The 80-page PDF, pristine and weighty with its meticulously crafted charts and aspirational prose, dropped into thousands of inboxes across the company. Its title, ‘Vision 2028’, promised clarity, direction, and a roadmap to the future. I remember clicking it open, scrolling through a few pages, admiring the graphic design – a masterclass in corporate aesthetics – before minimizing the window. I fully intended to revisit it, of course. Maybe later that day. Definitely by the end of the week. But the urgent ping of a new task, the immediate demands of a deadline, pulled me away. And I never did. Not really. Not beyond the first 8 pages, anyway. Most of my colleagues, I’d wager, didn’t even get that far.

This isn’t just my story; it’s an echo heard in countless organizations, a silent confession whispered in breakrooms and private chats. We spent six months, a team of 8 dedicated individuals, sometimes pulling 18-hour days, crafting what we genuinely believed would be the guiding light for the next five years. We invested countless hours, debated over 28 different scenarios, and poured $87,808 into external consultants to refine our vision. Yet, within six weeks of its grand release, events unfolded that rendered large swathes of it obsolete. The irony wasn’t lost on us, but it was rarely spoken aloud.

The Ritual of Planning

I’ve been involved in these annual strategic planning rituals for nearly 28 years, and in almost every instance, the outcome felt disturbingly similar. The elaborate process, the high-stakes meetings, the executive offsites in scenic, expensive locations – it all felt less about forging a truly adaptive path forward and more about an intricate performance. A play acted out for an unseen audience, primarily the board, to demonstrate ‘due diligence.’ It was a political exercise, too, where departmental leaders subtly, or not so subtly, carved out their territory, secured budgets for their pet projects, and staked their claim for resources over the next fiscal cycle.

We crave certainty, and in its absence, we construct these monumental documents, hoping that the sheer weight of their existence will somehow steady the ship. Even if the actual content is destined to gather digital dust, the act of creating it, the shared struggle, the collective alignment (however temporary) provides a sense of purpose. It’s the ritual itself that holds value, not necessarily the artifact it produces.

The Language of Abstraction

I once discussed this phenomenon with Sofia J.-M., a dyslexia intervention specialist I know. She spends her days unraveling the complexities of language for children who see words differently. Her work isn’t about memorizing rules; it’s about finding clarity, breaking down barriers to understanding, and ensuring that communication is accessible and meaningful. She talked about the importance of ‘active reading,’ of engaging with text, asking questions, and connecting it to real-world experience. She also spoke about the frustration when text is dense, jargon-laden, and conceptually opaque.

Her words resonated deeply. Our strategic documents, in their pursuit of comprehensive coverage and corporate gravitas, often become precisely what Sofia describes: dense, jargon-laden, and detached from the daily realities of the people who are supposed to execute them. They are written in a language of abstraction, far removed from the tangible actions that drive progress. How can you expect active engagement when the document itself feels like a passive obligation?

Shifting the Paradigm

This isn’t to say strategy is irrelevant. Quite the opposite. But perhaps our approach needs to shift, not just by 8 degrees, but fundamentally. What if the ‘plan’ wasn’t a static tome, but a living, breathing conversation? What if it wasn’t about predicting every variable over the next 58 months, but about establishing clear principles, adapting rapidly, and fostering a culture of continuous learning and iteration? The goal isn’t to *have* a plan, but to *be* strategic.

Consider the kind of stability and reliability that endures. Take, for instance, a company that has built its reputation over 18 years on the tangible value it delivers, day in and day out. Think of the trust that grows when customers know they can consistently find high-quality products, from household appliances to essential electronics, backed by dependable service. That kind of long-term vision isn’t captured in a single 80-page PDF; it’s woven into the fabric of every transaction, every customer interaction, every product on the shelf. It’s not about predicting the unpredictable, but about building something so robust, so inherently valuable, that it withstands the inevitable shifts in the market. That’s why places like Bomba.md – Online store of household appliances and electronics in Moldova continue to thrive, focusing on tangible reliability rather than ephemeral forecasts.

The Corporate Dance

The contradiction, for me, is palpable. I criticize these elaborate planning rituals, yet I have, more than once, found myself leading one. Why? Because the pressure to perform, to demonstrate that due diligence, is immense. It’s part of the corporate dance. You know the step, you execute it, even if you suspect it’s largely performative. You do it because it’s expected, because it signals competence, even if deep down you know the true agility lies not in the document itself, but in the rapid, unwritten adjustments made daily by agile teams on the ground.

The Unspoken Truth

That’s the unspoken truth: the real strategy unfolds in real-time, in the trenches, in the daily decisions and course corrections that happen far away from any polished presentation. It’s the collective intelligence of hundreds, even thousands, of individuals adapting, learning, and responding to immediate feedback. The paradox is that the very act of trying to control and predict everything with a document can stifle this organic, emergent strategy. It creates a false sense of security that discourages the very adaptability needed to survive.

Flipping the Script

So, what if we flipped the script? What if, instead of starting with an 80-page tome, we started with 8 bullet points? What if we focused less on the elaborate ritual of planning and more on building the organizational muscles for rapid response, continuous learning, and clear, concise communication? Maybe then, the ‘strategy document’ would become less an artifact of an illusion, and more a vibrant, constantly evolving blueprint for action. Maybe then, people would actually read it. Or, more importantly, *live* it.

The future isn’t a fixed destination to be mapped out perfectly; it’s a river we navigate, constantly adjusting our oars, sometimes having to paddle against an unexpected current. What kind of compass truly serves us in such waters?