What If You Actually Did It?

There’s probably something you’ve thought about doing for a long time.

Maybe you’ve talked about it. Researched it. Imagined what it would feel like when it was finally finished. Maybe you’ve even started a few times.

But life gets busy. The timing isn’t right. You don’t feel ready. The dream feels too big, too impractical, too expensive, too late—or maybe you’re simply afraid you’ll try and fail.

So it stays safely in the category of someday.

I think we sometimes assume the people who actually do the things they dream about possess something the rest of us don’t. More discipline. More confidence. More courage. Fewer responsibilities. Better circumstances.

But most meaningful things aren’t accomplished because someone finally felt completely ready.

At some point, they simply took the next step.

And then another.

There’s an important distinction here, though, especially for those of us who have spent years believing we could work our way into being enough.

Following through doesn’t have to mean striving.

You can pursue something wholeheartedly without asking it to prove your worth.

That has been one of the biggest shifts in my own life.

This year, I climbed Kilimanjaro and published a book. Both required real work. Training. Writing. Rewriting. Preparation. Sacrifice. Plenty of moments when quitting—or at least postponing—would have been easier.

But these experiences came after a long season of God teaching me something I desperately needed to learn: my worth was settled before I accomplished any of it.

Ironically, surrender didn’t take away my drive.

It gave my drive a healthier place to come from.

Maybe we’ve created a false choice between hustle and passivity. We think we either have to push, prove, grind and force our way forward—or release everything and wait.

But there’s another way.

You can be surrendered and driven.

You can work hard from a place of peace.

You can be tired from the labor without being exhausted from trying to prove yourself.

You can want something deeply while holding the outcome loosely.

You can take yourself seriously enough to follow through on the dream without needing the dream to tell you who you are.

And maybe that changes the question.

Instead of What if I fail? or What will this say about me if I succeed?, maybe it becomes:

What is mine to do next?

Not the whole mountain. Not the finished manuscript. Not the perfect five-year plan.

The next step.

Make the phone call. Write the first page. Sign up for the class. Tell someone the idea. Save the money. Start training. Submit the application.

And then, when that step is finished, take another.

Your dream doesn't have to become your identity. Your goal doesn't have to become your worth. And surrender doesn't require you to stop wanting, creating, building, exploring or becoming.

Maybe the freedom is realizing you have nothing to prove—

and still choosing to go.

Explore my book, Becoming.