someday..

Here's a fun game:

Think about the thing you've been "meaning" to do for years.

Now count how many birthdays have passed since you first said you'd start.

Hurts a little, right?

We've all got one. A script. A song. A side project. A business.

We carry it around like an unopened gift, waiting for the perfect moment. The day we finally have the time, the money, the "readiness" we imagine we'll wake up with one morning.

But here's the thing: you never feel ready.

And if you're waiting for someone to hand you a permission slip… you're already the principal. You've been holding the pen this whole time.

I've been guilty of this for years. I'd call myself a "future" filmmaker. A "future" writer. A "future" builder. Future, future, future — until one day I realized future was just a polite word for never.

Then I heard this thing from Robert Rodriguez (yes, the Spy Kids guy):

"If you want to be a filmmaker, call yourself a filmmaker. From day one. Then go make something. People will ask where your movie is, and you'll have to make one."

That's when it clicked. You don't become something after doing it a hundred times.

You become it the moment you decide you are it.

Recently, Naval Ravikant posted a short clip that basically hit me in the chest. He said something I've felt for a while: today, most of us learn for learning's sake. We collect information like trading cards. We finish courses, listen to podcasts, read books — but the knowledge just sits there, unused.

And when knowledge sits unused, it rots.

I've seen this in my own life. A while ago, my friend Jake, me, and a few others started a niche little group about becoming better listeners. It was this nerdy, wholesome thing. We'd hop on calls, set "homework," and give ourselves tasks. It was well-intentioned… but not fun. There was no real outcome. It was just meetings about meetings. Eventually, I left.

Compare that to what I'm doing now:

Pick a mini project. Set a deadline. Ship it.

When I started Charizma through Buildspace in 2023, I paused everything else — other businesses, half-finished projects — and went all-in on building tech. In six weeks, we had a real product. Real people were using it. People I respected. Some even wanted more. It blew my mind how fast it happened.

And here's the thing: that short sprint taught me more than any "how to build a product" course ever could. First, because a course like that doesn't really exist — all the most valuable, specific knowledge is hidden in the doing. And second, even if it did exist, you still learn faster when you're building something that's actually alive in the world.

That's why I've stopped reading books and "studying" for the sake of it.

Now, I only learn by making something real. It's way more fun. Way more impactful.

And here's the part where we have to call ourselves out: we all love to say school teaches in impractical ways. I literally dropped out of college because of that. But then… we grow up and do the exact same thing. We read endlessly. We plan forever. We label ourselves "aspiring" this and "future" that.

Meanwhile, years go by.

Here's the truth: we live in the most permissionless era in human history — and yet somehow our brains still convince us we need permission. Permission from a big investor. Permission from a Hollywood studio. Permission from a publisher.

These "gatekeepers" are just incumbents.

They're slower, safer, more afraid than you think.

Meanwhile, you've got social media. You've got YouTube. Camera on your phone that beats Hollywood studios from the 90s., open-source tools, no-code builders. For every excuse about needing permission, I can almost guarantee there's already a permissionless way to start — today.

And waiting won't make you better.

Taking shots will.

If you honestly can't find a way to start something without permission, email me.

I'll build the workaround myself.

The making part is messy. The first tries are awkward. But it's also ridiculous fun — like making a short film with your best friend on a Saturday just because. No deadlines. No investors. No LinkedIn announcement. Just the pure rush of "we're actually doing this."

So here's my nudge to you (and honestly, to myself every single day): Stop waiting for the big break, the green light, the cosmic alignment. Pick the smallest possible version of your idea and make it this week. Write the first paragraph. Shoot the first scene. Publish the first post.

Because one day, you're going to look back and realize that all those "someday" ideas were either the start of something magical… or a pile of unopened gifts you never let yourself unwrap.

Choose magic.

go do the thing my friend.

Life's too short to be aspiring anything.