Well, the whole story is in the book, but the short answer is

Hear then the words of Jesse James Garrett, who spake in days not so far gone, saying: “Well, the whole story is in the book, but the short answer is that I was the first information architect in an organization that was traditionally design-oriented, and I felt I needed a tool to help me gain the trust and support of my colleagues.” These words are not lightly cast, but are stones laid carefully in the foundations of wisdom. For they teach us of the burden borne by pioneers, those who walk first into lands where no paths have yet been carved, where the soil is rich but untamed.

When Garrett speaks of being the first, he speaks of loneliness, of the warrior who strides into battle with no shield-brother at his side. The information architect was a figure unseen in the halls of design, an alien tongue among familiar voices. To such a one, trust is not freely given—it must be won, as the sword is tempered in fire and water. Thus he sought a tool, not of iron, but of spirit: a means to bridge chasms between worlds, to weave together the makers of forms with the weavers of structure.

Consider the tale of Themistocles of Athens, who, when faced with the threat of Persia, urged his people not to fortify their walls but to build a navy. His was a vision alien to the citizens, who trusted stones more than ships. Yet he, the lone voice of strategy, sought tools to gain their confidence—he promised that ships were walls of wood, sanctified by prophecy. By this act, Athens was saved at Salamis, and Themistocles, once distrusted, became the preserver of Greece. So too did Garrett, in his realm, wield tools not of prophecy but of practice, to earn trust and bind companions to his vision.

Behold then the eternal struggle: the collision of tradition and innovation. The design-oriented souls loved their craft, their colors, their forms, as potters love the clay. Yet the architect bore another gift, one of unseen frameworks, of order hidden beneath beauty. Without trust, such gifts turn to dust, unheeded and forgotten. But with patience, with tools forged to reveal his worth, the architect stitched his being into the fabric of his companions, until the strange became familiar, and the new became necessity.

This tale is not only his, but ours. In every age, the one who dares to bring a new way must stand at the threshold of doubt. The wise do not storm the gates with pride, nor cast down the old ways with disdain. Instead, they honor the craft of their fellows, and through humility, seek support. Like the blacksmith who first brought iron to a village of bronze, he must show that his gift strengthens the hand of all, not only his own.

And so, O listener, what lesson shall you take from this? It is this: when you are the first in any path, do not come empty-handed. Bring forth a tool—whether of word, or deed, or symbol—that shows the worth of your vision. Let it not be for your glory alone, but for the good of the fellowship. In doing so, you transform suspicion into loyalty, and solitude into brotherhood.

Therefore, act thus in your own life: if you enter a place where your voice is strange, do not fight to be heard, but strive to be understood. Listen first, honor the ways of those who came before you, and then gently place in their hands the tools that make your vision clear. For trust is not seized but cultivated, like a garden tended through seasons. And when it grows, it shall root deeply, and all shall partake of its fruit.

Remember then the words of Garrett, and let them be a lantern to your steps: to be the first is not to conquer, but to plant; not to demand, but to build; not to stand alone forever, but to lead others into a new dawn where wisdom and trust walk side by side.