Say Yes to Something
Eat The Beets
A starting point for anyone who’s been deciding in advance.
Because trying something new makes your world bigger.
After I posted my last article, “Eat the Beets: Or Stay Stuck With Who You Used To Be,” something unexpected happened. Texts came in. Emails. From people I know and — this is the part that got me — from people I didn’t know yet— but now I’m getting to know them.
I liked that.
Most said it made them think. A few said it made them act. And then several asked the same question, in different ways:
“Okay… but where do I start?”
Think of “Eat the Beets” as the bridge.
This is the door.
Come on in.
So where do you start? You don’t wait for a formal dinner. You don’t wait for someone to push you. You don’t hope the moment shows up. You start by saying yes.
To be sure, I wasn’t always the guy who said yes. I wasn’t born curious and comfortable with discomfort. That person had to be built, slowly, through a long series of choices to not take the safe route.
I’ve ridden a motorcycle through 105 countries on five continents — dusty waybacks and gravel roads, roadside stalls and five-star restaurants, freezing rain and biting wind. I didn’t do any of that because I was fearless. I did it because I kept choosing to be uncomfortable on purpose, trusting my gut, accepting risk, putting myself in situations where the outcome wasn’t guaranteed.
And here’s what I know now that I didn’t know at twenty-two: most people aren’t unmotivated. They’re just uninterrupted.
That’s how it happens. Not all at once. Just enough to make your world bigger.
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They move through days that have quietly calcified into routine.
Making the same choices. Avoiding the same things.
Operating on assumptions they formed years ago and never thought to question.
The world doesn’t get smaller all at once. It shrinks slowly, one quiet “no” at a time.
What breaks that pattern isn’t a grand gesture. It’s something small. A different restaurant. A spare ticket. A road with no plan. A phone call you’ve been putting off. One bite of something you decided you didn’t like fifteen years ago.
The interruption doesn’t have to be dramatic. It just has to happen.
Most of the time, it starts smaller than you think.
So I went back through years of notes, unpublished pieces, and things I’ve been collecting since I first started writing about this — and pulled together a list. Not a system. Not a plan. Just a handful of ways to interrupt the version of yourself that already thinks it knows, organized loosely by where in your life the door might be easiest to open.
Some of these you’ve already done. Good. Do them again, differently. Others might make you uncomfortable. That’s probably the one to try first.
At the Table
Order something you can’t pronounce.
At an ethnic restaurant, trust the server. Tell them what you don’t eat and let them choose. You might be surprised what happens when you stop pre-screening the menu.
Eat at a restaurant alone.
Sit at the bar. Bring nothing to read. Talk to whoever’s next to you, or don’t. Either way, pay attention to what you notice when you’re not distracted.
Cook a dish from a cuisine you’ve never attempted.
Pick a country. Find one recipe. Buy the ingredients. You might end up with something you keep.
Say yes to the dish someone else is excited about.
When a friend says “you have to try this,” try it. Their enthusiasm is data. Trust it.
Revisit the food you hated as a kid.
Your palate has changed. Your mother’s cooking method may have been the problem, not the ingredient. Give beets, Brussels sprouts, or whatever your nemesis was another chance — prepared well, by someone who knows what they’re doing.
Music & Sound
Say yes to the spare concert ticket.
When someone offers you a ticket to a show you know nothing about, go. You don’t need context. The music will provide it.
Listen to one full album by an artist you’ve dismissed.
Not a playlist. Not a song. A full album, in order, the way it was meant to be heard. Sit with it.
Go see live music in a genre you’ve never experienced.
Jazz, blues, bluegrass, classical, flamenco — pick one that feels foreign. Small venues are better. The intimacy changes everything.
Listen to a podcast or radio station from another country.
Even if you don’t speak the language. Especially if you don’t speak the language. You’ll hear the world differently.
How You Move
Take a different route to somewhere you go every day.
Familiarity is efficient. It’s also blinding.
Try a physical activity you’ve written off.
Yoga, pickleball, surfing, rowing, climbing — whatever you’ve said “that’s not for me” about. Try it twice before you decide. Once is just orientation.
Walk somewhere you’d normally drive.
The pace changes what you see. It also changes what you think about.
Swim in open water.
Ocean, lake, river — something without lane lines and a shallow end. It changes how small you feel. In a good way.
Take a dance class.
Tango, swing, salsa — it doesn’t matter which. Being a beginner in your own body is one of the more humbling and useful experiences available to an adult.
Where You Go
Travel somewhere no one you know has been.
No recommendations to follow. No Instagram posts to compare yours to. Just you and a place you know nothing about.
Go somewhere alone.
One trip, by yourself, no agenda. You’ll find out quickly who you are when there’s no one to perform for.
Sleep somewhere uncomfortable.
A tent, a train, a guesthouse with questionable plumbing. Comfort is a preference, not a requirement. The best stories rarely start in a five-star hotel.
Explore your own city like a tourist.
Pick a neighborhood you’ve driven past a hundred times and never entered. Walk it slowly. Eat there. Talk to someone.
Take a road trip with no fixed destination.
Point in a direction. Drive. See what’s there. The itinerary is the problem, not the solution.
Who You Talk To
Have a real conversation with someone you disagree with.
Not to change their mind. Not to defend yours. Just to understand how they got there. You might be surprised what you find.
Talk to the person next to you on the plane.
Put the headphones down for the first twenty minutes. Ask them where they’re going. People are more interesting than the alternative.
Call someone you’ve been meaning to call for months.
You know who. Stop meaning to.
Ask someone older than you about their life.
Not your parents — someone you don’t already know. Ask one question and then stop talking. What you hear might change what you think about your own.
Introduce yourself to a stranger with no agenda.
At a bar, on a trail, at a show. No pitch, no purpose. Just curiosity. See where it goes.
What You Learn
Take a class in something completely unrelated to your work.
Pottery, woodworking, photography, a language, an instrument. The point isn’t mastery. The point is being a beginner again.
Read a book outside your usual genre.
If you only read nonfiction, read a novel. If you only read fiction, read history. Your brain will thank you for the different angle.
Learn ten words in a language you don’t speak.
Just ten. Then use them somewhere. The attempt matters more than the fluency.
Watch a film from a country you’ve never visited.
With subtitles, not dubbed. Let it be foreign. That’s the point.
Write something. Anything.
A paragraph about your day. A letter you’ll never send. A story that starts with “I remember.” You don’t have to show anyone. Just write it.
How You Think
Spend one hour without your phone.
Not in a meeting. Not sleeping. Just one conscious hour of being unreachable. Notice what comes up.
Change your morning routine.
One thing. Different order, different first hour, different first thought. Routines are useful until they become invisible.
Sit somewhere new and do nothing.
A park, a bench, a café you’ve never been to. No phone, no podcast, no agenda. Just sit. See what your brain does when you stop feeding it.
Change your mind about something publicly.
Tell someone you were wrong. Tell them what changed your mind. It’s one of the more underrated things a person can do.
Ask someone what they think you’re wrong about.
Then don’t argue. Just listen. This one is harder than it sounds — which is exactly why it’s on the list.
This list will keep growing. If something here sparked an idea — or if you’ve got one that belongs on it — leave it in the comments. The best ones make the next version.
And if you haven’t read Eat the Beets yet, start there. This list makes more sense after you do.
Say yes to the next thing someone invites you to — before you know what it is.
That’s it. That’s the whole exercise. Be Kenny.
All photographs in this piece were shot by me — on the road, in the moment. No AI. No stock. What you see is what I saw.
If this resonated, share it with someone who might need the nudge. And if you’re already subscribed, you can upgrade to paid on my Substack — it’s how I keep writing, riding, and saying yes to things.
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