The Arrogance Premium

You've just taken over.

Could be a team.

Could be a whole company.

Doesn't matter.

And you see things that make your eye twitch:

• Manual processes that should be automated

• Meetings that seem pointless

• Systems that feel ancient

• And yes, maybe even a fax machine in the corner

Your fingers itch to fix it all.

Stop.

The $2M Fax Machine Story

Let me tell you about Alex.

Mid-Thirties.

Was sold the bologna dream that buying and running a small business was as simple as “adding some technology and hiring an operator.”

Just bought a medical billing company in Ohio with a full recourse SBA Loan.

First day walking around the office, he spots it: A fax machine.

Actually, three of them.

"Found the problem!" he texts his investor group. "These IDIOTS are still using fax machines! In 2024!"

Week two: The fax machines go in the dumpster. In its place… a fancy new SaaS, billed annually.

Week three: The phones start ringing.

Week four: Major clients start leaving.

Turns out:

• Their biggest hospital client only accepts faxed claims

• State regulations require fax trails for certain transactions

• Half their elderly doctor clients don't trust email

• Their insurance partners require faxed documentation

Six months later, the business is worth half what he paid.

All because he didn't ask one simple question: "Why?"

The Fence in the Field

There's an old principle called Chesterton's Fence.

It goes like this:

Before removing a fence, first understand why someone built it.

Sounds obvious.

It's not.

Because that manual review process you hate?

It caught a $100,000 mistake last year.

That "redundant" meeting?

It's where Jane from accounting and Tom from sales sync up informally, preventing dozens of little fires.

The Hidden Web

That fax machine isn't just a machine. It's:

• A link in a complex business ecosystem

• A trust signal to old-school clients

• A compliance requirement

• A backup system when everything else fails

But Alex didn't ask.

Didn't investigate.

Just saw old technology and assumed: obsolete.

The Arrogance of the New

We've all been there.

First week on the job.

Everything looks inefficient.

Outdated.

Wrong.

"These people must be idiots," we think. "How have they survived?"

This is peak arrogance.

Peak ignorance.

They've survived because those inefficient-looking processes contain hidden wisdom.

Accumulated knowledge.

Hard-won lessons.

That fence in the field isn't just a fence.

It's a history lesson.

• It's there because three years ago, something went wrong

• It's there because someone learned something the hard way

• It's there because it's solving a problem you don't know exists yet

The Right Way to Change Things

Want to modernize a business? Start with:

1. "Why do we do things this way?"

2. "Who needs this system?"

3. "What problems does this solve?"

4. "What would break if we removed it?"

Then maybe, just maybe: "How could we do this better?"

The Quiet Truth

Sometimes the smartest move is:

• Keeping the old system AND adding new options

• Understanding before changing

• Respecting what works (even if you don't like it)

The best changes often come from people who start by assuming they're wrong:

• "What am I missing?"

• "Why did smart people build it this way?"

• "What problem was this solving?"

This humility unlocks real improvement.

Before You Change Anything...

Remember:

• Every "outdated" system might be solving a problem you don't see yet

• Understanding beats assuming

And maybe, just maybe, keep that fax machine around.

At least until you understand why it's there.

Also, I’m about 35 episodes into a video podcast called (you guessed it) Lazy Leverage.

Available on my Twitter, Spotify, and Apple Music.

Link to Podcast on Apple:

Link on Spotify:

Yallah Habibi,

Jon

Passage of the Week:

“If you want to understand something, take it to the extremes or examine its opposites,” Boyd said. He practiced what he preached. He considered every word and every idea from every possible angle, then threw it out for discussion, argued endless hours, restructured his line of thought, and threw it out for discussion again.

Creativity was painful and laborious and repetitive and detail-haunted—not just to him, but to a half-dozen people around him.

Boyd needed the dialectic of debate. Often he abandoned the entire line of inquiry and went back to the beginning.

Robert Coram