I’m sitting on the dirty tan fabric couch every 80s parent owned, asking to watch TV. I’m 9 years old, it’s Saturday, and I’m bored.

My dad says, “Let’s go to the movies instead.”

The movie theater is my favorite place in the universe.  The way the lights go down breeding excitement and anticipation, the roar of the speakers, the smell of popcorn – I don’t even like popcorn, but I always eat it at the movies.

We’ve been driving for 10 minutes before I think to ask what movie we’re even going to see.

“I think you’re going to like it,” my dad tells me, smiling. “It’s called James Bond.”

“What’s it about?”

“Well, he’s a secret agent. He travels around the world hunting down bad guys and saving the world. It’s a lot of fun.”

I don’t think my father had anticipated how much more violent James Bond was since the days of Sean Connery during his childhood in the 60s.

Oh yeah, I loved it.

When the movie ended we drove straight to Blockbuster and rented Goldfinger on VHS. Dad explained that James Bond had been around for a long time, and there were tons of movies. This one, however, was the best.

When Bond said, “Do you expect me to talk, Goldfinger?”

And Goldfinger replied, “No, Mr. Bond. I expect you to die!”

That’s it. I was hooked.

I am not a James Bond fan. I am a James Bond fanatic.

The World Is Not Enough

In 7th grade I founded the “James Bond Fan Club.” The only members were me, my little brother Michael (who at only 7 years old was not allowed to watch Bond and only knew what I told him), and my friend Mike (there are too many Mikes in my life).

Mike and I once invited our friend Jeff to a sleepover where we would decide if he was allowed to join the club. Jeff had also never seen a James Bond movie. So we showed him one. Then, we gave him a 10 question quiz that included questions based on the entire history of the franchise.

He got every question wrong. My mom made me let him into the club anyway.

In my teens I collected nearly the entire series on VHS, then in college purchased the entire collection on DVD, and subsequently as an adult received the entire collection on Blu-Ray as a holiday gift.

I have James Bond Funkos, coffee table books, and assorted paraphernalia including my most recent purchase, an original Pierce Brosnan lithograph from Goldeneye (thanks 90s Con!).

I know the stats, the box office numbers, the behind-the-scenes scoops on stunts gone wrong. Yes, the franchise is problematic when viewed from a 2022 perspective, particularly the Roger Moore era.

Still, “James Bond fanatic” is an integral part of my personal identity.

And then I discovered the James Bond corner of YouTube.

It’s not very big, mind you. There are just a handful of creators dedicated to all things Bond. But Calvin Dyson, David Zaritsky, and others have created entire YouTube channels to honor and discuss this staple of cinema history.

I love their videos. But they also make me feel stupid.

A View to a Kill

These guys know Bond on a deeper level than I could ever dream of. What I know is surface level compared to them.

Through their videos I’ve gone down rabbit holes into trivia, connections, easter eggs, references that have escaped me all my life.

Compared to them, I am a rank amateur in the world of James Bond.

And I guarantee that whatever you consider yourself an expert in, there are people who make your knowledge or skill level look like child’s play. In days of old, we’d rarely encounter those people.

If you’re an accountant, what were the odds you’d bump into the world’s best accountant? If you’re the best salesperson in the state, what were the odds you’d ever encounter the best salesperson in the country?

Next to none – before the Internet.

But today, you encounter the best of the best all day, every day. Because that’s what algorithms are designed to do, amplify the best and most interesting people and stories until your newsfeed is exclusively people who make you feel bad about what you do.

You Only Live Twice

I’ve written about comparison culture before.

Here’s the thing: Comparing yourself to others can be healthy, even useful, as long as you’re careful to restrict those comparisons to people just a little bit ahead of where you are now, or people you aspire to be like.

But if you’re trying to make it as a motivational speaker, comparing yourself to Simon Sinek or Brené Brown is a bad idea. If you’re starting a podcast, don’t compare yourself to Joe Rogan. They’re the best of the best, the top 0.01%.

And there is always going to be someone smarter than you. Faster than you. Richer than you. More successful than you. On any metric you can choose.

What matters ultimately is how you feel about your own expertise, talents, and gifts. And more importantly, how the people you seek to serve are transformed for the better as a result of colliding with you.

Truly, you only get two lives: The one before you step into your gifts and show up authentically, and after.

I’ll never know as much about James Bond as Calvin Dyson. That doesn’t make me any less of a James Bond fanatic. It just makes him more of one.