Never stop never stopping

I just started the TV series, For All Mankind.

And it is INCREDIBLE!

At least, the first episode is. Everybody looks good at the starting line, though. So we’ll see.

Anyway, the series is a “what if” about the space race. 

In the first episode, we see the Soviet Union make it to the moon first. And it’s f*cking demoralizing to watch. 

But the main arc of the show is that the US doesn’t let that first failure define the race. The people at NASA get in gear and send Apollo 11 to the moon anyway. 

The show does an excellent job of making you feel how much it would suck to go ahead and keep fighting. Everyone in the program struggles to come up with the motivation they felt just days and weeks earlier.

While watching, I started thinking about all the times I quit in my life.

Mostly, it was after I “failed” to do something either better, first, or different enough.

But the real failure was that I didn’t keep trying. 

When I was 12, I started learning to play clawhammer banjo.

If you aren’t familiar, it’s this incredibly beautiful, rhythmic sounding way of playing the banjo.

I was enthralled and moved every time I heard it.

A family friend started coming by the house every Sunday night and showing me tunes and techniques. 

After 2 weeks of this, my little brother (age 8) started paying attention during these informal sessions.

And when I wasn’t around, he started playing my banjo. 

But, like waayyyyy better than me. He was a natural, and absolutely crushed it.

So, by week 4, the sessions started including him.

And I quit. 

I am super competitive. When I saw that Elijah was getting better, quicker, I decided to pivot. I started playing Scruggs-style banjo and never tried clawhammer again.

What an idiot. 

But even though I recognize the ridiculousness of this competitive, zero-sum way of thinking, I still fall into those feelings regularly. 

When I see someone with less time on social media doubling or 10xing my growth numbers, that nasty, competitive dragon rears its ugly head. 

Here’s the lesson I’ve learned though: 

We all have our own journey. And, as long as I don’t quit, I’ll get there. 

So, don’t be like a 12-year-old me. 

Be like Brendan Conlon in Warrior (one of the best movies of all time), and get back up each time you’re knocked down.

We’ll all get there. 

Later nerds,

Swanagan

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