A Letter to My Younger Self, the Day Before My First Upload

Dear 2018 Alex,

Tomorrow you're going to upload a three-minute video of a sunrise hike to YouTube. It has 47 views in its first month. You're going to feel like a failure. Don't.

Those 47 views are the beginning of everything. Not because they're impressive — they're not — but because you showed up. You made something from nothing, and you put it where the world could see it. That takes more courage than you realize right now.

Here's what I want you to know. In two years, you're going to quit your day job. It's going to be terrifying. You're going to have three months of savings and zero guarantee that this will work. Do it anyway.

In three years, you're going to have 100,000 subscribers and feel more lost than ever. The number won't matter because you'll have lost sight of why you started. Remember this: you started because you wanted to tell stories that mattered. The subscribers are a bonus, not the point.

In five years, you're going to stand on a stage and receive an award for work you're genuinely proud of. You're going to look out at the audience and see a kid in the third row who reminds you of yourself. That kid is going to ask you how to get started. Tell them the truth: just start. The rest figures itself out.

The most important thing I can tell you is this: the work that matters is the work that costs you something. The videos that make you vulnerable, the stories that scare you, the projects that push you past what you think you're capable of — that's where the magic lives. Stay uncomfortable. Stay curious. Stay kind.

And for the love of everything, invest in a better microphone sooner. Those early videos sound terrible.

See you on the other side, Future Alex