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Too Late/Too Soon: The Wandering.

Ramas

When do you know that it’s time? The fifth in a month of posts about how I learned to stop worrying, buck up and do the work.

 
After I left Mississippi, I went through a long period of… well, nothing. I wanted to belong to something. I wanted to be part of something. I wanted identity.

Instead, I had these stories from Mississippi, and some business cards, and that was it.

What came next was this period where I couldn’t really tell people what I was doing, because I wasn’t doing anything. I could tell them what I’d done. Or what I wanted to do in the future.

But in the present? I had nothing. I was lost.

Part of the problem with doing the work is that you’re never really sure that the time is right for your work. And you use that as an excuse to avoid doing the work right now.

I know I did, sometimes.

But this period of wandering — and it lasted a few months — was really good for me. It showed me all the things I needed to do. It showed me what happened when I didn’t put in the hours.

It showed me that the difference between failure and success hinged entirely on my commitment to this work.

Without the wandering, I didn’t have anything to compare my successes to. I didn’t know how low I could go, and how quickly I could get there.

I’m not glad I went to that point. I’m mad I lost so much time there.

But because of it, I understand now. The time I had was the time I had. The work had to happen, now, and it had to be done, now, and if I didn’t do it, now, I was going to have to get myself a job at Arby’s or something — soon.

The time had come to stop wandering, and to start working harder than I’d ever done before.

Of course, I still needed a sign that the work was worthy.

Then came the break.

That photo of being lost in the trees comes via Yulen Zoom.

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Too Late/Too Soon: The Fear.

When do you know that it’s time? The fourth in a month of posts about how I learned to stop worrying, buck up and do the work.

 
The fear caught up to me on the flight to Mississippi. I remember looking out the window as the flight came over Gulfport. I didn’t recognize anything.

I was alone, in a state I’d never seen, in a city where I knew no one. I essentially showed up with nothing more than a dream and a name — and nobody had ever heard of “Oshinsky” or “Stry.us.”

And then I landed, and my cell phone didn’t work for two days. It couldn’t find the satellites.

I felt very, very alone. I was equal parts cocky and terrified.

I remember calling a friend in Kansas City. I was in my hotel room at the IP Casino in Biloxi. I’m moving to Mississippi to do some reporting, I told her. I don’t think she believed me.

I don’t think anyone really believed me at that point, actually. My bosses, my parents, my friends — they all knew that I had the ambition to do something as audacious as Stry.us. But no one knew if I actually had the drive to will something like that into existence.

And to do it solo! That would be a challenge in itself. I knew nothing about business, and only a little about how to report from a foreign place. This was, at best, an unreasonably large challenge for a 23-year-old to take on.

The fear really hit on the drive to Mississippi. I think it happened as I got close to Biloxi, somewhere along I-10. I started to realize: I’m doing this! I’m moving here! This is actually happening!

And scarier still: The only thing between this working and this failing is you. Only you can decide how big this can be.

Hoo boy. That’s a lot for a kid to stare down. And I really was a kid: An ambitious, hungry, dumb kid.

The timing was right, but I was scared. I had a big apartment with an IKEA table and a Target futon — and I never bothered to put the futon together. I just slept on the cushions all summer. I ate peanut butter and jelly and tuna fish all summer. There wasn’t anything stable about my living conditions.

And the reporting was as strange as anything I’ll ever do. I had stories to tell, but no one knew my name. I worried that they wouldn’t talk to me. I worried that they wouldn’t take me seriously.

I think one thing that saved me was the humidity. I was always sweating in Biloxi in that 100+ degree heat. But I would’ve been sweating if it was 15 below — I was so nervous!

The humidity masked the flop sweat, I think.

And after a few introductions to sources, I started to feel confident. When I got the first story up, I felt like I had something. I could show off my work.

Better still: The people in Biloxi were used to being interviewed. They’d all been quoted somewhere or another. But they all felt like they had more stories to tell.

All of that helped keep the fear at bay. It never really left. But I settled down enough to go out and do my job, and keep going. I knew I had three months to do this reporting. Every day I lost was a day I couldn’t get back.

That helped keep me going.

I also didn’t fully realize how insane I was to be living in Mississippi by myself and doing Stry.us. I wasn’t aware of how crazy this thing was.

That helped, too.

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Too Late/Too Soon: The Dream.

#dreaming

When do you know that it’s time? The third in a month of posts about how I learned to stop worrying, buck up and do the work.

 
The dream really started sometime in the spring of 2010. I’ve told this story a few too many times: I was working at a TV station. I was frustrated with my place in the journalism world. I decided I wanted to do something about it.

It was time to do big work. I was sure of that.

So I came up with a spinoff on the original de Tocqueville journey. I called it Four Days in America. I’d go to a place for four days. Do some reporting. Package it all into a big story. And then ship off to the next place

I’d see the country, tell some amazing stories and find myself along the way.

Dumb idea, Dad said. You’re going to travel all across the country, by yourself, and move just frequently enough to never make friends? Are you just trying to isolate yourself, Dan?

And he was right. To move from place to place, with no consistency, with no backbone to work off of? It couldn’t work. Four Days in America was a hopeless idea. To even attempt something like this, I needed a support system.

So I went to the backup plan: One place, three months, tons of reporting. Tell one great story. Chase one big thing at a time.

I had a few places in mind, but one stuck out above all else: The Mississippi Gulf Coast. It was five years after Katrina. Oil was leaking out of the Gulf. The economy was terrible.

I didn’t know anyone there, but I decided that if I could put a few pieces in place — a place to stay, a story to cover, a website to publish on — that I might be able to make something of a summer in Biloxi. I knew that having a structure was going to be a game-changer for me.

Best case, I could turn my little reporting enterprise into a business. Worst case, I’d have a nice portfolio of clips to apply for future jobs.

Well, that wasn’t actually the worst case. The worst case was that I’d quit my job, move to Mississippi, and then get scared. I’d back off the story.

I’d quit Stry.us, too. I’d leave Mississippi with nothing.

That really scared me. I couldn’t take two steps back. This was my time to do something big.

I knew I had enough to start. I bought http://stry.us. I put up a Facebook page. I told my bosses that I was going to leave my job in a month and move to Mississippi.

My parents thought I was trying to punish myself. They thought that moving to Mississippi, in July, was a sort of self-inflicted torture.

I thought it was a way forward. I didn’t know what it was leading toward, but I knew that something would come of all this work.

But that’s all it really took to start: A dream, and an uncertain goal, and the knowledge that I had a moment to actually do something big.

It was going to be a big success, or a big mess, but I was going to do it — and do it now.

Photo at top by Jochen Spalding

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Too Late/Too Soon: The Call.

phone

When do you know that it’s time? The second in a month of posts about how I learned to stop worrying, buck up and do the work.

 
Long before I ever started Stry.us, I had this dream for a journey across America. A friend called it my De Tocqueville trip, and that was pretty accurate. It was 2007, and everyone was talking about Barack Obama. I’d watched him go from anonymous politician to Presidential candidate.

I wondered: Who else is out there? What local politicians and leaders are out across our nation, ready to take the next step and lead our country? I wanted to go out and interview them.

But I never left on that journey. It was too big. Too scary.

Too much.

I had a lot of ideas like this. My dad would bring them up sometimes. Such good ideas, he’d say. But you’ve got to see one of them through.

And I knew it, too. But I didn’t understand how to make the follow through happen. I wasn’t sure I could learn.

I was going to be a reporter and a writer. I could tell stories. I could interview people. I could take photos.

What else could I do?

What else should I do?

I started to divide the world into categories. There were people who made stuff. And there were people who didn’t.

I wanted to make stuff. But I wasn’t ready to take on projects that failed. I had a shitty attitude. If something didn’t go my way, I got bitchy.

I talked a big game, but I wasn’t willing to do the work to back it up. I was afraid, and I didn’t know how to get unafraid.

It took a dream — a really big dream — to help me find the courage to stand up to the fear.

Photo at top via Nicholas Vigier.

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Too Late/Too Soon: An Introduction.

When do you know that it’s time? Introducing a month of posts about how I learned to stop worrying, buck up and do the work.

I’ve had a song stuck in my head for a few weeks now, and it just won’t leave. It’s called “Too Late Too Soon,” and it’s by a Nashville musician, Will Hoge. The song is technically about love lost, but that’s not what I heard when I first heard it.

Hoge sings:

But you say that it’s too late too soon
And your eyes ain’t the only thing blue
I try and I try just to make one thing true
But sometimes it’s just too late too soon

But what I heard was this: You wanted something, and you worked for it, and the timing just never worked out.

There were a handful of points during my adventures with Stry.us where I realized the importance of timing. I’d be doing work that I thought was really great, but then I’d try to get the work out into the world, and I’d get pushback. Sometimes, they weren’t ready for the work I was doing. More often, I wasn’t ready for the work they wanted.

The cycles weren’t lining up, and I was frustrated.

I tried and tried, but you can’t change timing. Sometimes, it really is too late, and sometimes, it really is too soon.

So this month, I’m going to write exclusively here on the blog about the concept of Too Late/Too Soon, and walk you through the entirety of Stry.us. I hope that people out there who want to do great work read these posts and understand: We all go through this. We all struggle with it.

With patience, and hustle, and time, the work can eventually get out there.

Come along this month with me. Learn from my mistakes.

We have much to learn about our work.

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The February Edition of The Awesome File.

Every month — except last month, when I forgot (sorry) — I put together a list of 10 things to inspire you to do more awesome work. (Results may vary.)

Inside this month’s Awesome File: Jerry Seinfeld appears on a rap album! Parody songs about sex with ducks! Strategies for getting on “The Price is Right”!

Let’s get into it:

1. This Awesome Tumblr

I’m kicking myself for not thinking of this myself: The Kanye West Wing, a Tumblr that mashes up Kanye lyrics with “West Wing” screencaps. It’s excellent.

2. This Awesome (And Unlikely) Rap Mashup

Jerry Seinfeld is going to appear on a mixtape for DC rapper Wale. (Wale is the man responsible for a previous mixtape called “The Mixtape About Nothing.”) If these two men can work together, anything is possible.

3. This Awesome Pop Mashup

It’s what happens when Third Eye Blind meets Carly Rae Jepsen. Don’t hate.

4. This Awesome Listicle

From my new workplace: 14 Things That Look Like Jack Lew’s Signature. It is, by far, the best thing you will read about the Treasury Department all year.

5. This Awesome Parody

It’s called “Sex With Ducks.” It’s better seen than explained. Just watch:

6. This Awesome Website

It’s called First World Problems. It’s a website devoted to solving all of your favorite First World Problems. It also falls into the ‘Things I Wish I’d Thought Of’ category.

7. This Awesome High Five


It’s an early contender for Best High Five of 2013.

8. This Surprisingly Awesome News Graphic

Turns out you can see the changing face of the American economy from space. Really! This was unexpectedly cool.

9. This Awesome, Foolproof System For Getting On ‘The Price Is Right’

This only confirms my undying desire to appear on the show. And play Plinko. Isn’t that what all of us really want out of life?

10. This Awesome Story

One of the best stories you’ll hear all year. Just take five minutes and watch. It’s truly awesome:

That’s all for this month. Go make something awesome in February!

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The Experts Are Probably Wrong.

“Whatever you believe / You might be wrong.” — Paul Thorn

 
When I was in college, I was part of a small group of journalism students who took classes that were basically about the Internet. This was 2005 or so. Journalism on the Internet wasn’t new, but it was for journalism schools.

Anyway, we spent a lot of time in class talking about things that seem funny now. Was Facebook journalism? Was blogging?

Again: It was 2005.

But one thing was made very clear to me by my professors, and by pretty much every professional person I knew: We had to be careful about what we posted online. If we weren’t vigilant, we’d never get a job in the real journalism world!

Yesterday, my current employer hired a guy whose Twitter handle is @WeedDude.

Really:

And then there’s stuff like this:

And this:

And this:

And this:

And here’s a presentation that the CEO of my company likes to give at conferences. It includes this slide:

And I could go on and on. Just know: All of that comes from respected, professional, important people who make stuff in our world.

Point is: Whatever the experts are telling you, there’s a good chance they’re wrong. Seven years ago, every professional journalist in the world would’ve told you that professionalism came first. That keeping the appearance of seriousness mattered.

It turned out that they were wrong. Newspapers might’ve been built for professional-looking/sounding reporters, but the web is a wonderful place where strange/eccentric/bizarre people flourish. Weirdness is celebrated here.

Anyway, if someone tells you something’s for certain, there’s a good chance they’re wrong. Don’t blindly accept the advice of experts. Question them. Challenge them.

Just FYI.

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Seriously, Penny Lane.

“I always tell the girls, never take it seriously. If you never take it seriously, you never get hurt. If you never get hurt, you always have fun.” — Penny Lane

 
With all due respect to the immortal Penny Lane of the immortal film, “Almost Famous”:

That’s a load of crap.

Take your work seriously. Work hard. Throw yourself into what you do.

Overcommit to the work.

Yes, you get hurt doing great work. You get pushback. You run into haters. You struggle.

But if you never get hurt while doing the work, how much were you really putting into it?

You have to take it seriously. You have to get hurt sometimes.

Anything else is just work half-assed.

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Finding The Difference.

“When everyone has good players, teaching will be a telling difference.” — John Wooden

 
Assume, for a second, that everyone in your world is smart. That everyone in your world is talented.

So, here’s the question: What’s the difference between you and them?

For legendary UCLA coach John Wooden, it was teaching.

For you, it might be hustle.

Or teamwork.

Or focus.

And if you can’t answer this question — What sets me apart? — then here’s the bad news:

You’re playing on everyone else’s level.

And that’s okay. But if you want to do great work, you’ve got to figure out how to elevate your game.

Now’s your chance.

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When You Stumble Upon A Speakeasy.

“I’d like to suggest that the greatest risk we face these days is that of an unlived life.” — Jeff Goins

 
It’s 10 p.m., and I get home from a full day of watching football. My apartment faces the street here in New York. I hear a marching band.

A full-on, trumpets and tubas and drums marching band. At 10 p.m. On a Sunday.

I grab a coat and go back outside. I want to see what the hell is happening.

And I get outside, and it’s suddenly quiet. I start walking toward where I’d heard the sound. It’s gone.

And then I see this crowd up ahead. They’re outside a diner.

Inside the diner, there’s a 10-piece marching band, suddenly commandeering the restaurant. (That’s them in the photo above.)

And inside, they dance and they play, for reasons that no one can quite explain to me. And that’s okay.

Just the celebration itself is kind of wonderful.

I decide to go explore a little. I walk around the corner in search of a bite. There’s a hot dog place across the street that I notice for the first time. It’s in the basement of a building.

I pop in. I order a dog.

There’s a big crowd of people near the door. They’re just waiting at some tables. They don’t appear to be waiting for food.

I’m puzzled.

And then I see them start to walk towards this hole in the wall. Must be the line for the bathroom, I think.

I get closer. It’s not a hole in the wall — it’s a phone booth. And the back wall of the booth is suddenly missing.

And on the other side of the booth, there’s a tiny, hidden bar. A speakeasy, hidden inside phone booth inside a hot dog stand.

I could have lived here for a decade and never known it was there. But tonight, by accident, I stumbled upon a little secret place.

And I think now: Sometimes, you have to chase a sound you can’t hear, or a craving you have. Sometimes, those things lead you to the most unexpected, most wonderful ends.

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