The entrepreneurial spirit often emerges in the most unexpected ways. For me, it started with lizard keychains. As elementary school kids, my friends and I crafted these colorful keychains from beads and plastic twine, going door-to-door to make our first $30. While we quickly spent our earnings at the movies without considering our material costs, this early venture planted a seed—a love for creating something from nothing.
My childhood was filled with these experimental projects. I tried to sell coloring and comic books I spent hours drawing until I realized the time investment exceeded any potential profit. I ran lemonade stands, adding cookies to our menu after studying the competition down the street. I even prototyped what I imagined could be a portable encyclopedia, unknowingly conceptualizing something similar to today’s iPad. I can remember making a mess at my grandmother’s house, cutting frames out of cardboard and feeding sheets of paper through it of messy wireframes to mimic scrolling. I suppose I missed my calling on this one.
While these ventures might be considered “failures” by traditional metrics, each one taught me valuable lessons about innovation and the courage to create.
“Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do.”
Steve Jobs
It was one particular side project that would ultimately shape my entire career path, though I didn’t know it at the time. It started with a Sony Walkman and an obsession with country music. As I frequented various music artists’ websites, I began noticing something: some websites were beautifully designed, while others were totally not. This observation sparked a curiosity that would change everything.
Fan websites were a big deal in ‘99, and I jumped in headfirst. Armed with nothing but Microsoft Notepad and Paintshop Pro that I found on our computer, I taught myself HTML and graphic design. I spent days hogging our family’s computer and dial-up connection, working late into the night hours (some things never change for me).
Before long I published my first fan site complete with a community forum. The response was overwhelming. Not only did fans embrace it, but I received recognition from the artist herself and her team.
Over the years, I rebuilt that site eleven times, each iteration representing a new learning experience. The project became my testing ground, my classroom, and my portfolio all in one. The message board I created connected me with fans worldwide, fostering a community that taught me as much as I taught others. Some of these connections persist to this day.
Passion doesn’t just appear—you need to seek it out by doing.
The doing is absolutely critical.
This “just for fun” project didn’t just teach me technical skills—it revealed my passion for combining design and coding with a hint of marketing. It influenced my decision to study web design in high school, then college, and ultimately shaped my entire career trajectory.
This is the magic of side projects: they give you permission to explore without expectations. They’re spaces where curiosity can roam free, where mistakes are learning opportunities rather than failures, and where passion isn’t discovered but developed through active engagement.
As I often tell people who ask why I continue to pursue various projects: passion doesn’t just appear—you need to seek it out by doing. The doing is absolutely critical.
Sometimes the smallest side project can lead to the biggest changes in your life. So start that project you’ve been thinking about. Give your curiosity a chance. You never know—that “just for fun” venture might just change everything.