A few months ago, my son decided he wanted a Vespa.

Cool, right? Maybe a little too cool for Omaha, Nebraska, but hey, let the dude dream. What sticks with me wasn’t that he wanted one. It was how he went after it. He didn’t waste time overthinking it. No endless Safari tabs. No Pinterest board titled “Scooter Life Vibes.”

He just made a plan and got to work.

He priced them out. Looked up what was available (spoiler: slim pickings locally). Then he found ways to earn the extra money, and before long, he was riding like he owned the road.

Simple. Direct. No drama. And it worked. Meanwhile, I was over here with one clear goal: to start a newsletter.

Instead of writing, I started building “perfect plans.” I compared platforms. Substack? Kit? Something cooler I hadn’t heard of yet? I designed a landing page. Then redesigned it. Then quietly scrapped the whole thing. I brainstormed 33 different names for my newsletter, as if the right title would magically unlock my courage.

All that tinkering gave me a decent name (you’re reading it, thanks), an unfinished WordPress site, and a lingering sense that I was stalling.

Eventually, I had to be honest with myself. I wasn’t building. I was hiding. So I finally did what my son did. I picked something and hit the gas.

Nineteen Sundays later, here we are.

That Vespa moment reminded me somehing I’ve had to relearn over and over:Planning feels productive, but without action, it’s just a polished form of procrastination.

Planning is safe. Planning gets applause. Nobody critiques the plan that never gets tested. But deep down, we all know the truth: You don’t need more readiness. You need more movement.

That “just one more thing” mentality feels responsible, but it’s often just fear in disguise. We tell ourselves we’re being strategic. But we’re really just avoiding the moment we step out and risk being seen.

You can’t steer a parked Vespa. And perfect plans don’t change lives. Starting does. And your kids? They’re watching. Not just what you say about goals and effort, but how you handle the hard stuff. The inevitable uncertainty. The setbacks. The temptation to pause instead of push.

They’ll remember your motion more than your methods.

Dads, when you come alive, it gives your loved ones the permission and passion to do the same. That’s the legacy. Not the file full of ideas you never acted on. So start. Not when your inbox is clear. Not when you finally “feel ready.” Not when the air smells like productivity.

Start now. Because when you do, you shift the atmosphere around you.

See you next Sunday.

Until then, look in the mirror. Lead that guy well.

Cheers,

Will

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