“What would you make if you trusted that someone else was waiting for it, too?”
- Where to go.
- What to bring.
- What will happen.
- What’s expected.
“What would you make if you trusted that someone else was waiting for it, too?”
- It wasn’t a riddle.
- It wasn’t a slogan.
- It was a tuning fork—one that only resonated with people who had been quietly waiting for it.
“What would you make if you trusted that someone else was waiting for it, too?”
That was the question my characters Jonas and Scott asked in The Echo and the Voice—not just of others, but of themselves. And though it unfolds inside a fictional world, that question emerged from a very real place.
We live in a world where most creative work is shaped by the expectations of a system.
- A marketplace.
- An audience.
- An algorithm.
- A template optimized for “what works.”
When accountants and attorneys run creative industries, formulas replace vision.
- We get safe stories. Familiar tropes.
- Sequels to sequels.
- Songs designed to sound like other hits.
- Because repetition is bankable—even if it’s bankrupting something essential.
But what happens when we stop creating to succeed and start creating to listen?
Jonas and Scott are both system thinkers—one from music, the other from yoga and facilitation.
Together, they decided to host a gathering. Not a performance. Not a program.
Just a space.
They knew they didn’t want to define it. So instead, they designed the invitation around a single, unsettling, soul-stirring question:
“What would you make if you trusted that someone else was waiting for it, too?”
- Not because it would sell.
- Not because it would go viral.
- But because someone—somewhere—needed it.
- Even if they didn’t know it yet.
And in the story, that question becomes the catalyst for something beautiful:
People showing up not to teach, or lead, or pitch.
But to remember.
I believe we need spaces like this in the real world.
- Spaces that don’t sell us something.
- Spaces that don’t shout.
- Spaces that aren’t optimized for attention, but for resonance.
That’s why I’m sharing this now—before the book is even finished.
Because if this question lands with you, it might be calling you to make something you’ve been carrying for years.
Something the world has no genre for… yet.
But someone—someone—is waiting.
So I’ll ask you the same question Jonas and Scott asked:
“What would you make if you trusted that someone else was waiting for it, too?”
That’s not a slogan. It’s a doorway.
And you’re invited to step through.
