Version 1
People often assume my job is standing on stage. It's not. That's just the part everyone sees. The last six weeks I've been off the road, and while it might look like I've been taking a little break...I can assure you, my laptop would strongly disagree. This morning I finished the first draft of The BOLD Factor. Which sounds exciting...until you realize what "finished the first draft" actually means. It means it's time to tear the whole thing to shreds. And honestly? It deserves it. Because first drafts are basically toddlers. They wander all over the place. They repeat themselves. They scream for no apparent reason. They occasionally surprise you with brilliance. And they require an unbelievable amount of care before you're ready to introduce them to the world. It's like....Congratulations! You got all your thoughts onto paper. Now let's see if any of them should stay there. Every story gets questioned. Every statistic gets verified. Every joke has to earn its place. Every transition has to make the next idea feel inevitable. Every word has to serve the audience. And if those words don't serve the audience...they take a hike. I've rewritten the same sentence eight times. Not because it was wrong. Because it wasn't right enough. I've spent ten minutes arguing with myself over a single word because sometimes one word changes how an entire idea lands. I've deleted stories I loved. I've rewritten transitions that technically worked but didn't feel right. I've read research papers, filled notebooks, and paced circles around my office trying to figure out why one section stubbornly refused to flow into the next. None of that looks particularly productive. Nobody claps because you deleted six pages. Nobody comments, "INCREDIBLE JOB THINKING REALLY HARD TODAY!" There are no standing ovations for cutting your favorite story because, as much as you love it, it doesn't move the audience forward. And if I'm being honest...this kind of work can mess with your head. When I'm traveling every week, it's obvious that I'm working. There are flights to catch. Hotels to check into. Audiences to meet. Photos to post. Testimonials to read. There's visible evidence. But when you're building the next thing...all of that disappears. You're sitting alone with your thoughts. You're rewriting. Researching. Deleting. Starting over. Planting seeds in silence. And sometimes that silence can trick you into believing you're not making progress. I have to remind myself that just because the work isn't visible doesn't mean it isn't valuable. In fact, I've started to believe the opposite is often true. Some of the most important work you'll ever do won't look like work to anyone else. Sometimes it won't even look like work to you. I don't think this is just true for speakers. I think it's true for all of us. We celebrate the launch, but not the preparation. The promotion, but not the years of learning. The marathon, but not the thousands of training miles. The beautiful garden, but not the months propagating seeds. We celebrate harvests. We rarely celebrate planting. But here's the thing I've learned after spending weeks tearing apart something I'm incredibly proud of: The invisible work is what makes the visible moment possible. If you're in a season where it feels like you're doing a lot of work and don't have much to show for it yet...keep going. Don't confuse invisible with unimportant. Some of the best work you'll ever do leaves no evidence...Until it changes everything. Cheers,
P.S. If you like my work and want to support it, here are 3 ways! 1) Forward this newsletter to a friend and let them know they can subscribe here. 2) Buy my book 3) Bring me into your company to speak. (Either in person or virtual.) |
