Doing what you love comes at a cost. The cost is vulnerability, a strange boldness that turns into an intimate excitement usually kept for the self—until it’s shared of course. It also takes an immense amount of guts to embody something that doesn't feel expected or appropriate. When you know what you love, it can consume you. You want to talk about it, you want to learn more about it, and you want to find people in that similar realm so you can just be around them, dwelling in this midst. But a bigger cause about doing what you love is doing what you love well. And for me, intimidation has become the main motivation in my work and art.
To feel intimidated is to feel like there’s more to learn. At least that’s what I’ve felt about it. I want to be better all the time. We all have our standards of what we think is “our best.” In a world of comparison, social media, and ever-growing industries of creativity and innovative ideation, the pool of people following their dreams is large and it’s becoming seemingly more impossible to be original or special. Maybe this has been the reality throughout all of history, but it feels extra dense these days and in a city like this bustling and glamorized one. But at the end of the day, we should do what we love because it can enable us to make a difference. Somehow, in some shape or form, what we love should be impacting, which to me is success.
When I think about the people who have intimidated me (be it friends or even strangers) the majority of them share a trait. There is a certainty about them. Take away all negative hues of this word and redirect it to this simple thought—whoever intimidates you is one hundred percent the opposite of insecure and timid. They have fervor; they have a knowing look when they are doing their work—when they are operating at their best. And I think it’s extremely important to be around these people. People who intimidate you are successful. They thrive in their own curated way. And if we want to be people who excel at our art, flourish in our business, we need to embrace intimidation and find it as an interaction that invites a process of evaluation and refining. When we seek this dynamic, when we identify intimidation in this way, we are able to recognize what ignites within us; we learn of an intimate and immovable delight.
I’ve always been intimidated by art, music, design (you name it) and the artists behind it. Now I do music full-time. Always seek intimidation, because it’s vulnerable, because it’s costly and because it’s a direct path to a self-assurance only you can mold and make good. Intimidation is necessary thing. And it tells us what makes our insides light up and draws us closer to what we know might burn us but at the end of the day, is the only thing truly worth obsessing over.