Why Zero is Better Than You Think

It's possible that starting fresh beats starting over.

When I lost my job last year, it felt like I was left with nothing.

Actually, it felt like less than nothing. No insurance. No severance. No paycheck. No unemployment. Just debt and despair.

The reality, of course, was that it wasn’t quite that bad. I mean, it wasn’t great. But I had assets, experience, and amazing support from people who care about me. Still, in those early moments of personal calamity, it felt over. I was underwater. In the negative.

It’s been a few months now and I’m back to zero.

And I don’t mean broke or starting over with nothing. I mean the launchpad. The clean slate where you can finally build something new instead of just repairing what broke. This isn’t empty. It’s potential. It’s the moment right before Peter Falk shows up in your bedroom to tell you the most amazing story ever.

I am here to tell you: this place is amazing.

So this week, let’s talk about starting from zero, why it matters more than we realize, and how you can use it as an advantage instead of a setback.

Why Zero Beats Negative One (Even When Negative Feels Safer)

There’s a massive difference between zero and negative one.

Negative means you’re still losing ground. You’re patching holes and putting out fires. You wake up exhausted because you spent the night reacting instead of building.

But at zero, you have agency again. The crisis is over or at least diminished. You have space to create and to dream and then to act on that dream.

We tend to cling to negative one anyway because somehow it feels safer. It’s familiar and you feel like you know what to expect. The alternative feels more like freefall.

Negative one is the job that’s killing you but pays the bills. The relationship that stopped working years ago but at least you’re not alone. The project that’s failing but you’ve already invested so much time.

Walking away from all that can be a relief. But it’s also terrifying.

The funny thing about working with engineers for decades is that you learn that they count differently than most people.

In kindergarten, you learned to count to five by counting 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.
Engineers start at zero. They count 0, 1, 2, 3, 4.

Why? Because in programming, zero is the starting position. It’s not nothing. It’s the foundation. It’s where the array begins. The first slot, not the absence of one.

And this change in mindset (or counting technique if you will) has a way of changing how you see things.

Zero becomes not empty. It’s not failure or the void. Instead, it’s the point where you have a clean slate and infinite possibility.

One is the first step. But zero is the foundation.

When you’re here, you’re not starting over. You’re starting fresh. And those are not the same thing.

A Place of Honesty

At this point, all your options are forward. You can’t fall back to old patterns because there’s nothing to fall back to.

This is why some of the most amazing things can come after catastrophe. Not because suffering is noble, but because it removes the illusion of safety. The boats have been burned, and when you’re able to move past the grief, you get to start asking a different question: “What do I actually want to build?”

This is blue ocean.

Have you heard that term? Blue ocean strategy? It’s when you stop fighting in crowded, competitive markets and instead create new space where the competition doesn’t exist yet. Where you make your own rules.

That’s what this gives you. No old commitments dragging you down. No one expecting you to be who you were six months ago.

This might just be the most honest place you’ll ever find yourself.

You can’t pretend anymore. You can’t coast on momentum that died six months ago. You can’t hide behind a title or a paycheck or a routine that stopped serving you years ago. Inertia makes a lot of our decisions for us. But inertia isn’t interested in what you want. It’s only interested in what’s easy.

You have to decide what you’re actually going to build. And you get to decide based on what matters now in this moment, not what mattered before everything fell apart.

What would you actually build if the old version wasn’t an option? If you couldn’t just patch together what used to work and hope it holds?

That’s not just some thought experiment. It’s this place asking you to be honest with yourself.

It’s not punishment. It’s permission.

The King of Side Quests

My daughter tells me I’m the king of side quests.

Even before I was kicked to the curb, I had signed up to teach a class on AI. I was writing this newsletter. Doing consulting work.

And these days, I’m trying all sorts of stuff. I started up this consulting business. I’m running AI workshops. The teaching is going great. And of course, I bought this police car.

Okay sure, on the outside, this could look like flailing. A man in his fifties flopping around life in a desperate attempt to recapture who he once thought he was.

But the reality is that I haven’t felt this free in a long time.

When I was in my twenties, I didn’t take a gap year. I didn’t backpack around Europe. I didn’t take a bunch of different classes to try on different versions of life. I beelined into adulthood. I went from college to debt and bills to job to career to startup. I’ve always been the steady, responsible adult. The one who made the safe choice, who stayed the course.

But now I’ve been gifted this time of beautiful, terrifying, thrilling, utter bedlam. Older than I’ve ever been and I feel younger than I’ve ever felt.

It’s a playground. And I’m allowed to play.

Oh hey, quick aside: If you’re getting value from this newsletter and want to support what I’m building, consider upgrading to a paid subscription. You’ll get a monthly digital goodie boxes, stickers (yes, actual stickers), and the satisfaction of knowing you helped fund my questionable police car choices.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. I just told you I’m the king of side quests. I’m doing all the things. Teaching, consulting, workshops, buying police cars. So how does that square with trying to focus?

The difference is that I’m not scattered. I’m experimenting. Each of those things is intentional. Each one is a test. I’m trying on different versions of what comes next to see what fits.

But before you can experiment, you need momentum. And momentum starts with one win.

Maybe you're not at zero yet. Maybe you're still in the negative, still putting out fires, still clinging to what's broken. Try not to beat yourself up about it. You don't have to be ready and it is OK to give yourself time. But when you are ready, these steps will be here waiting.

Whether you’re at rock bottom or ready to rebuild, here’s how to start:

• Get one win. Not ten things. One. Pick something small enough that you can actually finish it this week. One conversation you’ve been avoiding. One email you need to send. One project you’ve been thinking about. One decision you keep postponing. You’re not looking for the perfect move. You’re looking for proof that you can move forward. Psychologist Albert Bandura called this “mastery experience.” Small wins build self-efficacy faster than any pep talk ever could. You don’t believe you can do something because someone told you so. You believe it because you did it once. And if you did it once, you can do it again. And stack those wins. Keep track. They add up faster than you think.

• Stop trying to rebuild what you lost. This may be the hardest part. You’ll want to recreate what you had before. The same job, the same structure, the same comfort. But that’s not moving forward. That’s clinging to negative one. Ask yourself: what would I build if I couldn’t go back? Write it down. Try to be totally honest. Not what sounds impressive. Not what other people expect. What do you actually want?

• Let yourself experiment. Once you have that first win, try something else. And then something else after that. You don’t need a five-year plan right now. You don’t need it all figured out. You need permission to try things that might not work. Some will. Some won’t. That’s not failure. That’s information. That’s how you figure out what fits. I didn’t know teaching AI would feel this good. I didn’t know buying a police car would make me laugh every time I get in it. I just tried things and paid attention to what felt right.

• Give it time, but not too much time. This process is thrilling, but it can also be exhausting. You’ll want to rush. Or you’ll want to freeze. Neither works. Move forward, but don’t expect yourself to have it all solved by next week. This is a process, not a light switch. Give yourself the space to be OK with it all.

Remember: this isn’t nothing. It’s foundational. And from here, you can build anything.

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Conclusion

It’s easy to think that zero is nothing. It’s the worst score to get in a game (generally). It’s last place. It’s out of money. It’s out of time. A failing grade. We get taught that you don’t want to end up here.

But for me, the hard part isn’t starting from zero. The hard part is realizing you’ve been clinging to negative one, pretending it’s still something worth saving.

And once you let go of that? Once you stop trying to salvage what’s already gone?

That’s when you realize this is also where possibility lives. It’s where engineers start counting. It’s where the ocean is blue and wide open. It’s the moment right before the story begins.

So if you’re at zero right now? Congrats! That means you’re ready to start.

Ever forward,
— Derek (aka Chief Rabbit)

P.S. Speaking of starting from zero with AI: I’m teaching a beginner-friendly AI workshop online. If you’ve ever felt lost in AI conversations or wanted to understand how to actually use these tools, this is for you. No prior experience needed. Just curiosity and a willingness to try something new. Register here.

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