About two weeks ago, some of my buddies got hold of some of my YouTube and Instagram videos. They shared them in some text threads I have as a way to poke fun at me, just doing what guys usually do to one another. If that had happened a year ago, I probably would have quit producing videos, but today, I don't give a fuck, and I'll tell you why.
First off, if you've been following me for a while, you know that the one thing I absolutely cringe at is the idea of filming and posting these videos online as a way to generate followers, engagements, and subscribers. It's something I never saw myself ever doing, yet here I am. In fact, I didn't even have an Instagram account until two years ago. There were never any plans for me to try and market my brand outside of the articles I've published on LinkedIn and, of course, the daily articles here on Patreon.
But something switched for me in 2025. A lightbulb went off that caused me to say, "fuck it."
You see, I decided a few things:
1. Life is short, and you have to make decisions that serve you, not others.
2. The people who would cringe at my content or poke fun at it aren't supporting me; therefore, they're not for me and are holding me back.
3. The people that matter are the ones I'm trying to impact
It's really a wild concept to think that we can hold ourselves back from doing big, spectacular things just as a result of being worried about what others might think, say, feel, or do as a result.
What finally clicked for me is that embarrassment is a tax you pay upfront for freedom later.
The first few times you put yourself out there feel awkward, forced, and uncomfortable because you are breaking a pattern that once kept you safe. Staying quiet. Staying small. Staying acceptable to people who are not building anything themselves. That discomfort is the receipt that proves you are doing something different.
I also realized how backwards it is to let the opinions of people who are not living the life you want dictate the moves you make. The loudest critics are rarely in the arena. They are spectators with commentary and no skin in the game.
When I zoomed out and looked at who was actually benefiting from my work, who was reaching out, who was saying this helped me, or this changed how I see my career, the math became obvious. I was trading real impact for imaginary approval.
There is something incredibly grounding about deciding who your work is for and who it is not for. Once you make that decision, the noise loses its power. Not everyone is supposed to get it. Not everyone is supposed to like you. And chasing universal approval is the fastest way to water down the thing that makes your voice matter in the first place.
What scares most people is not failure. It's the attempt period of time that is the scariest.
Progress rewards participation, not perfection.
So if you are sitting on an idea, a message, a pivot, or a version of yourself you keep postponing because of how it might look to others, understand this. You are already paying a price by waiting. You might as well pay the price that actually gets you somewhere.