Make Something Worth Following

The tagline that never was but could have been.

Hi there friend,

What’s below is my story, but it could also be for you.

It’s for anyone who feels trapped in a career, a job, or a work identity of their own making.

Stuck in a place that—despite success, comfort, or even wealth—leaves them unsatisfied. Perhaps secretly so. Disconnected from their truest self.

I was there, and I thought I just had to stick it out. You know. “Like a man.” Sure, I was unhappy, but—like what Don Draper yells at Peggy in Mad Men—“That’s what the money’s for!”

Boy, was I wrong. And here’s what I’m doing about it.

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I was on a panel at the PTTOW conference in 2019.

In 2019, I was the EVP of Marketing for Fullscreen—the media company that had acquired my social agency four years earlier, which was then acquired itself, and then THAT acquiring company was acquired by AT&T and merged into ITS acquisition of Time Warner, which became WarnerMedia, which was quickly spun-off to merge with Discovery to now be Warner Bros Discovery.

If you’re confused, you’re in good company.

It’s easy to get lost in the life and language of giant corporate structures.

I got lost in there.

I started the 2010s as a scrappy freelancer doing creative odd jobs and web marketing projects that would eventually become a 150-person creative agency.

I finished the 2010s as an upper-mid-level executive at a publicly traded, multi-national telecom company with over 400,000 employees.

It’s a rags-to-riches story. It’s an enviable arc. I am embarrassed by the idea that I would bemoan my good fortune.

An executive at AT&T? That’s a huge honor.

And yet, it wasn’t right for me. It was, literally and figuratively, clothing that didn’t fit.

There’s nothing wrong with being an executive, of course. During my run, I met many people who thrived in that large corporate environment. They moved mountains. They got huge projects done. They thought in global scale. They commanded hundreds, even thousands. They knew how to collaborate and backchannel.

But I didn’t know how to fit into that world. How to “manage by dashboard.” How to get consensus. How to play the game.

It felt like I had accidentally stumbled into the “big boy” conference room and tried those clothes on for a while, constantly worried that people would know I didn’t belong.

The combination of mistaken identity and imposter syndrome got the best of me.

How did I get here?

I loved doing creative work. I’ve always tinkered on side projects. I was the first graphic designer for my agency (self-taught, for better AND worse). I loved connecting with people and the work.

But as we grew, we hired people who were more skilled than me — and I took a step back. Then we hired people to manage client relationships — and I took a step back.

When we were acquired, I felt the pressure to manage extreme growth — which required executive distance. So I took a step back.

Before I knew it, I had painted myself into a corner.

I was recently told that during that season of work, my happiest moments were when I presented at monthly all-hands meetings, mic in hand.

Spot on.

In the office, 2018. Whatever I’m talking about, it’s clearly riveting.

But in between those meetings, I struggled to feel valuable. Like my work mattered.

So, in what would become my last year at Fullscreen, I took one last ditch effort to be creative again.

I pitched an idea for a new brand campaign for the company: one that honored its roots and clarified what it was becoming—a technology and services company that helped online creators and well-known brands create compelling content and build audiences online. The intersection of Silicon Valley, Madison Avenue, and Hollywood.

At the center of my pitch was the tagline “Make Something Worth Following.”

The underlying story drew on tales of great bands, artists, and cultural and spiritual leaders who were so compelling that people followed them around the country.

And how Fullscreen was helping people and companies do the same in this new online world.

This was my moment. This was more than a campaign. It was a movement. A vision of what the company could be—a mantra for everyone to get behind. A rallying cry.

I pitched it to the senior leaders on the team.

And it fell flat. It went nowhere.

There are a couple of reasons for this, in retrospect:

• I was out of practice at pitching

• I was out of touch with what the other leaders wanted

• I didn’t have the political clout to win favor for this (or any?) idea

• The company was in the first stages of being absorbed into WarnerMedia, so a new brand campaign didn’t matter (the entire company would be dissolved a year later)

It fell apart. And maybe so did I.

And within six months, I was gone.

As I reflect on my time there, I really liked the people I was with, even if I felt constricted by the limited work I could actually do, participate in, or lead.

Some people aren’t meant to be business executives — there is an unsaid conformity required to thrive in those types of roles. A well-roundedness that shaves off all your most interesting bits.

I thought I could be an executive like that. But man, I was wrong. I’m something else.

My Mantra

I left at the end of 2019, planning to take most of 2020 off — to relax and do some extensive family travel in Europe. (neither of those things happened)

But I still believed.

I attempted to trademark Make Something Worth Following, hoping it could be my professional mantra. Celebrities own the phrases that made them. Why shouldn’t I?

• Marcus Lemonis: “Trust the Process”

• Pat Riley: “Three-peat”

• Steph Curry: “Ruin the Game”

• Paris Hilton: “That’s Hot”

Yep, “Make Something Worth Following” would be my ‘That’s hot.”

It’s one thing to pay the money to trademark a catchphrase; it’s another to live out what it says.

I tried writing but shelved my drafts.

I started a podcast but lost my nerve after nine episodes.

I tried to write a book on my entrepreneurial advice but couldn’t get past the outline.

Something wasn’t right.

I couldn’t figure out what was worth following.

And I let the trademark application lapse.

The joy of starting again

A side note — during all this hemming and hawing, I had a pretty great personal life. My wife is amazing, and my three kids are lovely. I was a youth soccer referee and a board member of two churches and a startup company. I am a good friend and a friendly neighbor.

It’s with that support structure that I’ve found the courage to start something again.

So, I’m taking another crack at it.

I’ve made something.

After a year of getting back on stage, doing storytelling and stand-up comedy, I made my own stage show, the Westside Story Club.

And I hosted the first show last weekend.

I hosted the night — which had the theme of “Can’t Unsee” — sharing my own story in three parts and welcoming eight speakers, comics, and writers to the stage.

Over the last week, many people have asked, how did it go?

In short—amazing.

I rented a small theater in Westchester (just north of LAX, around the corner from Randy’s Donuts.) I sold it out — 110 seats.

The room was full of friends and family — almost like a reunion of my 30 years of adulthood.

I embraced a newfound identity that I like — that of a “host.” I made many little touches to make the show feel fully formed.

The little touches mean the most — from the curated music during intermission to the felt banner on stage — custom-made from Oxford Pennant in New York. (Shout out to them for overnighting me a SECOND banner when the first one got stuck in transit.)

I learned that it takes MUCH MORE WORK than expected to sell tickets. I had to email, text, and message all the groups I knew. Former work colleagues, fellow board members, neighbors, and friends. Turns out, no one is thinking about the thing you’re making, even if they’re massively supportive!

I have three quick clips to share with you:

It was the first show, so a few things went wrong. The mic kept shorting out. So I had to roll with it:

It’s important to know yourself:

I told a story about building an in-ground brick patio at the house I rented in 2011… during a particularly tough season of professional failure.

I don’t know where this show — or the storytelling and comedy work I’m pursuing — is going, but I’m doing it on my own terms, without the struggle of trying to be something I’m not, giving myself the grace and permission to fail through it.

And to me, that’s something worth following.

Epilogue

I recently had a sports coat dry-cleaned, and when I went to pick it up, the clerk behind the counter asked if I wanted to pick up both orders.

I didn’t know what he meant.

Then he brought back a pack of seven button-up shirts. They had been there, waiting, for three years. I didn’t even notice they were gone. I don’t wear those shirts anymore.

My clothes fit better now.

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The next Westside Story Club show is Sunday night, June 1st.

In two weeks, I’ll announce the new line-up of storytellers and comedians. You can get your tickets now or join the mailing list (via Substack).

Thanks for reading along. I always read and reply to comments — I’d love to hear from you.

Have a great week—

Alec