I woke up in the middle of the night last night no less than ten times with new words, things to say or not say, wishes I wanted you to hear, stories that I didn’t. But after two cups of coffee and at least an hour of watching my cats screw around, I’ve decided to just start typing, speak only for myself, and see what comes.
Holly and I started HOME in July of 2015 when I was just a shaky few months sober. I knew nothing about podcasting (other than I loved Radiolab and WTF and On Being and that there was something special about the way we can experience this medium privately), but I did know I wanted to talk about this thing. Bad. Deeply. Loudly. The whole endeavor was new: equipment and speaking into a microphone and creating this type of content and collaborating on something so personal and using my voice to talk about things I had no idea how to talk about yet, or maybe ever. I had no expectation of what it would be, but every step was thrilling in the way that I've learned only creative endeavors can be thrilling.
2.5 years and 119 episodes later, this little pet project became A Thing. A thing that 10,000 people listened to every week (!). I got to meet a bunch of my heroes. I connected with so many of you (best part, hands down). Even if I wanted to rehash all that it’s been for me personally and professionally and emotionally and spiritually, I don’t think I could. It’s pushed me in ways I’ve never been pushed and revealed things to me about myself, relationships, creativity, human nature, business, and just life that are invaluable. It hasn’t all been good of course, but it’s been real. I am really proud of it. I’m also really proud to be walking away.
My message, if there is one, is this: GO OUT AND DO THINGS. Don’t pause and wait until you’re ready, or for the conditions to be perfect (they never will be), or until you know more or fear less. Go out and create something new, be willing to fail hard, fall on your face and enjoy the fuck out of surprises you never saw coming. Participate. Do things that will put you in a place to be surprised. Dare to assume the best. Dare to believe your voice is important. Take your precious life so seriously, but also remember, as often as you can, that this is all temporary. You can be serious about life and wear it lightly, too. It is all meant to be a gift, after all. I, for one, am lucky just to be here; I could’ve lost it all, but I didn’t. That will forevermore be my baseline.
I am going to keep creating. I am going to keep learning. I will fail terribly and make mistakes I’ve never made before and it will suck and it will be awesome. I love all of you. Thanks for hanging out over the years—it’s been a wild, magnificent ride.