We were sitting across each other in a Malay warung, 7.2 kilometers from the Kota Kinabalu airport, lips tingling from the spicy nasi lalap and icy mango sago we’d just devoured.
“So…let me get this straight.” Shawn leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the sticky table-top. “We’re meeting with Nick tomorrow, because you feel like we need an expert opinion on our email strategy before we go ahead with it.”
I nodded warily, and he continued: “But Gwen, what happens when we’re 8 weeks into the launch, and we hit another road-block? Would you need an expert to tell you what to do then, too?”
I knew where this was going. The rebuttal faltered on my lips; I already knew how silly it sounded. This always happened — his logic would trump my fears, but that didn’t stop them from rearing their ugly heads.
“Gwen.” He looked me in the eye, his ringed with exhaustion and pain from having to go through this cycle again.
“This is it. Our final attempt at launching something into the world.
We’ve had so many great ideas this year. Public communication workshops. Empathy Box Train-the-Trainers. Doing B2B sales as a service provider.
Yet all of them died before they could even catch a glimpse of the real world — because you were so afraid they would be a flop that you killed them before anyone else could.
But see: I’d rather try and fail, and learn from our failures, than not try at all.
I want you to imagine Tribeless as a ship.
As a ship, it should have been fulfilling its purpose — going out to sea. Braving the open ocean, navigating uncharted waters, rallying a crew that’s willing to do whatever it takes to survive.
But instead, it’s been wiling away its days in port. Focusing all its efforts on the littlest details — mending up holes, sewing up sails, and hosting monthly Tribeless Conversations — so we never need to ponder the bigger question of:
“What if? What if we set sail, and never came back? What would it look like? What would we do? Who would we be?”
And God knows how long we would’ve stayed that way, too, except for the fact that our ship is literally ON FIRE. Our finances are in the red. We just took on two more crew-members; two more lives to be responsible for.
If a significant sum of money doesn’t come in by September, we’re done for.
It would be so easy to throw in the towel now. To say, “Well, we’ve tried!”, step onto the jetty, and abandon our ship before ever having set sail on it.
But I’d rather sail out 30 meters in a burning vessel than spend my whole life in port.
At least I would’ve learned a little more. Seen a tiny bit more of the world.
And if I’m lucky, discovered a new way for us to stay afloat a little longer.
The world thinks we’re doing fine. They see us traveling to different countries; doing Tribeless Conversations every month. They think that’s all there is to us; to Tribeless.
You might believe that, too. But I don’t. I don’t want to limit myself to small-time conferences or pro-bono gigs. I don’t want to keep making day-trips around the cove, thinking I’ve traversed an ocean.
I want to make an impact. I want to live up to the names we call ourselves.
We say we’re a global movement, but what have we done to earn that title? So what if a handful of people from each country has experienced what we do?
It means nothing if we don’t push ourselves to do better; if we don’t give them everything we’ve got. And we’ve got so much to teach, to serve, to give.
We just haven’t been getting out of the damn port.
Oh Gwen, I know you’re scared. I am, too.
But frankly, I’m done with playing small. I’m sick of picking up scraps by the road-side, getting by on just RM1500 a month.
If we don’t get this launch out by this week, we’ll NEVER get it out.
Because we’ll just find another excuse. We’ll delay re-engaging our audience. We’ll postpone our re-entry into the world.
We’ll deny ourselves the opportunity of leaving a mark.
Gwen, let me be clear: This meeting with Nick is the last concession I’m giving you. Once we get the green light from him, it’s all systems go.
Like it or not, ready or not, this ship is setting sail.
It’ll be risky. There won’t be any guarantees. We may lose our way. We may lose our crew. Hell, we may even explode.
But at least we can say we’d have fulfilled our purpose — going out to sea.
The only question is — will you be on that ship with us?”
By the end of his soliloquy, I had tears in my eyes. I felt a cocktail of emotions: shame, grief, fear, relief. And something else I hadn’t felt in a while — heat. Passion. Drive. The stirrings of a fire, smouldering deep within me.
Bright enough to light up the night sky. Warm enough to soothe a nerve-bitten heart. Strong enough to tide me through.
I reached out to his hand; curled my fingers around his. My heart hammered in my throat as I spoke the words we’d been waiting to hear:
“I’m all in.”
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