Where the Baby Turtle Crawls: Pixar’s Blueprint for Showing Up Unfinished
Pixar’s Creative Lab: What baby steps, bad versions, and brave feedback can teach us about failing forward.
Chapter 6
The Baby Turtle Theory: Clarity is in the Crawl, Not the Arrival
“You can’t go backward. You have to live your life moving forward.”
— Sally Carrera, Cars, Pixar
There’s something quietly terrifying about starting again. Not from scratch, but from the messy, uncertain space after something has already unraveled.
When I launched this newsletter, I didn’t do it because I had figured everything out.
I did it because I hadn’t.
I was in the middle of a season that felt more like a question mark than a chapter. Everything I thought I knew, about myself, my work, my voice, my direction, had softened into something blurrier, harder to define.
And somehow, amidst all that uncertainty, I realized the only way forward was to stop waiting to be finished.
For years I always waited for the right moment. I postponed living. And I’m ashamed to admit that out loud.
I didn’t wear the dress, because the occasion wasn’t special enough.
I didn’t light the candle, because the moment didn’t feel worthy yet.
I didn’t cook my favorite meal, because I was saving it for a reason I couldn’t name.
I never signed up for the dance class. Time never felt right enough.
I didn’t leave the job that drained me, because I was waiting to feel more certain.
I didn’t change what no longer fit, because I was waiting for the perfect plan.
I was waiting to feel ready.
Ready to be clear. Ready to be confident. Ready to be complete. But that’s not how you find clarity. Confidence doesn’t appear before the leap. The plan doesn’t arrive with a ribbon on it.
So I stopped waiting. And I started showing up, unfinished, unsure, undone.
And that’s when everything began to shift. That’s what creativity is, really.
Not performance. Not perfection. But permission. Permission to let something be rough. To begin when you’re still unsure. To build something, even if it’s lopsided and raw and held together by hope.
We trick ourselves into believing that creativity is what happens once we’ve arrived.
Once you know your purpose, your audience, your message, your path. But I think creativity lives in the act of becoming, not being.
What if the point isn’t to be polished but to stay in the room long enough with your chaotic, half-formed idea until it begins to breathe on its own?
That’s what I’m learning from writing this newsletter.
Not how to create perfect content. But how to keep showing up before I know what it’s going to become. Each post has been a conversation I almost didn’t share. A sentence I hesitated to publish. A paragraph I wrote before I felt ready to “own it.”
I’ve been doing it for 6 weeks in a row now, yay! That’s something to celebrate.
And here’s what I’ve discovered: Creativity doesn’t require your certainty.
It requires your presence. It asks only that you meet it where you are, unfinished, imperfect, in-progress. Because unfinished doesn’t mean unworthy. It means there’s still a pulse in the dream, however quiet, however flickering.
It means the fire is still lit.
And like a baby turtle crawling toward the ocean, you might not see the full path, only the instinct to move. The sand is uneven. The journey is slow. But something deep inside you trusts that the waves will be there when you arrive.
That’s what creativity feels like sometimes.
Moving forward before you can see the finish line.
Trusting there’s something waiting on the other side of starting.
“Sometimes you gotta get through your fear to see the beauty on the other side.”
— Poppa, The Good Dinosaur, Pixar
That’s the other side. Not certainty. Not brilliance. Just motion.
A fragile, hopeful beginning that whispers: I may not be ready, but I’m here.
So this edition is a love letter to those who are still becoming. To the ones showing up unfinished. To the ones still figuring it out. To those who are crawling toward the ocean of their creative selves, not always sure if it will be there, but trusting that it will.
This is for the ones building without blueprints. Writing without a thesis. Creating before the plan makes sense.
You don’t need to be finished to begin.
You’re allowed to start with shaky hands.
That’s how all beautiful things begin.
Pixar’s Creative Code: Why Every Great Idea Starts As a Mess
Pixar, the studio behind Toy Story, Inside Out, Soul, and so many unforgettable stories, might seem like a polished creativity machine. But behind every masterpiece is something far more human: A culture that values beginnings over polish. A belief that creativity isn’t a divine spark, it’s a discipline. And most importantly, permission to start badly.
“All our movies start out as bad movies.”—Ed Catmull, Pixar’s co-founder
At Pixar, they don’t just tolerate imperfection. They expect it. Welcome it. Build with it. Because failure isn’t a flaw in the process, it’s the foundation of it.
This 10-minute video from Insider unpacks what makes Pixar’s creative culture so rare, and so effective. Worth every second.
Pixar’s mindset teaches us about creative courage, and why it’s a blueprint not just for storytelling, but for anyone brave enough to build something new.
1. Start Ugly
At Pixar, every film begins as a rough sketch, an awkward scene, a version that doesn’t quite work. But they don’t wait for the final version to begin sharing. They share early. Iterate fast. And build momentum before the idea is even fully formed. The goal isn’t to avoid the mess, it’s to move through it. This silences the inner critic that says “It’s not good enough yet,” and replaces it with something far more useful: “Let’s see what we can make of this.”
2. Pixar’s Braintrust: How the Masters of Storytelling Fail Brilliantly
Behind Pixar’s signature magic, those unforgettable moments when toys come alive, rats become chefs, and emotions ride rollercoasters, lies something far less glamorous: a room full of brutally honest feedback. It’s called the Braintrust. And it’s not just a meeting. It’s a mindset.
At Pixar, the Braintrust is a circle of trusted storytellers who gather regularly to tear apart early versions of films with radical honesty and zero ego. The goal? Not to protect feelings. To protect the story. Because, even at Pixar, every great film starts as a not-so-great one. The Braintrust was designed to catch those misfires early, before they harden into mediocrity. But what makes it genius isn’t just the feedback. It’s how that feedback is delivered and received.
There are three core rules:
No Authority Figures: No one in the room can pull rank. Feedback is a gift, not a command.
No Ego: Notes are about the work, not the worker. There’s no space for defensiveness, only curiosity.
No Prescriptions: The Braintrust diagnoses problems, but never dictates the fix. Ownership always stays with the creator.
As director Andrew Stanton (Finding Nemo, Wall-E) put it: “The Braintrust’s job is to push us toward excellence. It’s not gentle.”
And that’s what makes it powerful. Not because it’s kind, but because it’s safe.
🎬 A Case Study in Creative Resurrection: Toy Story 2 & Ratatouille
In 1998, riding high from the success of Toy Story, Pixar began working on Toy Story 2. Midway through production, they faced a terrifying realization: The movie wasn’t working. The story meandered. The emotional stakes were flat. The sequel felt forgettable.
Many studios might have panicked. Or worse, pushed the project through anyway, driven by deadlines and ego.
Pixar didn’t. They stopped. They listened. They rewrote the entire thing in nine months.
And they did it without blaming or shaming. They trusted the Braintrust to guide, not dictate, the way forward.
Then came Ratatouille, a film that nearly died in development. The original version? It followed a jaded Parisian chef. No Remy. No rat. No magic. Test audiences were unimpressed. The Braintrust stepped in with one powerful note: “You’ve removed the magic.”
That’s all. No script. No solution. No fix-it strategy. Director Brad Bird took the note to heart. He scrapped 18 months of work, recentered the story on Remy the rat, and rebuilt the movie from the ground up. The result?
A timeless classic, and a masterclass in trusting the feedback loop.
🧠 The Braintrust Blueprint, Backed by Science
Research supports what Pixar figured out through experience: innovation grows in rooms where people can disagree safely, speak freely, and challenge the work, not the person.
The Braintrust mirrors this perfectly:
Use neutral language: “The third act feels slow” instead of “You ruined the pacing.”
Prioritize creative ownership: Let the creators find the fix, which lowers defensiveness and boosts engagement.
Create a space where honesty is safety, not sabotage.
Because when people feel safe to fail, they go bigger. They take stranger risks. They try bolder ideas. And that’s where the extraordinary happens.
But perhaps the most moving testament to the power of Pixar’s Braintrust isn’t just the films it helped shape, but the people it helped transform.
A beautiful example comes from Pixar’s relationship with Steve Jobs. (Catmull was originally hired by George Lucas in 1979 to head Lucasfilm's computer division. In 1986, Jobs purchased the group from Lucas, and it became Pixar. Over the next 20 years, Catmull worked closely with Jobs until the latter sold Pixar to Disney in 2006.—Inc.com)
In Creativity, Inc., Ed Catmull writes about the profound change he witnessed in Jobs during his years at Pixar.
“At Pixar, Jobs learned to listen and relate to people on a deeper level,” he said, “instead of through the outbursts he became known for at Apple and NeXt.”
While Jobs never lost his intensity, something softened.
More and more, Catmull observed, “he could express empathy and caring and patience. He became truly wise. The change in him was real, and it was deep.”
Pixar didn’t just teach him to see stories differently, it taught him to see people differently. But the exchange wasn’t one-sided. Jobs gave back something essential to Pixar’s process: objectivity.
“Every director gets lost in their own movie,” Catmull explained. “One of the purposes of the Braintrust is to provide that objectivity through peers…Every once in a while you need an outside force. Steve was that outside force.”
But let’s keep going, Pixar still has more lessons to teach us.
3. Fear Kills Creativity—So Celebrate Failure
Catmull believed that fear was the real enemy of innovation. Fear creates safe ideas. And safe ideas never change the world. Pixar encourages smart risks, knowing that bold swings often come with missteps. They don’t punish the fall. They study it.
Because when people feel safe to swing and miss, they also swing hard enough to soar.
4. Hire Rebels, Not Robots
Pixar doesn’t look for people to follow orders. They hire the ones who question everything.
“The right people matter more than the right ideas,” Catmull said. It’s not about credentials. It’s about curiosity. Not about polish. But play. Not about protecting your status, but protecting your imagination.
5. Constraints Fuel Creativity
One of Pixar’s greatest creative truths? Limitations spark invention.
When making Toy Story, their technical tools were primitive. So they innovated. They found workarounds. They solved problems no one else had faced. And in doing so, they didn’t just make a film, they created a new language for storytelling.
Constraints don’t block creativity. They sharpen it. ( (We’ll explore this idea more deeply next week.)
How to Steal Pixar’s Playbook—Startups, Take Notes: Pixar’s Creative Culture Is a Playbook for Brave Builders
Pixar’s films may look like lightning in a bottle, but behind every iconic story is a messy process, and a set of deeply human principles that can guide anyone building something brave and new.
Here’s what we can all take from the masters of imperfection:
1. Start Ugly, Stay Honest
“You can’t focus on what’s going wrong. There’s always a way to turn things around.”
— Joy, Inside Out, Pixar
Startups, like stories, never begin fully formed. Neither do masterpieces. At Pixar, the first draft isn’t something to be ashamed of, it’s a badge of movement.
Whether you’re building a product, writing a pitch, or sketching a dream, stop waiting for perfection. That awkward MVP? That messy sketch? That rough demo? It’s not a failure. It’s proof you’re in motion.
2. Make the Constraint the Catalyst
“You must not let anyone define your limits because of where you come from. Your only limit is your soul.”
— Gusteau, Ratatouille, Pixar
We’re told we need more, more time, more clarity, more resources, before we can begin. Pixar teaches the opposite. Use what you’ve got. The limitations you think are holding you back might be the exact edges that sharpen your idea.
So the next time you think: “I can’t start because…” Try instead: “What can I do with just this?”
3. Build Your Brain Trust
“Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere.” —Ratatouille, Pixar
Feedback isn’t something you collect at the end. It’s what you build with. At Pixar, the Brain Trust is a circle of radically candid, ego-free thinkers who offer sharp, honest feedback early and often, with zero hierarchy and full trust. If you’re a founder, creator, or writer, build your own version.
3 to 5 people. Smart. Brave. Candid. Kind. People who care more about truth than approval. Who won’t flatter your idea, but will help it fly.
4. Practice “Plussing” and Separate Feedback From Fix-It Mode
“Thanks For The Adventure – Now, Go Have A New One!"
Ellie, Up, Pixar
At Pixar, feedback isn’t about pointing out what’s broken. It’s about adding possibilities. They call it Plussing, a rule of improv that says: “Yes, and…”
Even the most awkward idea gets a thoughtful response. “What if the rat wasn’t just talented, but obsessed with flavor?” becomes the next breakthrough.
Meanwhile, they separate diagnosis from prescription. Point out what’s not working. But let the creator find the fix. That’s how trust grows.
5. Celebrate the “Uh-Oh” Moments
“Our fate lives within us. You only have to be brave enough to see it.”
— Merida, Brave, Pixar
Pixar has a mantra: “Be wrong as fast as you can.” Every failure is feedback. Every plot hole is a possibility. When people feel safe to fail, they go bigger. They take stranger risks. They try bolder ideas. And that’s when the extraordinary sneaks in.
Even after saving Toy Story 2, they nearly repeated the same mistake with Toy Story 3. Because no one outgrows failure. But those who succeed? They build systems that make failing feel safe.
6. You Don’t Need to Be Ready. You Just Need to Begin.
“Your only limit is your soul.” —Ratatouille
Stop waiting for the big moment, the grand plan, the shiny version. Begin where you are. Unfinished. Imperfect. In-progress. Because Pixar’s greatest gift to us isn’t just their stories. It’s the way they create them.
Start where you are. Begin before you’re ready. Share before it’s polished.
In their world, and maybe in yours too, the only way to get to “great”…is to first walk through “not yet.”
The Adjacent Possible — Creativity’s Secret Door
“Creativity doesn’t always come from giant leaps. It often lives in the step next to the one you’re already standing on.”
— Inspired by Stuart Kauffman’s theory of the Adjacent Possible
Pixar doesn’t chase perfection. They chase proximity, to the next truer version of an idea.
The version that feels a little more honest. A little more alive.
Biologist Stuart Kauffman coined the term Adjacent Possible to explain how innovation unfolds. Not through sudden leaps into the unknown, but by gently pressing against the edges of what already exists.
Step by step. Layer by layer. It’s not about lightning bolts. It’s about slow-burning friction. The creative nudge that says, “Try one step to the side.”
Pixar lives by this.
They don’t expect brilliance in the first pitch, or the second. They know that genius tends to arrive in disguise. That it’s hiding somewhere in the rework, the deleted scene, the character that gets cut…or reimagined.
Take Ratatouille. The original version didn’t even feature Remy the rat. The story lacked flavor, heart, magic. Then someone asked a better question: What if the rat isn’t just in the story…what if he is the story?
That tiny reframing changed everything. Not a reinvention. Just a reveal of what was already nearby. That’s the Adjacent Possible.
A scientific term, yes, but one that feels like poetry to any creator.
Kauffman’s idea reminds us that every action taken in a living, breathing system doesn’t just move us forward, it reshapes the landscape entirely. Each step cracks open new doors that didn’t even exist a moment before. Each decision doesn’t just change the path, it creates it.
That’s what makes this idea so powerful: The act of searching doesn’t just help you find the next move, it makes the next move possible.
And that, to me, is the quiet heartbeat of creativity.
But the Adjacent Possible only works if we’re willing to notice it.
Creative impulses are subtle. They rarely arrive with a plan. They show up like whispers. A passing thought while watching a bird skim the lake. An idea sparked in a half-awake dream. A sentence that surprises you mid-conversation. A moment of play that turns into a breakthrough.
You’ve felt it before. That quiet tug. That sense that something new is just beyond reach, waiting for you to take one more curious step. You don’t need to leap. You just need to listen. Because creativity doesn’t always shout.
But it always responds when you move.
In Art:
Every brushstroke, sketch, or draft isn’t just a result, it’s a beginning. The mark you make on the canvas changes what the next mark can be. The word you write changes the next word that could exist. The act of creating shapes what can be created next. And that’s why the Adjacent Possible is so vital to artists:
It gives permission to explore before we understand. To move before we’re certain. To trust that something new will reveal itself, not before we start, but because we start.
In Business:
The same principle fuels innovation in business. Too often, companies chase the perfect idea instead of the next brave one. But innovation doesn’t usually arrive in leaps, it evolves in proximity. It lives one step outside the familiar.
A founder launches a scrappy MVP. A team explores a wild hunch. A company pivots after listening more deeply. And suddenly, a whole new strategy, product, or insight is possible, one that couldn’t have existed before that first imperfect step.
The Adjacent Possible isn’t about reinvention. It’s about revelation.
The real work? Staying in the search.
Creativity, in any form, is an active search. You don’t always know what you’re looking for. But the search itself creates new outcomes. One brave brushstroke, bold decision, or conversation at a time. It’s like a sequence of treasure maps. Each one leading you to a spot where the next one is hidden.
And the act of searching doesn’t just help you find the next map. It creates it. And that’s the gift: A creative life built not on knowing, but on exploring anyway.
So take the step. Ask the question. Try the thing that might not work.
Because what you’re looking for might only appear once you do.
Sometimes, your best idea is already in the room, it’s just sitting one chair over, waiting for you to notice it. You don’t need a full reset. You need curiosity. Flexibility. The guts to explore one square past the safe zone.
The Adjacent Possible reminds us: Creativity isn’t about starting from scratch.
It’s about looking sideways, and daring to follow what you find.
A Letter to the Ones Still Crawling Toward Their Voice
Some days, writing this newsletter make me feel like that baby turtle, crawling across the sand, fragile, slow, unsure. The heat stings. The path isn’t clear. The predators, doubt, comparison, perfectionism, circle overhead. And yet…it moves.
Not because it knows the ocean is there, but because something inside trusts that it is.
That’s what creativity feels like. Not the ocean itself, but the crawl toward it. You write the messy draft. You take the small risk. You press post when your voice still shakes. You don’t wait to be certain. You move before the tide is in.
That’s what Pixar teaches us: That the first version will almost always be the worst version, and that’s okay. It’s not failure. That’s form taking shape. That magic isn’t found in genius. It’s found in momentum.
And most importantly? That creative safety isn’t built through praise. It’s built through permission. Especially the permission to be seen unfinished.
See, what kills most creative dreams isn’t a lack of talent. It’s the shame that tells us we shouldn’t even try. The voice that says, “You don’t belong here,” before we’ve even begun. Next time, we’ll explore exactly that: Why we silence ourselves before we even start. How shame smothers creativity. And what Brené Brown teaches us about vulnerability, voice, and the courage to create anyway.
Until then, keep crawling.
Keep showing up, even if it’s shaky.
Because no masterpiece begins with applause.
It begins with a heartbeat, and a baby turtle, choosing forward.
Are you crawling too?
Tell me in the comments how you’re learning to show up unfinished.
Until next time,
Eleni
Every Monday at 11:30 CET, the Glorious Fail will meet you where you are, ready to disrupt, challenge, and rebrand failure.
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Share early, get feedback, reinvent completely if and when needed. Such great reminders!
"When I launched this newsletter, I didn’t do it because I had figured everything out." You and I both 😬 I didn't know about the Pixar way of working. The only big names out there, in business, arts, whatever, always start before they're ready. Fearlessness is key.