When I was in my early 20s, I had a big crush on a guy named Braun, Reader.

Like most crushes in your early 20s, this was based on the things that I now know don't mean much for an adult relationship.

He was cute. *really cute*

He had a beard. *priorities*

I knew very little about him. *mysterious*

He was in a band. *swoon*

And he was nice to me. *we love a bare minimum*

He was friends with my friends, but I didn't actually make an effort to get to know him very much because I was shy and that would ruin the mystery and excitement of admiring him from afar.

Plus, if I got to know him, then he would become a fallible human. And that's the death blow to the joy of a big, easy crush.

Anyway, picture this. It's May 2014. I'm turning 25.

When I was 24, this felt like a big, life-changing birthday. So naturally, I celebrated in the same place I spent nearly every weekend with my friends—Cowboy Up Saloon, a small dive bar in downtown Fort Myers, FL.

Some of my best and worst memories from my early 20s happened at Cowboys. It had a narrow indoor bar space that was difficult to navigate when it was packed and an alleyway outside crammed with wooden picnic tables.

It felt and looked sticky. That's the best way to describe it. The floor was always covered in peanut shells from the big barrel of peanuts by the door.

Depending on the clientele, there was always something playing on the TouchTunes jukebox. Either Taylor Swift or Nine Inch Nails or Garth Brooks. (And sometimes it felt like nothing in between!)

This is where I wanted to turn 25, surrounded by all my friends.

My best friend Allie made me cornbread muffins instead of cupcakes so that I'd have something to chase my whiskey with.

And I had a great time, especially when Braun showed up with my friend Tommy.

I tapped his shoulder to say hello. He told me I looked lovely and bought me a birthday drink.

I was floored. He was kind of shy, and we had only subtly flirted. Moving from stolen glances to "you look lovely" and buying me a not-bottom-shelf bourbon felt like the next step.

Later in the bathroom, I told my friend Jenna that I was gonna get with Braun.

"I heard him say he was staying with Tommy tonight," she said, looking disappointed as she clearly thought I meant tonight.

"Oh no, not tonight," I said. "In two years."

And we laughed so hard that I left a part of my soul on that dive bar bathroom floor.

Because anyone who knew me knew that I played the long game. I blame it on all the Austen and Brontë I read as a kid. I would put in the time, do the work, and silently pine for what I wanted on the sidelines until the magical moment when it would all happen.

Sometime later, I was telling this story to my friend, Kyle Anne. She knew Braun. They played music together. And I guess she thought it would make a good song. So she wrote "Two Damn Years" about my inability to close. (You can listen to it on Spotify or Bandcamp.)

It starts:

And yeah, that pretty much describes what dating in my mid-20s felt like. I didn't yet have the confidence to go after what I wanted. Instead, I waited for it to come to me, which resulted in... well, not much.

But something shifted in my 30s.

Maybe it was a decade of terrible dates that taught me rejection didn't actually = death. Or maybe it was finally understanding that the worst thing someone could say was "no"—and that actually wasn't that bad.

I stopped playing the long game and started being direct about what I wanted. Instead of hoping someone would magically read my mind after two years of subtle hints, I started asking people out after two days of conversation.

The result? I dated more. I had better conversations. And I learned to be direct about my thoughts and needs, which has translated to wins across my relationships and my career.

Watching some of y'all navigate selling, I see you pulling the same move I did at Cowboys—hoping someone will pick up on your subtle hints and magically understand you have something valuable to offer without ever actually asking for the sale.

You'll create beautiful content and build genuine relationships with your audience. But then when it comes time to say, "hey, I have this thing that can help you and here's how to buy it," you're suddenly 25-year-old SJ, hoping the other person will make the first move.

But here's what I've learned from both dating and business: People aren't mind readers. If you don't ask, the answer is always no.

It's time to stop playing the long game when it comes to sales. And find a system that actually works to your strengths so that you can consistently make more money.

I'd love for you to join me at the Sell the Damn Thing Summit—a free 4-day event built on the premise that you do not have to be an asshole to make sales. In fact, when you sell in a way that aligns with who you are and how you like to work, you might even like it a little.
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You'll learn everything from writing better sales emails and growing your audience on YouTube to increasing your sales call conversions and covering your butt legally.

I'll be sharing a story about how one of my clients made over $100k in 24 hours on a <$100 product using an email marketing strategy that most people miss. (And you know, coming from me, it's not gonna be clickbait garbage.)

The summit is June 16-19. And it's totally free. Snag your spot.​

Cheers!
Sarah Jane Burt

P.S. Are you going to Craft + Commerce next week in Boise? Hit reply and let me know! I'll be there, and I want to connect IRL.