What Are You Avoiding Because It Might Actually Work?
and also giving yourself more options for how work looks
What Are You Avoiding Because It Might Actually Work?
It’s such a therapy question, or a coaching question, but it’s been in my head for the past week, or months, as I’ve become more comfortable being myself in public. Putting my own perspective out there, being my full, honest, creative self, just feeling comfortable in my own verbal skin. You mostly see my writing, you see me in Notes, talking and thinking out loud, but not always the full me.
I realized I’d been avoiding that.
Last year I was deep in comparison mode. I was looking at people building their one-person businesses, the solopreneurs I admired, and noticing how traditional their professionalism still felt. Many came out of more corporate worlds, with that kind of upbringing and training, and I wasn’t seeing many people like me: someone fully embracing both sides.
On one side, the entrepreneurial, business-building self; on the other, the more intuitive, artist-brain side.
One of the first people I saw doing that was Joe Burns , when I found him on LinkedIn last year. He stood out so much because LinkedIn is mostly everyone doing the same old, polished, professional-slop thing, and Joe was both: sharp and intelligent, but also a singular, recognizable voice that could only be Joe Burns. I wrote a LinkedIn post about “mentors who don’t know I exist,” and he was one of them. Then we met up for pints and became friends.
I was hesitant to show my true Kel-core™️ self this specific balance of entrepreneurial spirit and artist brain. I don’t want to build an empire; I want to build a small, intentional world of my own making. I like the scale where I can fully see my ideas through without someone looking over my shoulder or handing me feedback that smooths away all the interesting parts. Or break my spirit.
Part of this comes from my background, which was never traditionally corporate. I have a lot of friends in the art world. I interned at MassMoCA. My friends were artists and worked in the arts. Then I moved into the design world, then publishing, then tech. I’ve had this unusual vantage point into different operational systems, different “classes” within the creative class. I got to peek into the industries that pay and the industries that pay us dust.
And I keep thinking: I wish my design friends had done a tour in tech. I wish more artists knew about tech. I wish there were more crossovers instead of each world staying in its own world. The one thing that seems to braid it all together, for me, is being a solopreneur—realizing I’m a creative entrepreneur who likes creating her own things.
That circles me back to the question: what are you avoiding because it might actually work?
For me, I was avoiding posting as my full self on main. I was holding back the ideas that feel a bit nontraditional. Now I share whatever is on the noggin, posting on Notes willy-nilly. I’m noticing that when I share those, they attract the people who recognize their own brain in mine and find something useful in what I’m saying, even if it’s got some flair. 💅🏻
Examples: Sometimes that looks like a co-working fantasy where focus is enforced and snacks magically appear at your elbow. Sometimes it looks like a show called What Not To Work, inspired by What Not To Wear, but for our creative careers not our wardrobe. They’re playful thought experiments, but they’re also my way of asking why we still work the way we do. They also go semi-viral.
In summary: I’d been hiding my real self in my writing, work, and business dreams, afraid I wouldn’t seem ‘professional’ enough. When I finally dropped that performance and focused on what I actually love—creativity, process, taste, and one-person business building—people started to really respond. And I started to love what I was doing. Excited and energized for the first time in YEARS. 🥰
Create Work in the Streets or (Gardens)
Right now, as I’m saying all of this, I’m sitting in the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, “writing” my Substack by talking into my phone. I keep asking myself: what does it actually mean to work? Do I really need to sit at a desk? Do I really need to feel trapped inside four walls to count as “being productive”?
If it’s a beautiful day and I don’t want to be indoors, why can’t I still work and think and generate ideas from here, surrounded by trees? I want to push against the traditional idea of what work has to look like. Technology makes it possible—I’m literally recording this as a voice memo and calling it writing.
That’s led me to another thought: maybe we all need more options.
Option A: I’m sitting at my desk, typing my thoughts. Great.
Option B: I go to the park and write in my notebook.
Option C: I walk along the Hudson and talk into my phone.
If you don’t feel like doing the one approved work mode, how can you still feel fulfilled in your work by trying a different mode instead? Even something as basic as swapping a Zoom call for a phone call: next time someone sends a Zoom link, what if you ask, “Can we make this a walk-and-talk?” and take it outside?
It’s all still work. It’s still a creative act. But we forget we have Options A, B, C, D. We get blocked because we think we have to do it the traditional way, in the traditional desk setting.
So, back to the question, for both of us:
What are you avoiding because it might actually work?
✰ WORK WITH ME – 1:1 MENTORING: If you’re an experienced creative sitting on years of work, half‑built ideas, and a foggy “next chapter,” I’d love to help. I offer Clarity Sessions, Momentum Sessions, and Creative Time for people who want a thoughtful outside brain on their direction. Learn more / work with me →






Thank you for being vulnerable and sharing. I'm definitely grappling with this as I'm new to Substack and trying to find my voice and place - and comparison trap is a real thing. Also, I need to talk on my phone more -didn't even think that was a thing, but sometimes my best thoughts come from me talking to myself out loud.
I loved reading this, Kel! I've been pondering the difference between recognizability and true recognition. The first feels more performative to me, while the second happens through a slower, accumulated context.
I'm going to be thinking about this all weekend!: "What Are You Avoiding Because It Might Actually Work?"