Ask Boldly. Be Patient With the Results.

I was watching children recently and thinking about how relentless they are.

A child will ask you for something, get told no, wait five minutes and ask again like the previous conversation was merely a preliminary hearing. 😂 They explore. They touch things they probably shouldn't touch. They ask questions. They test boundaries. They keep trying until somebody gives them a definitive reason to stop.

Somewhere along the road to adulthood, many of us lose that.

We learn embarrassment. We learn disappointment. We learn what rejection feels like. Eventually we become sophisticated enough to talk ourselves out of things before anybody else gets the opportunity to tell us no.

We call it being realistic.

Sometimes it's just fear with a college degree.

I've been thinking about that a lot this week because fear hasn't disappeared from my life. If anything, I've become more aware of what I'm actually afraid of.

Change is one.

Big, drastic change.

Loneliness is another.

There are versions of the future I want that may require my life to look very different from the one I know now. And if I'm being truthful, there is something frightening about that. We love talking about everything waiting for us on the other side of fear, but we don't talk as much about what crossing that line may require us to leave behind.

Everybody may not come with you.

Every relationship may not remain the same.

Every environment that once felt comfortable may not fit the person you're becoming.

I've had to come to terms with the fact that this is part of the process.

And around here, we respect the process.

That doesn't mean enjoying every part of it. It means understanding that I don't get to demand a journey made entirely of experiences I would have chosen for myself.

This week reminded me of that in several different ways.

I found myself loosening my grip on outcomes and allowing some things to work themselves out. I found myself meeting people without first deciding where I ranked in comparison to them. I had to accept that I can care deeply about people without requiring them to respond to that care exactly how I hoped they would.

I also found myself in rooms where leadership demanded something different from me.

Being good at what you do is one thing. Creating an environment where somebody else can become good at what they do is something else entirely.

I'm learning that serving other creatives requires both patience and standards. People need enough room to find their own flow. Everybody isn't going to move exactly like I move or arrive at an idea the way I would.

But there are also moments when the opportunity is here now.

And when that moment arrives, I believe we owe it to ourselves to rise to it.

There are too many talented people competing for the same opportunities for us to casually offer half of ourselves to something we claim we genuinely want.

The outcome isn't always up to us.

The input is.

That's a distinction I'm trying to understand more deeply.

I cannot guarantee that a song gets placed. I cannot guarantee that an opportunity becomes everything I hoped it would become. I cannot control how another person responds to me, how quickly something develops or exactly what the next chapter looks like.

But I can decide how prepared I am when the door opens.

I can decide whether fear gets to make the decision before life even has the chance to answer.

For a long time, I think many of us confuse the work with proof of worthiness.

If I work hard enough, maybe I'll deserve the room.

If I accomplish enough, maybe I'll finally feel legitimate.

If enough people recognize what I'm doing, maybe I'll believe what I've been trying to tell myself.

But one of the clearest thoughts I had this week was:

I am worthy before I prove it.

The work isn't payment for my worthiness.

The work is for me. It's for my purpose.

And a big part of that purpose is providing and serving other creatives.

That changes the question from How far can I go? to What can I help make possible?

It also changes how I think about legacy.

Toward the end of this week, I found myself thinking about what previous generations built and what responsibility my generation has toward those foundations.

For a while, I could think of legacy as something I might eventually inherit or something I would one day leave behind.

Then it hit me:

I am the legacy, too.

My place doesn't begin when somebody hands me the keys.

I already belong.

And if I belong, then my responsibility isn't simply to preserve what existed before me. Respecting the people who built the foundation doesn't mean freezing their methods in time.

Maybe the greatest respect we can show a foundation is to build something worthy on top of it.

And when I started thinking about what I would want the next generation to inherit, beyond businesses, property or money, two words came immediately:

Confidence and audacity.

Confidence to know:

I belong here.

Audacity to ask:

What else can we build?

Maybe that's why those children stayed on my mind all week.

They haven't yet learned to ask permission from fear.

I don't want the next generation to be reckless. I want them to learn. I want them to ask questions. I want them to gather as much information as they can and listen carefully to the knowledge they're blessed to receive.

But then I want them to act on it.

Knowledge can become another hiding place if we're not careful. We can spend our entire lives preparing for the moment when we'll finally feel ready.

Sometimes the information is there.

The opportunity is there.

The only thing left is courage.

So maybe adulthood isn't about becoming fearless again.

Maybe it's about recovering the audacity of the child while keeping the wisdom we've earned along the way.

Learn deeply.

Step boldly into the future.

Act on what you know.

And understand that even after you've done everything right, you still don't control the answer.

That's where patience enters.

I'm learning to ask boldly and be patient with the results.

Those ideas need each other.

Patience without boldness can become hiding. Boldness without patience can become entitlement.

I can ask.

I can prepare.

I can work.

I can serve.

I can step through the fear.

Then I have to allow life enough room to answer in its own time.

That's the process.

And we respect the process around here.

Keep pressing on. 💎