Feeling Lost? Return To The Start

Simple to say, hard to do.

Have you ever noticed how “simple ideas” are often complex to implement? A single starting point can branch into many directions as you progress through designing, problem-solving and building. A once-clear path can become blurred.

The same thing can happen bushwalking in remote areas. Animal trails can look like human trails. Vegetation and conditions change. What looked like a straightforward hike on the map soon proves otherwise.

When that happens, you have two choices. Thrash around trying to find a way forward and risk getting more lost. Alternatively, you can return to the start or the last known point of certainty and begin again.

I always choose the latter; otherwise, problems compound problems.

This week, I began mapping out the next iteration of my book, Dare To Be Your Boldest. It’s challenging, indeed frustrating, to go back to square one, but that’s what I’ve chosen to do.

Each time I return to the start, I have the chance to choose a better route and a more effective way to reach my destination, and that’s precisely what’s unfolded this week.

I lost sight of why.

One aspect I aim to improve in this iteration is the book’s utility, answering the question, “Why does it need to exist?”.

I have felt frustrated by Dare for a while because it lacks obvious utility.

I like to build things that are useful to people and serve a practical purpose. It’s a fundamental part of my nature. I’m not one of the crowd that can dedicate time and resources to creating art for art’s sake. Eventually, the trail has to swing back toward purpose, value and utility.

I recognise that utility can come in many different forms. Art—be it literary, musical, or a child’s crayon sketch pinned to the fridge—can stimulate fresh perspective and consideration. It leads to new thinking, fresh connections, and possibly a whole new life path. Exploring has value; exploration is art’s utility.

Yes, I understand all of that.

I have experienced it all first-hand.

I have flipped and flopped through different options for Dare, tested some ideas, and implemented others. All that experimentation has led to invaluable learning, new skills, and new perspectives.

Yet, ask me how I envisage people gaining value from Dare, and until this week, I couldn’t answer you in any great detail.

Value is in the eyes of the openminded.

Whenever I ponder questions about value, my mind drifts to the story of my great-great-grandfather. He was an Italian gold prospector who arrived in Australia in the 1860s after travelling from the goldfields of South Africa to join the gold rush in Victoria.

He got wind of some discoveries up north and followed the rumours across the border into NSW. He liked the countryside; it reminded him of the goldfields in South Africa, so he pegged a lease and sunk a mine.

He persisted for a few years with no luck. Well, he had some luck. He found silver, which was of little relative value, but no gold.

One day, a gentleman approached him, offering money for his lease. It wasn’t much, but enough to convince him to sell.

“Good luck with it,” he reportedly said, “There’s no gold here.”

And he was right.

They never found gold.

However, that gentleman was part of the syndicate of seven men who formed the Broken Hill Proprietary. The BHP is now one of the largest mining companies in the world. My great-great-granddaddy had sunk the first mine at Silverton and then sold it for a pittance.

That’s the problem with my utility filter. It limits my worldview and prevents me from seeing other forms of value. I risk spending my time searching for gold and totally missing the opportunity with silver.

I found my ‘why’ again, back at the start.

Understanding the value and utility of Dare is essential. I’m not writing it purely for amusement; I want to sell Dare and see others benefit from the work. I get so much joy when I witness people doing their version of extraordinary, fulfilling dreams an aspirations they have secretly held onto for years.

Utility also gives me a focal point for writing. Dare To Be Your Boldest is a decade-long story about when I learned to trust myself fully. That time span gives almost endless options for exploring storylines, anecdotes, and characters. Without a clear focal point, the story could easily wander into the never-never, resulting in a book thicker than Tolstoy’s War and Peace and far less digestible.

I define utility by how and when people will pick up the book and read it. During the past few weeks, I’ve spent quality time watching people interact with books. I’ve noted when and where books show up in people’s lives.

Books have appeared in parks and under trees while readers snack on lunch. They have travelled in the back seats of cars, in handbags, and backpacks. I’ve seen them in every kitchen and lounge room I’ve entered and around 50% of the bathrooms.

I want Dare to join the reader under a tree or along a trail as they venture through its pages for the first time. Then, it will wait on a table, next to a desk, or at the bedside for a time when self-doubt or low motivation bites. Then, the reader will pick it up and flick to the relevant section to remember and get moving again.

Mulling those scenes in my mind gave me the answers and direction for this next iteration of Dare.

I will write it as a Pocket Guide—an enjoyable, practical, and playfully compact guide to conquering moments of self-doubt.