Finding the Keys
How five weeks unlocked three creative projects I’d spent months avoiding
A note from Will:
I still remember my first meeting with Pranav this past August. He talked about how he had built up a big audience on Twitter in recent years. He had already hit real success metrics on the Internet, writing about habits and self-improvement. And yet, that type of writing wasn’t lighting him up anymore. He was looking for more.
A few weeks later, he texted me the first article from his new Substack. In it, he shared a breakthrough realization: in years past, he had been writing for the algorithm. He had chased external metrics instead of making things he cared about for their own sake. But starting with that first Substack article, he began to change.
Pranav’s newfound creative direction embodies our core principle at Act Two: “On Anchoring to the Internal”. That’s why, for this week’s “Citizens of the Internet” edition, I encouraged Pranav to share his own story, rather than someone else’s journey. You can read about his creative evolution below. Maybe you’ll see shades of your own story reflected back.
At 1:00am, every house on my street is dark.
It’s week three of Act Two. I’ve stayed up for every Monday session since September 4th, and as my city sleeps, ideas are moving faster than I can write them down.
In the first lesson, Will showed us the earliest maps of the world. He mentioned that back in 1500, cartographers were still figuring out continents, and even centuries later, the map looked nothing like it does today.
“We’re in the same phase with the internet. Everything is still taking shape. Boundaries are still being drawn, and territories are uncharted. If you feel you’ve missed the boat, you’re mistaken. It’s still very early.”
For months, I’d been telling myself the opposite. That I’d lost my chance.
After three years of daily writing, I had 25,000 followers. Tweets, threads, product launches, ghostwriting and consulting gigs. The complete “creator” experience - all packaged into a brief space of time.
Then one day, I stopped.
Picking it back up felt impossible for so long.
But sitting at my desk late into the night, scribbling ideas into my notebook, one thing became obvious.
The doors were never closed.
I’d just lost the keys.
The Prison
Throughout 2025, there’s been one constant line in my journal:
“I want to do more.”
August. September. Same feeling. Different day.
My life in Malmö was finally coming together. My girlfriend and I moved into a new apartment just over a year ago and finally felt at home in Sweden. I’d found my feet at my new startup role that demanded everything I had, and then some.
On paper, it all looked right.
But I wasn’t creating.
I stopped writing on Twitter, LinkedIn, and my newsletter altogether. All the work I’d built up for so long was now sitting untouched, collecting dust.
The friction kept growing. Even opening these platforms was difficult. I didn’t know what to do. The doors were right there, but I couldn’t walk through them.
I talked about it with Fei-Ling in one of the first Creative Lab breakout rooms. She’d felt it before — how digital platforms force you to curate ideas for algorithms rather than your own truth, how that dilutes the impact of your ideas, and drains you of excitement, drive, and passion.
“It’s like I’m in a prison, and I built it myself.”
I didn’t realize it, but I’d anchored myself to the external - caught chasing trends, following what’s proven to work, rather than my curiosity.
Turns out I was the only one standing in my way.
The Call
Late July, I got my first email about Act Two.
First cohort. Five weeks. Simple mission: finally start that project you’ve been putting off.
I’d completed Write of Passage last year and knew exactly what the right container could unlock. The more I looked into the program, the more I thought: this might just be what I need right now.
But another voice kept pushing back:
“That ship has sailed, Pranav. Going from zero to a hundred in five weeks with live classes and weekly projects while managing work, health, and everything you’re already balancing? You must be crazy!”
With the deadline approaching, I spoke with Will to understand if Act Two was the right fit for me. Minutes into our conversation, I could feel his excitement.
We talked about my current predicament and all the creative ideas scrambling in my mind.
He got it immediately.
But more than that, I felt like I got it too. I wasn’t in this alone. Someone on the other side of the world understood exactly what I wanted to do and was building an environment where it might be possible to figure it out.
In fact, what resonated most wasn’t the stacked guest list or planned lessons.
It was his vision:
Helping creators get unstuck, figure out their next steps, and follow through on their projects.
That night, I told my girlfriend:
“I’m joining this cohort. It’s five weeks. I’ll be staying up late, but I need to do this for myself.”
She knew I meant it.
She trusted me, and I trusted the process.
Week One
September 4th, 2025, 1:00am.
The question at the end of our first lesson:
“What’s on the horizon for you? What would you create if you knew you couldn’t fail?”
I picked three projects.
Relaunch my newsletter
Finally publish my first YouTube video
Launch a writing business
Ambitious, possibly a step too far. But this program felt like my best shot in years to bring these ideas to life. My opportunity to make up for months of standing still. If I’m going to sacrifice sleep, balance, and everything else - it better be worth it.
We wrote letters to our future selves, five weeks from then, as homework.
I described every doubt, every fear, every reason this might not work:
“You’ve been writing online for years - first under a pseudonym, eventually under your full name. Remember how intense that felt? Remember the Twitter threads, the daily publishing, growing to 25,000 readers? You did that. Who’s to say you can’t do it again, if not better? Write because you want to. Write because you love to.”
“You were obsessed with YouTube as a teenager. Maybe you weren’t ready back then, but you’ve hosted 35 Twitter spaces, 22 podcasts since. Is video still as intimidating as you think? Worry about the specifics later. For now, just create one video.”
“You’ve held yourself back with fear of coming off too ‘salesy.’ This time, don’t let fear step in the way of finding the people you can help most.”
I’d been stuck, and all I needed was permission to start once again.
The Reframe
Every Monday after that, from 1:00am to 2:30am, I was wide awake and completely immersed in the lesson.
I entered a breakout room with David Sherry. We talked about our projects, and I mentioned how I didn’t know what value I could bring to the world or how I should position myself.
We’re about to wrap when David says something that stops me cold:
“Think about this statement and answer it: I can’t believe I get paid to X by Y without Z.”
I sat with that question for hours, scribbling down my response, until it all came together.
“I can’t believe I get paid to write by working with a friend building cool things... without doubting my abilities or second-guessing myself.”
There it is.
My limiting belief, spelled out in one sentence, staring right back at me.
Project number three wasn’t abstract anymore. I could actually see it.
Soon after, I posted on the Ask & Offer channel on Circle:
“I’ll audit your writing in exchange for feedback on my business idea.”
I’d put together a survey with ten questions to learn the problems, the platforms, to figure out how I could create a solution around it. Eleven people responded, and I’d spent the next week creating Loom breakdowns of sales pages, LinkedIn posts, and newsletters. Line by line, what’s working, what isn’t, and where the gaps exist.
That was the best form of signal I could’ve asked for.
I finally had real insight to work with, and even ended up working with David on his creative project, Hidden Value Podcast.
Signal & Story
Week three.
I still had a lot of work to do with my newsletter.
The mid-cohort fatigue crept in. For a split second I thought, maybe I’ve done enough? Maybe I can pick this up when I have more time?
No chance.
I was never going to let that happen.
I spent the entire weekend migrating my list to Substack. Setting up the design. Creating the logo. Taking care of all the technical details.
That was easy.
But of course, now I had to actually write something.
“I Created My Own Prison”, my first piece, described everything I’d been feeling for months. How I’d built a cage around my creativity. How I’d imprisoned myself within the confines of social platforms.
My plan with the newsletter was simple: write straight from the heart.
That piece got a shout-out in the following week’s session. Friends from the cohort reached out:
“This is exactly what I’ve been feeling.”
With that confidence, I thought, maybe I should create a video talking about the previous week and share it just on Circle — ideas, wins, mistakes, lessons. The kind of conversation I’d have with someone over coffee. Maybe that’ll give me what I need to kick-start my YouTube channel.
I recorded five takes and deleted them immediately. But eventually, I got one that didn’t make me want to throw my computer out of the window. Brian Wiesner commented:
“This was great! Your presence on camera is solid, keep exercising the muscle!
One rep at a time, the creative muscles were indeed building.
Full Circle
Week four.
Ali Abdaal joined as a guest speaker.
I’ve been following his work for years. He’s a huge part of the reason I found myself on the creative path. Beyond just credentials, Ali was living proof that you can pursue what you’re passionate about and actually make it work.
And now he’s right there on my screen. Talking about growing his YouTube channel to 6.8 million subscribers and how he announced his newsletter on an Instagram story seven years ago.
The Q&A opens up. My heart’s racing. My question feels too basic, too obvious. But I unmute anyway:
“Hey Ali, huge fan! For YouTube growth early on, what metrics should I focus on? Is it subscribers? Or should I just focus on getting videos out?”
He answers as if we’re having a conversation:
“What are your goals with YouTube? Is it creative or business?”
“Creative 100%”
“Get aligned with that first. You can think about structure and progress later, as long as you’re shipping and not derailing yourself. Chill out. Enjoy the process.”
Twenty seconds to close a loop that started years ago.
Two weeks later, I published my first YouTube video: “This Video Took Me 15 Years to Publish.”
The Stories
Week five.
I’m in an Action Gym breakout room with Will.
“Dude, you’re doing it. Soak it in. Acknowledge that you’re doing what you set out to do.”
I hadn’t stopped to notice. I was so focused on the upcoming deadline and the next items on my to-do list.
A few days later, Will reached out with an idea for Citizens of the Internet. He wanted to share the stories of creators in Act Two. It tied back to the vision he described on our first call — what’s possible when you use the internet the right way, and what it’s like to actually build the thing you’ve been thinking about.
“Would you want to help write some of these?”
Yes. Immediately.
It’s unique and unlike anything I’ve done before. I like to think of it as creative investigative journalism: multiple interviews with each creator, building story arcs, asking questions that bring out conversations, fears, and moments where things clicked that nobody else knows about.
The work takes time. The responsibility is massive. And I love it.
Best of all, writing each story has taught me so much about my own.
Kyle finally followed through on an idea he’d been passionate about. Cris built her night nanny service once she figured out vibe coding. Magnus switched careers and did the unthinkable with language improv. Lori found her way back amidst one of the most challenging phases of her life.
Sometimes all you need is five weeks in the right environment.
The Build
October 7th.
The cohort ends, but the momentum is still present.
I’ve published 11 Signal & Story newsletters. Some weeks it’s Sunday. Some weeks it’s Monday. It’s straight from the heart. Not forced. Not curated for the algorithm. Just me writing about what matters with total freedom.
My YouTube channel has two videos live. I’m getting more comfortable with the camera, and less hesitant to record.
For Copy & Content, my writing business idea, I’ve partnered with my good friend, Raman, on design. The idea is as real as it’s ever been.
Citizens of the Internet has four published stories and several more to come.
I can’t say I’ve figured out the perfect balance. I’m still wrestling with perfectionism. Still breaking through the belief that I’m not “business-minded” enough because I came from medicine instead of the startup world.
But the unanswered questions from my letter to future self:
“How do I break through my limiting beliefs with launching a business? What topics should I write about? If there’s just one YouTube video, what should it be?”
They’re finally answered, and my journal doesn’t say, “I want to do more” any longer.
The door is open.
The keys were there the whole time.
I just needed the right people to help me look.
Pranav Gajria is a doctor turned creative entrepreneur based in Malmö, Sweden, and an Act Two alumni. He’s the co-founder of Doctors & Writers, building Copy & Content, writes on his Substack, Signal & Story and Citizens of the Internet documenting the stories of creators building lives online. You can connect on LinkedIn and follow his journey on YouTube.
Love that you turned the pen on yourself. Stopping a streak and coming back in a new way is a huge accomplishment.