I learned how to play Gin this weekend with my in-laws. I’m still in that beginner’s learning phase, where I have to think about every move. It takes me three times as long to lay down a card then the rest of the family. But they’re patient and understand that it’s going to take time for me to get in the rhythm of the game.

It reminds me a bit of when I was playing football in college. I had been an offensive tackle and defensive end all throughout Pop Warner and high school. But at 6’0, 220 lbs, I was too undersized to be a lineman for a Division 1AA school. So I made the switch to fullback, and looked like a complete jackass. You’d think I never played the game before. And in reality, I had never played the game before. Not the game of blocking on the run, catching short passes, or running (with the ball!) behind a surging offensive line. The playbook may as well have been in Arabic.

For one whole season, I tripped over my feet, fumbled the ball, missed assignments, and got barked at by the coach, who couldn’t have been less hopeful about my progress. But I kept at it. Kept studying the playbook. Kept enduring coach’s disgusted gestures. Then at the end of spring training, in the big Blue-Grey game where the offense plays the defense in an annual inter-squad scrimmage, it all came together. In about 10 plays, I caught two passes, ran the ball a couple of times for needed short yardage, and pancake blocked a few unsuspecting defensive backs who thought they would make quick work out of the hapless newbie.

I remember the running backs coach jumping up and down like a wild man from the sidelines. “There it is, Proulx! You got it man!” It felt good to finally experience flow. (Not that I had any idea what flow was at 19 years old.) The game was being played through me, and intuition took over.

Today, in 2010, I feel exactly the way I did in 1990 when I had no idea how to run a swing pattern. I am launching a business that inspires people to do what they are, but it’s not clicking yet. Nothing’s intuitive. Every day is another shoot-from-the-hip hot mess.

But if I keep plugging, keep studying, keep trying, flow will happen. It will.

For my single, unilateral-decision making friends, this post is not for you. You’re absolved from committing to another word.

Still unsure if you should read on? Take this simple quiz.

Can you:

a) go to Vegas with your buddies without some amount of quid pro quo?

b) drop a grand on a new Tag Heuer watch without consulting someone first?

c) play 36 holes of golf every weekend without pissing someone off?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, go to the next stop in your blog reader. Because this post is about how the decisions you make about your career affect the person you’ve chosen to spend your life with. And I’m not talking about Larry the Bowling Buddy.

When you’re in a committed relationship, “Is this the best decision for my career?” isn’t the only question you have to ask anymore. Decisions to become an entrepreneur or take a job come with a slew of collateral consideration.

For instance, if you’re considering launching a business, you have to ask:

1. Can the family absorb a short-term financial hit for the uncertain longer term benefit of entrepreneurism?
2. Can we afford health insurance?
3. Are we comfortable living off retirement savings?
4. Can our relationship survive the stress of not knowing where the next paycheck will come from?

And if you’re considering taking a new job:

1. Will we have to move? How are the schools in that area?
2. Are we moving away from family?
3. What are the hours like? Will I have to work nights and weekends?
4. Will a longer commute take time away from each other?

When you’re someone else’s better half, careers are just one piece of the bigger life puzzle. A very important piece, yes. But it’s not a decision to make alone.

Something to keep in mind when you’re weighing the importance of your next move.

Now that we’re adults, we ask, “What do you DO for work?”

What happened between the ages of 8 and 30 that we stopped wanting to “be” something and started “doing” work?

Be implies self. Be is who we are. Do is just a way to pass the time for money.

We would all be happier, healthier, and yes, more financially successful if we pursued what we wanted to be instead of just something to do.

Watch this astounding TED talk from Sir Ken Robinson about a revolution in learning. It has everything to do with staying true to what you wanted to be when you were a kid.

I want to do something meaningful like Clark Moss, who got axed from his job as an executive creative director and started his own social-responsibility business.

I want to be at peace like Jonathan Fields, who left his big time Wall St. lawyer gig, became a yogi, then became a small business consultant.

I want to create doodads of hope. Blogs and books and films and speaking engagements that tell stories of people who inspire me.

I want my success story to be about telling other people’s success stories.These people motivate the hell out of me, as they should you.

It’s not altruistic. I’d like to get paid for doing this. Something in the six figure range would be nice. Maybe seven some day.

Problem is, I want it now. Not tomorrow. Not next year. Now. And I get frustrated when the progress isn’t as instant as I hoped it would be.

But there’s a process for a reason. Back at the Creative Circus, I was hell-bent on graduating ahead of schedule. So I worked my ass off, skipped ahead a couple of quarters, and graduated in a year and a half instead of the requisite two.

Hindsight, though, tells me I could have used those couple of extra quarters to polish and reconcept and tighten and rewrite my book from merely above average to the top 1%. I would have strengthened my relationships, broadened my network, and gotten a better job upon graduation. (Although, I loved my first post-Circus agency. May have been the best advertising gig of my career.)

But I didn’t. My impatience got the better of me. I wanted what I wanted when I wanted it. There was no enjoying the journey. No accepting the lessons of the day.

But there is a lesson for me now. And that is, simply, to breathe. Accept this process. Embrace the mistakes. Know that I am on a path, and that what I think is my point B — the metamorphosis into a successful filmmaker/author/blogger/speaker — is really point Z.

As Johnny B. Truant says, “There’s always a lag between envisioning a goal and getting it.”

Watch this Honda Film about failure. It had a huge influence on “Lemonade,” both philosophically and filmically. And it continues to teach me appreciation for the hard-learned lessons along the way.

There’s a fantastic community of people out there who get off on helping others overcome their bullshit excuses for complacency. One of the best is Hugh MacLeod, the always genius and often surly cartoonist, author, and blogger behind GapingVoid.

Like me, Hugh once worked in advertising. Unlike me, he’s figured out how to fully commit to his art, no longer straddling between the two worlds.

I woke up yesterday to this message on Twitter. Turns out, Hugh created the above Cube Grenade in my honor. (For the definition of a “Cube Grenade,” click here.) He often does these for private commission, so to say I’m flattered is an understatement.

But the truth is, he’s always giving away his art. He’s one of the few entrepreneurs who fully embrace that you get by giving. And not just philosophically, but in real, financial terms. By giving freely of his work, he’s established his brand. People know him now. And he gets hired to do more of it.

I have much to learn from him.

It was a tough decision to write this post.

I’m someone who believes that when you think and act positively and with hope, those things come back to you. Likewise, the converse is true. We all know people with a cloud of doom over their heads. They expect their lives to suck so their lives suck so they expect their lives to suck so their lives suck so they expect their lives to suck…etc.

I choose to be the opposite of that. I try to write about good stuff. People who have succeeded. Stories of adversity overcome. I don’t want to invite defeat into my life, nor into yours. So when things get rocky for me personally, I see no need to report on it. Unless if, by doing so, it helps you in some way.

This is one of those times.

As you know, I’ve spent the past year encouraging people to get off their asses and take risks. This blog, “Lemonade,” talks I’ve given, the book I’m writing…they are all in an effort to both preach the values I believe and be a living example of them. But my biggest fear is that I will be the cobbler with shoeless kids. That at the end of the day, it will all be a bunch of smoke.

So here is an honest breakdown of both the hopes and challenges I face. Not because I believe in what I’m doing with less conviction. But to reinforce how important that conviction is, especially in difficult and trying times.

The Challenges:

1. Seeing more than two feet in front of me: Every month is a fire drill. Will we have the mortgage? Can we afford health insurance? How are we paying for my son’s karate lessons? We’re even applying for Obama’s federal mortgage restructuring program in the hopes that we’ll be able to keep our home.
2. Debt: Every time I travel to do a screening, my expenses are reimbursed. But by the time I see those checks, new expenses crop up. And interest accrues. It’s a frustrating game of catch up that I haven’t experienced since I was in my 20s.
3. Family stress: My daughter is a four year old social extrovert who needs other children to play with. Problem is, extended preschool costs $5k/year, which we can’t afford. So my wife plays countless games of “I Can Do That!” and Chutes & Ladders. Every. Single. Day. That’s not healthy for anybody.
4. Personal stress: Think I like denying my kids the preschool they need? Think it’s easy for me chastise Wall St. for taking bailout money on one side of my mouth and then apply for it on the other? Think I like hearing my wife tell me she’s afraid to open the bank statements? I lose sleep over these things every night.

Why It’s Worth It:

1. “Lemonade” and PFTA are making a profound difference in people’s lives: Emails like this, comments like this, and tweets like this make me feel like the message isn’t falling on deaf ears.
2. The Carrots Are Getting Closer: I have a literary agent from ICM who believes in the book. We’ve been going back and forth on the proposal for months and are getting really close to unleashing it on publishers.
3. We’re close to having “Lemonade” air on TV, potentially exposing it to tens of millions of households around the world
4. We cancelled our cable television, home telephone, and YMCA memberships. This is under “Worth It” because they are un-necessities we should have gotten rid of a long time ago.
5. There is gaining momentum for “Lemonade, Detroit”: The talent working on it is ridiculous. The city is opening its arms to a film that wants to uncover the good instead of sensationalizing the bad. Two of my favorite ad agencies in the world have contacted me about doing the advertising, marketing and promotions for it. And I am in discussions with a couple of different brands to underwrite the whole project.

So that brings me to you. As I said, I typically wouldn’t unload on readers like this. But I think it’s important for you to see that I am committed. And if you’re going through a difficult time while trying to do something new and important and challenging, it’s probably difficult precisely because of how important it is. Plus, you can take some solace in the fact that you’re not alone.

So, please, keep at it. And I will, too.

Sure, it’s easier at cocktail parties. “What do you do for a living?” needs some kind of reply. But once we define ourselves by our career titles, it places a whole set of generalizations on us. Most of them are half truths. And all of them are limiting. 

This was the presentation I gave at the PSFK Conference last month. I talk briefly about how I got into advertising and spent 15 years falsely defining myself as an adguy. Then I introduce a bunch of brave souls who looked inward to make a living being who they are.

Since leaving my employer last June, I have often wondered if it was time for the traditional full-time job to end.

For large corporations, the 40-hour week makes sense. The employer gets a monopoly on your time and skills, and you become dependant on the paycheck. Because your entire income derives from one source, the company can force you to work overtime or shuffle you around in the corporation with little regard for extra hours or changing roles.

Guess who’s driving that bus?

But what if, instead of looking for one full time job, you worked two or three or more part time jobs? Could that make you a more valuable employee to all of them? At the very least, it is likely that you would develop a wider set of skills. For example, I am a business owner, working for myself as a copywriter four days a week. However, one day a week I work as a sales rep for a large corporation. Not only does my sales role give me a reason to go out into the world and interact with people face to face (instead of over the telephone and the internet), it also keeps my sales skills sharp and forces me to learn new tactics to convert prospects into customers. Working outside of my own company makes me a better copywriter.

Is there a second job that could make you more more effective?

Any sales job will expose you to new sales strategies and different types of customer interactions. Sales tactics are a part of every thing that people do, from pitching ideas to getting kids to bed on time. Everyone can improve their skills in those areas.

Marketing professionals who create work for retail companies can use nearly any job as a learning experience. Even working the floor at Target can give you an insight into the eyes of the public that you never had before, if only to better understand the buyer in a new way.

Working part-time for a start-up or charitable organization can expose you to grassroots and low-cost marketing methods, and even help you develop new ideas to promote products for less money.

But don’t fool yourself into thinking that working as a line chef somewhere will convince a new client or employer to hire you. First, you must leverage those experiences into something else. Create an e-book or pitch magazine articles on “How Being a WalMart Greeter Can Help You Advertise More Effectively,” or create a manifesto on improving customer service at the retail level. Do something unique and interesting with the experiences that you have.

Don’t forget to work for the most important boss – you. In most communities you can operate a business under your own name without any fees, and even communities that require home based businesses to register or buy a license often have exemptions for businesses that produce less than a certain dollar amount in revenue.

There is no reason not to be actively prospecting for clients in this economy. There is still work that needs to be done, but clients can’t always afford an entire agency. You could even reach out to friends and other unemployed former co-workers to form partnerships and handle complete campaigns.

If you choose to go back to the traditional work world, then look at the experiences these temporary jobs have given you and find a way to grow from them. However, you may just fall in love with the flexibility and freedom that being your own boss can give you.

________

Ryan Holota is a Freelance Copywriter and Daddy blogger. You can find him at ArHolota.com and JustCallMeDad.com.

“Would you do it again?”

Yesterday, I asked this question to my beloved wife, who endured months of uncertainty and inflating credit card balances for the sake of “Lemonade.”

Yet there I was, asking her again to look down the barrel of a loaded mortgage. To fall on the grenades of our finances. Wondering if she could see beyond her still-healing scars to support another uncertain film project.

And this woman, this brave woman, who is neither unaffected nor always certain of her decision to support my insanity, said yes.

I am about to embark on the first leg of production for “Lemonade, Detroit” (working title). The plan is to shoot and edit a trailer, attach it to the case study from the first “Lemonade,” then pitch the hell out of it to financial backers.

It’s an uncertain course with an uncertain outcome. And without this support — this amazing, spiritual, affirming, connective, transcending support — nothing great is possible. Everyone needs their spine. Their sounding board. Their muse. Kathryn is mine.

I’ve tried to lure more than one person away from the relative certainty of future paychecks to climb an uphill startup battle with me. In each case, the realities of commitment prevented it.

It’s absurd of me to expect otherwise, really. How do you do that? How do you convince a gainfully employed family man to leave his post and embark on a question mark? You don’t.

Which makes Kathryn’s willingness to do this with me all the more remarkable. It was a theme consistent throughout “Lemonade.” Bob Weeks wanted to start a coffee roasting business with no clients and his wife said “Go for it.” Jonathan Halitsky wanted to change careers and carefully consider next steps, and his wife said take your time.

But it works both ways. If Kathryn asked me to return to the regularity of full time work — either because she wasn’t ready for another go or because the kids and the house and the need for normalcy were just too important to our family — then my answer would be, yes. Absolutely. The Detroit film stops today.

And that’s what makes our unit work. We are a platoon. Decisions made, together or unilaterally, affect us all. I would sacrifice for her the same way she has for me and for our children. If ever the road ahead looked too dark, we would return to the light. No questions asked. It’s our mutual promise.

Am I ready? No. Never have been. But here we go anyway.

In the late 1800s, many poor, resourceful women would repurpose cotton flour sacks and turn them into quilts and clothing. By the mid 1920s, the practice became so popular that flour manufacturers started making their sacks with attractive colors and patterns, essentially creating a new market for their commodity.

This brings up an interesting way to look at our own careers. How can people use the thing you make or do other than for its intended purpose? If a flour sack can become a dress, can a photograph become wallpaper? Could a fine artist paint murals in someone’s home? Can a journalist write grants? Why aren’t more unemployed MBAs (and there are lots of them) becoming consultants to people like me who are trying to start a business and have no management training?

If you can’t get a job doing the thing you thought you’d do, find a parallel market. Find your flour sack.