You may have noticed that I called the birth day of this site a brunch.
Not a launch.
In fact, I never “launch” anything (except my life, last year), it's always a brunch.
I'm a list-maker.
An let's-figure-this-out big sister.
I'm a look before you leap person.
Well, no, that's not-quite-right because I never do leap.
Not even into the pool.
I walk slowly to the edge, sit down, dangle my feet in and sloooowly lower my legs in.
Or better yet, find the steps and walk in.
Yes, much better than leaping.
And the word “launch”, it reminds me of standing on a high dive (or ack! any size dive!), getting ready to launch myself into the water.
Um, no thanks.
It also makes me think of rocket launches.
Which are beautiful and amazing.
But are also loud and rumbly.
It's in the cockpit, smoke billowing, your seat rumbling, your teeth chattering, your very bones and marrow and soul rattling while they build a huge fire under you.
Incredibly powerful, but also incredibly risky.
A launch can be glorious and amazing.
Or it can end in a mess of fire and tears and pain.
Either way, there are a lot of expectations and stress and will I live or die thinking.
Uh, no thanks.
When I was working on my very first not-just-yarn product, the Learn to Knit kit, I read a lot about launching a product (by far the best resource is this book, but it is sort of overwhelming).
And I thought a lot about launching.
One day, writing about it to some business-y friends, I mistyped it as Brunch. Maybe I was hungry or maybe I was tapping into some Freudian-slip smartness.
Either way, I loved it.
I would brunch the Learn to Knit kit!
No fire, no expectation, no bone-rattling moment of ohmygoodness.
A nice, leisurely brunch with coffee and pancakes and omelets and orange juice.
Where launching makes me think of disasters and high dives, brunch reminds me of being a kid, on the back of my dad's Harley.
He'd wake me up super-early on a Sunday. I'd suit up in a too-big-for-me leather jacket and a just-right helmet (safety first!) and we'd ride.
High up into the mountains, past lemon and avocado groves. Oh, I hate avocados, but I am smitten with the groves: dark, shiny leaves on perfectly round trees in lines curving around the mountain.
We'd get to the top of one mountain and there, out of nowhere, was a diner.
We had pancakes, coffee, eggs, orange juice. Brunch. With dad, both of us dressed in our leather jackets and jeans and boots.
Or he'd make brunch, at home. Sausage, eggs, salsa, sourdough toast, orange juice and the most amazing potatoes I've ever tasted. I have never found (nor made!) potatoes like Dad's brunch potatoes.
So when it comes to introducing something new to the world, do I want to thrust it into the world with expectations and fire and smoke and bone-rattling excitement?
Or do I want to take it for a ride, get comfortable with a cup of coffee and some potatoes and enjoy brunch with it?
Yeah, I want to brunch with it.
How about you? Do you brunch? Or launch?
PS. I've been calling it a brunch for over a year, but I finally got around to explaining it thanks to this great post by Marissa on launching, on Productive Flourishing. It reminded me that there are lots of ways of launching and brunching.