"But what if I fail?"
You will.
The answer to the what if question is, you will.
A better question might be, "after I fail, what then?"
Well, if you've chosen well, after you fail you will be one step closer to succeeding, you will be wiser and stronger and you almost certainly be more respected by all of those that are afraid to try.
The humility of the artist
It seems arrogant to say, "perhaps this isn't for you."
When the critic pans your work, or the prospect hears your offer but doesn't buy, the artist responds, "that's okay, it's not for you." She doesn't wheedle or flip-flop or go into high pressure mode. She treats different people differently, understands that she is working to delight the weird, not please the masses, and walks away.
Isn't that arrogant?
No. It's arrogant to assume that you've made something so extraordinary that everyone everywhere should embrace it. Our best work can't possibly appeal to the average masses, only our average work can.
Finding the humility to happily walk away from those that don't get it unlocks our ability to do great work.
Trash talking important work
The self-induced anxiety formula often goes like this: What I'm about to do is important. I've never done it quite like this. It's incredibly crucial, a turning point, a high risk venture, a moment in time I won't have again. Therefore, I am nervous. And I need to get more nervous, because the importance of the moment warrants it. This is going to fail. I can vividly picture all the ways it won't work...
On and on.
A common approach to decreasing the unhappy cycle is self talk to minimize how important the upcoming event is. The mantra is: No one will be watching, I'm exaggerating this moment, it's no big deal, it's not as important as you think, it doesn't really matter...
The problem with that approach is that you spend your day trash talking your leverage and impact. By actively diminishing what you've accomplished, you make it less likely you'll see yourself as worthy of even bigger achievements tomorrow.
In fact, it does matter. In fact, this is an important thing you're about to do, and denigrating it undermines the very reason you're doing this work in the first place.
Here's an alternative: It's okay to be nervous. Instead of fighting that anxiety, dance with it. Welcome it. Relish it. It's a sign you're on to something. "Oh good, here comes that itch!" This is important after all.
When we welcome a feeling like this, when we embrace it and actually look forward to it, the feeling doesn't get louder and more debilitating. It softens, softens to the point where we can work with it.
Use your fear like fuel.
Copyediting, line editing and the other kind
The copyeditor will fix a misstated fact, spot a typo and get your prose clean.
The line editor will rearrange a paragraph and help you organize a thought more clearly.
And the editor who is your partner will tell you that the chapters are in the wrong order, that you must delete a third of what you wrote, or perhaps consider writing for TV instead. This kind of editor is the one who will tell you your time is better spent doing something else entirely.
It's easier (but not easy) to find a good copyeditor than it is to find someone generous and brave enough to help you figure out your strategy, whether you're working on a book, a career or the structure of your next project.
The copyeditor can tell you that you mangled a few facts early in your presentation. The line editor will help you untangle a complicated story near the middle. And your strategic editor will help you see that a one-on-one meeting would have been better than a presentation in the first place.
Sure, fix my typos, thanks a lot, but what's truly precious is someone able to fix your plan.
Worth noting that most critics and journalists are comfortable being metaphorical copy editors, but it's rare you find someone who speaks up with sensible thoughts about your strategy.
Treasure the folks willing and able to develop a point of view about the big picture.
What's attention worth?
Marketers that fail are often impatient and selfish.
Impatient, because they won't invest in the long-term job of earning familiarity, permission and trust.
And selfish, because they get hooked on the erroneous belief that merely because they have money, they have the right to demand attention. And selfish because they believe marketing is about them, not the person paying attention.
We call it "paying attention" for a reason. It's worth quite a bit, and ought to be cherished.
