After months and months of waiting… my Peloton has finally arrived!

I’ve already noticed how competitive the leaderboard is. One minute into the warmup and the keeners are already going ham, fighting for the top spot by squeezing in extra points wherever they can. I can picture exactly who this type of person is and, not surprisingly, I’m reminded of the years I did Crossfit.

Same beast, different equipment.

Before every Crossfit workout it was hammered into us that the goal was not to finish first on the leaderboard. The only competition was with ourselves and the goal was to finish better than our own previous time. 

For this reason, I was always fascinated by the leaderboard during competitions—where a judge is counting the reps, not the athlete—and how different those rankings turned out versus in class.

Those little shortcuts, inflated scores, and poor techniques don’t stand a chance on the main stage. And yet, there’s always someone sacrificing actual growth for appearances during the months leading up.

It’s our competitive nature, isn’t it? To want to be first, the expert in our niche, the youngest, richest, and most woke bajillionaire.

I’ve been simmering on an idea from last week’s newsletter: how the value of creating content is to build our voice and explore new areas of our mind, not to flaunt our superiority or build a following.

It’s been hammered into us to find a niche, brand ourselves as the “expert” in our industry, and to create educational content that will position us as an authority.

And if you don’t want to follow this advice? It’s almost always that you’re “too insecure” and have a limiting belief that’s stopping you from owning your worth like the boss babe that you are (!!!!!)

Several months ago, I shared my inner battle of feeling like I needed to brand myself as a partnerships expert or a project management expert. I just couldn’t do it. Logically, I couldn’t articulate why at the time, but my gut knew that this industry norm felt wrong to me. It was only over the past few days that I had the big “oh shit!” moment where I put two and two together. 

Branding myself as an expert would not make me stand out, it would turn me into a commodity. All aboard the entrepreneurial escalator! Of having to show up online multiple times per day just to stay relevant, of having to explain and prove your worth over and over again, and as the cherry on top, having your prices undercut by competitors.

That’s going to be a big fucking NO-THANK-YOU for me!

When I look at the people I truly admire, the ones I’ve been following for years and whose words I hang onto like they’ll be the last words ever spoken, I can’t actually think of what their “expert” title is.

What I can do though, is describe in obsessive detail how they think about the world, what they stand for, and how their work has helped me to show up more authentically in whatever path I choose to pursue. They’re not arrogant enough to think that their life is the best way to live, nor that their business is the best way to build a business, nor that their tactics are the only ones to follow.

Instead of becoming a commodity, they are a category of one.

And when you’re a category of one? You don’t need to be the loudest or the most widely known. You just need to be well known by a small group of your people. Not famous, just familiar.

An introvert’s dream, right?!

I’m only two months into building my business, but it already feels magical. A place I’m excited to come to every morning, not a chore I have to drag myself towards. I’m building slow, I’m building small, but I’m also building massive momentum. Two things that can very much exist simultaneously.

I don’t care to be at the top of the leaderboard if it involves cheap tactics and selling your soul.

I’m happy right where I am, the underdog, in control of what business I build, how I show up, and how I live my life.

No “expert” title in sight and not a single dull Instagram post about the services I offer.

Here’s my promise to you: the day I start writing boring drivel online is the day I’m unplugging from wifi and moving to the woods to raise chickens.