What if I told you that this article had nothing to do with marketing, trust or KPIs? That it was entirely about timeshares. Life insurance. Merino wool socks. The fall’s most anticipated movie.
RELAX: it’s not — please keep reading.
But clearly, you came here because the headline appealed to you. It appeared to scratch an itch you felt. One that, whether mildly or imperatively, you wanted resolution for.
And here I am, trying to sell you something else altogether. How dare I?
Marketers pull this kind of punk move millions of times a day. …
The toughest pill to swallow about buying a minivan has very little to do with the car itself. It’s that with one swipe (or more accurately 20 swipes) of the pen, you’re trading your former idea of adventure and spontaneity for a more practical and immediate reality.
“What if I want to head up into the wilderness to that spot this weekend?” and “These leather seats are incredible” get swapped out for “We will definitely need more room” and “How will these seats look drenched in a cocktail of Dum-Dum drool, graham cracker paste and vomit?”
If you don’t have…
In fifth grade, I etched a swastika into the clay plate I was making in art class.
We had been talking about the power of symbols in art. At some point along the way I had heard — likely in tandem with the full context that my young, naive brain chose to dismiss as unnecessary — that this particular one had been used by ancient societies for centuries to denote good fortune, success and well-being. Those were things that seemed good to me, so I took my plastic etching tool and carved a hate symbol into a hunk of clay.
In your attempt to court a nation of consumers, you’re being kind of a slimy, creepy, slick perv, and it’s getting old.
Look, I get it. I’ve been among your ranks for nearly a decade. Most of you aren’t doing it for the wrong reasons. You’re not trying to hurt anyone, and you genuinely think you’re in it for love. With intentions as good as yours, it might be OK to slip one or two toes over the line from time to time. Right?
The thing is, it’s not. It’s not OK. In fact, it’s contrary to the…
Sometimes it takes losing something you love to better appreciate how little you need it.
No, I’m not talking about grandparents, you sick jerk.
I’m leaving civilization for awhile, heading into the mountains. If you need me, tough. If I don’t come back, it’s been real.
I’m blessed to have access to a little slice of heaven on Earth where I can retreat to regroup, recharge and remember what it’s like to lose access, cut myself off and be unreachable.
I love being up there, but it always seems like such a struggle to break away. My need for feeling…
I got knocked on my butt every play of my seventh-grade football season. I’m sure you think that’s just hyperbole. It’s not.
My posterial familiarity with terra firma that year taught me many things — not the least of which were basic rules of physics and their consequences. We’ll cover more in a moment.
Brand new to the school and not knowing a soul, my parents suggested I try football.
“Bing!” — your mind chimes in recognition. “That well-intentioned-but-tyrannical parenting sounds a lot like a gridiron adaptation of the 1993 baseball movie The Sandlot.”
You’re not far off.
I write. I market. I dad. I occasionally outdoor. At this stage in my life, that pretty much sums it up.