Take the Shot: What Happens When You Give Yourself Permission to Try

Sometimes the only way to know what happens is to take the shot.

If I had waited until I was completely ready, I'd still be waiting to start.

You're reading the 100th article published on The Inspired Fox.

And those two things have a lot more to do with each other than you might think.

I didn't get here through one enormous leap. There wasn't a magical moment when I suddenly knew exactly what I was doing, became completely confident, and fear graciously packed its bags and left.

There were little steps.

Then another.

Then another.

Some worked.

Some needed adjusting.

Some taught me things I didn't know I needed to learn.

And eventually, those little steps compounded into 100 articles.

In the HBO series Julia, Julia Child is portrayed saying, “The only way to succeed is to attempt.”

And she's 100% right.

At some point, you have to attempt.

You can plan.

You can research.

You can prepare.

You can think through every possible outcome until you've created seventeen imaginary disasters that haven't actually happened.

But eventually, if you want to know what could happen, you have to take the shot.

So let me ask you something:

What's your next shot?

Not your five-year plan.

Not the biggest dream you've ever had.

What's something you've been thinking about, wanting, considering, or quietly talking yourself out of?

Because this isn't an article about becoming fearless.

It's about what can happen when you stop letting fear make all your decisions.

You Fail at Every Shot You Don't Take

We've all heard some version of this advice before. It's become one of those sayings that gets slapped onto motivational posters so often that it's easy to stop hearing what it actually means.

But think about it.

You don't apply because you assume you won't get the job.

You don't share the idea because someone else probably has a better one.

You don't introduce yourself because you might be awkward.

You don't try the hobby because you'll probably be terrible at it.

You don't start the project because who would care anyway?

You don't ask because they might say no.

And in every one of those situations, fear has accomplished something rather impressive.

It convinced you to give yourself the rejection before anyone else had the opportunity to.

They might say no.

Absolutely.

But they might say yes.

You might be terrible at something the first time you try it.

You also might discover that you love it.

Your idea might not work.

Or it might lead you to the idea that does.

You don't know.

That's the whole point.

Sometimes we think we're avoiding a decision by doing nothing, but not making a decision is still a decision.

You're choosing the version where you don't ask.

Where you don't try.

Where you don't find out.

And if that's genuinely the decision you've made after weighing everything, that's okay.

But if fear made it for you?

That's different.

Sometimes the biggest thing standing between you and the next step is the story you're telling yourself about what might happen.

Pay Attention to the Story You're Telling Yourself

Fear doesn't always walk into the room screaming:

I'M TERRIFIED AND THAT'S WHY I'M NOT DOING THIS.

That would actually make things considerably easier.

Fear can be much more convincing than that.

Why bother?

Who am I to have an opinion about this? Other people have opinions too.

Someone else already does it better.

Nobody is going to care.

I'm not qualified enough.

I'm too old.

I'm too young.

I'm going to look ridiculous.

I'll do it when I'm more prepared.

Sometimes those thoughts contain information worth examining.

And sometimes?

It's fear talking more than you know.

The tricky part is learning the difference.

Because fear is very good at dressing itself up as logic.

It can make staying exactly where you are sound incredibly reasonable.

And when you tell yourself the same story long enough, eventually you stop questioning it.

That's just not something I could do.

People like me don't do things like that.

It wouldn't matter anyway.

Maybe someday.

And someday has an interesting habit of remaining someday.

Sometimes those stories aren't really protecting us from failure. They're protecting us from having to find out what we're capable of.

Knowing what you want doesn't automatically make taking action easy. That's the frustrating space we explored in Making a Mistake Is Not the Same as Being a Mistake—when you understand what needs to happen but still find yourself struggling to take that next step. And if you've ever caught yourself building a perfectly reasonable case for staying exactly where you are, pay attention to the story underneath it.

Not to judge yourself for it.

To recognize them.

Because you can't challenge a story you don't realize you're telling.

Grab the Steering Wheel

Being afraid doesn't necessarily mean you're making the wrong decision.

Sometimes it means you're standing somewhere unfamiliar.

You don't have to eliminate fear before you move.

You don't have to wake up one morning overflowing with confidence.

And you certainly don't need to know how the entire thing is going to work.

You need enough courage to take the next small step.

That's it.

Research it.

Write the idea down.

Ask the question.

Make the phone call.

Send the email.

Sign up for the class.

Tell somebody what you're thinking about doing.

Take one tiny action that moves you from thinking about it to participating in it.

Then do it again.

And again.

Courage works a little like a muscle. The more often you prove to yourself that you can move while you're uncomfortable, the easier it becomes to trust yourself the next time.

That's where confidence starts showing up.

We often think we need confidence before we attempt something.

But confidence is usually something we build by attempting things.

You take the little shot.

You survive.

You learn something.

You take another.

Eventually you look back and realize you're doing things that an earlier version of you would have spent three weeks overthinking. Those little attempts may not feel particularly impressive while you're making them. But that's often how change works. That's an idea we explored in Small Shifts, Big Wins: How Tiny Changes Lead to Life-Changing Results. One small action gives you somewhere new to stand when you're deciding what comes next.

And remember: your next shot doesn't have to be enormous.

Maybe your next shot is researching something.

Maybe it's asking one question.

Maybe it's writing the idea down.

Maybe it's telling somebody what you've been thinking about.

Maybe it's simply admitting to yourself:

I want to try this.

Don't make the first shot responsible for the entire journey.

Just let it move you forward.

Fear might still be sitting in the passenger seat offering commentary nobody requested.

Fine.

It just doesn't get to drive.

That's fear talking. Grab the steering wheel from it and drive.

Sometimes courage looks like taking one small step before you know how everything will turn out.

Missing Is Part of Taking Shots

Now let's talk about the part motivational advice sometimes conveniently skips.

You can take the shot...

and miss.

You can prepare, gather your courage, step forward, and get a giant, spectacular NO.

You can embarrass yourself.

You can make the wrong call.

You can discover you weren't as prepared as you thought.

You can try something you're convinced you're going to be fantastic at and discover that, at least initially, you are impressively terrible at it.

Okay.

What did you learn?

That's the question.

Ask questions.

Gather more information.

Figure out what went wrong.

Make adjustments.

Get better.

Then decide what the next shot looks like.

A missed shot isn't necessarily a wasted shot.

You couldn't have learned from the attempt if you never made it.

Sometimes its entire value is showing you what needs to change before you take the next one.

And rejection?

Who cares how many times you hear no if eventually you get the yes that matters?

That doesn't mean endlessly throwing yourself against the same locked door.

Persistence without learning isn't particularly useful.

But a no can give you information.

So can a mistake.

So can an awkward attempt.

And speaking of awkward...

Most people aren't thinking about your embarrassing moment nearly as long as you imagine they are.

They're busy thinking about their own.

And if somebody does decide to stand on the sidelines mocking you for taking a shot?

You were still the one who got off the bench.

There's something to be said for that.

Learn the Difference Between Noise and Coaching

Getting off the bench doesn't mean you stop listening to other people.

In fact, if you want to get better, you're going to need feedback sometimes.

The important part is learning which feedback deserves your attention.

There's a difference between someone criticizing you simply to tear you down and someone pointing out something you could do better.

Someone who has been there may say:

Hey, I've made that mistake before. Here's what I learned.

Have you considered doing it this way?

This part isn't working yet, but here's where I think you're getting stuck.

That's useful.

It gives you information you can actually do something with.

Someone laughing at you, telling you you'll never make it, or finding every possible reason you shouldn't have tried in the first place?

That's noise.

You don't have to absorb every opinion simply because someone offered it.

And you don't have to reject every criticism simply because it makes you uncomfortable.

Listen for information.

Sometimes that requires slowing down long enough to actually hear what someone is trying to tell you. Listening to Understand vs. Listening to Respond explores that difference—because useful feedback doesn't do much good if we're so busy defending ourselves that we never hear the useful part.

That's also where comparison can either help you or completely derail you.

Comparison becomes dangerous when someone else's progress starts becoming evidence against your own. That's something we explore more deeply in Why Comparison Kills Creativity, but the principle reaches far beyond creativity.

You can look at someone who's further ahead and think:

Of course they can do it.

Look how much better they are.

I'll never get there.

Why even bother?

Or you can get curious.

What are they doing that works?

What can I learn from them?

What mistakes did they make before they got here?

What could I apply to what I'm doing?

Same person.

Same information.

Completely different result.

One keeps you on the bench.

The other helps you improve your shot.

 The right guidance doesn't take the shot for you. It gives you information you can use to improve your own.

Your Mountain Doesn't Have to Look Like Mine

There's something else we need to acknowledge.

We don't all start from the same place.

Some people have more money.

Some have more time.

Some have connections, education, experience, encouragement, support, or opportunities that someone else doesn't have.

Some people will have to work considerably harder to reach the same place.

That's real.

But someone having an easier path doesn't make your accomplishment smaller.

Your mountain might be someone else's hurdle.

Their hurdle might be your mountain.

That doesn't mean your hurdle isn't difficult or their mountain isn't enormous.

We're living different lives.

We're carrying different things.

We're starting from different places.

So what if somebody got there before you?

You still made it.

Look how you made it.

Look at what you had to learn.

Look at what you overcame.

Look at the person you had to become along the way.

Be proud of your story.

Your life doesn't become less meaningful because someone else accomplished something sooner, faster, younger, with more resources, or by taking a completely different route.

You're not running their race.

You're taking your shots.

Taking the Shot Doesn't Mean Being Reckless

Now, before somebody reads this and decides Fox told them to quit their job tomorrow, empty their savings account, buy a llama farm, and follow their dreams...

No.

Taking the shot doesn't mean abandoning common sense.

There are real risks in life.

Money matters.

Responsibilities matter.

Timing matters.

Your safety matters.

The safety of other people matters.

Sometimes there genuinely is a lot to lose.

And sometimes you're not sitting on the bench because you're afraid. You're tired.

There's a difference.

Maybe you've already taken shot after shot and things haven't gone your way. Maybe life has knocked you around a little and you simply don't have another attempt in you right now.

Resting isn't giving up.

Recovering isn't failing.

Taking time to gather your resources, learn more, or rebuild your capacity doesn't mean you've stopped moving forward.

Sometimes that's exactly how you prepare yourself for the next shot.

That's when you evaluate.

What's the risk?

What's the potential gain?

What information am I missing?

Can I reduce the risk?

Is there a smaller version I can try first?

What happens if this doesn't work?

Can I recover from that outcome?

And while you're weighing everything you could lose by trying, don't forget to ask about the other side:

What might it cost me if I don't?

We tend to calculate the risk of action while completely ignoring the risk of inaction.

Another year waiting.

An opportunity you never explored.

Something you never learned.

A conversation you never had.

A question you never asked.

Maybe you evaluate both sides and decide not taking the shot really is the best decision.

That's okay.

But make sure you made that decision—not fear.

Most importantly:

Am I hesitating because something genuinely isn't right—or because I'm afraid?

Those aren't the same thing.

This is where discernment matters. Discernment: The Skill That Quietly Changes Your Entire Life takes that idea further, because not every uncomfortable feeling is something to push through.

Sometimes hesitation is fear. Sometimes it's information. Learning to tell the difference matters.

Taking shots isn't about blindly charging forward.

It's about making the best decision you can with the information you have—and making sure fear isn't quietly casting the deciding vote.

Sometimes the right answer is go.

Sometimes it's not yet.

Sometimes it's not like this.

And sometimes it's this isn't where I want to go anymore.

Changing direction isn't automatically giving up.

If you've tried repeatedly, gathered information, made adjustments, and realized what you're doing no longer advances your goal—or maybe you've realized the goal itself needs to change—reconfiguring can be the smartest shot you take.

Taking the shot doesn't mean moving blindly. Sometimes the smartest next step is gathering information, checking your direction, and deciding where to go from there.

Opportunity Doesn't Always Knock Loudly

We have this romantic idea of opportunity showing up at the front door, knocking three times, and patiently waiting for us to answer.

Sometimes it does.

Sometimes opportunity apparently has no idea where your front door is.

Opportunity is always there. You just might not know where she's knocking.

And that's why taking shots matters.

You don't always create the opportunity itself, but you can put yourself in places where you're more likely to see it.

Ask.

Explore.

Learn.

Talk to people.

Try something.

Follow the thing you're curious about.

If you don't know exactly what you want yet, experiment.

You don't need to have your entire life's purpose mapped out before you're allowed to move.

Sometimes you discover what you want because you tried something.

Maybe you love it.

Maybe you hate it.

Great.

Both answers gave you information you didn't have before.

One shot can lead to another that you couldn't have seen from where you originally stood.

That's the strange thing about opportunities.

Sometimes you don't know which doors exist until you start walking down the hallway.

Get Comfortable Taking Shots—Not Letting Yourself Down

There is another kind of comfort we don't talk about enough.

You can get comfortable with disappointment.

Not because you enjoy it.

Not because you're happy.

But because it's familiar.

You tell yourself you're going to do something.

Then you don't.

You complain about where you are.

You imagine where you'd rather be.

You think about changing something.

You talk yourself out of it.

And eventually you get used to the letdown.

You might bitch about it.

You might wish things were different.

You might genuinely hate being stuck.

But you don't do anything that could change it.

That's autopilot.

And autopilot can keep you moving for a very long time without ever asking whether you're actually headed somewhere you want to go.

Eventually, staying where you are can start feeling easier simply because it's familiar. Why Change Feels Hard (Even When You Want It) digs into why wanting something different and actually moving toward it can be two very different experiences.

Because taking the shot carries a risk we haven't talked about much yet.

It might work.

And then what?

Now people see you.

Now something is expected of you.

Now you have another decision to make.

Now you're standing somewhere you've never stood before.

Success can be unfamiliar too.

And sometimes familiar disappointment feels strangely safer than unfamiliar possibility.

But familiar doesn't necessarily mean good.

And safe doesn't always mean fulfilled.

At some point, you have to decide whether you're willing to keep accepting the disappointment you already know...

or find out what happens when you do something different.

Sometimes giving yourself permission starts with one simple act: putting your name down and deciding to participate.

You Don't Need Permission—But Give It to Yourself Anyway

Sometimes we imagine that one day we're going to feel ready.

We'll finally know enough.

We'll have enough confidence.

The timing will make sense.

The opportunity will appear.

Someone will notice what we're capable of, tap us on the shoulder, and say:

Okay. It's your turn.

And then we'll go.

Except life doesn't usually work that way.

A lot of the time, nobody is coming to give you permission.

Not because they don't believe in you.

They may simply have no idea you're waiting for it.

Sometimes we spend so much time hoping something will happen to us that we forget we can participate in making things happen.

That doesn't mean you can control every outcome.

You can't.

But you can ask.

You can attempt.

You can learn.

You can put yourself in the room.

You can make something.

You can introduce yourself.

You can speak up.

You can try.

And if you don't know exactly what you want yet?

That's okay too.

Experiment.

Curiosity doesn't require a five-year plan.

Try something and see what happens.

Then use what you learn to decide what comes next.

Sometimes that willingness to experiment gets harder as we get older—not because we lose the ability, but because responsibility, expectations, and the fear of doing something badly start getting louder. That's part of what we explored in Why Adults Stop Creating (And How to Start Again). Sometimes finding your next direction starts with giving yourself permission to play with possibilities again.

Confidence Usually Comes After the Shot

One of the biggest traps we fall into is believing confidence is the prerequisite.

When I'm more confident, I'll do it.

But how exactly are you supposed to become confident doing something you've never allowed yourself to try?

Confidence has to be built.

And every time you take a small shot, you're giving yourself another piece of evidence:

I can do this.

Or maybe:

Well...I definitely can't do it THAT way.

That's useful too.

You don't need enough courage for the entire journey.

You need enough courage for the next small step.

Then you take another.

And another.

And another.

Like a muscle, courage gets stronger when you use it.

Eventually, the thing that once required an internal pep talk, three cups of tea, and seventeen hypothetical conversations in your head becomes something you simply do.

Not because fear disappeared.

Because you've developed confidence in your ability to handle what happens next.

That's a very different kind of confidence.

It isn't:

I know this will work.

It's:

I know I'll figure out what to do if it doesn't.

And there's another reason those attempts matter.

Taking shots doesn't only change your circumstances.

It changes you.

You asked even though you were nervous.

That matters.

You tried even though you weren't sure you could do it.

That matters.

You survived being awkward.

You heard no and discovered the world kept spinning.

You made a mistake and figured out what to do next.

You spoke when an earlier version of you might have stayed quiet.

Every one of those experiences gives you another piece of evidence that you can handle your own life.

And eventually, you're not simply building a business, learning a skill, changing a relationship, creating something, or chasing a goal.

You're building trust in yourself.

Not trust that everything you attempt will work.

It won't.

Trust that you can participate in your own life without needing to know the outcome first.

That's a very different thing.

Confidence grows when you stop hiding what you can do and give yourself permission to let others see it.

Don't Dim Your Light to Make Someone Else Comfortable

Sometimes the thing keeping us from taking the shot isn't the possibility of failure.

It's the possibility of being seen.

What will people think?

Will they think I'm full of myself?

What if they don't like this version of me?

What if changing means I don't fit where I used to?

What if succeeding changes how people treat me?

When belonging matters to us—and it does—we can become very good at making ourselves smaller.

I've done it. I've held back parts of myself because keeping other people comfortable felt safer than risking their disapproval.

But I've learned something along the way:

I'm no longer willing to dampen my light to make someone else feel better about theirs.

That doesn't mean becoming arrogant.

It doesn't mean your dreams matter more than someone else's.

It doesn't mean you're better than anyone.

It means you don't have to become less so someone else doesn't have to examine how they feel about you becoming more.

Other people are allowed to have opinions about what you're doing.

You're allowed to keep going.

Sometimes the Shot Is Personal

Not every shot is a business.

Not every shot is a promotion.

Not every shot needs an audience.

Some of the most important shots you'll ever take might be ones nobody else knows happened.

Starting the conversation.

Trying again.

Doing something differently than you normally would.

Being vulnerable when you'd usually protect yourself.

Admitting you were wrong.

Asking for what you need.

Taking a chance on someone.

Taking a chance on yourself.

Sometimes taking that shot means having a conversation you would much rather avoid. How to Have a Difficult Conversation can help when the next step isn't simply finding the courage to speak, but figuring out how to communicate clearly, listen, and give the conversation the best chance of actually going somewhere.

I've taken shots in my personal life where I couldn't know what the outcome would be. I've done things outside my normal character because something mattered enough to risk finding out what could happen.

Some of those chances changed my life.

I'm glad I took them.

That's as much of those stories as I need to tell for the lesson to matter.

Because the specifics aren't really the point.

The point is that sometimes the things worth taking a shot at are worth something precisely because there is something to lose.

That's why discernment matters.

That's why courage matters.

And that's why take the shot should never be confused with don't think about the consequences.

Think.

Evaluate.

Listen.

Get curious.

Make adjustments.

Then make your decision.

Sometimes taking the shot means saying what matters, letting yourself be vulnerable, and giving connection a chance.

And When the Shot Lands?

We spend an awful lot of time talking about what to do when things don't work.

Learn.

Adjust.

Try again.

Keep going.

But what happens when the damn thing works?

We have a funny habit of immediately moving the goalpost.

Okay, I did that. Now what's next?

Wait.

You did it.

Take a second.

Look at what you accomplished.

Remember the version of you who wasn't sure you could do it.

Remember the first uncomfortable little step.

Remember the mistakes, adjustments, and moments you considered quitting.

Be proud of yourself.

You don't have to live there forever.

There will be another goal.

Another challenge.

Another shot.

You can figure that out tomorrow.

Sometimes you need to stop long enough to acknowledge:

Holy crap. I actually did the thing. 

One Shot Became 100

And that brings me back to where we started.

This is article number 100.

I wish I could tell you there was some grand moment when I knew I'd get here.

There wasn't.

It was a bunch of little steps that compounded.

An idea.

A decision.

An attempt.

Something I learned.

Something I changed.

Then another article.

And another.

And another.

Along the way, I learned things about what I was building.

But I also learned things about myself.

I gained understanding.

I grew.

I learned to block out more of the noise.

And I kept doing something I'm passionate about.

That's what I'm proudest of.

Not simply that the number reached 100.

That I kept taking the next shot.

Because if I had waited until I was completely ready...

I'd still be waiting to start.

And that's why I don't want article number 100 to simply be about celebrating 100 articles.

I want it to be a reminder of what can happen when you attempt.

One attempt doesn't look like much.

Neither does one little step.

But little steps compound.

Knowledge compounds.

Experience compounds.

Courage compounds.

Confidence compounds.

And sometimes you look up from whatever you've been building and realize the tiny thing you once almost talked yourself out of starting has become something you couldn't have imagined from the beginning.

Before you keep scrolling, I want you to do something.

Think about that thing you've been talking yourself out of.

Got it?

Now forget about everything that would have to happen for you to reach the finish line.

Forget the entire journey for a minute.

What's the smallest shot you could take today?

Open the document.

Look up the information.

Ask the question.

Write down the idea.

Make the call.

Send the email.

Tell somebody.

Research the first step.

You don't have to finish today.

You don't have to know whether it's going to work.

You don't even have to feel confident yet.

Just move.

Because confidence doesn't have to come before the shot.

Sometimes the shot is how you build it.

One attempt rarely looks like much on its own. Keep creating, keep learning, and eventually those little shots become a body of work.

Take the Damn Shot

So whatever that thing is you've been thinking about doing...

Maybe it's huge.

Maybe nobody else would understand why it feels huge to you.

That's okay.

Your mountain doesn't have to look like anyone else's.

Maybe you're afraid you'll fail.

You might.

Learn something.

Maybe you're afraid they'll say no.

They might.

Sometimes you only need one yes.

And sometimes enough no's teach you that it's time to change where you're aiming.

Maybe you're afraid you'll look awkward.

Be awkward.

At least you got off the bench.

Maybe you're not sure you're ready.

Take a smaller shot.

Research it.

Ask a question.

Experiment.

Get curious.

Maybe something genuinely doesn't feel right.

Pay attention.

Evaluate the risk.

Gather more information.

Use your discernment.

And if, after all of that, you realize the biggest thing standing between you and the shot is fear?

Call it what it is.

That's fear talking.

You don't need to destroy it.

You don't need to pretend it isn't there.

You just need to stop handing it the steering wheel.

So...

What's your next shot?

Give yourself permission.

Kick fear to the side.

Grab the steering wheel.

And take the damn shot.

— Fox

Sources & Further Reading

If you'd like to explore the research behind self-efficacy, confidence, learning through experience, resilience, and what can happen when we become willing to try, these are excellent places to begin:

• Albert Bandura. Self-Efficacy: The Exercise of Control. W.H. Freeman, 1997.

• Albert Bandura. “Self-Efficacy: Toward a Unifying Theory of Behavioral Change.” Psychological Review, 1977.

• Carol S. Dweck. Mindset: The New Psychology of Success. Random House, 2006.

• Lisa S. Blackwell, Kali H. Trzesniewski & Carol S. Dweck. “Implicit Theories of Intelligence Predict Achievement Across an Adolescent Transition: A Longitudinal Study and an Intervention.” Child Development, 2007.

• Dale H. Schunk. “Self-Efficacy and Academic Motivation.” Educational Psychologist, 1991.

• American Psychological Association. Resources on self-efficacy and human agency, including how mastery experiences, observing others, encouragement, and emotional states can shape people's beliefs about what they are capable of doing.

• Stanford University. Research and educational resources on growth mindset, including approaching challenges as opportunities to learn, using feedback, and reframing setbacks rather than treating them as evidence that improvement isn't possible.

Did This Resonate?

I’d love to hear from you.

If this gave you something to think about, give it a like.

And tell me in the comments: What's your next shot?

This article is for educational and inspirational purposes and is designed to support personal growth and intentional living. It is not a substitute for professional medical, mental health, legal, or financial advice.

© 2026 The Inspired Fox. All rights reserved. Interested in sharing our work, collaborating, or using our original materials? We’d love to hear from you—please contact us to discuss permission and appropriate use.