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Mistakes

Screw ups. Everyone makes them. They’re part of the creative process, embedded into music, wired into our brain. So why is it so difficult to let go of them?

Redefining “mistake” turns dirt into gold. When you trade in unrealistic expectations and begin to cherish the unexpected, you gain valuable opportunities and news ways of seeing the world around you.

Tweet me: How do you define mistakes? What have you learned from them? Have you been surprised by an imperfect outcome or erroneous decision?

Trying less, not more

“Try is best” somehow evolved into “try harder.” If we don’t get the results we’ve set out for, it is a direct reflection of the work we’ve put forth. No success? You must’ve done something wrong. You didn’t reach the bar, you don’t measure up, you didn’t work HARD enough.

The irony is life seems to expand when you relax the muscles you’ve been stressing for so long. No only can constriction lead to strain and injury, it prohibits freedom and creativity and even limits the breath. There are moments and situations it’s not about your effort at all; it’s more about relaxing and letting go.

Like the “cool kid,” something about him is magnetic, we can’t help but stay away (Because we all think he isn’t trying; in reality, however, he’s trying very, very hard.).

So where is that middle balance between working like a dog and easing into it? What if the growth comes from easing off the gas, driving a little more relaxed and enjoying the road? It seems THAT is when success comes. And people can’t help but stay away.

The magic of community (why dinners work)

“Wow! Truly special, wonderful conversations, learned about others, shared a lot, philosophized, laughed, so much fun. I’d love to do it again.” Another positive email from an enchanted dinner attendee.

You carry a unique story. When placed in a room with others, a collective energy forms. Add thought-provoking questions, topics that strip away pretense and ego, and humanity and commonalities emerge. Minds are sparked. Hearts are lit on fire.

I see the greatest momentum coming from those who recognize it isn’t just them. They recognize we’re in this together; we can encourage each another to create, explore, to make a dent in the world. Even when tragedy strikes, communities can rise up and build. Small moments — quiet dinners, smiles on a train, random acts of kindness — are collectively powerful.

Gestalt Theory claims the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. But it’s up to you to hold up your end of the deal.

No one has it figured out

A large number of Nepalis work or study abroad.

Recently I found myself speaking to a young man preparing for his first year of college. He was scared as hell, understandably so, leaving behind his family and everything familiar to attend college in Louisiana. This would be the first time he traveled outside Nepal.

I was 17 when I left the cornfields of Longmont, Colorado for Manhattan’s concrete version. It was terrifying, and I cried the entire plane ride from Denver to LGA. My flight was just over three hours, and it took everything in me to not unlock the hatch. This guy was looking at three days of travel, layovers in several countries, and an immigration officer waiting at the end.

We talked about what he could expect — pop music and football fields, red and blue plastic party cups, kids from different backgrounds, movie popcorn, pizza delivery — and what not to expect — daily dal bhat, the hum of electric generators, saris, cows in the road, bargaining over prices. I taught him how to pronounce Baton Rouge.

I was told to study Humanities because this is what students were advised if they didn’t know what they wanted to do. I focused too much on grades and too little on experiences. It wasn’t until later I realized how valuable relationships with professors could be and that some my greatest lessons would be learned simply living in New York City. What I know now, at age 30, I failed to recognize then:

Nobody knows.

Some people are just really good at pretending. That kid who marched into the lecture hall, back straight, broad smile? I envied him. He said he was going to be an actor. I think he is selling shoes now in Lower Manhattan.

I had a girlfriend who lit up every room she walked into. Her laughter was contagious. I studied the way she talked to the lunch lady to try to figure out how she did it. One night I found her crying in our tiny dorm room closet, something I always did when she was out lighting up the city. She didn’t know, either.

Everyone is flailing. We fly through the air until we find something to hold onto: love, a promotion, a career change, money, a new job, adventure. We’re always wanting something, unless we give up or stop trying.

And this is one of the secrets of Project Exponential, it’s why dinners work. There’s a chance Your Something — your work, your passion, your failures, your connections — might be what someone else needs to find Their Something. And they might have exactly what you need to move forward with yours.

The student in Louisiana is fine. He likes Pizza Hut.

How I screwed up (anxieties of an entrepreneur)

The following is taken from an interview with Jahan Mantin. For the original article, click here.

In the beginning I didn’t have my story straight. I knew there was value in getting certain people into a room to share and learn from each other, but I didn’t know how to articulate it. In my mind, the story and its importance was perfectly clear. My intuition of human dynamics and relationships was always on target. But the business side was lacking. I had to thrash and experiment and test formulas to make it sustainable. It didn’t happen overnight.

I didn’t come from a business background. I had a lot to learn and made a lot of mistakes. This is part of it. You have to go through it, do the work and press on.

Overcoming anxiety 

When I first started hosting dinners I was absolutely petrified. I’d give myself pep talks on the train before every event. The fact that I managed to convince these incredibly smart, brilliant, talented people to come meet each other in a secret room became a tremendous burden. I put intense pressure on myself to organize unforgettable evenings. My anxiety was through the roof. “What if no one shoes up? What if plates come crashing down off the walls? What happens if someone becomes angry and storms out? If I forget someone’s name? If someone drinks too much and stumbles down the stairs?”

Eventually I realized my fears were mostly irrational. Thankfully, I got to a place where I could recognize that these dinners are beyond me. Yes, I still get nervous, but I can manage my anxiety with the understanding that my responsibility is to provide the platform for people to come together and meet and enjoy. The rest is ultimately up to them.

The pressure of being an entrepreneur

We spend most of our young lives being told what to do. School is laid out for us, and certain milestones seem preordained — job, college, house, friends, relationship. When you start your own business, there is no set plan. There’s a sense of leaping, falling, an uncertainty of what’s to come.

For me, this levity was accompanied by obligation, a duty to see it through. It’s easy to shy away from fear like a fire, but these scary moments show us who we are.  When we are petrified and allow ourselves to be vulnerable, we grow.

Why do so many people become entrepreneurs when it feels like such a big risk?

At first glance, entrepreneurship doesn’t seem safe. Safety is 9 – 5, a steady paycheck and stock options. But if you think about it, freedom and creative independence can provide more security than any job. At any point you can be fired. When you create your own business/service/product, the power is in your hands.

Entrepreneurship isn’t for everyone. Not everyone wants to run their own show; it’s demanding and tough. But you owe it to yourself to sit down and ask, “What do I want? What do I want to contribute to the world? What brings me the most joy?”

When do you know you’re ready?

You have to be honest, ask hard questions and give yourself the time to go through the process of identifying your values and priorities, your skills and talents, what you’re really good at.

If you wait for the right moment, the right time, you’re never going to ship. You’re never going to put work out into the world. You’ll never create art (of which the most interesting and successful is far from perfect). You have to reach the point where it’s good enough, where you can feel satisfied and confident. “Done” is better than perfection.

There are always edits to be made. It can — and probably will — be improved. But your work has to make it out into the world.