Lately, I’ve been noticing something about myself—and I’m guessing I’m not alone in this.

I have a tendency to trip over good because I’m chasing great.

Not in a flashy, highlight-reel way. More in a quiet, internal way. The kind where a project doesn’t get launched because it’s not quite right yet. The kind where an idea sits on the shelf because I’m convinced it needs to be more polished, more complete, more finished before it deserves to exist in the world.

And the truth is… it doesn’t.

Logically I know this but as we rolled into the beginning of 2026, I came in hot with a list of priorities I was convinced I’d knock out in January. Systems I wanted in place. Projects I wanted launched. Big-picture ideas I assumed I’d have time to sit with, refine, and neatly wrap in a bow.

Then something happened.

The shop got busy. Busier than we expected.

Classes filled. New people walk through the doors every day and we have a lot of repeat customers. I have found myself teaching more, connecting more, and doing the very thing The Artisan Shop & Studio was created to do. And let me be clear—I’m incredibly grateful for that. This is the good stuff.

But it also forced me to face something I struggle with:

How do you keep building when the building itself is already in full motion?

I realized I have been quietly frustrated—not because things weren’t working, but because they were working and asking more of me at the same time. The time I thought I’d have to complete projects simply isn’t there in the way I imagined.

And that’s where the tension lives.

I like things to feel intentional. Thought through. Done well.

But sometimes my desire to do something right keeps me from doing it at all.

What I’m learning (and relearning) is that not everything needs to be “done” in January to be successful in December. Some projects are meant to be built in public, refined over time, and shaped by real experience—not perfect planning.

It’s uncomfortable to put something out into the world knowing it will change.

It’s uncomfortable to admit, “This is version one.”

It’s uncomfortable to trust that future-you will figure out the rest.

But I don’t think growth happens in the comfort of perfect readiness.

There’s a phrase I come back to often: learning to fly on the way down.

That’s what this season feels like.

We didn’t wait until everything was perfect to open the shop.

We didn’t wait until every class was flawless before teaching it.

We didn’t wait until we had all the answers before saying yes.

We started. We adjusted. We listened. We learned.

So maybe the real work for me right now isn’t finishing everything—it’s pacing myself. Allowing projects to unfold across the year instead of forcing them into a single month. Giving myself permission to launch “good” and let it grow into “great.”

If you’re in a similar place—juggling momentum, ideas, responsibilities, and a very loud inner perfectionist—know this:

You’re not failing because it’s taking longer.

You’re not behind because it isn’t finished yet.

You’re building something real, and real things take time.

This year I am trying not to focus on checking everything off the list. And focus more on learning how to move forward without burning out, without freezing, and without waiting for perfect conditions that may never come.

I think sometimes the bravest thing you can do is start—and trust yourself to figure out the rest on the way down.

Thank you for being part of my journey and development. 

Jen💛