Product Operating Model Series: The Four Pillars of Product Success: Mastering Risk Assessment in the Product Operating Model

Issue #42

Destare Foundation

Alex Dziewulska

Sebastian Bukowski

, and 3 others

Jul 15, 2025

∙ Paid

In today's edition, among other things:

💜 Editor’s Note: Stop Calling Me Idealistic: Why "Practical" is the Enemy of Product Excellence
💜 Product Operating Model Series: The Four Pillars of Product Success: Mastering Risk Assessment in the Product Operating Model

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It will take you almost an hour to read this issue. Lots of content (or meat)! (For vegans - lots of tofu!).
Grab a notebook 📰 and your favorite beverage 🍵☕.
DeStaRe Foundation

Editor’s Note by Alex 💜

This one is for all of you out there tired of being practical, loosing potential and vision in a dark place called - status quo.

Stop Calling Me Idealistic: Why "Practical" is the Enemy of Product Excellence

The product management profession has confused "being practical" with being professional, creating a generation of leaders who optimize for achievable mediocrity instead of pursuing transformational excellence. This isn't wisdom—it's cowardice dressed up as strategy, and it's systematically destroying our industry's potential.

I'm writing this on one of those days when the weight of high standards feels crushing. When every voice around me whispers that I should "be more realistic," "lower expectations," "focus on what's achievable." When the darkness creeps in and I question whether my vision is too ambitious, whether I'm asking too much of myself and my teams.

But here's what I've learned after years in product leadership: The moment we normalize "practical" as the highest professional standard, we've already lost. We've traded innovation for incremental improvement, breakthrough thinking for best practices, and transformational leadership for project management with a fancier title.

The "Practical" Trap That's Killing Product Excellence

Let me tell you about a conversation that haunts me. His name was Tomek, and six months earlier, he'd been on fire with a vision that could have transformed how we think about productivity in our chaotic, always-on world.

Tomek wasn't just another product manager—he was a founder who understood something profound about human attention and energy management. His startup wasn't building another calendar app or task tracker. He was designing what he called "cognitive flow architecture"—technology that would learn your mental patterns, predict your energy cycles, and orchestrate your environment to maximize deep work while preserving human connection.

The vision was breathtaking. Instead of tracking time, his platform would track attention quality. Instead of optimizing schedules, it would optimize cognitive states. Instead of measuring productivity through completed tasks, it would measure fulfillment through aligned action. He talked about creating "temporal sanctuaries" where people could think without interruption, "energy economics" that balanced output with restoration, "attention archaeology" that helped people understand their deepest work patterns.

I remember the electricity in his voice when he described user stories that went beyond feature lists: "Imagine a system that knows you do your best strategic thinking at 10:47 AM on Wednesdays after you've had exactly twelve minutes of morning sunlight, and automatically protects that time while orchestrating the conditions for breakthrough thinking."

But when I saw him six months later, that electricity was gone. Replaced by something that made my chest tight—the hollow look of someone who'd traded their vision for venture capital comfort.

"I've learned to be more practical," he said, staring at his laptop screen showing yet another time-tracking dashboard that looked exactly like every other time-tracking dashboard cluttering the productivity software graveyard.

His board had convinced him that cognitive flow architecture was "too ambitious for the current market." His investors wanted him to focus on "proven use cases" and "validated demand." His advisors told him to build an MVP that competed directly with existing solutions but with "one differentiating feature."

So Tomek built another time tracker. With slightly better reporting. And integrations with Slack.

The platform launched to mediocre reviews, struggled to differentiate from established competitors, and died quietly eighteen months later. Another "failed" startup in a market oversaturated with incremental improvements to solved problems.

But here's what haunts me most: It wasn't the platform that died. It was Tomek's belief that transformational thinking was possible. I watched a visionary become a project manager, someone who could have reshaped how humans interact with time become someone who optimized existing workflows with marginal improvements.

The emptiness in his voice when he explained why he needed to be "more realistic"—I hear it everywhere now. In product leaders who've been conditioned to apologize for ambitious thinking. In innovators who've learned to preemptively diminish their visions to avoid the discomfort of being called "unrealistic."

Sound familiar?

We've created an entire culture that celebrates the death of ambition. We've convinced ourselves that lowering standards is professional maturity, that accepting limitations is strategic thinking, that "being practical" is what separates senior leaders from naive dreamers.

This is exactly backward.

Carol Dweck's groundbreaking research on growth versus fixed mindsets reveals why this "practical" orientation is so destructive. When we operate from fixed mindset thinking—believing our capabilities are static and challenges should match our current skill level—we systematically avoid the stretch goals that drive genuine growth. We optimize for the comfort of achievable targets rather than the discomfort of transformational challenges.

But here's what the research actually shows: Teams that embrace what Dweck calls "the power of yet"—focusing on what they can't do yet rather than what they can't do—demonstrate 40% higher performance on complex problem-solving tasks. When we shift from "this isn't possible" to "how can we make this possible," we activate completely different neural pathways that drive innovation rather than optimization.

The most damaging part? We've confused this limitation-focused thinking with professional competence. Entry-level workers execute on someone else's vision—that's their job. But when product leaders start optimizing for "realistic" instead of transformational, we've fundamentally misunderstood what leadership actually means.

The Neuroscience of Why We Settle (And How to Fight It)

Here's what's really happening when we choose "practical" over ambitious: We're letting our ancient survival mechanisms hijack our strategic thinking.

Daniel Kahneman's research on System 1 versus System 2 thinking shows why our brains default to limitation-focused reasoning. System 1—our fast, automatic thinking—is designed to keep us alive, not to help us thrive. When faced with ambitious goals, System 1 immediately scans for threats, risks, and reasons why something won't work. It's evolutionarily programmed to prioritize avoiding failure over achieving breakthrough success.

Antonio Damasio's work on emotion and decision-making adds another layer: Our brains literally feel physical discomfort when contemplating goals that stretch beyond our current proven capabilities. The amygdala activates the same threat-detection systems whether we're facing a charging lion or an ambitious product vision that could fail publicly.

This explains why "being practical" feels so psychologically safe. It's not strategic thinking—it's our ancient brain protecting us from the vulnerability of potential failure.

But product leadership requires us to deliberately override these safety mechanisms. When Reed Hastings pivoted Netflix from DVD-by-mail to streaming, every "practical" voice told him it was impossible. The technology wasn't ready, bandwidth was limited, content deals would be too expensive, customers wouldn't adapt.

What did he do? He asked different questions: "How can we make this possible?" instead of "Why won't this work?"

The Real Cost of Lowered Expectations

I want to share something that keeps me awake at night: If we all lower our standards, if we all optimize for "achievable" instead of transformational, what kind of world are we creating for the next generation of product builders?

James Clear's research on atomic habits reveals the compound effect of small compromises. When we consistently choose "realistic" over ambitious, we're not just affecting individual products—we're reshaping the entire trajectory of technological progress. Each compromised vision, each "practical" decision, each time we settle for incremental improvement instead of pursuing breakthrough innovation compounds into an industry-wide mediocrity spiral.

Consider the smartphone revolution. If Steve Jobs had listened to the "practical" voices telling him that people wouldn't pay $500 for a phone without a physical keyboard, that carriers would never accept a device they couldn't control, that touch screens weren't reliable enough for primary input—we'd still be using BlackBerry keyboards and styluses.

The iPhone wasn't practical. It was necessary.

Simon Sinek's research on purpose-driven leadership shows why this matters beyond individual companies. Organizations that optimize for "realistic" goals create cultures where people disengage from their highest potential. When we signal that ambitious thinking is naive rather than necessary, we systematically discourage the kind of bold problem-solving that creates breakthrough value.

I've watched brilliant engineers reduce their architectural visions to fit "practical" timelines. I've seen visionary designers simplify revolutionary interfaces to match "realistic" user research. I've witnessed product strategists abandon transformational business models because they seemed "too ambitious" for current organizational capabilities.

Each compromise might seem reasonable in isolation. Collectively, they represent the systematic abandonment of our profession's core purpose: using technology to solve previously unsolvable problems.

Why Dark Moments Are Where Breakthroughs Begin

Let me get personal for a moment about those dark, scary places where we question everything.

You know that feeling when the weight of high standards feels crushing? When every voice—internal and external—tells you to lower expectations, be more "realistic," focus on what's definitely achievable? When you're so tired you can barely breathe, let alone move forward with conviction?

I'm there today. And I'm betting many of you have been there too.

But here's what Viktor Frankl's research on meaning-making taught me: The darkness isn't a sign that our standards are too high—it's evidence that we're operating at the edge of our current capabilities, which is exactly where growth happens.

Frankl studied resilience in the most extreme circumstances imaginable and discovered that people who maintained meaning and purpose despite overwhelming challenges demonstrated what he called "tragic optimism"—the ability to hold onto hope and vision even when current reality feels crushing.

This isn't toxic positivity or naive optimism. It's the recognition that breakthrough innovation requires sustained comfort with discomfort, persistent faith in vision despite temporary setbacks, and the willingness to operate beyond our proven capabilities.

Amy Edmondson's research on psychological safety adds crucial context: The highest-performing teams aren't those that avoid failure—they're teams that create environments where ambitious failure is safer than mediocre success. When we normalize the pursuit of transformational goals that might not work, we create space for the kind of innovative thinking that changes industries.

The Leadership Standard That Changes Everything

Here's my editorial stance, and I'm willing to stake my reputation on it: Being "practical" is only professional if you're an entry-level contributor executing someone else's vision. Once you step into product leadership, optimizing for "realistic" becomes a fundamental abdication of your core responsibility.

Product leaders exist to envision and create what doesn't yet exist. Our job isn't to optimize existing solutions—it's to imagine breakthrough solutions that solve previously unsolvable problems. The moment we start asking "Is this realistic?" instead of "How can we make this possible?", we've stopped leading and started managing.

This doesn't mean pursuing impossible goals or ignoring constraints. It means asking fundamentally different questions:

Instead of "What can we definitely achieve?" ask "What would we attempt if failure wasn't permanent?"

Instead of "How do we lower risk?" ask "How do we increase learning velocity through intelligent experimentation?"

Instead of "What's realistic given our current capabilities?" ask "What capabilities would we need to develop to make this possible?"

Instead of "How do we set achievable targets?" ask "What would be so valuable that the difficulty of achievement becomes irrelevant?"

This shift in questioning isn't semantic—it's strategic. It activates what Nassim Taleb calls "antifragile" thinking, where we build systems that get stronger through challenge rather than weaker.

The World We're Building Through Our Standards

Every time we choose transformational thinking over "practical" compromise, we're not just improving individual products—we're raising the standard for what's possible across our entire industry.

When Elon Musk decided to pursue reusable rockets, every aerospace engineer knew it was "impractical." The physics were theoretically possible but the engineering challenges seemed insurmountable, the cost optimization unclear, the timeline unrealistic.

What did SpaceX do? They asked "How can we make this possible?" and systematically solved each "impossible" challenge until they revolutionized space transportation economics.

When Jensen Huang decided NVIDIA should bet their company on AI processing before anyone understood the market potential, every practical voice said it was too risky, too early, too uncertain.

What did they do? They built the capabilities that would be necessary if AI became transformational, positioning themselves to capture massive value when their bet proved correct.

These weren't accidents—they were the inevitable result of leaders who refused to optimize for "realistic" and instead optimized for necessary.

Your Choice: Leader or Manager?

I want to end with a challenge that's kept me going through every dark moment, every questioning voice, every day when high standards feel crushing:

What kind of leader do you want to be remembered as?

The one who optimized for achievable targets and delivered predictable incremental improvements? Or the one who pursued transformational visions that seemed impossible until they became inevitable?

The one who lowered expectations to match current capabilities? Or the one who elevated capabilities to match transformational potential?

The one who asked "Is this realistic?" or the one who asked "How can we make this possible?"

Your answer to this question doesn't just determine your career trajectory—it determines the kind of world we're building together.

Every time someone calls your vision "idealistic," remember: They're really saying your standards threaten their comfort with mediocrity. Every time someone suggests you should be more "practical," remember: They're asking you to abandon the transformational thinking that drives genuine innovation.

Don't do it.

The world doesn't need more practical product managers optimizing for achievable mediocrity. The world needs product leaders willing to pursue the kind of ambitious, transformational, "impossible" visions that create breakthrough value.

Yes, it's harder. Yes, it's scarier. Yes, there will be dark moments when you question everything.

But this is exactly what product leadership is supposed to feel like. The discomfort isn't evidence that your standards are too high—it's evidence that you're operating at the edge of what's currently possible, which is exactly where the next breakthrough is waiting to be discovered.

Stop calling it idealistic. Start calling it necessary.

The future depends on leaders who refuse to settle for practical and insist on pursuing transformational instead. The question isn't whether it's possible—the question is whether you have the courage to make it possible.

Your vision isn't too ambitious. Your standards aren't too high. Your expectations aren't unrealistic.

They're exactly what the world needs from product leaders brave enough to ask "How can we make this possible?" instead of "Why won't this work?"

Don't lower your standards. Raise your capabilities to meet them.

That's what real product leadership looks like.