This is a giraffe... but it looks like a ?

The Rough Draft is the Final Draft… for Now

Will it ever be perfect?

This letter isn’t perfect. It’s a rough draft.

One of about 30 failed attempts.

Attempts at crystallizing a framework, an untested theory that hasn’t yet felt the pressure of the real world.

Maybe it needs a disclaimer at the front:

I tell my men all the time:

If only I followed my own advice.

The truth is, I can feel the whole picture, like a dream. The brilliance, the chaos, the essence, it’s all there.

But when I try to capture it, to give it form, it slips through my hands.

It’s like that giraffe.

Bright yellow, covered in orange spots, suspiciously phallic with a smile stretched across its face.

The very best attempt of a five year old.

Beautiful fridge art.

At the time, that giraffe was the best that could be done.

The most complete version of the idea in mind, drawn with the tools, the skills and the references available to a 5 year old.

Phallus and all.

At some point, though, we start trashing our own giraffes.

We stop putting them on the fridge.

We get critical. We overthink. We revise, polish, and refine, telling ourselves it’s not ready yet.

I’ve paralyzed myself in the polishing of these lines, blurred the boundary between personal excellence and perfectionism.

Can you imagine standing over that giraffe drawing, looking down at what was, in fact, the very best attempt at a final draft and saying:

And yet we do it all the time.

Every time we wait. Every time we procrastinate. Every time we hold back the thing we’re working on because it isn’t quite perfect.

We bury it.

Back into the recesses of our imagination. We put it next to all the other rough drafts and crumpled sketches, buried beneath “practical,” “realistic,” and “responsible.”

We say:

But the truth is: It’s all a rough draft. The only final copy is the last one we publish.

None of us know how long we have, that rough draft might in fact be the very last attempt at sharing the gift.

Perfecting? Yes. Perfect? Never.

Your giraffe might be a blog post, a book, a conversation, a fitness goal, or a business idea.

Whatever it is, it doesn’t need to be perfect.

It just needs to be shared.

Send It. Today.

The product, the idea, the sketch, the service, whatever it is, it only gets better when it’s shared.

You are the creator and the critic, and you’re too close to separate the art from the utility.

If it keeps dying with you, it never grows.

Something happens in the publishing process, it’s hard to describe but this is where the spirit of creation takes over.

The Muse, magic, inspiration and mastery all intersect, refinement happens through what it reflects in others, not what you see in the darkness of your own mind.

Send it, even if it is ugly fridge art.

Send it anyway.

This is as much a reminder for me as it is for you.

I started this newsletter on January 1st last year with one goal: 52 letters in 52 weeks.

I sent a little over 30.

The rest? Rough drafts. Almost there, but not quite. Crumpled sketches and unfinished thoughts that I buried because they didn’t feel good enough.

As if “good enough” is some measurable, quantifiable standard.

As if I know what the final draft will look like, how long I have to share it, or if that even matters.

What I do know is this:

There is a gift in sending it.

Raw, unfinished, imperfect, imaginative, and yes, sometimes phallic.

Pure, not perfect.

This is my challenge to you, and a reminder to myself:

Send it.

• Publish the post.

• Start the project.

• Make the call.

• Write the draft.

• Build the business

Do the thing.

Because it’s not about the final copy.

It’s about the process, and who you become when you let it go.

The gift dies, the art fades, the wisdom is lost unless you share it.

Send it. Today.

Much love and many blessings,

E