A framework is just a way of slowing yourself down enough to think. The popular ones — Cynefin, OODA loops, decision matrices — are useful tools, but they were written for organisations making operational decisions. They don't quite fit the choice of whether to leave a marriage, change careers, or move countries.
What follows is a framework for the second kind. It assumes you're alone with the decision late at night, that the stakes are partly emotional, and that no spreadsheet will save you.
The four-part framework
Every meaningful decision has four parts. Most people get stuck because they collapse all four into one knot. Pull them apart.
1. The question
What, exactly, am I deciding? Write it as a sentence with a verb. "Should I take the offer in Berlin by November 1st?" is a decision. "What should I do with my life?" is not — it's a feeling.
2. The criteria
What would make a choice a good one? Not what would make it successful by the world's standards — what would make it good according to the person you're trying to become. Three or four criteria, maximum. Write them down before you evaluate any option, so the criteria can't bend to fit the answer you secretly want.
3. The options
Most "hard decisions" are framed as binary — leave or stay, take the job or don't — when in fact there are usually three to five viable paths. Force yourself to write four options, even if the fourth feels absurd. The absurd one often reveals what you actually want.
4. The unknown
What can you not know in advance? Name it explicitly. This is the part most frameworks pretend doesn't exist. The skill of good decisions is not eliminating uncertainty — it's choosing well while staring at it directly.
Reversible vs. irreversible
Jeff Bezos called these type 1 and type 2 decisions. Type 1 decisions are one-way doors: hard to undo. Type 2 decisions are two-way doors: you can walk back through. The rule is simple — spend deliberation budget proportional to reversibility.
The mistake most people make is treating type 2 decisions as if they were type 1. Trying a new role, going on three dates, moving to a city for six months — these are reversible experiments. Treat them as such. You'll move faster and learn more.
Head, gut, heart
For decisions that involve other people or your own identity, consult three sources separately:
- Head: what does the analysis say? Costs, benefits, second-order effects.
- Gut: what does your body say when you imagine each option in concrete detail? Tightness, openness, dread, relief.
- Heart: what do you care about, beyond what looks good? What would the person you most respect say to you about this?
When all three agree, act. When they disagree, the disagreement itself is the data — usually pointing to a question you haven't fully named.
Why most frameworks fail in real life
Frameworks fail when they're applied to the wrong kind of problem. Pros-and-cons lists work for buying a laptop. They are actively harmful for life choices, because they reduce incommensurable values (love, meaning, identity) to single numbers and pretend the math is honest. It's not.
The framework above doesn't try to reduce. It tries to separate — pulling apart question, criteria, options, and unknown so each can be examined without contaminating the others.
Where Black Swan fits
Black Swan is a tool built around this framework. You bring a decision; a small council of advisors helps you separate the four parts, surface the head/gut/heart signals, and find the option you were hoping someone would name out loud. The council doesn't decide for you. It helps you decide for yourself, on purpose.