A few weeks ago, I found myself on a college campus for the first time in years.
It was one of those clear New England days where the trees actually look Photoshopped. The kind of day where even the buildings feel like they’re paying attention. I was there to meet with the Executive Director of the School of Business—just a short chat over coffee to explore the idea of teaching again.
It was truly a gorgeous day—the kind that makes you stay on campus just to soak it in
I miss adjuncting. The buzz of possibility. The awkward silences that eventually turn into discussion. And the students who think they’re not creative until they get a taste of building something from nothing.
And as I walked to the meeting, past a kid juggling outside the science building (because of course), I remembered exactly why I love the classroom: it’s one of the few places that still takes ideation the right kind of seriously. Where it’s okay—expected, even—to get it wrong, to throw out wild ideas, to start with empathy instead of assumptions.
In our conversation, the director mentioned that their students had just finished a full empathy mapping session. She lit up talking about it—how energizing it was to see students really consider the people behind the problems.
And I agreed with her. Empathy mapping is a great place to start. It's a now tool. It forces you to slow down and see things as they are. When done well, it grounds you in what your customer is thinking, feeling, hearing, fearing. It helps you build with humanity, not just efficiency.
But here’s the thing: empathy mapping is just that. A map. And an early version of one, at that.
If you’ve ever been to Disneyland, you’ve seen one of their park maps. The original one from 1955 had a tight handful of attractions: Autopia, the Disneyland Railroad, King Arthur Carrousel, Mad Tea Party, Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, Peter Pan’s Flight, Snow White’s Adventures, the Jungle Cruise, and the Mark Twain Steamboat. That was the park. That was the map.
But they didn’t stop there. They couldn’t. New rides were added. Old ones retired. Whole lands introduced. Entire paths rerouted.. And every time they changed the experience, they had to revisit the map—not just to update the brochure, but to reconsider the flow, the expectations, the emotional arcs.
The same thing happens in business. You start with a great map—a product that solves a real need, a few key processes, a handful of defined touchpoints—and then you grow. You hire a new team. Add new services. Update your pricing. Layer in tech. Roll out a loyalty program. Rebrand.
And now? You’re not on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride anymore. You’re trying to get from Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge to Pirates of the Caribbean during a parade with no idea where the hell the churros are-- gah, I miss Disneyland.
Which is exactly why businesses start to lose trust—not because they don’t care, but because they stopped revisiting the map.
If you’re not constantly redrawing it, you don’t know what it’s like to be a customer anymore.
Let me give you a few small examples that make a big difference, starting with a recent LinkedIn post:
A few more:
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A boutique studio follows up after class—not with a generic “rate us” form, but with a simple, “Did you feel welcome? Was anything confusing?” I take a lot of movement classes. I can count on one hand the number of times someone’s done this.
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A digital brand revamps its onboarding flow based on actual behavior—not just what the founder thinks should happen—and drops churn by 15%.
These are small moves. But trust is rarely built in big ones.
I recently tried out a tool from Donald Miller. It wasn't for me, but when I decided to unsubscribe, here's what I saw:
I've always been a fan of his work, but making the cancelation option obvious reinforced the story I tell myself about him: that he does business with integrity.
If there is one truth I keep coming back to in my work, it is this:
The path to revenue is rarely found at the beginning.
You make your best guesses. You wireframe your funnels. You build based on what you think people need. And then—if you’re smart—you test those assumptions. You loop back. You build. You tear down. You build again.
That’s where loyalty is forged. That’s where retention happens. That’s where revenue grows—steadily, quietly, sustainably.
Or… you could just hire me to do it. 😏
Let me dig into your customer experience, surface the trust leaks, and give you a clear, prioritized path to fix what’s broken. If that’s something you’ve been needing, let’s talk.
And if you want to keep thinking about this stuff:
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Here’s a past issue on the hidden math of because it works.
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Here’s another on the myth of underpromise, overdeliver.
Until next time,
April
