“It’s not a problem if you don’t look up.”

I’d been watching Andor this weekend, which led me back to Rogue One.

There’s a line from Jyn Erso that hasn’t left my brain since:

“It’s not a problem if you don’t look up.” — Jyn Erso, Rogue One

You don’t have to be a Star Wars fan to feel the weight of that.

It’s popped many times these past few days—not because of the political parallels (though they’re there), but it brought up the moment I began my journey into business creation.

That line reminded me: Tolerating a situation too long is what keeps us in impossibility.

Before starting down the path to entrepreneurship, I spent a lot of time avoiding looking up.

I loved:

• my consulting job
• my client projects
• the people I worked with.

But I ignored the tugs pulling at me—

• to be more creative
• to have more impact
• to stay rooted in my community.

I settled for the comfort of a direct deposit and a predictable calendar—even when it felt, well…boring.

I didn’t want to lose the paycheck. But I also didn’t want to drift further from my LGBTQ+ community. From what made me feel at home with myself.

I cycled through anger. Resentment. Blame.

Until settling felt like a viable solution that didn’t require risk. Until it didn’t.

One afternoon during the pandemic, I was at my desk.

I had just finished mentoring someone on Teams. Workday done. Nothing on fire.

I felt that rare mix of calm and satisfaction—the kind that makes space for something deeper.

That’s when it showed up again: the quiet sense that I wanted… more.

More creativity. More impact. More connection.

And for the first time in a while, I didn’t brush it off.

“Wait a minute—what about coaching?”

It wasn’t the first time I’d thought about coaching. Years earlier, I’d looked into it—and ruled it out.

The programs were too long. It didn’t feel practical.

But this time, the thought landed differently.

I’d stopped bracing for everything to fall apart.

That gave me just enough room to imagine something new.

The first time, a coaching business felt impossible. Not because of logistics—because of me.

I couldn’t picture it working. Couldn’t picture me doing it.

But this time, I could. Just a little. And that was enough.

That moment didn’t come with a plan. But it came with something else:
→ An energy shift.
→ A flash of clarity.
→ And—maybe for the first time—permission to want it… deeply.

We romanticize the leap.

But most of the time? It doesn’t start with a leap.

It starts with noticing. Noticing what you’ve been tolerating. Noticing what it’s quietly costing you.

And then—Deciding you don’t want to tolerate it anymore.

What’s this bring up from you? Email me at pierre at pierrebradette dot com. I’d love to hear from you.

Originally published on LinkedIn.

Image created using Sora (OpenAI)