Tag: keep going

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You Are Not A Phony.

“It’s all going to be okay.” — Rick Webb

 
There is a certain point in your life when you realize that you don’t know anything.

Up until that point, you thought you knew what was up. You thought you’d experienced heartbreak. You thought you’d experienced pain.

And then comes this big breakthrough, and you realize, you don’t know jack. You’re just starting your life, and you’re starting from zero, and everyone else seems to know more than you do.

You feel like a fraud, and a phony. You feel like you don’t have anything to offer this world.

And there’s that expression you’ve heard: Fake it ’til you make it. That’s almost true.

Because there’s a second realization that comes a little later: Nobody else knows anything, either.

Everyone, turns out, is kinda faking it. Nobody is just born an astrophysicist or a banker. (And nobody is born or a social media expert.) We mold ourselves into these people. We see what others are doing, we think about what we like to do, and we make ourselves into the people we want to be.

But we are all just making this up — and figuring this out — as we go along. All of us.

And once you realize that, you don’t feel like a phony. You don’t know anything, but hell, neither does anybody else. We’re all just trying to make it work in this world.

So just do good work and surround yourself with good people, and you’ll be okay. It’s normal to feel like you don’t know anything.

We all feel that way, and we’re all in this thing together.

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Nobody Knows Anything Before You Start.

“This can be anything you want.” —Louis C.K.

 
It’s been more than 11 years since Disney announced that they were going to do something unusual: Turn a theme park ride into a movie.

The movie was called “Pirates of the Carribean.” And early on, critics thought it was a terrible idea.

Here’s what one critic had to say about it in March 2002:

“Pirate movies have been bombs for a long time… this is one of those streaks that most producers seem to respect. You have to go back to the 1950’s (and earlier) to find an era when pirate movies were successful and liked. And that, I guess, is why the Pirates of the Caribbean ride was made in the first place, because they didn’t know yet the trend was over.

“….As for a movie with really scary pirates that pulls no punches for the kiddies… don’t be lookin’ ‘ere, arrrrr…”

And the same writer in June 2002, growing a little less skeptical:

“I don’t know whom exactly I thought might be announced as starring in this movie, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t thinking it would be Johnny Depp.”

And the same writer in April 2003, when the first trailers came out:

“The amazing full trailer for this movie did indeed go up last night…. My anticipation for this movie has been building for some time, but this trailer really locks it in there.

“I think the title of “Pirates of the Caribbean” has had a lot of people scratching their heads (and expecting a dopey movie), but clearly Disney, Bruckheimer, Verbinski, Depp and everyone else involved were not setting out to make *that* sort of PotC movie. They’re apparently totally reinventing the property, separate from what you know about the ride, and from what I can see in this trailer… it looks like it might have worked. Wow.”

That movie went on to make $305 million. Johnny Depp was absolutely awesome in it.

But nobody knew that at the start. At the start, it was just a weird idea. There was no director, no stars. Just an idea.

Ideas aren’t worth very much. Some ideas bomb. Some ideas get the right team behind them and become one of the highest-grossing movie franchises in history.

Nothing really matters until you start — especially not what everyone else is saying.

So just go ahead and start.

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There Has To Be Another Way.

“Awareness is the most precious kind of freedom.” — Joshua Fields Millburn

 
So we’re at the top of a mountain somewhere near Cold Spring, N.Y., and we’re lost.

And sunburnt. And tired. And out of water.

And there’s this guy at the top, too. He’s hiked here 600 times, he says. Every year for the past 30 years, entire weekends up here.

He seems like a good guy to ask a simple question: How do we get home?

The only way back is the way you came, he says. He points out a long trail home. Could be hours that way.

Not happening.

We thank him. We’re mad. We’re tired.

And then this other group comes to the top from the other side.

There’s a path there?

There is, they say. An easier way down. A better way down.

We thank the heavens and head home.

So what about that other guy? The expert hiker? The one who’d been hiking here for years?

I don’t know. Maybe he’d forgotten the other way home. Maybe he’d just never hiked it.

Whatever the case: There’s almost always another way to get where you need to go. Sometimes figuratively. and sometimes quite literally, up in the hills north of NYC.

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Get On Stage.

“Shut up and make something.” — Danielle Morrill

 
I went to the Apollo Theater last night for Amateur Night. I went to watch, not perform. That’s probably for the best.

I have personally stood on some amazing stages, but I’ll never be on anything like the Apollo. For performers there, it’s just you, and this decades-old theater, and a crowd ready to boo you at the first missed note.

If you’re unfamiliar with the Apollo, read that sentence again: Bad performers really do get booed off stage. (They even bring out a guy called “The Executioner” to escort you off.)

But the Apollo is kind of brilliant in that way. Most places, if you’re on stage and you suck, people stay quiet. They clap politely when your performance is done.

At the Apollo? Hell no. If you’re bad, you’re getting booed off stage. You know immediately whether or not what you’re doing is working.

And that’s brilliant. That’s how all our work should be.

Do work. Put it out there. See what people say.

Then do more. And more. Keep putting it out there. Keep inviting reactions.

See what sticks. Learn what doesn’t.

Yes, it will suck sometimes. It will hurt.

But nothing really matters until you get on stage.

That photo at top is of the Apollo Theater, and I took it.

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Just Don’t.

“Percentage wise, it is 100% easier not to do things than to do them.” — John Mulaney

 
Don’t.

Just… don’t.

The work will be hard. It’ll be draining. You’ll be tired all the time. You’ll be working harder than you’ve ever worked.

And the work won’t stop. You’ll go to bed at midnight, having put in a full day of work, and you’ll wake up the next day with just as much — probably even more. It’ll just keep coming at you, work day after work day, and the only way to deal with it will be to keep going, deeper and deeper into work that won’t ever end.

You’ll be an emotional wreck. You won’t be sure that what you’re doing is right, and your friends will probably tell you that you’re crazy. Most days, you’ll agree. You’ll be a bad break away from a nervous breakdown, or a big break away from floating on air, and you’ll never be sure which way the next 90 minutes might take you. You will never feel like you’re standing on solid ground.

You will feel alone, and you will feel helpless, and you will feel scared.

You will want to quit. You will tell yourself that quitting is the way out.

And then you will wake up and do it all again the next day. You will want to quit, but you’ll be even more scared that quitting might take you to an even worse place.

So you’ll keep going, day after day, hour after hour, task after task. You’ll lose the ability to tell the difference between a step forward and a step back. Soon, all you’ll be sure of is that you’re taking steps — but you’re not sure where they lead.

The work will make you question everything. The work will bring you to tears. The work will hurt.

The work. It will take everything you have to keep it from crushing you.

So, just… don’t. Don’t do it. Not doing the work is the easy way out. Not doing it is the sane way out.

Unless you want to do something really great. In which case: You’re going to have to do the work. It is the only way.

And yes, you’re going to be tired, and scared, and totally unsure of yourself.

But you’ll be doing the work, and there won’t be a single thing you’d rather do than that.

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Demand The Finish Line.

“I applaud the guy who has the courage to meet the confrontation.” —Kim English

 
I ran a 10k on Saturday — my first in six years.

And this thought popped into my head, somewhere around mile 4: You did it, Dan.

Yes, I knew I had 2.2 miles left. But I knew I was going to get the finish line.

You can’t always say that at the starting line. Or even at the halfway point.

But I knew, with 2.2 miles left, that there wasn’t anything that would keep me from that finish line. I knew I had the final few minutes in me.

At a certain point, the mind takes over. Getting to the end of a 10k — or whatever your race is — is about demanding of yourself the finish line.

You’ll see runners on the side of the race, telling themselves they aren’t “able” to go the distance. That’s bull.

A 10k is all about wanting to get there. Anyone can run six miles. Maybe not six fast miles. But anyone can run that distance — as long as you keep yourself moving forward. As long as your mind wants it more than whatever your feet are telling you.

In that kind of race, Want To > Able To.

Do you want to get to the finish line? Do you want to know you went the distance?

In these short races, want is all that matters. Want is what gets you to the end.

That photo from my 10k comes via @anasarbu.

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People + Things.

There is a quote that I’ve been carrying around for a few years now. It’s one of the few core things I believe.

My little manifesto goes:

“In this life, find things you love, and people you love, and make time for both.”

Everywhere I’ve gone, it’s worked for me. It’s not exactly the most complicated formula, but it makes sense. And as long as I’ve stuck to it, I’ve been happy.

The “people” part is something that everyone gets. But it’s the “things” part that people misunderstand.

Things have to be passions or hobbies. They have to active. Not necessarily physically active — one of my things is seeing live music, and I see a lot of it — but it has to be you, out in the world, doing something.

If you try to replace activity with the other type of things — your possessions, your stuff — the formula doesn’t really work.

Shopping might make you happy. But just having clothes? Probably not.

Owning a big TV doesn’t really do much. But inviting friends over for movie night on your flat screen? That’ll do.

Look: Good things happen to those who actually do stuff. So be active. Make time for the things and the people you love.

It’s not exactly Gandhi-level thought, but I promise you, it works.

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The Two Types Of Routine.

“Funny thing happens when you keep putting one foot in front of the other: you get somewhere.” — Marina Martin

 
Something you learn from doing the work: There are two types of routine.

There’s good routine: A process to help you get through tasks faster.

Then there’s bad routine: When things get dull.

Creating the first time of routine helps you get through your workday. The second makes you resent your workday.

Anyway, point is: We tend to talk about it in negative terms, but routine isn’t always a bad thing. And when you find the good routine, it actually helps keeps you moving forward.

Just something you’ll learn when you commit to the work.

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Building Big Things Never Happens Fast.

“Velocity, not speed.” — Siqi Chen

 
There is a funny misconception that exists in the general public about building big companies. They see something like Instagram, which sold for a billion dollars, and think: The path from A to B(illionaire) doesn’t take that long.

Wrong.

Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.

I work at BuzzFeed now. That photo at top is what our office looks like today.

But this is what it looked like in 2007, in the earliest days of BuzzFeed.

Not quite as exciting, right?

I remember those types of days at Stry.us. I remember sleeping on the floor in a small apartment next to a cow pasture. I remember that when I hit the “Sleeping On A Floor In A Small Apartment Next To A Cow Pasture” point, that was actually a big milestone for Stry.us.

Good things come slowly. You build with good people. You find ways to hang in the game as long as you can.

The road is slow and long and kind of boring sometimes. If that doesn’t sound like your idea of fun, that’s okay. Building big things isn’t for everyone.

But if that sounds like something you like? Well, start as soon as you can. You’re going to need all the time you have.

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The Easy Way Out.

“The journey is all. The destination is beside the point.” — Leo Babauta

 
Let me pose a hypothetical to you for a second. Tomorrow, I’m going to give you the chance of a lifetime:

I’m going to make you a lottery winner. You’re going to get $20 million. You’re never going to have to work again.

But there’s a catch: In exchange for that $20 million, you’re also never ALLOWED to work again.

You can take the $20 million, and never work another day in your life — never ever — or you can stay on the path you’re on, grinding it out, trying to make it in this world.

What do you choose? A life without work but lots of money, or a life with a lot of work and whatever money you can make along the way?

If it’s me, I take the latter. Yeah, the $20 million would be nice for a while. A few months on the beach somewhere, swimming and napping and drinking away the day. I could do that.

But after a few months, where would I be? What I’m doing matters to me. I want to make a big contribution to this world, and my work is largely how I make my stamp. Take away that, and what am I?

People say they want the easy way out, but I’m not so sure I buy that. The road ahead is tough. It’s going to suck.

But it’s also really rewarding. There is satisfaction in putting in the work, day in and day out.

So me? I’d reject the money and stick with the road I’m on. I know it’ll be rewarding. I know it’ll be hard. Maybe it’ll make me a little money along the way, or maybe it won’t. But it’ll my road to make.

I probably won’t get the months and months of drinking on the beach on this path, but if I do good work, I might get a few good weekends a year in a sunny place. That’d be alright by me.

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