I was catching up with someone recently I deeply respect, and somewhere in the conversation, the topic of being all in came up. They were considering a possible lateral career move, and I was helping them talk through it.
On paper, there was some real upside.
Potentially more money.
A different opportunity.
A chance to build something new.
But there was also a significant cost. They would be leaving a team they had worked with for nearly 12 years. Twelve years is a long time. That kind of history isn’t something you simply put in a box and carry with you to the next opportunity.
And then there was another consideration.
Their current company had made several decisions over the last year that had resulted in the loss of three major clients. Decisions that they had no control over.
Ouch.
So we talked through the risks and the fears. We explored the upside, the loyalty and the possibility of something better. And, somewhere in the middle of the conversation, they said something that stopped me.
“I’ve always had one foot out the door.”
They weren’t saying it with judgment. It was more of an observation. A pattern they had noticed throughout their career. Then came the question:
“What would happen if I FULLY COMMITTED to this in the way you do with other areas of your life?”
That one stayed with me.
Because I realized I had spent a lot of time thinking about commitment as though it were something I either did or didn’t do. But maybe that’s not actually the question. Maybe the question is:
What do I need to see before I’m willing to commit?
Because I have absolutely gone all in before. I have rearranged my entire life around a company in its early stages. I have taken risks, moved things around, made sacrifices.
Believed in the vision before there was much evidence that the vision would work.
I have been all in professionally. I’ve done it with people I believe in. I’ve done it with ideas that mattered to me.
So why then, when it came to romantic relationships in the past 6 years, did I seem to have an entirely different operating system?
Why was I willing to rearrange my life for a company that was still trying to prove itself…
…but unwilling to stay when a relationship became uncertain?
Why could I tolerate ambiguity in business but not in love?
And then I realized:
Maybe I needed proof of concept.
Not proof that the person was perfect. Not proof that the relationship would never hurt. Not proof that there would never be conflict.
Something much simpler.
I needed evidence that the thing we were building actually worked. That the investment was reciprocal. That the vision aligned. That when I moved closer, they moved closer too. But also that when I made room, they didn’t simply occupy the space and take away from me.
Because there is a difference between being afraid of commitment and being unwilling to commit to something that hasn’t demonstrated that it can hold your commitment.
Those are not the same thing. And I think we confuse them.
Discernment
Sometimes staying is abandoning yourself in the name of proving that you’re capable of commitment.
That’s a very different thing.
We tell ourselves that if we were really committed, we’d stay. That we will try harder. That we’ll give things more time. That we’ll believe. And sometimes that’s exactly what commitment requires.
But sometimes staying isn’t commitment. It’s about when the effort is mutual. When the people involved are willing to make decisions that protect the future they are trying to create and the goals they are trying to pursue.
I don’t need certainty. But I do need evidence: of alignment, reciprocity and building.
Maybe that’s my version of proof of concept. And perhaps that’s why this particular conversation nudged at me. Because maybe I was asking myself the wrong question.
I wasn’t afraid of going all in. I’ve done that many times. The real question was:
What am I willing to risk before I have proof that the thing I’m investing in is viable?
And perhaps that’s an even bigger question: What kind of proof do I actually need?
Because with proof of concept:
You don’t need the finished product.
You don’t need guaranteed success.
You don’t need every variable accounted for.
You need enough evidence to believe that continuing to invest Makes Sense.
I’ve spent a lot of my life being incredibly courageous about taking risks. But courage without discernment becomes self-abandonment. On the flip side — discernment without courage can become self-avoidant.
There is a sweet spot somewhere in between.
Go all in when there is something worth building. But don’t confuse going all in with ignoring what the thing is showing you.
Success isn’t one-dimensional — neither am I
After we wrapped up the conversation I was reflecting on something they said to me. That I’m not one dimensional. It felt nice to be seen in that way. And then I started reflecting on what it means to have a successful life.
Maybe success isn’t about choosing one thing and giving it everything you have. Maybe it’s about having enough self-trust to let the different parts of you exist fully.
You can be successful in career and devote to your creativity.
You can build your business and your body.
You can pursue your ambitions and your relationships.
You can be committed without being blindly loyal.
You can stay without abandoning yourself.
You can leave without being afraid of commitment.
And, you can ask, “is this still worthy of my investment?”
What if being all in doesn’t mean giving everything to one thing?
What if being all in means being fully present for the life you’re actually choosing to build?
