Are we there yet?

This simple question evokes memories for anyone who has been on a road trip before, either as a child waiting, or a parent trying to explain.

The four words carry more context than one might suspect at first glance.

The impatience is clear. The expectation too. The boredom with the journey is obvious, or the question would not be asked.

But the undercurrents go deeper.

There is a lack of frame of reference. This is a journey to a new, or at least less familiar, destination. There is also a lack of ability to read the signs. A map. A road sign. A mile marker. A clock. The kind of signals that imply progress and instill confidence.

Even further, there is comfort in the question. A sign of trust. Someone else knows the route. Someone else knows the destination. Someone else has planned well enough for safe arrival.

There is no real need for concern. Hence, the boredom.

And with a slight shift, we can sense the other half of the conversation. The adult knows there are no words that will fully address the need behind the question. It is not really about time. It is not really about the map. Those things can be explained, but they will not satisfy the feeling underneath.

So, in the end, we opt for distraction.

Something to pass the time until the destination appears.

For a long time, Western observers struggled to understand how Polynesian navigators crossed open water to islands they could not see.

It seemed impossible.

No road signs.

No fixed landmarks.

No glowing dot on a screen.

No paper chart in the way most of us would recognize it.

But the signs were there. They were simply not obvious to the untrained eye.

Traditional Polynesian navigators reads the stars, sun, ocean swells, winds, birds, clouds, and other natural signs to understand direction and location. These were not casual observations. They were signs developed, taught, and read over a lifetime. That is the part I find interesting.

The island was not visible, yet the navigator was not lost.

Over the past few years, our map has been pulled from us. We scramble to replace it. Suddenly, everyone is obsessed with strategy. With innovation. With technology roadmaps. With finding a new moat for a business.

And rightfully so.

AI is changing how people work. Changing what people expect work to become. Organizations are trying to understand what matters, what is hype, what is real, what is urgent, and what can wait. Our trip plans are suddenly stale, outdated, incomplete. We no longer know the landscape.

As a result, we’re looking for any signals that we can grasp to help us chart a new course.

We have been through significant technology shifts before. Client-server. Networking. Open source software. Linux. The Internet. eCommerce. Social media.

Each mattered. Each changed work in meaningful ways.

But this journey feels less familiar. The signs are changing too quickly. The destination is neither clear, nor visible. Those offering guidance are often only a few days, weeks, or months ahead on the same road.

That does not make them useless.

It does mean we should be careful about what we are asking them to provide. Some want reassurance. Some want a chance to move ahead. Some want to go back to the way things were. Each desire is often masked by more immediate operational needs.

Tell us how long this will take. Tell us which tool to buy. Tell us which job will change. Tell us which skill will matter. Tell us whether we are almost there.

But that may be the wrong expectation.

It is too soon to ask, “Are we there yet?”

The better question is, “What signs should we be learning to read?”

Distraction works for children in the back seat. It does not work as a strategy for adults responsible for the route.

At some point, we have to learn to read the signs.