January 22, 2026
In Minority Report, by Philip K. Dick, decisions come before facts.
The system observes, collects data, anticipates events, and intervenes when nothing has yet happened. It works well and feels reassuring, because every action is accompanied by a ready-made explanation, difficult to challenge.
This is what convinces everyone.
And it is also what, over time, begins to reveal its limits.
Not because the explanations are wrong, but because they arrive too early, when reality has not yet had the chance to truly reveal itself.
There is a subtle difference between making a decision and telling its story.
In Anglo-Saxon courts, for centuries, judges have not limited themselves to issuing a ruling: they write the path that led them there. They line up the relevant elements, the uncertain steps, the possible interpretations.
Those pages are not meant to make the decision unassailable.
They exist to allow someone else to follow the reasoning, to use it, to test it.
Explanation, in this sense, does not close the matter; on the contrary, it makes it accessible.
In the world of Minority Report, something more unsettling happens: the decision arrives before the facts, and the explanation serves to make it final, before reality can confirm or contradict it.
In everyday work, something similar happens, even if in much more orderly forms.
Companies tell what they do through numbers, reports, carefully built presentations. Every choice is placed within a logical sequence that seems to leave no alternatives.
It is a narrative that almost always starts from the outcome.
Decisions are explained once they have already been made, while the path remains in the background.
Discarded alternatives, attempts that did not work, moments of uncertainty tend to disappear. What remains is a coherent execution that seems inevitable.
Those who listen see a clear outcome but struggle more to see the decision that generated it.
To truly explain resembles reconstruction more than demonstration.
It means telling how a choice took shape, which elements were considered and why, and why, at a certain point, one path seemed more viable than another.
It is a less polished transparency, but one that is more recognizable to those who listen.
It does not seek to eliminate every ambiguity, but to make the reasoning traceable.
For aDoormore, doing things right also passes through this: not limiting ourselves to showing the final outcome, but making the work that precedes it readable.
Leaving traces of thought as it takes shape, not only when it is already complete.
Because quality, when truly encountered, rarely appears as a straight line. It looks more like a path that becomes clear only when someone decides to tell it.
Telling the path takes time.
It also requires a certain exposure, because it means showing steps that were not linear, decisions made without the certainty of having all the answers.
It is easier to tell the result, especially when it works.
But it is in the path that the work takes shape and becomes recognizable.
Doing things right also means this: allowing those who look on to follow the journey, not just arrive at the end.
