Ask for the opportunity before you feel ready

Around mid-2012-ish, I asked a business coach to mentor me in exchange for my video production services.

Plot twist, I didn’t own a camera.

Even better, I had no commercial video experience and no formal education in video production.

Excellent start, Joey.

I’d made videos before. I liked making them. But enjoying something and offering it as a professional service are slightly different situations. Particularly when you’ve sold the equipment.

I’d lost my job and needed to make something happen. I found a coach online who seemed credible and relatable, and reached out with an offer: I could make videos for him, and he could help me understand business.

At first, he didn’t reply.

Second time, still nothing.

Eventually, he came back. Before taking it further, he wanted a video showing what I could do and explaining why I wanted to work with him.

Fair enough.

Claiming you can do something is fairly easy. Especially on the internet.

Now I had to actually make the thing.

The first problem was fairly obvious. I needed a camera.

I contacted an old school friend who was into videography and asked to borrow his. He agreed.

One problem solved.

Then another one: I wanted to film something involving a person on camera, while also being the person behind it. Difficult to be in both places. My production budget didn’t extend to cloning.

So I asked another friend to help and appear in the film.

He agreed too.

We put together a short story and a terribly planned shoot. I had the camera for 24 hours, so there wasn’t much room for a lengthy creative development process.

We shot it. I edited it overnight. Then I sent it to the coach on Facebook and waited.

Eventually, the opportunity became a working relationship. I made videos in exchange for learning about business. That opened the door to paid video work, digital products and, later, software.

It’s tempting to tell that story as proof I was resourceful.

Put some inspirational music underneath it. Make me look determined. Finish with a slow-motion shot of me staring into the distance, presumably thinking about entrepreneurship.

But look at what actually had to happen.

The coach had to respond and give me a chance. One friend had to trust me with his expensive camera. Another had to give me his time and trust that I wouldn’t make him look ridiculous.

I did the work. Other people made it possible for me to do the work.

Both things belong in the story.

The research mainly tested relatively simple requests. It doesn’t mean someone secretly wants to spend six months building your business for you.

But it gives us a reason to question the rejection we’ve already imagined before sending the message.

My takeaway is that we can end up answering on somebody else’s behalf.

They’re busy. They won’t care. It’ll be awkward. They’ll think I’m an idiot.

Possibly.

They might also say yes. And that is quite difficult to discover if you never ask them.

There are two separate questions here.

Will they say no?

And how bad will it feel if they do?

It gives me a reason to treat the imagined aftermath of a small rejection with some suspicion.

Someone might turn down a request. That could feel awkward. But the entire future you’ve constructed around that awkwardness is still a prediction.

Your brain has written the rejection email, decided what it means about you, and booked you several weeks of feeling like an idiot.

Very efficient. Slightly ahead of the available information.

The practical question I’d ask is: what would actually happen if this person declined?

If the answer is that I’d have to ask somebody else or try a different route, I’d want to give that more weight than the embarrassment I’m forecasting.

BUT…

There’s a wrinkle in the research on asking.

These were questionnaire requests to strangers. The question I’d carry into business is: how does this request look to the person receiving it?

You know you’re sincere. They have a message from someone they don’t know, possibly wondering what you’re about to sell them.

The video gave the coach something concrete to assess. He could see the work and decide whether it was useful to him.

That’s how I’d apply the research: explain why you’ve approached this person, make the request clear and show something relevant where you can.

Give them enough context to make a decision. Your enthusiasm is doing quite a lot of work in your head. It may need some assistance in their inbox.

The useful bit of my camera story is how small the immediate problem became.

I needed equipment for a specific film, for a short period. My friend could understand what I was asking and decide whether to help.

I wasn’t asking him to sort my career out.

That distinction matters when you’re stuck. Your problem might feel enormous from inside it, but another person doesn’t necessarily need the enormous version.

Suppose you’re trying to launch a product. “I need help getting this business going” leaves someone with quite a lot to figure out. Are you asking for money? Introductions? A weekly meeting? Their spare bedroom?

Try something they can assess:

“I’m struggling to explain who this product is for. Could you look at this one-page description and tell me which bit is unclear? Ten minutes would help.”

That’s an example of how I’d frame it now. The task is visible. The commitment has an end. The person knows what a useful answer looks like.

If you’re asking for an introduction, explain who you want to meet and why. Give the person a short message they can forward. If you need feedback, show the thing and ask about a particular problem. If you want advice, describe what you’ve already tried.

Do enough thinking that helping you doesn’t begin with somebody else having to define your entire problem.

Also, let them decline. A clear request gives someone a decision. It doesn’t create a debt because you were brave enough to send it.

With the coach, I offered something in return. That gave us a possible exchange to discuss.

I wouldn’t turn that into a rule that everyone should work for free. The arrangement needs to make sense to both people, with a clear idea of the work and what’s being exchanged.

And I definitely wouldn’t recommend my original equipment strategy as a model of professional preparation.

But making a contribution is worth thinking about. What can you genuinely do? What would be useful to this particular person? What could you demonstrate before asking them to make a larger commitment?

An actual piece of work gives someone more to judge than a paragraph about your passion.

There’s another reason I like the idea of making a small piece of work before trying to feel completely ready.

That relationship isn’t proof that confidence never helps. But it challenges the idea that you must first become sufficiently confident, then begin.

My takeaway is to give confidence something specific to work with.

A finished sample. A task you’ve practised. Feedback on something you’ve actually made.

You can judge that. So can somebody else.

In my case, the camera and experience problems were real. Thinking more positively wouldn’t have put equipment in my hands. Asking for help and making the film gave us something to assess.

I’d apply that to the next opportunity by asking: what small part can I demonstrate, and what help would I need to do it properly?

Looking back, the film was one step. It didn’t settle my whole future. It gave someone a way to see what I could do and decide whether there was a next step.

If you’re stuck, try reducing the problem that far.

What’s missing right now? Who might be able to help with that specific bit? What exactly would you be asking them to commit to?

“Help me with my life” is a difficult brief.

Borrowing a camera for a day gives someone a fighting chance.

Put yourself out there. Just ask for things.