Everything Is Figureoutable

Pages like this rarely make me rethink my habits, but 'Everything Is Figureoutable' really nudged me into action in a way that stuck.

For me the biggest takeaway is the mindset shift: treating problems as solvable rather than permanent. That sounds obvious, but flipping from 'I can't' to 'How can I?' changes how I spend my energy. Marie's push to break things into tiny, practical steps turned huge, terrifying goals into a series of experiments I could actually run. I started sketching micro-plans for projects instead of waiting for a mythical perfect moment, and that alone tripled my output.

Another huge piece was permission to embrace imperfect action. There’s an emphasis on decision—deciding to move forward even with fear—and on reframing failure as feedback. I also picked up useful rituals: journaling one concrete next step, practicing gratitude without letting it become complacency, and being ruthless about saying no to things that siphon momentum. Reading this felt like getting a toolkit: curiosity, resourcefulness, consistent small steps, and the blunt reminder that excuses are often just habits. I walked away energized, more willing to try messy drafts, and oddly more confident that even very stubborn problems have a path through them.

I used to treat career change like a maze with locked doors—overwhelming until I learned to pick the locks one tiny tool at a time. The core phrase from 'Everything Is Figureoutable' sank into me: complexity doesn't mean impossibility. I started by turning the vague fear of 'I can't do this' into specific questions: What skills would people in that role actually notice? What are the bare minimum projects I can point to? How much runway do I need financially? Framing the problem into manageable questions made it feel like a puzzle I could solve over months, not a single leap.

From there I played experimenter. I mapped out a 90-day plan with micro-goals—read two foundational books, complete three short online projects, talk to five people in the field, and apply to two relevant gigs. Each micro-goal had a learning output: a one-page notes doc, a demo project, an updated portfolio snippet, a script for informational interviews. When something failed (and things did), I treated it like data. A cold email that got no reply taught me to change subject lines; a test task that flopped taught me what technical gaps I actually had.

Emotionally, I learned to budget for uncertainty. I saved a small runway, reduced commitments, and adopted daily rituals to keep momentum: 30 minutes of focused learning, one outreach message, and a weekly reflection note. The mentality shift—believing the problem is solvable and treating each setback as feedback—made the whole change feel less scary and more like a craft I was steadily improving at. It’s still a stretch sometimes, but that steady, curious approach made it enjoyable rather than paralyzing.

the ones that actually boosted my confidence are the ones that make the invisible stuff visible. The belief inventory work—where you write down the exact story you tell yourself about a problem—was a game changer. I used to have this fuzzy, background monologue of “I’m not ready” or “I’ll embarrass myself,” and writing those lines down turned them from this amorphous dread into a list I could tackle. Once I named the lies, I could interrogate them, pull them apart, and write counter-statements that sounded real and not just motivational fluff.

Another thing that stuck with me was the tiny-experiment approach. Rather than launch into some huge, scary goal, I’d set up a one-week test: one short voicemail to a potential collaborator, one five-minute live stream, one conversation where I asked for feedback. Each small experiment taught me something and, more importantly, gave me a micro-win to build on. Those micro-commitments stack—two weeks of them and suddenly that mountain looks like a staircase.

I also leaned hard on the daily mantra work from the book: simple, repeatable lines like “I will figure this out” or “I’m getting better, not perfect.” Saying them aloud before a meeting or before I hopped on stage calmed my heartbeat and nudged my posture into something braver. Combine that with a short visualization (30 seconds picturing success) and a quick write-down of the one smallest next action, and my confidence feels more like muscle than mood. Honestly, these exercises made auditions, presentations, and even asking for raises feel less terrifying—more like experiments, and that takes the edge right off.