“Do. Or Do Not.”

Yoda’s famous line — “Do. Or do not. There is no try.” — is one of the most quoted moments in Star Wars. Beyond the sci-fi universe, it resonates deeply because it exposes something fundamentally human: our habit of hedging, flinching, and disguising hesitation and fear as noble-sounding “trying.”

I know this firsthand. I spent years trying to write — filling journals, creating scattered drafts, scribbling ideas on paper scraps. I convinced myself I was making progress. The truth? I was merely circling. Everything changed when I built Ink Wells & Goose Feathers and began posting on Medium. That’s when I crossed the line from trying to doing.

This essay explores that transformation: the lie behind trying, the truth of doing, and why Yoda’s swamp-side wisdom applies to our daily lives more than we care to admit.

Trying Sounds Good. That’s Why We Love It.

Trying has excellent PR; it sounds better than inaction. It signals to others that we care, that we’re engaged, that we’re “making an effort.” For years, saying, “I’m trying to write” was my way of seeking credit for intention rather than output — credit I offered only to myself.

The problem is that effort isn’t commitment. You can try half-heartedly and still congratulate yourself. Trying leaves an escape route open. If things don’t work out, at least you tried… right? That’s the safety net.

But when trying becomes a lifestyle, it transforms into avoidance disguised as effort. And therein lies the problem.

From Swamp to Submission

In The Empire Strikes Back, Luke Skywalker’s ship sinks into the Dagobah swamp. Yoda instructs him to lift it using the Force. Luke says he’ll “try.”

Yoda immediately shuts him down: “No. Try not. Do. Or do not. There is no try.”

Luke strains, fails, and collapses, gasping, “I can’t. It’s too big.” That’s the telltale sign. By declaring “I can’t,” Luke had already mentally stepped out of the arena. He judged the outcome before completing the effort — trying disguised as action.

If Luke had been truly doing, his response would have been different. Not “I can’t,” but something like: “I’ll keep at it until it moves,” or “Keep teaching me how to do this.” These responses don’t guarantee success, but they signal commitment. They close the escape route.

That’s the essence of Yoda’s lesson: doing doesn’t mean you always succeed; it means you stay committed, even when it’s difficult, even when the outcome remains uncertain.

And this is precisely where most of us stumble.

It was never about spaceships. It was about commitment. Half-measures cannot change the impossible.

We all have our own muddy X-Wings: losing weight, changing careers, rebuilding trust, writing that book. These challenges don’t respond to “I’ll try.” They only budge when we fully commit. Stop calling it a “dreadmill” and walk. Complete the certification. Make that difficult phone call. Finish the draft of your novel.

Choose your hard. It’s difficult to do. But it’s even harder to do half-heartedly, and ultimately fail. Again.

Trying vs. Doing vs. Done

Here’s how I frame it now:

• Trying = circling without commitment.

• Doing = engaged action.

• Done = the finish line (or today’s finish line, if it’s ongoing).

Some things in life resolve into done. The garage cleaned. The Windows servers updated. The essay published. These are projects with endpoints.

Other things never truly end. You don’t finish being healthy. You don’t finish loving someone. You don’t finish writing if it’s your craft. These are practices that reset regularly.

That’s been my shift with writing. For years, trying meant fiddling with outlines and telling myself stories about “someday.” Now, doing means I sit down, write, and hit publish — whether on IWAGF, Medium, or both. Done isn’t forever finished. Done is today’s (or this week’s) piece.

Why Trying Feels Safer

We cling to trying because it shields our ego. Going all in and failing means risking the discovery that we’re not good enough. When we merely try and fail, we can shrug and say, “Well, I didn’t really give it everything.” We’re not wrong — we didn’t give it our all. Disappointed as we may be, we’re not surprised when we look back and find… nothing.

That’s why I circled for so long. I enjoyed the idea of being a writer. I loved the notebooks, the brainstorming sessions, the scraps of paper with clever lines. But I wasn’t risking anything. Publishing changed that. Now, every time I share a piece, I risk silence, rejection, or indifference. But at least it’s real.

Real is better than safe.

The Trap of Perpetual Preparation

One of the subtlest disguises of trying is preparation.

I lived this one: buying books on writing, tweaking logos for websites, endlessly “getting ready.” Fun in its own way and sometimes helpful. It all felt like progress. None of it counted as writing. It was orbit, not landing. A supercomputer would struggle calculating the number of tools I own that have never seen daylight.

At some point, more preparation becomes just procrastination. There’s no perfect plan, no flawless draft. You either act, or you don’t.

How Trying Shows Up Everywhere

You don’t need to be a writer to recognize this feeling. Trying infiltrates every aspect of life.

• Health: “I’m trying to eat better.” Translation: “I feel guilty, but I haven’t had pie in weeks!”

• Career: “I’m trying to figure out what’s next.” Translation: “I’m stalling, afraid to commit.”

• Relationships: “I’m trying to be more present.” Translation: “I know I was wrong, but I haven’t called to apologize.”

None of these are failures. They’re human. But unless we name them honestly, we remain stuck.

Doing Isn’t Perfection. It’s Ownership.

Yoda wasn’t promising Luke that doing equals success. He was guiding him toward ownership.

Doing means taking responsibility for the outcome, even when it’s messy. Publishing has taught me this. Some essays resonate. Others vanish without a ripple. But they exist. They’re mine.

Trying is safe but stagnant. Doing is vulnerable but alive.

Getting Honest

Here’s the gut check I use now:

• Did I put words on the page today?

• Did I hit publish?

• Am I moving something forward, or just peppering it with excuses?

If I can’t answer yes, then I’m not doing. I’m still hiding behind try.

What Yoda Was Really Saying

Yoda wasn’t offering Luke a motivational slogan. He was drawing a line in the sand. Are you in or out? Committed or hedging?

It’s the same question I’ve had to ask myself. For years, I claimed I was “trying to write.” The truth? I wasn’t. I was dreaming. Only when I hit publish — when I released my words into the world — did I understand what doing truly feels like.

Conclusion: Stop Circling, Start Landing

Not every use of try is dishonest. Sometimes we genuinely are testing something new. But too often, we use it as a shield — a way to appear engaged while staying safe.

The truth is, nothing changes until you do. Not think. Not prepare. Not try. Do. Publish the essay. Make the call. Take the walk.

For me, that means writing here, every week(ish), imperfect but alive. Ink Wells & Goose Feathers isn’t just an idea anymore. Medium isn’t just a plan scribbled in a notebook. They’re both real because I made them real.

And that’s the point. Yoda’s line isn’t about Jedi training. It’s about us: the gap between the life we talk about and the life we actually live.

Do. Or do not. There is no try.