Try Everything

This weekend, my kids were watching the first Zootopia movie, a random choice considering it had not been on the rotation in our house for some years. Toward the beginning, the familiar tune of “Try Everything” by Shakira started playing. I’ve always unabashedly loved that song, with its happy, upbeat melody and lyrics, and I started singing along:

I won't give up, no, I won't give in
'Til I reach the end, and then I'll start again
No, I won't leave, I wanna try everything
I wanna try even though I could fail

Somehow, in that magical way a song can interact with us, the words landed precisely when I needed to hear them, and I listened to them in a new light:

I'll keep on making those new mistakes
I'll keep on making them every day
Those new mistakes

Trying something new

I began writing on Substack last month, but really, I wanted to start doing it years ago. I had created a profile and started several drafts of personal essays, but only got so far as a few sentences for each. In the past, an inner critic told me no one would want to read my work. Who am I, after all?

Thinking about it now, some people might have considered my story interesting: I founded a company when I was twenty-three; it became successful, with the help of many people, including my parents, one of whom is a Greek immigrant with an all-American success story. Because of my busy career, and perhaps my emotional immaturity, I didn’t get married or have kids until my late thirties. Over the course of several years, I learned to balance work and family life—again, not without the help of many people. Throughout it all I was passionate about community service, the outdoors, travel, art, music, books, cooking, and fitness. I played a Rachmaninov piano concerto when I was 17; I used to hike miles of Colorado trails solo; and also, I always loved to write. But my writing stayed limited to the bounds of my career; I was afraid to try more personal writing, afraid to “put myself out there,” as they say.

Recently, though, I sold my company and decided to take a step away after twenty-five years as owner and CEO. It was a difficult decision, to put it mildly, and one that took shape over the course of several years. Sometimes life is ripe for a change, and this year, I realized a change was necessary for me.

After that dramatic change and some tumultuous months of second thoughts, second-guessing, and stress dreams galore, an old craving to write on Substack started flaring within me. This time, having shed the skin of a long-held identity and professional life, I found an opening to start. I decided to try.

Did I write about founding a company at twenty-three? Or the ups and downs of owning a distribution company for twenty-five years? Or the complexity of working with my family?

Nope. I wrote about how my daughter turned me into a massive Taylor Swift fan when I was a middle-aged mom. It was the first subject that came to mind, and I wasn’t a perfectionist about it: I wrote it quickly, and (deep breath!) posted it.

I didn’t share it with anyone outside of Substack, but it felt wonderful to post it. I later figured out how to create a publication, and landed on a simple name and logo, and played with my profile a bit. But, mostly, I started writing more: about the trip we just took to Alaska, about our Disney Cruise experience, about some favorite books and memoirs. I have three drafts in progress, and a note on my phone where I add new ideas. Each day, I hope the ideas will keep coming, and because I’m open to trying anything and everything, so far, so good.

Why Try?

Writing may not seem like a brave act, but I think it almost always requires courage to write. In writing, you’re sharing your perspective; you’re claiming ground and taking up space; you’re giving away your thoughts and words and ideas, and suggesting that others might gain from your sharing. Even if it’s gaining a way to pass five minutes, it’s your offering, and only yours.

In writing that surely seems unimportant, I’m sharing what I find important. I’m trying something, and everything, and embracing the new mistakes that come with sharing my words, unimportant as they might seem.

I messed up tonight, I lost another fight
Lost to myself, but I'll just start again
I keep falling down, I keep on hitting the ground
I always get up now to see what's next

Here’s to trying everything.