What to Make of a Life

This week, I had the chance to spend time with Jim Collins again.

Not for a formal keynote. Not for a public conversation. Just time. A sneak peek at the work he’s been quietly building toward for years—his upcoming book, What to Make of a Life.

I remember sitting with Jim almost nine years ago, talking about this very idea. Even then, he was circling a question that wouldn’t let him go: why some people seem to do their most meaningful work not early, but later. A second act. Sometimes a third. Work that feels truer, deeper, and oddly freer.

He mentioned some of the examples he wanted to explore—one that stuck with me was Jimmy Page. Not the prodigy phase. Not the early explosion. But the long arc. The way a life unfolds when it isn’t optimized for speed.

We had the chance to revisit the idea a few times over the years. Then, like Jim often does, he disappeared. Four or five years of silence. Back into the cave. Back into the work.

And now he’s emerged. The research is done. The thinking is complete. The book exists.

Over the past few months, I’ve been writing about learning new disciplines the hard way—most recently, marketing. That work forced a similar kind of humility: letting go of instincts that once served me well in order to build something that can outlast me. In a quiet way, it’s the same question Jim’s work is asking—what do you hold onto, and what do you release, as you move into a new act?

One of the ideas Jim shared that has stayed with me is the concept of cliff events.

His research uncovered something surprisingly consistent: he could not find examples of truly successful, enduring contributors who hadn’t experienced at least one. Often more. A cliff event is a rupture—chosen or unchosen—that forces a reckoning. An ending that makes a next act possible.

Jim’s own cliff event began with Joanne, his wife.

For Jimmy Page, it was the end of Led Zeppelin—the moment when he and Robert Plant went separate ways. The band ended. The identity dissolved. The ground shifted.

Cliff events aren’t gentle transitions. They’re moments where the path you were on simply stops.

What struck me is that cliff events don’t guarantee a great next act. They just create the conditions for one. What follows depends on preparation, clarity, and the willingness to let go of who you were.

And that’s where this idea becomes personal.

I don’t think I’ve had my cliff event yet. Not in the clean, obvious way Jim describes. But I know one is out there. At some point, my career will shift fully toward building The 601 Group. That transition might happen in a year. It might happen in ten. I don’t know yet.

What I do know is that understanding this pattern changes how I think about the present.

Rather than fearing the cliff, I can prepare for it.

Rather than rushing toward it, I can build toward it.

Rather than clinging to the current identity, I can loosen my grip.

Life is full of transitions. Some we choose. Some choose us. The people who navigate them well aren’t reckless jumpers—they’re thoughtful climbers who understand the terrain before the edge appears.

At 47, this doesn’t feel like the front end of something reckless. It feels like the long middle of something intentional. A period of accumulation, refinement, and quiet preparation.

Jim’s work doesn’t offer a formula. It offers perspective. That a life isn’t measured by how smoothly it unfolds, but by how meaningfully it responds when it doesn’t.

This conversation served as a great reminder that the long arc matters.

That cliff events are inevitable, but not fatal.

And that the best work often begins after the ground shifts.

- Mike

On preparation, transition, and the long arc