Just give up all hope

How to go from an amateur to a pro.

I was 19 when I got “hope” tattooed on my arm.

It was my way of revolting against a world that felt too small. 

I couldn't, I didn’t want to fit in.

Inside I was a punk-rock drumming, basketball-dunking badass… on the outside, an ordinary, borderline boring, software engineer.

I wanted to change, to escape the Matrix, and I thought I could hope my way to becoming a professional, to truly do what I was supposed to do with my life, whether it was with basketball, drums, and years later copywriting. But hope has a way of keeping you coasting. It’s a leash that prevents you from living your best life. 

Like hoping the girl in your class will notice you as you telepathically communicate your undying love… Or the business you’ve been meaning to get off the ground, but don’t feel ready for… Or that touring musician life you’ve been dreaming of, but can’t commit to, yet.

Daydreaming, not feeling ready, inability to commit; all signs you’re hoping. And hope keeps you an amateur. 

Amateurs can and should hope though. It’s what gets you started. But the point is to not stay there longer than you need to.

Turning pro means, at some point, going from “I hope” to “I will”. 

I know of a guy who loved Italian espresso bars. He hoped for Americans to embrace that coffee culture, standing by the bar, quickly downing a shot of espresso before work. Little did he know that the Italian model would be a hard sell. American coffee lovers wanted a place that was neither home nor work, where they could unwind or catch up with friends. The guy was an amateur, and like all amateurs starting out, he had to get out of his own way. He had to forget what he was hoping for – and get real about what the world wanted from him.

That amateur was Howard Schultz, and he transformed Starbucks into a "third place" where people could relax, enjoy free Wi-Fi, and take as long as they wanted over their coffee. He said “Screw you, hope”, and started listening to the people he wanted to serve. That’s when he turned pro.

And that’s how we can all turn pro: we must give up hope.

Abandoning hope in search of the courage to take our ideas out into the wild. To expose them, and have other people tear them apart and criticize them. This is what turning pro means. It doesn’t mean getting paid for our work. We can turn pro, way before the first dollar.

When you’re an amateur, you seek validation, approval, and reward. Hope’s leash is a constant reminder that you can’t make it on your own. 

When you’re a pro, your only satisfaction is meeting your own standard, and letting the world see if it’s what they like, too. Hope is but a blip in the back of your brain. You can make it on your own, but everyone’s welcome for the ride.

We turn pro when we realize that the muddy, messy and uneven process – rather than the outcome, rather than that first dollar – is the actual goal. That a big part of it is giving up hope and getting your ideas, naked in front of other people. When we listen to what the world wants from us, rather than pretending we know it all. 

But oh, that can all be scary and dirty. So we lock up in our own sterile shell of protection. And keep hoping. Keep coasting.

Giving up hope takes curiosity. 

It takes vulnerability.

It takes courage.

I turned pro when I abandoned my idea of perfect, unadulterated progress, for imperfect, detached action. When I started to put myself and my ideas in front of other people. I turned pro when I stopped hoping for a future and started committing to a process. A process of putting stuff out into the world and letting it tell me if it’s what it needs.

I gave up hope in people liking everything about me. I gave up hope in clients dying to hire me. I gave up hope in women being magnetically pulled to me just because I exist. I gave up hope in magically forming good habits. I gave up hope in “my destiny” as a great copywriter…

…and I started doing the work.

As I write these words, I look down on my arm and realize that hope is a constant, inked reminder to stop living in what could be, and start shaping what I will make it to be.