I didn't grow up with dogs in my house, but as an adult, I kept saying I wanted one, yet I was afraid of the commitment it would take. I had seen our friends with dogs leave dinner early because they had to get home, or someone would talk about the challenge of going out of town and trying to find someone to watch their dog. I wanted the furry friend; I just didn't want to deal with all of the adult stuff that came with a dog.
Then, in 2020, like so many others who were stuck at home, we decided to get a dog. We got a Goldendoodle that we affectionately named Lou, and we never looked back.
I can't imagine my house without him now, and I constantly say that I wish we had got him sooner.
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Turns out, the fear of the commitment, the time, the energy, and whatever else I was afraid of was just fear holding me back.
Sometimes you gotta take the plunge and just go for it.
Here's the funny part. Most of the things I was worried about actually happened. We have left dinner early to get home to him. We have scrambled to find someone to watch him when we travel. I've stood in the street at 6am in the Seattle rain waiting for him to finish his business. My fear wasn't wrong about the work. It was wrong about the math. What I got back was so much bigger than what it cost that I don't even think about the cost anymore.
I see the same pattern all the time with careers. People tell me they want to make a move, start the side business, go after the bigger role, or finally leave the job that's draining them. Then they walk me through every reason it could get hard. The longer hours. The learning curve. The risk of looking foolish if it doesn't work out. They want the furry friend. They just don't want the adult stuff that comes with it.
What I've learned is that you pay for it either way. You either pay for the commitment with your time and energy, or you pay for avoiding it with years of wondering. I spent years saying I wanted a dog and never getting one. Those years didn't protect me from anything. They just meant fewer years with Lou.
My fear wasn't wrong about the work. It was wrong about the math.
Fear is really good at making a list of everything that could go wrong. It's terrible at making a list of everything that could go right. It never told me how much I'd love our walks, or how a goofy doodle meeting me at the door could turn around a bad day. Your fear about your career is doing the same thing to you right now. It's only showing you half the spreadsheet.
I'm not saying ignore the hard parts. They're real. Dogs need care, and big career moves need a plan. There's a difference, though, between planning and stalling. Planning gets you ready to go. Stalling is when you keep researching, keep waiting for a better time, and keep finding one more reason to push it to next year. Most of us know exactly which one we're doing.
It also took 2020 to get us off the fence. The whole world had to shut down before we finally made the call. A lot of careers work the same way. People wait for a layoff, a bad boss, or some kind of wake-up call to force the decision they already knew they wanted to make. You don't need the world to shut down to give yourself permission. You can just decide.
The commitment you're afraid of usually becomes the thing you can't imagine living without. The job you were scared to take turns into the best chapter of your career. The business you almost didn't start becomes the thing you're proudest of. The conversation you dreaded ends up being the turning point. Once you're on the other side, the fear looks a lot smaller than it did from the front.
So whatever your version of Lou is, stop waiting until it feels convenient. It never will. Make the call, take the role, start the thing. I can almost promise you'll end up saying the same thing I say about my dog: I wish I had done it sooner.