enough sometimes. We don’t always need to know exactly where a transition ends before we begin doing the work it requires. We just need to notice that we’re in one. And then decide what we’re going to do with it.
What’s a transition in your life, work, or organization that turned out to be far more significant than you realized at the time?
Rusty McCarty
Founder | Way Ahead
TRANSITIONS:
The Space Between What Was and What’s Next
WAY AHEAD THINKING | #001
Late in 2023, I was sitting with a journal thinking about the year ahead.
On a page titled “Intentions for 2024,” I had divided life into the usual buckets. And under WORK, I wrote only two things:
→ TRANSITION
No destination. No new job. No company name. No grand plan.
Just an arrow and a word.
At the time, I’m not sure I could have told you exactly what I meant by it.
I just knew something was moving.
HORIZONS:
How Far Can You Really See?
WAY AHEAD THINKING | #002
In West Texas, the horizon is flat. Really flat. You can look out across the landscape and swear you can see tomorrow coming. There's so much sky it's almost ridiculous. I lived there for years, and it's a view that sticks with you.
I've also lived in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil where the horizon is magnificent. The Atlantic Ocean stretches out until the water and sky meet somewhere at the edge of the earth. Of course, turn around and you've got mountains rising right out of the city. Talk about a change in perspective.
And then there's Collingswood, New Jersey, where I live now. Lovely place. Great community. But a horizon? Good luck. Mostly houses, buildings, trees, and lots of telephone poles. If you want to see what's coming, you might need to climb onto somebody's roof. (Please don't.)
Same planet, very different views. And having called all three places home, I've come to appreciate just how much where you're standing shapes what you can see.
We talk endlessly about vision, looking ahead, and knowing where we're going. We build strategic plans, establish goals, and draw nice straight arrows pointing toward the future. I've done plenty of that myself. But here's the funny thing about a horizon: It changes every time you move.
What you can see from where you're standing today isn't necessarily what you'll see tomorrow. Sometimes you need to climb a little higher, walk around a corner, or ask somebody standing somewhere else what they can see.
I've been in plenty of conversations where people were absolutely convinced they had the whole picture. I've probably been that person myself more times than I'd care to admit. But bring a few different perspectives into the room, ask a couple of questions nobody was expecting, and suddenly the landscape starts looking a little different.
It makes me wonder how many decisions we make based on the view we've gotten comfortable with. Not because we're unwilling to consider something else, but because we don't always recognize what we can't see. Maybe we don't need a better map or a bigger plan. Sometimes we just need to change our vantage point—or invite someone with a different view to the table.
So here's something to ponder: Are you making decisions based on what's actually possible, or just what you can see from where you're standing?
Because those might be two very different things.
Rusty McCarty
Founder | Way Ahead

FOOD FOR THOUGHT
Small bites. Big thoughts.
A few things worth carrying around for a while.
DON’T not think about it.
—A Rusty original (I think)
Far and away the best prize that life offers is the chance to work hard at work worth doing.
—Theodore Roosevelt
Good to begin well;
better to end well.
—English proverb