Imagine two people fighting.

A wants to go to a movie.

B wants to go out to dinner.

Each is unwilling to give in.

Now, let’s say, you step in and try to resolve this.

You ask what they each want.

A wants to have a good time.

B wants the same thing too.

But their idea of what a good time is is different.

So you try again.

You suggest they do separate activities, each having a good time in their own way.

A doesn’t want to do that, she prefers to do something with B.

B agrees, he would rather spend his time with A too.

We have found a common ground. Both A and B would like to spend time with each other.

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This kind of conflict resolution is so common and trivial in our daily conversations that we don’t pay much attention to the mechanics of it. Which is fine for most mundane matters, however, when the conflicts run deep, and the issues get more complex, it is useful to have a tool that can help us. And the good news is that it is a technique that most of us already use, but now we will formalize it into a framework that, if you remember at the right time, you can use it to resolve diverging views or wants in many more instances.

The Ladder Of Convergence

The Ladder of Convergence has two sides, picture each side with horizontal rungs, each representing a specific level of interests and needs.

On the left side, climbing up reveals our common interests - what we both care about beyond our initial positions. The higher we go, the more fundamental shared values we discover. This might be a common goal we have agreed upon (say start-up founders who can’t agree on a specific strategic direction but who both agree on the core mission), or it might be a common regard for connection or love (as often with friends or family).

On the right side, moving down acknowledges our divergent needs - the specific ways we each prefer to meet those shared interests. These differences aren’t problems but natural expressions of our individuality that would benefit from mutual respect and accommodation.

The power of this approach is that it works in both directions. When stuck, we can climb up to find common ground, then come back down with solutions that honor both our shared purpose and our unique preferences.

Most conflicts aren’t about fundamentally opposed values but about different ways to achieve what we both want.

The ladder reminds us that below every seemingly irreconcilable conflict lies a foundation of shared humanity; we simply need the patience to climb high enough to find it. The ladder helps us find that sweet spot where we can respect both what connects us and what makes us distinct.

Applying the Framework

Here’s how to use the ladder of convergence in real life:

1. Notice the Surface Argument - What does each person say they want? (Movie vs. dinner)

2. Climb Up - Ask “Why is that important to you?” Keep asking until you find what you both care about. This might be quality time, feeling respected, or achieving a shared goal. As a rule of thumb, it often takes 3-5 iterations to get to a shared rung.

3. Name the Common Ground - Say it out loud: “We both want to spend time together” or “We both want this project to succeed.”

4. Come Back Down with Respect - With shared interests clear, address each person’s specific needs: “How can we spend time together in a way that works for both of us?”

5. Find Creative Solutions - Look for options that satisfy both the shared goal and individual preferences - maybe dinner at a place with entertainment, or a different activity altogether that you both enjoy.

Try it out next time you have a disagreement, whether it is family discussions about holiday plans, work disagreements on how to tackle a project or roommate conflicts about house rules. Practise it often, and soon you’ll find yourself naturally asking: “Where on the ladder are we stuck, and which way do we need to move now?”

“The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.” — Rabindranath Tagore

1976. Los Angeles.

David Bowie was at the height of his fame. In interviews, though, he called it “the darkest days of my life.” Addicted and paranoid, he felt creatively drained. Riddled with self-doubt, he felt, as he told Rolling Stone, that he, “needed to go somewhere where I could think and breathe.” He fled to Berlin, a city where he felt that nobody cared who you were, and a place where he could lose himself and thus find himself again.

In Berlin, Bowie painted, cycled anonymously through Schöneberg, and began rebuilding himself from silence. It was a period of shedding, a return to stillness and uncertainty that eventually opened the way for reinvention. Through long nights in the studio with Brian Eno and Tony Visconti, the fragments began to cohere. Out of experimentation came the Berlin Trilogy (Low, Heroes, Lodger), music that sounded like nothing else of its time.

As Bowie started feeling comfortable in the new skin, a period of stability, control and clarity ensued, the phase of the late-mid 1980s with music such as “Let’s Dance.” It was a calculated move to reach a wider audience.

Eventually, this success would cast a shadow, and he would find himself stuck again. But he would go on to disintegrate and reinvent multiple times, performing with the band Tin Machine in the 1990s and then, giving us later hits like Outside, Heathen, and Blackstar in his late 1990s-2010s resurgence.

David Bowie was a legend. His creative arcs, on closer inspection, gives us a very useful framework to think about the nature of time that we find ourselves in, in any period in our lives.

Strip away the stage lights and the rockstar halo, and we can see that the rhythms of time are just as applicable for any of us.

The States of Time

Like matter, time has states too. Existing within time, we rarely see them as clearly as we do the states of matter. Sometimes it is solid, when life feels grounded and predictable. Sometimes it is fluid, as we move between solid states. Sometimes it expands like gas, distracted and unconstrained. And sometimes it burns like plasma, charged with energy, breaking down old forms so something new can emerge.

Often, we move through these states without noticing. Recognizing which one we’re in is the beginning of working with time, not against it.

Here is a short frame that helps to identify what state you are in:

The framework illustrated captures four fundamental states we all cycle through in our creative and personal journeys, based on two key dimensions: whether we know our direction and whether change is happening.

• STEADY: When direction is known and change is not happening. This represents periods of stability, productivity, and mastery—times when we’re confidently executing a vision with clarity and purpose.

  While Steady sounds great, in the real world, it rarely lasts long. More often than not, even when we think we are in a steady state, we’re actually...

• STUCK: When direction is not known and change is not happening. This is the place of frustration and stagnation. We feel immobilized and unclear about where to go next. It’s comfortable enough that we don’t make changes, yet uncomfortable enough that we feel discontent.

  Often to get out of stuck, you need to be willing to put yourself in a phase of...

• FLUX: When direction is not known and change is happening. This is a period of experimentation, openness, and uncertainty—embracing the unknown and trying new approaches without knowing exactly where they will lead. It feels chaotic but is ultimately generative.

  Eventually, Flux gives way to...

• TRANSITION: When direction is known and change is happening. This is the bridge between vision and reality, where transformation occurs deliberately as we move toward a clear destination. The path becomes visible, and implementation takes center stage.

Applying the Framework

Each quadrant calls for an appropriate and specific approach:

• Steady rewards Execution. Use stability to refine, master, consolidate and build depth.

• Stuck requires Disruption. Break the pattern, question your defaults, and step away from familiar ground.

• Flux invites us to Explore. Release control, stay open, and let new patterns surface through uncertainty.

• Transition demands Drive. Move with intent, think with clarity and move forward with energy, push purpose into form.

Each state has its place (and time); the wisdom lies in knowing which one you’re in and responding appropriately. Ask yourself three questions:

1. Are you aware of which phase you’re in?

2. Do you accept it, instead of resisting it?

3. Are your actions aligned with what that state demands?

The framework starts with identifying where you are, and then embracing the natural cycle. When stuck, seek disruption deliberately like Bowie’s move to Berlin. When in flux, resist the temptation to prematurely define your path. Cycle aimlessly through the streets of Berlin, if that suits you too. When in transition, maintain momentum through disciplined action. Define your vision, find your crew, get started. And when you reach steady, use that stability to deepen your mastery rather than becoming complacent, until eventually the Stuck state sets in again.

Like Bowie, we can learn to navigate these rhythms of time with intention, allowing each phase to serve its purpose in our larger creative and personal evolution.