I can't believe people can do that

I want to live in a world where we value wonder more than attention.

This goes both ways:

• We experience wonder, rather than melt our brains into a tiny screen as we waste away our attention. This feels like growth and expansion rather than hiding or withering.

• We create wonder in others, rather than constantly and aggressively scrambling for their attention. This feels like giving rather than taking.

I want to live in that kind of world. I want to build that kind of world. And I think this happens once we start to realize where the most value and meaning actually comes from when we experience something. The source of something's power isn't really the thing itself. The source of the power is that people decided to make it.

When I experience something, it carries more meaning and therefore does the job the thing is meant to do better because I can appreciate that people were behind this. In the same way a bot producing a sketch is less impressive than a human sketching by hand, it is human effort and striving and struggle that matters most when you create something meant to resonate. If you want to influence and inspire, if you want to build an audience of passionate fans and followers (at least one that doesn't make you want to walk slowly into the ocean most days), then we can't omit that part.

The proverbial "journey, not the destination" applies here a little bit. But mostly, it's a realization your audience has about the journey which separates truly resonant work from commodity material.

***

This week, I was grateful my family and I caught the livestream of the liftoff of NASA's Artemis II mission. (Thanks, Dad, for reminding me. I know you're reading this.)

(That's not sarcasm. I'm nothing if not the byproduct of two supportive parents!)

Anyway, in the moments leading up to the launch, you could hear astronauts, NASA representatives, and aerospace experts talking excitedly to the media about what to expect and why this was happening. Then, during liftoff and the moments thereafter, you could hear more chatter from people involved, whether from the control room or through additional media coverage. In all of that discussion, I was struck by something.

They didn't celebrate the achievements of technology. They celebrated the achievements of humankind. After all, when Neil Armstrong became the first human to step foot onto the moon, he said, "That's one small step for [a] man, one giant leap for mankind." But I just loved what I heard from people involved in the Artemis II mission. It felt familiar, like hearing people talk about the Olympics. This was a moment for humans.

They didn't applaud the achievements of metal and plastic. This wasn't a big moment for nuts and bolts. This launch didn't bring together a diverse array of rocket fuels to celebrate this milestone.

This was about people. People did this.

Wow. Incredible. In those moments, I felt a deeply rooted sense of wonder surround my person.

What if we appreciated everything the same way?

I'm so sick of people running around the internet going, "Look what AI can do!" I want to see what people can do. I want to see what YOU can do.

"I asked ChatGPT..." I don't care in the slightest. What did you ask yourself? How did you answer? What did you find awaiting you, once you decided to examine the contents of your heart? What are the truths you're sharing about your flesh and bones existence?

Give me THAT work. Let's build THAT world. I'm certainly going to try.

Some people are impressed when an AI tool pops out an animation of a robot running through the woods. I'm not. Not in the slightest. Big whoop. It's built to do that. It was programmed. It didn't make choices or face friction or self-doubt or competing priorities or peer pressure to do that, yet it emerged triumphant. You know who did? The team behind The Wild Robot. That's why lazy uses of AI makes me shrug and that movie made me cry. Err, uh, I mean, it was raining on my face. I had dust in my eye. It was the dog.

Shut up.

Watching the Artemis II, I had a familiar thought. This thought pops to mind whenever something resonates with me:

"I can't believe people can do that."

This, my friend, is the true source of something's power and meaning. It's why I feel so much wonder at the world. It's not the thing itself, the "face value" of it. It's the fact that human beings made a decision to do something. Then, so much — so very, very much — went into making it happen. They made choices, overcame a ton of internal and external friction, then created something, achieved something, and made me think and feel something. That required a heck of a lot from them to do it.

Meanwhile, we exist in a moment in the business world where content creators are effectively saying to others (as Brendan Hufford has said): "I deserve your time, but you don't deserve mine." What went into the work was virtually no effort, but people still expect others to spend time with it. That makes no sense.

But then I encounter something that moves me, and I'm back to thinking, "I can't believe people can do that."

The thing is, this thought evolves into two additional thoughts shortly after it arrives. The sentence sounds the same. What changes is the emphasis.

At first, it's about the thing I'm experiencing on face value:

"I can't believe people can do THAT."

The emphasis is on the piece, the project, the experience, the THAT. But then rather quickly, I start to realize, "Wait a second, this thing didn't just exist. It had to be thought out, designed, developed, shipped." The emphasis changes:

"I can't believe people can DO that!"

Wait a second, they chose to do that! They invested their finite energy and time on this earth to DO that. That's incredible! Yes, the thing itself is great, but the actions required to make it real? That's where the meaning comes from. I'm more impressed and moved because others had such commitment to do it, to pursue it, to try and fail and learn and try again. They chose to DO that. My appreciation runs deeper and the meaning feels grander than the face value of the thing (the "THAT" of it all) because of that journey (the "DO" of it all). And so I think, "I can't believe people can DO that!"

But then, dear reader, the sentence takes its final form. This is the best part. It's just ... delicious. Oh man. Oh, dearest reader of mine. It's THE best part. The BEST part.

To understand the best part, I need to share one quick tangent. Earlier in the week, days before we watched the Artemis II, I was showing my first-grade daughter, Aria, a music video from Coldplay. We'd heard their song "Higher Power" playing somewhere in the world, and she loved it, so later that day, I found ​the dance video on YouTube​. We sat there together, gawking at it.

It's here you need to know something about Aria: she's perfectly named.

We couldn't anticipate it, but we gave her a name connected to music, and she's blossomed into the most musical, creative little human. She is obsessed with listening to music, singing songs, and dancing. She's also bizarrely fluid and graceful and advanced in her dance moves and her ability to mimic a singer on stage. (People reading this who have met me in-person or watched me give a talk are screaming at the screen, "IT ISN'T THAT HARD TO UNDERSTAND, DUDE!" Yep, I get it: she got my wife's beauty and grace, and my desire for the spotlight. I love it.)

When Aria turned two, she began using random things around the house as microphones. Her grandparents then bought a plastic mic and mic stand, which became her favorite spot in the house during the pandemic. We have a million videos of her tiny vertical ponytail bouncing up and down as she sang along to any song she heard. She'd close her eyes, furrow her brow, grip the plastic blue mic with both hands, and dramatically sing U2's "Stuck in a Moment" and Elton John's "I'm Still Standing." (Thank you, Sing soundtrack.)

Once she got a little older, Aria discovered she could sing AND dance at the same time, and so she'd find literally any reflective surface and perform. This means for the last few years of my life, about three or four times a week, I stand at the kitchen sink washing dishes and receive a private musical performance courtesy of Aria, tearing it up in front of her reflection against the back door.

Between at-home performances and now dance classes and recitals, Aria has been all-in on musical performances. As she told me the other day, partway through popping and locking across the living room: "Daddy, I love to dance because it's how I EXPRESS."

My heart almost exploded out of my chest.

Back to the video. Aria and I watched the "Higher Power" dancers, and her jaw slowly dropped. She stood perfectly still for two minutes—an eternity for a seven-year-old. Then she asked me an important question:

"Are those people really doing that?"

Not because she thought it was fake, but because she wanted to know: Is this really possible? You can move like that? You can make a video like this? You can have a job like theirs? You can EXPRESS like they do?

Yes, Aria! Amazing, right?!

Satisfied with my answer, she shared the tiniest smile and softest giggle, then started twirling around the room.

That was two weeks ago. I've been thinking about that moment nonstop as I encounter things I love in the world. I'll watch a favorite show. Then a moving film. A YouTube video of an author delivering a keynote. I'll read a book. Then a newsletter from a friend. I'll see a clever caption on an Instagram reel. I ate dinner at a local sushi restaurant on a Wednesday and tried on a new jacket for date night on Friday. I enjoyed a latte with foam art. Munched on a pastry from the local bakery. Sifted through some drawings from my kids. Drifted to sleep playing to some music.

The Artemis II takes off.

"I can't believe people can do THAT."

Then the same thought starts to evolve.

"I can't believe people can DO that."

Then, dearest of all the readers, the most meaningful realization yet:

"I can't believe PEOPLE can do that."

And there it is.

The source of the meaning and power of a moment, a piece, a project, a mission.

People can do that. People.

"I can't believe PEOPLE can do that."

Because, hold up, wait a second, do you know what that means? I'm a people. You're a people. Aria is a people, albeit more graceful and beautiful than the other 8 billion. My son is a people too, although he's a much sillier little goober than the rest.

Your audience? People. That crowd for your keynote or webinar today, that prospect or customer, client or colleague? People.

"I can't believe PEOPLE can do that."

This matters, because it means WE matter. It's meaningful, because it means WE can create meaning. If PEOPLE can do that, imagine what YOU can do. Imagine what WE can do.

When I think to myself, "I can't believe people can do that," the meaning and value I receive shifts from the thing itself to the journey to create the thing to the creators of the thing. PEOPLE can do that.

That's when I feel the deepest form of wonder at this world.

And that's the kind of world I want to create for myself, create for others, create for my kids.

If PEOPLE can do that, that means *I* can do that! *YOU* can do that! *WE* can do that!

Look at what we're capable of.

Look at what's possible.

We can do THAT.

We can DO that.

WE can do that.

So what are we waiting for? Let's fucking do it.