People close to me have learned to be afraid of the words, “I’m going to do a little research.”

There is no little research.

A normal person who needs a blender might read a few reviews, ask a friend what she has, pick one, and move on with her life. I somehow ended up comparing an unreasonable number of them, narrowing the field, ordering two finalists, and staging an actual smoothie-off in my kitchen.

This is not unusual behavior for me.

I have researched matcha, skincare, supplements, luggage, cars, workout programs, Pilates instructors, doctors, white T-shirts on Amazon, olive oil, kitchen knives, and most recently, chairs for the room I’m designing for Reinventing Out Loud.

The chairs may have been a low point.

I needed two comfortable chairs. That somehow turned into an examination of width, seat depth, upholstery, swivel mechanisms, hidden versus visible bases, wood tones, comfort, color, shape, price, and whether a particular chair looked sophisticated or like it belonged in a 1970s basement rec room.

At one point, an $1,800 Arhaus chair became the “north star” for a search in which I had absolutely no intention of spending $1,800.

This seemed reasonable to me.

This is how my brain works

It isn’t new.

When I was a kid, I once asked my parents for a camera for my birthday. Not because I had some budding passion for photography. I wanted to take it apart and see whether I could put it back together again and have it still take pictures.

That probably should have been a clue.

I’ve always been curious about how things work, but it goes beyond that. I love data. I like evidence. I like comparisons. I want to understand why one option is different from another and which of those differences actually matters.

I suppose that’s part of what eventually drew me into technology.

And I like making decisions with confidence.

I hesitate to call myself indecisive because, oddly, I’m pretty decisive about a lot of important things. Give me a complicated problem with real consequences and I can usually make a decision.

Ask me which nearly identical suitcase I should buy and we’re going to need a spreadsheet.

I don’t think I’m necessarily afraid of making the wrong choice. Most choices can be changed. I think what I’m really looking for is enough information to understand the decision and feel good about it.

Evidence creates confidence for me.

Sometimes this is ridiculous. Sometimes it really matters.

Obviously, choosing a blender or a chair is not the same as making an important medical decision.

But the process in my head is surprisingly similar.

Sometimes I’m figuring out which matcha tastes best in a latte. Other times I’m trying to identify the right doctor or specialist for someone I love.

The stakes can be completely different, but I still find myself asking the same questions: What information actually matters? What’s noise? What are the meaningful differences between the options? What does the evidence say? And what matters most for this particular person or situation?

That last part may be the thing I’m best at.

There is almost always more information available than anyone needs. The hard part isn’t finding information. It’s figuring out which pieces deserve weight.

I like doing that.

Other people have noticed, because friends and family often come to me when they’re trying to figure something out. Sometimes they want to know what I bought because they assume that if I own it, I probably researched it first. Sometimes they actually ask me to do the research for them.

I’m very happy to.

There is something genuinely satisfying about taking a messy pile of information, figuring out what matters, and helping somebody make a decision with more confidence and less agony.

Apparently I now research my researchers

Artificial intelligence has taken this habit to an entirely new level.

These days I may ask ChatGPT a question, then ask Claude, then ask Google AI, and sometimes check other sources too. Then I compare the research.

Yes. I research the researchers.

For the record, ChatGPT is my favorite.

I don’t say that to all the AIs.

But I like seeing whether different sources arrive at the same conclusion. If they don’t, I want to know why. Did one find information the others missed? Did they weigh the same facts differently? Is there conflicting evidence? Did one confidently invent something, which is always exciting?

I’m not collecting information simply for the thrill of having 47 browser tabs open.

Usually.

I’m looking for convergence. I want to get to the point where enough evidence points in one direction that the answer starts to feel clear.

And then sometimes it doesn’t

Best-case scenario, the data converges and I have a winner.

Less-best-case scenario, I eventually become too exhausted to care.

That’s when I remind myself that most decisions are reversible. I can return it. Exchange it. Change my mind.

Or I can buy both and tell myself I’m going to return one.

This is a strategy I employ more often than I should probably admit.

I’ve also spent an absurd amount of time researching something only to end up buying the thing I usually buy anyway. Suitcases come to mind. I can compare materials, wheels, warranties, weight, dimensions and approximately 900 reviews, and somehow there I am again with a Tumi.

Sometimes the research leads you somewhere new.

Sometimes it confirms that your boring old answer was right all along.

There is a downside

I can absolutely overdo it.

When two choices are genuinely close, I can get stuck looking for one more fact that will create certainty where certainty probably doesn’t exist. What started as “Which one should I buy?” can become a small graduate thesis.

And while I usually think more information helps me rather than hurts me, there is definitely a point where the value of additional research drops dramatically.

At some point, you have to decide.

I used to think the goal was certainty. I’m getting better at realizing that what I really need is enough confidence to move.

That’s different.

I don’t have to know that something is unquestionably, objectively, eternally the best. I need enough evidence to understand why I’m choosing it, what the tradeoffs are, and why it makes sense for me.

And if new information changes the answer later?

Fine.

I can change my mind too.

This is one of the things I want Reinventing Out Loud to be useful for

I don’t want Reinventing Out Loud to be only stories about my life, although those matter to me.

I also want it to save you some trouble.

If I’m going to spend hours comparing something anyway, somebody else should benefit.

I want to be able to say: here’s what I looked at, here’s what actually mattered, here’s what I chose, here’s what happened after I lived with it, and here’s what I’d do differently.

Not: “I found the best blender in the world and everyone should buy it.”

More like: “I tried these two. Here’s where each one was better. Here’s what surprised me. Here’s which one I’d choose and why.”

Because what matters to me may not matter to you.

Maybe I care more about smoothie texture and you care more about size or price. Maybe I reject a skincare product because of the smell and you couldn’t care less. Maybe a chair is wonderfully comfortable but I cannot get past its pale wood base.

Information is only useful when you understand what it means for you.

That’s the part I want to help with.

I’ll do the rabbit-hole part. You can have the shortcut. And if I change my mind two weeks later, I’ll tell you that too.

Because I’m not going to stop researching everything.

We might as well get something useful out of it.