Pick a Duck, Any Duck
At a carnival, children are asked to approach a kiddie pool filled with water and select a random rubber ducky floating on the surface. The ducks roam around the pool directed by currents and the number on the bottom of the duck corresponds to a prize.
It’s fun. And random. And the kid gets a duck, which is nice.
What happens if we make the size of the pool infinitely large?
Choosing a duck becomes much more difficult. It becomes a process. It requires energy. It requires a negotiation:
I want this, not that.
In game theory, the ducks might choose to cluster around similar locations or change the color of their feathers.
It benefits the duck to be around the edges of the pool.
But none of this matters if the children aren’t even looking in the first place. In an infinite pool, there are no edges.
In a world of infinite choices, why does it matter which duck you pick?
It matters. I want you to pick my duck.
Being on the edge is a nice start to being noticed. But to truly differentiate yourself, spread your wings and fly to a different pool.
