Point and Shoot
A camera, at first glance, can seem like a restless object, poised between movement and stillness. We point, we shoot, we move on—always searching for the next image, the next opportunity, the next proof that we’re in focus. Yet how often do we stop to ask: what am I aiming at?
Investing is no different. We are told to diversify, rebalance, chase returns. We check markets the way a nervous photographer checks the lens—constantly adjusting, zooming in, zooming out, fearing we might miss the perfect shot. And still, clarity eludes us. Because the real challenge is not the trigger; it’s the compass.
Without direction, every shot becomes noise. You can click a thousand times and end up with a gallery of fragments—no story, no meaning. In life and in investing, this is the tragedy of aimlessness: constant activity masquerading as progress. We are busy, but are we aligned?
The markets expose this truth mercilessly. Consider the discipline of dollar-cost averaging: investors who commit to investing a fixed amount at regular intervals, regardless of market swings, often build significant wealth over time. This approach works not because it predicts every peak and trough, but because it follows a compass—a steady plan that prioritizes consistency over impulse. Those without such direction, however, tend to chase trends and time the market, mistaking frantic activity for progress. The problem isn’t intelligence; it’s direction.
A compass, in this sense, is purpose. In investing, that might be a long-term plan rooted in values: financial independence, security for family, the freedom to choose work you love. In life, it might be clarity on what you’re really chasing—freedom, contribution, peace. The compass does not eliminate uncertainty; it simply tells you which way is north when the fog closes in.
And here’s the quiet wisdom: once you have the compass, you don’t need to shoot at everything. You can wait. You can ignore the noise because you know what you’re framing for. The investor guided by a plan can hold steady through volatility. The person guided by principle can decline the distractions that glitter but don’t matter.
But here’s the truth we often ignore: even the best compass can break. A crisis, a failure, an unexpected storm—and suddenly what guided you no longer points true. Your plan feels irrelevant, your sense of purpose shattered. This is where many lose themselves, firing blindly at whatever moves, hoping to feel in control again.
When that happens, the work is not to shoot faster. It is to repair the compass—or find a new one. Sometimes that repair comes from knowledge: revisiting fundamentals, relearning what matters. Sometimes it comes from someone else—a mentor, a voice of clarity when yours falters. And sometimes it comes from silence: stepping away long enough to hear your own bearings click back into place. Direction is not a one-time gift; it is maintenance, an ongoing craft.
Henri Cartier-Bresson, the great photographer, spoke of the “decisive moment”—that fraction of a second when all elements align for the perfect shot. But that moment is only decisive if you’ve been patient, prepared, and clear on what you want to capture. The same is true of life and investing. Your compass doesn’t take the photo for you, but it ensures that when the moment comes, you know where to point—and why.
So it is worth asking: what is your true north when the horizon fades? And if your compass has broken—as all do, sooner or later—where will you go to mend it? Because the world will hand you endless lenses, endless filters, endless pressure to click. But without a compass, every image is just another distraction. With one, each frame becomes a chapter in a story worth telling.