Do What You Can, With What You Have

You might need better equipment eventually. Right now, you might just need to begin.

I arrived in Miami with $121 and a backpack.

No impressive résumé. No established professional network. No carefully documented five-year plan.

One hundred and twenty-one dollars.

Which, even back then, wasn't exactly a compelling investment portfolio.

I didn't have the resources I thought successful people needed. But I did have the ability to learn, work, figure things out, and occasionally make a questionable decision with extraordinary confidence.

Some of those decisions worked.

Others provided educational experiences I would have preferred to receive at a considerably lower price.

But I started.

And over the years, I've become convinced of something that doesn't get nearly enough attention in conversations about success.

Resources won't make you resourceful.

I've met people with enormous advantages who couldn't make progress without another tool, another employee, another meeting, or another person telling them what to do.

I've also met people with almost nothing who could make an entire operation work with a borrowed laptop, an unreliable internet connection, and sheer determination.

Somehow, they figure it out.

Not because having fewer resources is inherently better. It isn't. Money, time, education, relationships, and access can make an enormous difference.

But having those things doesn't automatically teach you how to use them.

And lacking them doesn't mean you're incapable of making progress.

The equipment you need to begin

I've been thinking about this a lot while learning to create videos.

Because apparently, making a two-minute video now requires the logistical planning of a small television network.

You need a camera.

A microphone.

Lighting.

A tripod.

A teleprompter.

Editing software.

A content calendar.

Possibly a second phone so you can film yourself using the first phone.

And somewhere, while you're comparing tripods, someone else has already recorded six videos with their phone resting on a stack of books.

The books aren't even arranged attractively.

Disrespectful, really.

Their camera is the same camera you've been carrying around in your pocket for three years. Their lighting comes from a window. Their editing is basic.

But they have something you don't.

Six published videos.

Meanwhile, you've learned the differences between twelve microphones and haven't recorded a single sentence.

Your phone camera is probably fine.

The natural light in front of your window is perfectly usable.

Sitting in your car because it's the only quiet place you can find? Wonderful. Some excellent conversations happen in parked cars.

The audience is generally more interested in whether you have something worth saying than whether your lighting equipment came with a carrying case.

And if your message isn't working, a more expensive tripod is unlikely to develop an argument on your behalf.

You will be sold to before you make your first sale

Here's another reality of trying to build something.

Before you sell your first product, attract your first customer, or earn your first dollar, an extraordinary number of people will attempt to sell you the things you supposedly need to succeed.

The course.

The software.

The template.

The mastermind.

The automation.

The funnel.

The system that promises to replace the previous system you bought approximately eleven days ago.

It's an entire economy built around helping people prepare to begin.

And to be fair, some of these tools and services are genuinely valuable.

Good education can shorten your learning curve. The right software can save hours. Experienced professionals can help you avoid expensive mistakes.

But not every problem requires a purchase.

Sometimes you don't need a better system.

You need to use the one you already have.

Sometimes you don't need another course.

You need to apply something from the last three.

And sometimes the person selling you the solution has built a considerably more profitable business selling solutions than you have built using them.

There's a lesson in there somewhere.

I don't begrudge people for selling useful products. I build software myself. I understand what good tools can make possible.

What bothers me is the suggestion that you can't make progress until you've bought everything on the recommended list.

That's a very convenient argument for the people selling the list.

The expensive comfort of preparation

Preparation feels productive.

You're researching. Organizing. Comparing. Planning. Improving.

You're doing things.

And because you're doing things, it can feel as though you're moving forward.

But preparation has a peculiar ability to expand until it consumes all the time you intended to spend actually doing the work.

I've experienced this firsthand.

You start with a simple idea.

Then you discover a tool that could make it better.

That tool needs another tool.

The second tool requires an integration.

The integration introduces a problem.

Now you need an automation.

And three weeks later, you have an elaborate system for managing something you haven't actually proven anybody wants.

But the dashboard is beautiful.

I've learned to be suspicious of anything that makes me feel incredibly productive without producing a meaningful result.

Because sometimes, you become addicted to the process instead of committed to the outcome.

There's always another improvement available.

Another feature.

Another version.

Another reason to delay putting your work in front of someone who might reject it.

And that's the uncomfortable part.

As long as you're preparing, your idea can remain perfect.

Once you publish, launch, sell, or ask someone to pay for it, reality gets a vote.

A very inconvenient vote.

Test the idea before you finance the dream

I understand the temptation to buy your way into feeling ready.

New equipment makes the project feel serious.

A beautiful website makes the business feel established.

An expensive subscription makes you feel as though you've invested in your future.

But spending money doesn't automatically reduce uncertainty.

Sometimes it just makes uncertainty more expensive.

If you want to create content, make a few videos before building a studio.

If you want to launch a service, speak to prospective clients before spending months creating the perfect website.

If you want to sell a product, find out whether someone will pay for it before building every feature you can imagine.

Use the resources available to get enough information to make your next decision.

Then improve what actually needs improving.

That doesn't mean you should never invest.

Eventually, better tools can make an enormous difference. A reliable microphone, effective software, professional support, or properly designed systems can remove friction and improve the quality of your work.

But the investment should solve a problem you've encountered, not one someone has convinced you that successful people are supposed to have.

And going into debt to create the appearance of a fully established business before you've tested whether anyone wants what you're offering is a particularly expensive form of optimism.

Resourcefulness isn't glamorous

I think people sometimes misunderstand what it means to be resourceful.

They imagine a person who can solve anything, work endless hours, and somehow produce extraordinary results without help.

That's an exhausting standard.

Resourcefulness is often much less dramatic.

It's asking a question.

Finding a workaround.

Learning something unfamiliar.

Using the equipment you already own.

Making an imperfect first version.

Knowing when to ask for help and when to stop researching and make a decision.

It's being willing to look like a beginner long enough to become competent.

And importantly, it's recognizing when you've reached the limit of what you can reasonably do alone.

I've spent years building businesses, managing transactions, learning technology, and figuring out work I had no formal roadmap for.

Some of that experience came from necessity.

Some came from curiosity.

And some came from being too stubborn to accept that the absence of an obvious solution meant there wasn't one.

I don't romanticize having limited resources.

I've had enough financial uncertainty to know that having money makes many problems considerably easier.

But I've also learned that the ability to think, adapt, and execute is something worth developing regardless of how much money you have.

Because a person who knows how to make progress with limited resources is often much better positioned to use greater resources when they become available.

Start with what you have. Then earn the upgrade.

Maybe the video you record in your car isn't very good.

Record another.

Maybe the first version of your product is embarrassingly simple.

Find out whether it solves a real problem.

Maybe your first website isn't particularly beautiful.

See whether someone understands what you're offering.

You can improve the presentation.

You can buy better equipment.

You can hire help.

You can build the elaborate system later, once you know what the system actually needs to accomplish.

I wish I could tell my 18-year-old self that having fewer resources didn't mean I had to wait for permission to become capable.

But I suspect she already understood that part.

She was too busy figuring out how to make $121 last long enough to create the next opportunity.

And that, more than any course, piece of equipment, or beautifully designed dashboard, is what I keep coming back to.

Do what you can, with what you have.

Then do it again with what you've learned.

Eventually, the resources may catch up.

But you don't have to wait for them to begin.