The Drunkard’s Walk: Why Not Every Crisis Can Be Predicted
A reading of Leonard Mlodinow on randomness, reputation, and corporate communications
Francisco Zambrano
In August 2026, I ran the Mexico City Marathon once again. It was not a new course for me. I had run it seven times before. I knew its stretches, its traps, its moments of excitement, and those kilometers when the city begins to take its toll: the altitude, the pavement, accumulated fatigue, and the mind trying to negotiate with the body.
Perhaps that is why I arrived at the marathon with a very particular feeling: that of someone who believes that a familiar course has, somehow, already been mastered.
I had training, experience, strategy, gels, electrolytes, muscle memory, and a clear head. I was not discovering the marathon for the first time. I was going to manage a course I already knew. But the body, like reputation, does not always follow its track record.
During the first half, I felt reasonably well. Everything seemed under control. Then came that moment many runners know: my knees began to feel stiff, my legs stopped responding the same way, and what had seemed like a mastered course turned into a kilometer-by-kilometer negotiation.
That brought back an uncomfortable lesson: you can know the terrain, prepare, measure, plan, and still face variables that change the outcome.
The final result does not always fairly explain everything that came before it.
Sometimes we do almost everything right and the outcome still becomes complicated. Other times, we make mistakes and reality lets us off the hook.
That made me think of Leonard Mlodinow, physicist, science writer, and author of The Drunkard’s Walk: How Randomness Rules Our Lives, a book that explains how randomness influences our lives, business, success, failure, and decision-making far more than we usually care to admit.
Mlodinow’s argument is particularly thought-provoking because it challenges one of our favorite habits: constructing explanations that are far too orderly after something has already happened. When someone succeeds, we say it was obvious. When someone fails, we can easily identify the mistake. But before the outcome, things were almost never that clear.
Reality rarely behaves with the narrative neatness we assign to it afterward.
In corporate communications and crisis management, this idea deserves far more attention.
Consider a mining accident, a bank system outage, an influencer complaining that a product “pollutes,” a racist statement by the CEO of a company that publicly champions inclusive values, or simply a brand that responds too late to criticism in the press, or an executive who decides to remain silent precisely when everyone is waiting for an explanation.
From the outside, and especially in hindsight, everything seems obvious.
They failed to properly review their safety protocols.
They should have communicated sooner.
They should have issued a statement.
That spokesperson should never have spoken.
It was obvious this was going to blow up.
But before a crisis erupts, the picture is almost never that clear. There are warning signs, yes. There are risks. There are decisions that could have been better. But there is also incomplete information, operational pressure, legal constraints, commercial interests, emotions, and one variable that few companies acknowledge: reputational randomness.
The same incident may go unnoticed on a Monday morning and become a trending topic on a Friday night. A mistake may remain confined to a small conversation or jump to national media. An apology may be perceived as responsible or inadequate, depending on the social mood at the time.
That is the point many organizations forget: when it comes to reputation, being right is not enough. The context in which that truth lands also matters.
Mlodinow argues that the human brain searches for patterns even where there is only noise. The same thing happens in communications. Three negative comments do not necessarily constitute a crisis. An angry influencer or a negative news story does not always represent public opinion. A hashtag does not necessarily signal deep reputational damage. But the opposite can also be true: a small signal may be the first symptom of something much larger.
The challenge lies in distinguishing one from the other. That is where strategy comes in. Effective crisis management is not about promising absolute control. Absolute control does not exist. It is about assessing probabilities more accurately, anticipating scenarios, reducing margins for error, and responding intelligently when reality moves faster than the playbook.
Companies tend to make mistakes in two ways. Some overreact to every piece of digital noise or minor media coverage and end up making the problem bigger. Others underestimate the situation and, by the time they decide to respond, they have already lost control of the public conversation.
Reading the situation correctly requires method, not panic. Before declaring a crisis, it is worth taking a closer look: How quickly is the conversation growing? Who is driving it? Has it moved beyond its original community?
Are consumers, victims, authorities, or the media involved? Does the company have verifiable information? And will the response issued today still hold up tomorrow?
One of the biggest mistakes during a crisis is trying to explain too much, too soon, when the situation is not yet fully understood. The anxiety to close the narrative can produce messages that are inaccurate, defensive, or cold. A poor initial response can ultimately cause more damage than the original mistake.
That is why communicating uncertainty is not a sign of weakness. It can be a sign of maturity.
Saying that the information is being reviewed, that internal protocols have been activated, that the concerns of those affected are understood, and that verified updates will be provided is not an attempt to evade responsibility. It is an acknowledgment that, during a crisis, the truth also needs structure.
Another major lesson from Mlodinow is that we should not evaluate a decision solely by its outcome. A bad strategy can succeed through luck. A good strategy can produce a poor outcome because of external factors.
That is why, after a crisis, the question should not simply be: “Did things go well or badly for us?” The more important question should be: “Was the process sound?”
Did we identify the risks in time?
Did we have trained spokespersons?
Were our messages aligned?
Did operations support communications?
Did we respond with empathy?
Did we rely on a real strategy, or simply on the hope that the issue would not escalate?
Reputation is built precisely to withstand these moments of uncertainty during a crisis. A company with accumulated trust has more room for error when it makes a mistake. A company that only shows up when it needs to defend itself enters every crisis with a credibility deficit.
That is why corporate communications cannot be merely decorative. It is not just about press releases, social media posts, interviews, or well-crafted statements. It is a reserve of trustcarefully built before trouble arrives. The idea of a “reserve of trust” is particularly powerful in corporate communications: reputation as accumulated capital that gives an organization room to maneuver when something unexpected happens.
Randomness will always be present in a crisis. Preparation, however, should never be left to chance. The central lesson for communications executives is simple, even if it is not always comfortable: not everything can be controlled, but we can be better prepared. We can listen more carefully, decide faster, communicate with greater humanity, measure more intelligently, and learn without manufacturing convenient explanations.
In a crisis, luck exists. But reputation should never depend on it.
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Bibliography
Mlodinow, Leonard. The Drunkard’s Walk: How Randomness Rules Our Lives. New York: Pantheon Books, 2008.
Mlodinow, Leonard. El andar del borracho: cómo el azar gobierna nuestras vidas. Barcelona: Crítica, 2009.