Fishes in a pond are funny. If you put your hands out, pretending to feed, they flock to you. They flock because other fishes flocked, not because of the presence of food. This herd-like behavior is common among humans.

If your business idea isn’t producing weird looks from people, it’s a common one, therefore the herd is already competing for it. People applaud you for starting a restaurant, but those same people would likely ridicule you for starting a commercial space travel business. It’s uncommon, it’s risky; “No one has ever done it before,” they say. The weird looks are a byproduct of not seeing what the founder sees. Being a YouTuber was weird a decade ago, but less so now. The more people understood what the internet is and what it’s capable of, the less weird “internet jobs” look. When space travel is commonplace, people will give you a “that’s cool” response for wanting to be a spaceship captain—the same response people give you now for wanting to be a YouTuber.

It’s not about being weird for the sake of being weird; weird simply means the herd hasn’t appeared. The idea might be worthless, but if it turns out to be valuable, it’s like the first person to find gold-rich land. (Execution is the efficiency of digging the gold, leverage are tools to increase efficiency. Another topic for another time.)

The question “how do I find good ideas?” doesn’t interest me. Here’s a more interesting, potent question: “Some people seem to produce weird, valuable ideas on a consistent basis. What sort of worldview do they have that enables it?” What if consistently discovering weird, valuable ideas is simply an inevitable byproduct of despising the herd and ruthlessly being oneself?

I like ponds. The fishes have taught me plenty of things.