It was nearly 2am on Thursday and I was scrolling through SEMA coverage on my phone. Instagram stories of people walking the show floor. YouTube thumbnails with BUILD OF THE YEAR in all caps. Photos of cars I'd been reading about for weeks, now in person for the world to see, surrounded by crowds.

And I felt it. That specific hollow feeling in your chest when everyone else is at the party and you're home alone.

I've been to SEMA before. Once. 2013. My brother had done some concept design sketches for someone's hot rod build, and I went to support him. I walked the floor. I saw incredible builds. I took photos. But I was there for someone else's work, not my own. I was the supportive brother, not the builder. Not the creator. Just someone along for the ride feeling lucky to have gotten in.

Twelve years later, everything's different. I have multiple car projects. I’m going to cars and coffee events regularly. I write a newsletter about automotive anxiety. I'm creating content for car people. I'm building a brand around the messy, imperfect reality of automotive obsession. This is my work now. My thing.

But I wasn't there. And that hit different.

This wasn't normal car person FOMO. Not the "their car is better than mine" kind. This was about being on the outside of the culture I'm literally building my brand around. I'm writing newsletters about automotive anxiety while experiencing a very specific type of automotive anxiety...the kind you can't fix by ordering parts.

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I kept scrolling. Troy Trepanier's '36 Ford that won Battle of the Builders. The Infiniti QX80 with a GT-R engine that makes absolutely no sense and all the sense. Toyota's electric time attack car that looked genuinely angry. Hondata's new BPro system that's going to keep B-Series Hondas alive for another generation.

All of it happening in Las Vegas. All of it happening without me.

I couldn't stop thinking... I'm building a community for people who have complicated relationships with their cars. People who feel anxiety about their projects. People who feel like they don't quite belong in traditional car culture. But I wasn't there. I wasn't in the room with 150,000+ other people who speak this language.

The last time I was at SEMA, I was there for my brother's work. This time, I'd be there for mine. And I was home scrolling Instagram instead.

Let me be honest about why I didn't go this year. The easy answer is "I was busy" or "timing didn't work out" or "maybe next year." But that's not the real reason.

The real reason is this brand isn't even fully launched yet. The apparel line that's supposed to be the business model? Still in pre-launch. The income I make from readers clicking ads in the newsletter and watching YouTube videos? I'm super grateful for every single dollar, but let's be real...it's minimal. For now. A few dollars here and there isn't going to get me to Vegas.

Badge, flights, hotel for 3-4 days, food, getting around...SEMA isn't cheap. And when you're building something from scratch while working to keep the lights on, a trip to Vegas for "networking and community building" feels like a luxury you can't justify yet.

But as always… it’s complicated. Because underneath the practical money stuff, there was also this voice asking...do I even belong there yet? Not with a corporate badge like 2013. Not representing an established company. Just me. Just Pursuit of Something. A newsletter and a YouTube channel and an Integra project and a whole lot of belief that this thing I'm building matters.

Looking at tickets, vendors, attendees, everything going on at SEMA and I immediately started calculating all the ways I didn't measure up. Newsletter isn't big enough. YouTube channel isn't quite there yet. Apparel line hasn't launched. Revenue is basically nonexistent. Who am I to show up with my own badge, representing my own brand?

Last time I went, I was there for someone else. I belonged there because my brother belonged there. His work was on display. I was just the one man moral support crew. This time would be different. This time I'd be representing myself. And suddenly that felt like it needed to be earned...or at least funded.

The irony is not lost on me. My whole brand is "your piece of shit is beautiful" and "progress is perfection" and celebrating automotive imperfection. But when it came to showing up for myself, suddenly I needed everything to be perfect first. Or at least profitable enough to cover a plane ticket.

I needed the subscriber count to be higher. The YouTube channel to be bigger. The apparel business to be launched. The revenue to be real. The Integra build to be further along. I needed to be more established, more legitimate, more... financially viable.

That's the voice, right? The one that keeps you from taking your car to meets because it's not done yet. The one that keeps you from posting your build because someone might point out what's wrong with it. The one that keeps you in the role of "supportive person for someone else's work" instead of showing up with your own. The one that says "wait until you can afford it" when really you should be figuring out how to make it happen because it matters.

I've been so focused on building the thing that I forgot the thing only matters if I'm actually part of the community I'm building it for.

It’s Sunday evening as I'm writing this.

I decided that SEMA 2026 isn't optional. It's happening. I'm going. Not as someone's plus-one. Not just to support someone else's work. For my own work. For Pursuit of Something. For the thing I am building.

Not when everything is perfect. Not when I've hit some arbitrary milestone. Not when the revenue finally justifies it on a spreadsheet.

I'm going because that's what the pursuit of something actually means. Not waiting for perfect circumstances. Not waiting to feel qualified. Not waiting to afford it comfortably. Just deciding the thing matters and figuring out the logistics.

And I'm telling you about it now, publicly, so there's no backing out.

Because we all have to start at the same somewhere. Every person there was once someone who decided they belonged there before anyone else agreed. Every builder at Battle of the Builders. Every manufacturer with a booth. Every content creator walking the floor. They all had a moment where they decided "I'm doing this" before they had proof it would work. Before the money made sense.

The difference between 2013 and 2026 isn't that I'll be more qualified or more profitable. It's that I'll actually be showing up for my own work. The newsletter I write. The community I'm building. The brand I'm creating around the beautiful imperfection of cars.

That version of me belongs at SEMA. Not because the metrics are right or the bank account is full. Because I decided it matters.

And honestly, what better way to understand automotive anxiety than to feel it while trying to get to the biggest automotive event of the year? What better way to build a community around imperfection than to show up imperfectly, figuring out the finances as you go?

This is the content. This is the brand. Not pretending I have it all figured out. Not waiting until everything is dialed in. Just pursuing something and bringing people along for the actual journey.

So here's what I'm thinking about for SEMA 2026.

I want to organize a meetup. Maybe just coffee one morning before the show floor opens. Maybe a group dinner one night. Maybe just a "hey, anyone from POS want to meet at this booth at 2pm" situation.

I have no idea what I'm doing. I've never done this before. I don't know if 3 people will show up or 30. I don't know if it'll be awkward or amazing or somewhere in between.

But that's kind of the point, right?

If I can write newsletters about embracing imperfect builds and celebrating automotive anxiety and finding beauty in the struggle, then I can embrace an imperfect first meetup attempt. If I can tell you that your piece of shit is beautiful, I can accept that my first community building effort might be messy.

Progress is perfection. Even when the progress is just showing up for your own work.

So this is me putting it out there. SEMA 2026. November. Las Vegas. I'll be there. And if you want to be there too, hit reply and let me know. We'll figure out the details together.

Maybe you've been thinking about going but didn't know anyone else who'd be there. Maybe you've felt that same imposter syndrome about whether you belong at an industry event. Maybe the money feels tight but you know it matters anyway. Maybe you just want to meet other people who understand why you spent your entire Saturday replacing a thermostat that wasn't actually broken.

This is the invitation. This is me saying "let's do this together" before I know exactly what "this" looks like.

Because the FOMO I felt Thursday night wasn't really about missing SEMA 2025. It was about realizing I'd been building this brand from the sidelines instead of being in the arena. It was about understanding that community doesn't happen through newsletters and YouTube alone. It happens when you actually show up.

And I'm ready to show up. Not as someone's support crew. Not for someone else's work. For mine.

Next year at this time, I want to be scrolling through SEMA coverage at 2am because I'm exhausted from walking the show floor all day. Because I met people from the newsletter in person. Because I saw those builds with my own eyes. Because I was actually there representing the thing I'm building.

Not because everything was perfect. Just because I decided it mattered.

So yeah. SEMA 2026. It's happening. Let's make it happen together.

If you're thinking about it, stop thinking and commit. Hit reply. Tell me you're in. We've got 365 days to figure out the logistics. That's longer than most of our builds take anyway.

And if that still feels scary... good. Me too. We'll be scared together.

That's what community is for.

-Nick

P.S. - If you're planning to go and wouldn't mind meeting up with someone who's building a brand around the beautiful chaos of car culture, let me know. If you've been before and have advice, I'm all ears. If you think this whole thing sounds ridiculous, you're probably right, but I'm doing it anyway.