There’s a strategy I’ve come to value deeply in life. I call it “Crab Walking”. It means taking two steps in the right direction, and one in the wrong one. That’s it. Most people focus on the direction (forward, backward, sideways….) as if movement only matters when it’s linear or logical. But to me, what matters most is the movement itself. Not perfect, not strategic, not even particularly wise. Just movement.
A couple of weeks ago, I was having lunch with a friend who’s going through a difficult time at work. He feels trapped. The kind of paralysis that convinces you there are no doors left to open, no options worth exploring, no future worth imagining. I recognized that feeling. I’ve been there. I know how heavy it gets. And when I saw that weight on him, I shared something that once helped me: Crab Walking. He looked puzzled, naturally. So I told him a story.
The last time I crab walked was when I moved apartments. I was stuck, both personally and professionally, and I knew I had to shift something. I didn’t have a practical reason. No financial urgency. No job opportunity waiting. Just the sense that I needed to stir the waters. So I moved. Two blocks away. Still Milan. Still renting. Still the same daily routines. But somehow, everything shifted. My family, my friends, even my girlfriend at the time asked me why. My answer was always the same: “I need to move the energies”.
Looking back on my professional and personal life, it’s filled with rented spaces. And yes, if I added up all the rent I’ve paid over the years, I probably could have bought an apartment, maybe even two. But I’ve gained something else in return: the gift of agility. The ability to respond, to adjust, to follow the thread of intuition instead of the weight of permanence. Not being anchored to one place can be a quiet kind of freedom.
Coming back to the story, at that moment I didn’t have the emotional or physical strength to change jobs. But it came later. First came the move. Small, seemingly irrational on paper, but spiritually significant. A few months later, Harvard reached out and invited me back as a visiting researcher. A few months after that, I launched Better Ipsum. One step after another. And it all started with that strange, unnecessary relocation. That move became a hidden hinge. A small act that turned the whole door.
We often wait for the perfect timing, for clarity, for guarantees. We talk about plans, directions, outcomes. But what I’ve learned is this: the system only starts to respond when we act. The crab doesn’t always move forward. Sometimes it sidesteps. Sometimes it takes a step back. But it never stays still. And when you’re deep in the mud, even a sideways move is better than none.
That move can be anything. Changing jobs. Switching cities. Signing up for the gym. Starting therapy. Buying a new desk. Calling someone you haven’t spoken to in years. Anything that disrupts the stillness and tells the universe: I’m not frozen.
We’re obsessed with making the right choice. With optimizing every aspect of our lives. With building flawless strategies before we take the first step. But the kindest, wisest, most generous thing we can do is take an imperfect, uncalculated gesture. Just enough to let life know: I’m still here. I’m still moving. I’m still open to what might come. And that, more often than not, is how real change begins.
