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The band and I had been working tirelessly on our music for more than a year. We had recorded and re-recorded the songs over and over.

"It's not perfect," I would say every time my drummer asked when we were finally going to move into action—touring, promotion, all of it.

All that preparation helped me cope with my fears, I admit. Back then, I probably wouldn't have said it out loud, but I'm comfortable accepting my shortcomings now: the fear of exposure, the fear of failure, the fear of reality.

You see, while we were spending our time in the studio making music, writing songs, and perfecting riffs, judgment was delayed.

Whether the music was any good, whether I actually had something to offer the world, remained unknowable because... it wasn't ready yet.

The moment it became ready, the moment we said, "Let's go," ignorance could no longer shield my ego. I was going to find out whether what we had created had any value.

I'm thinking about this today because this sort of modus operandi isn't rare. As a matter of fact, I'm willing to bet it's quite common. Perhaps it's even something we've evolved to do in order to protect our fragile identities.

Putting yourself out there requires a certain level of "who cares," or you simply won't survive the reaction of the would-be consumers of your work.

Whether it's music, writing, videos, or yes, software, you have to reach a point where rejection, indifference, or even hostility doesn't define who you are.

Easy to do? Of course not.

Necessary? I'd say so.

Maybe a lot of projects and a lot of promises are suffering from this exact dynamic.

"I have a great idea, but now is not the time."

That's the chorus of a song many of us know by heart.

I'm certainly finding myself singing that tune, but because I recognize it, I'm going to force myself to change the station.

Some of you might know that my brother and I spent the last year building a ride-sharing app. It's ready—or at least the MVP is—but we've been waiting.

To be fair, *I've* been waiting.

Waiting for the weather to change.

The markets have been a sea of red, and it's hard to get inspired. I admit that.

But here's the deal: should I care? Should we care?

What if nothing changes?

What if the market keeps claiming victims?

Am I supposed to dump all that effort into the binary bin?

That hardly seems wise.

Tonight, since my brother is visiting, we're going to sit down with the owner of a local taxi company and have a conversation.

What happens after that?

Who knows.

But I think I'm done waiting for green candles.

And who knows...

Maybe when we stop letting red candles dictate our movements, the green ones start showing up.

Or maybe that's just copium possessing my fingers.

MenO