I've always loved the beginning of a project.

That window where the enthusiasm finally tips over into action and you're just going. You're posting, you're building, you're putting stuff out into the world because you're genuinely excited about it. It doesn't matter that no one's watching yet. The energy is enough.

And then it isn't.

There's this stretch — and if you've built anything, you know exactly what I'm talking about — where the excitement starts to thin out and self-doubt walks in like it owns the place. Is what I'm doing worth it? Is all this effort going to turn into anything? Am I just yelling into a void?

This is when everybody quits. I know because I've almost quit more times than I can count.

Here's the part that messes with me: I know better.

I've pushed through this phase over and over again.

I've helped other people push through it.

I know that if you just keep going, you eventually find the connection you're looking for. And yet, every single time I hit that stretch, I still question myself. Knowing the answer doesn't make the feeling go away.

It's a lonely place

Your friends aren't there. Your family isn't really there either — not in the way you need them to be. It's just you and this thing you care about and a whole lot of silence.

Take The Daring Creatives.

I'm deeply passionate about this — AI, creativity, helping people get started with tools that I think are genuinely powerful and enabling.

And honestly, the community of people I've met over the last three years who have made similar commitments to dig in and learn AI? Some of the most inspiring people I know. Most of them I've never met face to face. Just people in online communities who I respect and care about.

But when you choose to build something, you're saying goodbye to other things.

Sometimes it's other projects.

Sometimes it's beliefs you held.

Sometimes it's boundaries you thought were permanent.

And sometimes — and this is the one nobody warns you about — it's people.

Friends you never imagined not having around. You just kind of look up one day and realize they're not really supportive of what you're doing anymore. Maybe they never say it directly. They just... aren't there.

You hear this in every entrepreneur's story, right? The doubt, the adversity, the uncomfortable stretch that goes on way longer than you expected. But hearing about it and living inside it are two completely different experiences. When you're in it, the stories don't help much. It's just you, doing the work, wondering if it matters.

And then someone raises their hand

You get your first member. The first person who goes through a whole process — finds you, reads your stuff, decides it's worth their time, and actively signs up. They raise their hand and say, "Yeah, I'm here with you. I like what you're doing and I want to support it."

That first person is everything.

I'm not being dramatic. When I get a new subscriber to The Daring Creatives, I literally fist pump. I jump around in my office. It could be 11pm and I'm in the bathroom when the notification hits my phone — doesn't matter. That email comes in saying someone just joined, and I'm fired up all over again. It re-energizes me and makes me want to work harder, do more, keep going.

Now, I know there's going to be a point where scaling this thing becomes its own massive challenge. And honestly? I've always been more interested in helping people build the thing than scale the thing. I saw someone's LinkedIn profile the other day and their headline said "I'm a zero to one builder." And I thought — I don't think there's a better description of how I see myself than that.

I help you get from zero to one.

A lot of people are focused on how to get to a thousand or a million or ten billion. And look, I get it. But there is no ten thousand, no million, no billion until there's one.

So here's what I'd say

Building something new is brutally hard. Taking an idea and making it real is one of the hardest things you can do. But it is so worth it. The feeling you get from the simplest thing — someone signing up for your email list, someone buying a sticker, someone just saying "hey, I see what you're doing" — that feeling is incredible. Whether it happens three months in or ten years in, it hits the same way.

If you're in that lonely stretch right now, where no one's watching and you're wondering why you bother — I've been there. I'm kind of always there, honestly. But I keep going. And you should too.