Some days, I’d swear I’m still that free spirited, 20-ish college student sporting moccasins with holes in the soles, pacing the streets of Kalamazoo, hair halfway to my butt, with the warm sun streaming across my face. It’s almost surreal standing here today in front of this computer, knowing that somehow I’ve traversed so many vast, crazy, distant lands in what seems to be maybe three blinks of an eye. How could this be??
How did this wild and crazy guy ever graduate from college (I admit, it did take me 7+ years), marry the most amazing woman in the world, raise up two incredible sons, get to work for a time in my (then) dream job, and not get caught up in all the trappings of 21st Century America? Yes, I am the luckiest guy ever.
I have attempted to examine my adult life, and particularly my professional career, as objectively as I can. When I look back over the past 35 years, so much of it seems so highly unlikely—and yet, careers like mine were typically achievable by many of the people I grew up with in the 1960’s and 1970’s.
Yeah, we were mostly white and straight and didn’t have any obvious disabilities or beliefs or lifestyles that might disqualify us in anyone’s eyes from living “The American Dream.” I can’t feel guilty about it, but we were definitely privileged in some sense. Not rich, but not poor, either, or locked out like so many.
My friends and I all had our feet on the ground. We attended public schools. Nothing fancy. Pretty much everyone I knew had jobs—my first as a dishwasher in a restaurant when I was thirteen—because we were raised to be independent, and we understood that nothing was going to be “handed to us” by anyone.
Though our families may not have been wealthy, the ones that weren’t totally nuts were at least mostly stable and supportive. And those of us who did go on to college weren’t saddled with a ton of student debt by the time we got out. That said, it did take my wife and me the better part of ten years to finally pay our loans off.
But we were encouraged to dream big and were generally able to build a good life for ourselves with very few real or perceived limits. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem nearly as good now for the average, middle/working-class kid in America; or, for that matter, for the “middle class” itself, or what’s left of it. My sons were raised with more, but now as adults have it a lot tougher than I did.
In 1986, I graduated from college, got married, and 6 months later started what would be a 20-year career as a copywriter and later creative director for a handful of large and small advertising agencies. Somehow, I broke into that insular, nepotistic ad business world having no family/friend connections whatsoever (and as I would come to find out later, this was incredibly rare!).
Almost unbelievably, from the get-go, I got to work on all sorts of very high-profile, national brand accounts—from Coca Cola to Jeep to Warner Bros. Pictures, Padron Cigars, Mastercard, GMC, Comedy Central… And the list just goes on and on. How lucky was that?? It still amazes me.
I got to huddle with the creators of South Park to promote their second season online. I worked on Jimmy Kimmel’s first show (The Man Show, with Adam Corolla) around that same time. I had a meeting at Apple’s “mother ship” in Silicon Valley in an office right next to Steve Jobs’ (and his door was wide open, btw!). I once made a creative pitch to the president of Tribeca Films while sitting not just in Robert De Niro’s office—but in his own freaking chair! I co-created a website for Padron Cigars that sold $1 million of just that brand alone in 1996, when “e-commerce” was still just an academic concept. A freelance project I did for a guy who made old-style turn-of-the-century (1890’s) wooden croquet sets was “discovered” by the Wall Street Journal- and when they ranked it #1, it not only blew up this one-man-shop’s operations, but the croquet set was featured in a Walt Disney film!
Even before I had any real portfolio work to show for myself, the legendary ad man, Tom McElligott, hand-wrote me a note that was incredibly gracious and complimentary of the “spec” book I had sent him in response to a job posting. I came THIS CLOSE to animating Al Jaffee’s Mad Magazine characters for an early ad campaign I had sold to top executives at GM’s Delco Electronics, and for that same campaign got to speak on the phone for half an hour with Moe Howard’s (yeah, we’re talkin’ Three Stooges!) daughter, Joan Maurer.
I mean… REALLY? On fire doesn’t even describe it. What kind of crazy rocket ship had I strapped myself into??
Working on all those great accounts, it’s really no surprise that I went on to win practically every major, international advertising award—including a Cannes Lion, a One Show “Gold Pencil,” many New York and London Festivals awards, a national Addy, I was published in the British Design & Art Direction annual… It seemed that everything I touched won some very large, monster trophy. Even after tossing many of them away over the years, I still today have several boxes full of them in my garage. And they weigh a ton!
In the late 1980’s, I witnessed firsthand the death of typesetting and graphics houses when ad agencies first began using PC’s and Macs in-house. Hanging out working late nights with my art director partners, I became quite an expert in typefaces and kerning, and troubleshooting (!) all sorts of computer and printer problems—not just at work, but also for family and friends.
With my rare combination of award-winning ad agency chops and technical prowess, it was a natural that I became an early innovator in interactive media and crossed over from broadcast and print advertising in the mid-1990’s to the “World Wide Web” just as it was taking off and entering our cultural consciousnesses.
Much of what we created out of raw computer code and pixels made our clients extremely rich. And the interactive ads themselves were incredibly engaging and far ahead of their time. Alas, so far ahead of their time that they no longer work on today’s devices! Everything online has since gone in a completely different direction, where privacy is dead, click bait is king, and geeks and slimy marketers rule. Gone are the truly skilled artists, writers and agency pros who knew how to entertain, build brands and develop long-term customers.
It was the second golden age of advertising and I wrote articles for a handful of national trade mags, was a judge two years in a row for the New York Festivals, made a multi-media presentation to a standing-room-only audience there on the future of advertising, and was even put on a bubblegum trading card representing the hottest creative talent in Detroit (and trust me, I was in plenty of good company there in the mid-1990’s!)…
They even plastered my smiling face on a ginormous billboard on the iconic Sunset Strip in Hollywood and I got to raise a toast of champagne out of the sunroof of my limo as I was chauffeured past it for winning grand prize in a national competition. I was put up in the Mondrian Hotel and got to sign my name for fancy meals, gifts, and even massages in my room. What’s even crazier is I know there’s a lot more I’ve forgotten (probably a good thing)!
Yet, though I rode that rocket ship in a blaze of fire and glory across the skies (and lived to tell about it), I can only wonder: Why is it that I’m standing here today, 60+ years old, with absolutely nothing to show for this amazing career? No enduring fame or reputation. No comfortable savings account. No royalties. Barely a retirement plan. I sold my fancy sports car years ago. I mean, WTF?? Nothing. And today, nobody cares.
Yeah, so I’m just a freelancer now. A gigger, working on a bunch of banal crap to pay the bills. Barely making ends meet. No full-time work or job security. Practically zero prospect of finding anything better at my age. Who wants to hire expensive, old me?
How did my amazing thirties and forties dead end into this? I have no professional legacy at all. And no idea what to do next other than to simply keep plugging away at my music. I guess, time will tell if I’m a total failure or (hopefully) just between chapters. Has anybody seen my bookmark??
I want you to know—all of that “rocket ship” stuff I just went on and on about—none of that is bragging or living in the past or whining in the present. Nothing like that is in my head at all. As far as I’m concerned, the past is passed. And honestly, I rarely look back.
Even still, it’s funny how it’s so hard to talk much at all about past successes and accomplishments and such without coming off sounding like a big-headed, me-monster jerk (or worse—a washed-up, decrepit old fool). So I mostly don’t think or talk about my past lives at all. It’s so weird. Who the fuck am I?
It’s especially dispiriting when I sincerely make an effort to tone it all way back for people so as not to sound obnoxious—like at job interviews when I’m being nothing but humble and generous, trying to give my old teams and clients all sorts of credit—only to have it turn out that nobody even believes what I’m saying. I was in this job interview once, and had just answered a question about one of the clients on my résumé and the interviewer was like, “Robert De Niro? Yeah, right!” Like I’m just making it all up!
I’m also not trying to say that things are overly bad for me these days. I have two eyes that can plainly see that many people in this world have a lot more to actually cry about than I ever could. Even in my exasperation today, I realize how extremely lucky I’ve been all along. Life is what it is and, like many folks, I’ve had to buck up, box up my disappointments and bury them away (in the garage, on the shelves, right next to all those audacious awards)! Out of sight, out of mind. Or plain out of my mind, as the case may be.
And despite the many struggles I’m personally facing today—not least of which being the ongoing challenges of growing older (OMG!)—I can honestly say I do genuinely enjoy my life as it is. I believe that if many of the things in my life had been easier, I might not have been as creative. Without a little pain here and there, I might not need an emotional outlet like my music, or my art, or writing this blog. Heartbreaks are what create love songs.
For the record, I covet nothing. I envy nobody. I’m deep down happy being a simple guy and honestly wouldn’t want a zillion dollars for anything—especially if I had to be a Jeff Bezos or an Elon Musk in order to have it. Too much to deal with (and try to justify) anyway. I mean, how many ways can a person possibly come up with to hoard or hide or be utterly tone deaf about and ostentatiously spend so much money? Who’s got that kind of time on their hands, anyway? I can tell you, I sure don’t. And I don’t want to go to Mars, either. That kind of money would be better spent fixing our many messes right here on Planet Earth. My two cents.
That said, I do wish I didn’t feel like I’m hanging on by a thread so much of the time. No doubt, THAT would be really nice—to be able to plan ahead a little more, to buy a few things I’ve been putting off for so long, to travel more and worry less about spending money whenever I do have to. So, yeah. I wish I had a little more financial security. But only if it’s on my terms.
For instance, I’d need to ask, “What would I be willing to give up to have more stability?” The answer so far has been: nothing (at least, that I actually care about). I certainly wouldn’t trade away any more of my time than I need to in order to make a living. Even Jesus said ‘don’t worry’ about such things as our basic needs, didn’t he? HE DID, btw, in case that means anything to you.
I believe that what Jesus was getting at is what is called “mindfulness,” or living fully in the moment. Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow is always out of reach. And yet, most people actually live in the past or the future and not in the only moment that is really real—which is the moment you’re inhabiting right now, as you read this.
It shouldn’t surprise anyone that much of the time, I feel completely out of touch with modern-day America, like I’m some kind of alien. Hoping not to be found out. I strut around like I belong here (mostly so people will leave me alone), and try not to make eye contact as everyone runs around on their treadmills, frantically trying to keep up with everyone else (one big, endless circle jerk). I wonder if you feel the same way.
And it makes me sad that I once played a role in creating this harmful nonsense, back in my ad agency days, helping people imagine so many wants and needs “to die for;” helping create pop culture, materialism and the ever popular fear of missing out. Please forgive me. I’m hoping this open confession bodes well for my karma!
This is my fractured reality here in these days on Earth. On the one hand, I have it together—I really do! On a very deep level, I’m very much at peace and eternally grateful for everything in my life. I have everything I need. I love and am loved. I’m not too old to start anew. It’s all too beautiful!
Then again, I feel absolutely lost in this world and can’t relate to much of anything that most people think is so great and strive for (and ultimately, give their lives for). I’m also every bit as dependent on eking out a living as the next person. And just as vulnerable, too, like pretty much everyone in the world, truth be told. So I need to keep playing the “game” on at least a cursory level, keep paying the bills, keep doing it all over again and again the next day. As we all do.
But I feel the need to keep asking, who am I? Why am I here? And specifically, how does it possibly make sense for someone like me to pursue my music when the odds of being heard at all are so stacked against it? And especially when there are so many far more talented musicians out there. And songwriters. And bloggers. Get real, man! Isn’t that what the world tells us over and over again? Get real.
And yet, can I just ignore these songs that are playing in my head and pretend that this music doesn’t matter? Well, it DOES matter to me. Shouldn’t that count for something? Maybe it’ll matter to someone else, too, if and when they ever hear it. “Music in the soul can be heard by the Universe.” At least, so it’s been said.
The way I see it, my only choice is to continue to keep moving forward, making music, writing, taking it one day at a time and try not to worry about where it all leads. Or doesn’t lead. Or if it means anything in the end. I’ve got a lot invested in me. It’s all I’ve got that makes me me. I can’t give up on me just as you should never give up on you.
Thanks for reading so far—you’ve been here a long time. Feel free to tell me something in the comments, below, or I’ll never know we’ve connected and what makes you tick. Would sure love to know!