Brilliant ideas don’t start brilliant.

They start lonely. Ugly. Scary.

The first time you share something that matters, it will be misunderstood. It will feel like a punch in the gut.

And your instinct will be to shrink. To cry. To quit.

But that moment—that heartbreak—is the cost of entry.

Every meaningful idea feels dumb before it feels right.

I study innovation. I live this life.

And I still get that ping of doubt, that wave of embarrassment, every time I propose something weird.

Even Roman numerals on bricks.

The truth is, creativity only grows when the environment makes it safe to look foolish.

Your job isn’t to look smart. It’s to create space for weird ideas to breathe.

That’s what I’m building.

That’s what I’m still learning to do.