I caught myself last week with eleven browser tabs open, three half-built automations, a new Planner board nobody asked for, and a Teams channel I’d spun up that morning and already forgotten the purpose of. None of it was hard to create. That was the problem. Every one of those things took me about ninety seconds, and ninety seconds is now the entire cost of bringing something new into existence.
For most of my working life, the brake on doing more was effort. You wanted a new report, a new process, a new client deliverable — and the friction of actually building it slowed you down enough to ask whether it was worth it. That friction is mostly gone. Copilot drafts the document, the deck, the email sequence. Power Automate wires the workflow. The wall that used to stop me from acting on every passing idea has quietly come down.
Speed without judgement is just mess
I’ll be honest about the wiring in my own head. I’m wired to react. A thought lands, I want to act on it immediately, and for years that instinct ran straight into the resistance of having to do the work by hand. The work was the filter. It forced a pause.
Now there’s no pause. The reaction and the execution have collapsed into the same moment. I think “we should have a dashboard for that” and Copilot in Excel has one in front of me before the idea’s even finished forming. Multiply that across a week and you don’t get a sharper business. You get a cluttered one. More dashboards nobody reads. More channels nobody checks. More automations quietly firing into inboxes that have stopped paying attention.
The skill that used to matter was production — the ability to make the thing. That’s not scarce anymore. Anyone with a Copilot licence can produce. What’s scarce now is the judgement to know which of the ten things you could build is the one that actually matters, and the discipline to let the other nine die.
Taste is the work now
I keep coming back to the word taste, because I can’t find a better one. It’s the ability to look at everything you’re capable of generating and recognise what’s worth keeping. It’s hearing the difference between a real signal and noise dressed up to look like progress. And it’s having the spine to cut — to delete the document, kill the channel, switch off the automation — even though it cost you almost nothing to make and feels wasteful to throw away.
This is uncomfortable, especially for those of us who measure ourselves by output. Cutting feels like the opposite of productivity. But a business that adds endlessly and never subtracts doesn’t get faster. It gets heavier. Every new thing you create has a maintenance cost, an attention cost, a “what was this for again?” cost that lands months later. The Loop pages multiply. The SharePoint sites pile up. The thing you built in ninety seconds takes a year to quietly rot in front of everyone.
So I’ve started running my week the other way around. Instead of asking Copilot what else I could build, I ask it what I should stop. I’ll point it at a Teams channel and ask for a summary of the last month — and if the honest answer is “three automated posts and no human replies,” that’s my cue to shut it down. I use Copilot to find the dead weight, not just to make more.
The momentum problem
Here’s the part I want to be straight about, because it’s where I think a lot of us are stuck. You can feel that your best work is still in front of you. The ambition is real. But the momentum you’re chasing won’t arrive while the business is carrying this much weight. Every unfinished idea, every half-used tool, every process you bolted on and never removed is drag. You can’t accelerate something this loaded, no matter how fast you’re able to add to it.
The temptation, when you feel slow, is to add more — a new tool, a new system, a new initiative to fix the sluggishness. That instinct is exactly backwards. The way through isn’t more production. It’s subtraction. The lightness comes from what you’re willing to remove.
It’s never been easier to make something. Which means the rare, valuable, genuinely hard skill is no longer making — it’s choosing. Less, but the right less. That’s the whole game now.

