It took me a long time to get here. And I don’t mean “here” as in a title, a business, or some polished version of success people think they see online. I mean, HERE ON LINKEDIN… comfortable enough in my own skin to put my thoughts out into the world without flinching every time someone takes a shot.
Putting yourself out there is uncomfortable. It always has been.
For most of my life, I lived the Quiet Professional ethos. Head down. Do the work. Let results speak.
That world made sense. In many environments (especially in the Special Forces), that’s exactly how it should be. You don’t need to broadcast what you’re doing. You just execute. You deliver. You move on.
But here’s the reality nobody tells you when you transition out of that environment: If nobody knows what you bring to the table… you never get invited to the table.
So I made a shift. Not overnight. Not comfortably. And definitely not without resistance (most of it internal).
I started writing. I started posting. I started teaching. I started building. And most importantly: I started sharing.
Not just wins. Not just clean, polished lessons. But failures. Mistakes. Missteps. Hard-earned lessons that didn’t come wrapped in a bow.
That’s when everything changed. Because the moment you stop being invisible… you become visible. And visibility comes with a price.
When you step into the arena (whether that’s social media, writing books, teaching courses, or building a business) you are no longer just operating. You are now exposed. People see your work. People evaluate your work. People judge your work.
And some people (I’ll call it what it is) look for reasons to tear your work apart.
Not to improve it. Not to understand it. But to attack it. And if you’re not ready for that, it can hit harder than you expect.
I had a retired military member book time on my calendar recently. Now, I take those calls seriously. I assume there’s a reason. A question. A need. Something meaningful.
So we get on the call. And he tells me, within the first 30 seconds and very directly, that there’s a typo in one of my books. A comma. Used where a semicolon should have been. (Or something equally earth-shattering.)
Now, I’m not naive. I’ve written enough to know there are probably more typos in my work. I put out over 10,000 words across my newsletters each week. That’s part of creating at scale. You do your best. You review. You edit. You publish.
And then you move forward. But he kept asking the same question: “What are you going to do about it?” Over and over again. Not about the ideas. Not about the value. Not about the impact.
A comma.
So finally, I told him the truth: “Nothing.” (And I’ll admit I laughed when I said it).
I’m not going to go through the process of re-publishing an entire book to fix a punctuation mark. Now, don’t get me wrong, if I had gotten something doctrinally wrong… if I had led people astray on something that truly mattered… that’s different. I would fix that immediately.
Because accuracy matters. Integrity matters. But perfection? That’s a different conversation.
Then he said something that actually made me laugh. He told me, “All errors are the same.”
And that right there (that mindset) is exactly why I’m writing this. Because no, they’re not. Not even close. There’s a difference between a typo and a lie. A formatting issue and a flawed principle. A misplaced comma and a broken framework.
If you can’t tell the difference, you’re not pursuing excellence. You’re chasing perfection. And those are not the same thing.
Let’s get something straight. Perfection does not exist. The last Perfect Person walked the Earth more than 2000 years ago.
And unless something changes dramatically, none of us is stepping into that role anytime soon. I’m far from perfect. I’ve never claimed to be perfect.
And if you’ve ever been in one of my courses, read my material, or listened to me speak, you already know this: I talk about my failures. A lot. Not because I enjoy them. Not because they define me. But because they teach.
And more importantly, they’re real.
Here’s the dangerous part about perfection: It doesn’t just slow you down. It stops you.
There are people right now (smart, capable, driven people) who are sitting on ideas, businesses, books, courses, and opportunities… Because it’s “not ready yet.” Because it’s “not perfect.” Because they’re worried about what someone might say.
So they wait. And wait. And wait. Meanwhile, someone else (less prepared but more willing) steps in and executes.
Not perfectly. But effectively. And they win.
You want a hard truth? Nobody cares about your potential. They care about what you deliver.
Execution beats perfection every single time. A published imperfect book will outperform an unpublished perfect one. A launched imperfect business will outperform an idea sitting in a notebook. A delivered imperfect project will outperform a perfectly planned one that never leaves the ground.
This isn’t an excuse to be sloppy. It’s a call to be decisive.
Now let’s talk about the other side of this.
The critics. The Keyboard Warriors. The ones who sit behind screens, scanning for flaws. The ones who feel compelled to point out every mistake, every imperfection, every deviation from their personal standard.
Listen carefully: If your primary contribution to the world is tearing down the work of others… You’re not helping. You’re hiding.
Because it’s easy to critique from the sidelines. It’s easy to point out what someone else did wrong. It’s much harder to step up, create something of your own, and accept the scrutiny that comes with it.
So to the keyboard warriors who spend their time bashing others— I don’t hate you. I don’t even dislike you.
But I do kinda feel sorry for you (on the rare occasion you cross my mind). That’s a tough way to live. Constantly looking for what’s wrong. Constantly focused on tearing things down instead of building anything up.
That’s not a winning strategy. That’s a miserable one.
Let’s bring this back to center. Because this isn’t just about a typo. It’s about priorities.
What actually matters? Did you solve a real problem? Did you help someone move forward? Did you create value? Did you deliver something that didn’t exist before?
That’s the standard. Not punctuation. Not formatting perfection. Not flawless delivery.
Value. Impact. Execution.
There’s a moment that happens when you stop chasing perfection. It’s subtle, but very powerful. You start to move faster. You start to think more clearly. You start to take action without second-guessing every step. And most importantly: You stop giving disproportionate weight to the opinions of people who aren’t building anything themselves.
That’s freedom.
So let me be clear about where I stand.
I will continue to: Create, Write, Teach, Build, Share…
Will there be mistakes? Absolutely. Will there be typos? 100%
Will there be people who point them out? Without a doubt.
And I’m okay with that. Because I know what I’m focused on.
If you’re out there building something (anything) this is for you. You don’t need permission. You don’t need perfection. You don’t need universal approval. You need clarity. You need discipline. You need execution.
And you need the willingness to be seen. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially when it’s uncomfortable.
At the end of the day, you’ve got a choice. You can be: The one creating or the one criticizing. The one building or he one nitpicking. The one moving forward or the one standing still, pointing fingers.
You don’t get to do both at a high level. So choose your lane. As for me?
I’ve chosen mine. I’ll be in the arena.
I’ll be making grammar mistakes. (Copiously, probably).
I’ll be sounding super nervous on video courses (cuz I am SUPER NERVOUS and hate the sound of my own voice).
I’ll be panicking when a certification course starts, and I’m unable to get my screen to share properly (happened Monday night).
I’ll be in mild freakout mode when, in the middle of a certification course session, my internet router drops dead and drops the call (happened in a recent SOFPM course).
I’ll be super upset with myself when I send a work email to a potential client from my iCloud instead of my DOLCOACH email account.
I’ll laugh at myself when I have to call my tech guy for help after mucking up something on my website (happens more than I’d like to admit).
I’ll be flabbergasted when I’m showing a PM Resource I created, and it breaks live during the demonstration (happened yesterday).
But then I’ll laugh at myself and get over it.
To those who support, engage, learn, and build alongside me… a massive and heartfelt THANK YOU.
To those still on the fence… come on in. There’s room for you, I promise.
And to the haters? I genuinely hope you find something worth building.
Because once you do… You won’t have time to worry about someone else’s comma. But, alas, here’s to you -> , ;
Stay the course. Keep the faith. Execute.
