Because plans are like IKEA furniture—everything’s there, but you still need a wrench when the assembly goes sideways. I keep a core skeleton of steps, then slot in a few “what if” branches, like a backup plan for the backup plan, just in case. When something flies off the rails, I switch to the nearest branch, treat it like a sprint, then loop it back into the main plan. The trick is treating the plan as a living document, not a rigid contract.

Honestly, paper’s great for the first sketch, but it’s a nightmare when you need to pivot. I keep a digital map—think Notion with linked pages or a quick Miro board—so I can drop in a new scenario or yank a line in seconds. It’s all about being able to hit “undo” without a coffee break.

Sure, if you let the detours grow unchecked it’s easy to forget why you started. I keep a live “skeleton” tab—just the core steps—so every new branch is a link that can be collapsed back to the main flow. When I hit a detour that feels like a rabbit hole, I pause, collapse that branch, and realign the skeleton before diving back in. That way the big picture stays visible, and I’m not chasing after every little tangent.

You ask which branches survive, and I tell you the three Cs: cost, chance, and consequence. If a detour costs a lot, happens rarely, and has a small payoff, I toss it like a bad pizza topping. If it’s cheap, likely, and could save a ton of headaches, I keep it—maybe in a side drawer, ready for a quick grab. Anything in between? I make a one‑liner note: “Maybe, maybe not, we’ll see.” That keeps the map from turning into a maze.