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11/04/201102/09/2019

Things That Comfort Me When Every Fucking Thing Goes Wrong: John Prine.

Things tend to go wrong. This is the first in a series of blog posts about the things that I think about during those moments when the wrong things happen.

I remember the very first time that everything went wrong for me. I think I was in first or second grade. My family was up in Pennsylvania at Sesame Place, a Sesame Street-themed water park. My dad and sister and I were going down a water slide. I went down first, and waited for them to come down after me. But they never came. So I waited and waited, and then I got upset, and then first-or-second grade me started to cry, and then I got hysterical, and then I started to think I’d lost my family forever, and then dad found me and everything was fine. The whole scene — from me thinking my family had abandoned me to me finding my dad, going back on a water slide and completely forgetting about it — took five or 10 minutes in real time, and several hours in elementary school time. In the moment, it was terribly scarring, and it seemed to take forever to find my dad, and then I was over it before I’d even gotten all the way down the next slide.

Since then, I’ve been through more a few more situations where Every. Fucking. Thing went wrong. There was the time I almost got deported by the Chinese. The time I did a mile-long sprint through Houston Intercontinental in sandals. The time my mother nearly dropped the Torah during my Bar Mitzvah.

You get the idea.

But not everything is a full-on disaster. What I’m learning is, when everything goes wrong, it’s usually never as terrible as it seems in the moment. I’m learning how to put things into perspective.

This one song by John Prine helps. It’s one of my favorites, called, “That’s The Way The World Goes Round.” And the chorus goes:

That’s the way that the world goes ’round
You’re up one day and the next you’re down
It’s half an inch of water and you think you’re gonna drown
That’s the way that the world goes ’round

It’s that third line that I love the most: “It’s half an inch of water and you think you’re gonna drown.” Isn’t it almost always? I find that the worst mistakes, the biggest fuck-ups… well, they’re really not that bad at all.

It’s just that in the moment, every other thing in my mind gets blocked out, and all I can think of is how everything is going wrong. I lose all perspective.

And then I remind myself that it’s just a half an inch of water, and the moment tends to pass.

10/26/201105/16/2012

Life Lessons Learned From Three Chicks in an RV.

Every once in a while, I get to meet someone who just knocks me over. Someone doing something inspiring and risky and ambitious and epic. Someone who’s doing something incredible.

And last night, I met three ladies who are traveling America in an RV, doing good deeds and inspiring others to chase big dreams. I couldn’t help but be bowled over by the Girls Gone Moto. They started talking about their stories — how they embraced the fear, how they found a dream to chase — and I started thinking of my own story.

See, I remember when I was leaving San Antonio and headed to Biloxi to start Stry. I remember how terrified I was. I remember thinking that there were a million steps ahead of me. I remember thinking, What if it all works? What if it succeeds? What if it turns into a real business? What if I hire employees? What if people start depending on me? What then?

I’d never done any of that, and it all seemed overwhelming. The thought of success seemed overwhelming. So I let the fear in a little bit, and then the questions started changing. I stopped thinking about all the baby steps ahead of me, and started thinking, Well, what if I can’t do this? What if I shouldn’t?

But I know now: There’s a part of the brain that loves to sabotage dreams. It’s the naysayer within your subconscious. And I know now: Sometimes, you have to embrace that fear and blow right past it.

I did, and I can’t begin to describe the sensation of knocking fear back on its ass. It’s an amazing feeling.

And no, the fear doesn’t ever just go away. But once you’ve conquered it once, you’ll always know that you can conquer it again.

10/24/201110/24/2011

Treetop Flyers Wanted.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the kinds of people I’d like to hire for Stry. I’ve been asking myself, Who’s going to join me on this startup adventure? Where am I going to find reporters willing to chase stories and travel and venture forth into a world where the only structure is the one we define for ourselves?

And lately, I’ve been thinking that I’ve got to find some treetop flyers.

See, back in Vietnam, the American military trained pilots to fly low-altitude, high-risk flights. But when those pilots returned from war, there wasn’t much need for someone with such a skill set.

So, the story goes, these pilots became treetop flyers: Smugglers, drug-runners, danger-seekers. They took risks that other pilots wouldn’t take; they flew places that other pilots wouldn’t fly.

They were outlaw pilots, and they were much in demand.

I’ve used a lot of words for the type of reporters I’ll need for Stry. I’ve referred to them as hobo journalists, as backpack journalists, as reporter vagabonds.

But what I’m really looking for are treetop flyers: Reporters with skills that no one else really values, reporters who aren’t afraid to fly a bit too close to the ground, reporters willing to go at it without a safety net, reporters for whom adventure is just something that happens when they show up at the office. Working for Stry isn’t going to be a glamorous job. It’s going to be a lot of work, and it’s going to require a hefty amount of improvisation. My reporters at Stry are going to have to deal with stress, strain and general chaos without spontaneously wigging out.

I need reporters willing to go to the Biloxis of the world, willing to dig where others aren’t digging, willing to crash and burn and get back out there the very next day to do it all over again. I’m looking for a new kind of a reporter.

I’m looking for treetop flyers.

Apply within.

10/12/201107/25/2012

The Secret to Networking. (Hint: It’s not really so secret).

Up front, I should say: I am not a great networker. Not yet. This goes back a long way, but the short version is: Sometime around the 6th grade, I realized that I was terrifyingly shy. Calling a friend to ask, “Hey, you wanna play basketball up at school?” was a Herculean ordeal. I remember riding the bus to school and hoping that it’d be late. It wasn’t that I wanted to miss class; I was more afraid of standing around before school with my own friends and trying to contribute to the conversation.

I was really, really shy, and people who know me now find it tough to believe that Dan Oshinsky — the guy who won’t shut up, the guy who won’t use four words where forty will do — was once quiet.

I eventually grew out of my shyness. I learned how to talk to people on the phone. I learned how to shake somebody’s hand and look them in the eye. I learned how to hide my awkwardness in awkward situations.

And the networking skills are coming along. But I’m discovering here at Missouri that the young j-schoolers on campus aren’t master networkers yet. In fact, some of them are rather worried about their networking skills.

They’re convinced that networking is some special skill that some people have and some people don’t. And they’re worried that they don’t have it.

That’s just not true. Everyone can be a great networker. Here’s the problem: Nobody’s ever given these students permission to be great networkers. And they’ve been waiting for permission.

So here’s what I know, guys. It’s four simple steps. Here’s your permission:

1. Show up.

Yes, this is a ‘duh’ kind of thing to say. But here at Mizzou, there are infinite networking opportunities: Meetups, speeches, brown bag lunches, even office hours. The first step is showing up.

The dirty secret is, most students don’t take advantage of opportunities like these. And they’re missing out.

Showing up is half the battle, the idiom goes. It was also, as Aaron Sorkin once wrote, Napoleon’s battle plan:

Casey: Technically, I have a plan.
Dan: What’s the plan?
Casey: It’s Napoleon’s plan.
Dan: Who’s Napoleon?
Casey: A 19th century French emperor.
Dan: You’re cracking wise with me now?
Casey: Yes.
Dan: Thanks.
Casey: He had a two-part plan.
Dan: What was it?
Casey: First we show up, then we see what happens.
Dan: That was his plan?
Casey: Yeah.
Dan: Against the Russian army?
Casey: Yeah.
Dan: First we show up, then we see what happens.
Casey: Yeah.
Dan: Almost hard to believe he lost.

And yeah, it didn’t work for Napoleon. But he was trying to defeat the Russians.

You’re just trying to make some new contacts in the journalism world.

So show up.

2. Get business cards. Get numbers. Hustle.
If you’re at a busy event — say, a conference — you might get a lot of cards. So on the back of a card, write down something about the person. Something you want to remember about him/her, something you want to follow up on.

And if you’re not comfortable with business cards, use a cool mobile tool like Bump to exchange contact information.

3. Follow up. Buy them coffee. Lunch. No one turns down free food.
I’m not kidding. If a student emails me and asks if they can buy me coffee, I will say yes. If they offer to buy me lunch, I will say yes. I will cancel important meetings and say yes. I have a journalism degree, and people with journalism degrees will do almost anything for free food.

Want access to smart, powerful people? Ask to buy them coffee. Ask to buy them lunch.

They will say yes.

(And here’s a take from an experienced networker: If they’re really busy, offer to bring coffee to their office.)

4. Keep following up.
Send your contacts links. Friend them on Facebook and like their posts from time to time. Tweet at them every few weeks. It doesn’t have to be often. A little thing every so often is just enough to keep you top of mind.

Modern relationships are built one click at a time.

Start clicking.

10/03/201104/26/2021

Todd Snider, The Struggling Entrepreneur’s Kind of Songwriter.

I cannot get Todd Snider out my head.

This isn’t a new experience for me. I’m not sure I believe that certain generations are defined by certain songwriters — Do my parents belong to Dylan? To John and Paul and George and Ringo? To Jimi? To Janis? To the Stones? — but I know that certain moments demand a voice. There are weeks when the right song hits me at the right time. I’ve lost months to Joe Purdy’s woes, to Steve Poltz’s quirks, to James McMurtry’s tales of Texas.

Right now, I cannot get Todd Snider out my head.

I fell in love with Snider for his stories. I’ve seen him live, twice. He gets up on stage, sings a song or two, and then he starts in with these stories. They’re all just a YouTube search away. Here’s one about meeting Slash. Here’s one about hallucinogenic mushrooms and high school football. Here’s one about a tour manager named Spike.

A lesser songwriter would lose his audience with stories like those. Not Snider’s crowds. They come for the stories.

That’s why I came.

But lately, I’ve been listening to Snider’s records. And I’m finding that Snider’s got the voice that speaks to what I’m going through now with Stry.

It’s been 15 months since I left my job to start Stry. Things keep changing. I keep learning.

But what has stayed constant is this: I am always on the verge of being completely, totally screwed. Stry is not making money. It does not have any other employees. The only thing keeping the Great and Good and Honorable Dream That Is Stry alive is me.

Mine is not the story of business success — not yet. So this moment demands a songwriter who’s been out there, trying, struggling, failing, laughing, scratching at the edges of success. Someone who’s taken risks. Someone who’s been both the next big thing and the has-been. Someone who’s been out there long enough to have perspective on how life goes, especially when it goes places you never wanted it to go.

Snider’s the songwriter who can explain all those stages: The empowerment, the discovery, the struggle, the success — and the failure. Oh, the failure.

Start here. I am sitting in my cubicle in San Antonio, thinking about something more, thinking about changing the world — couldn’t be that hard, right? — and there’s Todd Snider, singing:

You can’t talk to me like that boss
I don’t care who you are
If you don’t want to have to hang your own dry wall
Don’t push me too far

Suddenly, I’ve left my job. I’m in an apartment in Biloxi, Miss., drafting up a mission statement for Stry. And I’m thinking:

Life ain’t easy getting through
Everybody’s gonna make things tough on you
But I can tell you right now
If you dig what you do
They will never get you down

And that’s keeping me going for a while.

And then Stry’s getting off the ground. I’m thinking a bit too ambitious. I’m thinking that selling this thing is going to be easier than I’d previously thought. I’m getting a bit greedy. And Snider’s singing:

Everybody wants the most they can possibly get
For the least they could possibly do

I’m back in D.C. Selling it isn’t easy at all. I’m clueless. I’m learning. I’m trying. I’m failing. I’m floundering. I’m trying to find myself. And Snider’s singing:

Sometimes you rise above it
Sometimes you sink below
Somewhere in between believing in heaven
And facing the devil you know

I start to find a way forward. I settle down a little bit. Maybe I start to settle for something a bit less than changing the world. I start to find myself. I start to wonder whether I’m ever going to get moving again. I start to doubt myself. And Snider sings:

A little out of place
A little out of tune
Sorta lost in space
Racing the moon
Climbing the walls
Of this hurricane
Still overall
I can’t complain

Then the complication comes back around. More failing. More setbacks. More struggling. And Snider’s singing:

Some of this trouble just finds me
No matter where I turn
How do you know when it’s too late to learn?

And now it’s the present day. I’m thinking about the fact that a year ago today — Oct. 3, 2010 — at about this very hour, I was pulling into my driveway in D.C., my whole year ahead of me. No plan, no idea of the road before me. Just a dream and a website. And Snider’s singing:

Lookin’ back on where I was
One year ago today
Laughing at the shape I’m in now

And Mr. Snider: I know you’re right. I am looking back, and I cannot help but laugh. Oh, how little I knew then.

How little I know now.

I know haven’t gotten that far in the entrepreneurial process. No, I don’t know what lies ahead.

But I suspect that when I get there, I’ll find there’s a Todd Snider song that explains it perfectly.

I hope there is.

09/28/201109/28/2011

Today, On This Rosh Hashanah, In What Is Apparently The Year 5772, I Would Like to Give Thanks.

Today is Rosh Hashanah, and I am in Columbia, Mo. The last time I was in Columbia for Rosh Hashanah, Barack Obama was just a Senator from Illinois, my Missouri Tigers were about to head to Lincoln, Neb., to play a conference game, and I was still a month away from signing up for something called Twitter. Now I’m back at Missouri as an RJI Fellow, and I dress decently and show up to work at 8 or 9 and leave at 5 or 6 or 7, and I have a corner office, and a staff that is on call to help me, and when I leave a voicemail for someone, that someone calls me back.

For the longest time, I’ve joked to my parents about being “a professional,” but for the first time in my adult life, I actually feel like one.

There is still much work to do, but it is hard not to take this moment to think back on all that has already happened this year. I am most grateful for the journey so far, and I look with wonder towards the journey that lies ahead.

There continue to be an incredible number of people who believe in me and believe in what I am doing, and it never ceases to amaze me how much that knowledge helps me through each day.

Onward I go, for them.

09/21/201109/28/2011

#BergChat: The Pivot!

Four weeks ago today, I went in front of a group of students here at the University of Missouri and told them I wanted to buy them a beer and talk about journalism. And then I went in front of another class. And another. And another.

And told them, a few hundred in all: I wanted to buy them beer and talk about journalism.

The first thing that happened was, a whole bunch of students tweeted at me to tell me how excited they were about the idea.

The second thing that happened was, nobody came to drink with me.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve offered three so-called #BergChat sessions to students so far on Twitter. One student has taken me up on the offer.

So it’s time, I think, for a pivot.

What’s a pivot, you ask? Take it from Eric Ries, author of the soon-to-be-bestelling book, “The Lean Startup.” Says Ries, a pivot is:

“The idea that successful startups change directions but stay grounded in what they’ve learned. They keep one foot in the past and place one foot in a new possible future. “

And, okay, the #BergChat isn’t a startup; it’s just office hours at a bar. Still, the spirit of the pivot works here.

Now, the way I’ve been organizing these #BergChats is by sending out a tweet or three to my followers — among them, a multitude of j-schoolers. I’ve named the day/time for that week’s chat. And I’ve asked students to tweet back at me if they’d like to join me for a drink and conversation.

Except that I’ve forgotten a simple rule: College kids don’t operate on the same time schedule that I do. And that means I’m pitching this to an audience that isn’t actually listening at the moment I’m talking.

Hence the need for a pivot.

So here’s the new plan: The #BergChat is always open and available to you, the students. All you have to do is tweet at me something like:

Hey, @danoshinsky, got time for a #BergChat this week?

And assuming I’m in town, I’ll say yes, and we’ll set a time.

To recap: You tweet at me. We agree upon a time. And then said Beer/Shirley Temple is purchased, and we talk about whatever you want to talk about.

That’s my pivot, and I’m sticking to it.

At least for this week.

09/13/201109/13/2011

Why I’m Doing What I’m Doing.

This was originally published over at the RJI blog. But I really liked what I’d written. So I’m republishing it here:

❡❡❡

This is not a motivational blog post. I am not writing this to inspire you. I do not want you to read this and quit your job.

Is that clear?

Are you sure?

Positive?

Because I go to Mach 1 pretty quickly on these things. I get wound up and start running like Lombardi before the Ice Bowl, like a guy who’s got an Espresso drip running in one arm and the soundtrack to ‘The Natural’ blasting in the earbuds. I get wound up, and sometimes, the fortune cookie quotes start leaking out.

It’s all this one girl’s fault. I was having a beer with an MU student on Wednesday. J-school senior here on campus. Ambitious, talented, overworked. She wanted to know about me and my startup. And like any student worth her journalism degree, she had a good question for me:

Why are you doing what you’re doing?

And I didn’t answer it well enough. Lately, all the questions have been forward leaning: What are you doing now? What are you doing next?

But it’s been a while since someone asked me, straight up: Why are you doing what you’re doing?

I didn’t give her the full answer yesterday. So right now, I’d like to tell her, for starters:

I’m doing this because I can. Because there’s opportunity for something like Stry. Because it’s risky. Because I want to learn. Because I don’t have 2.5 kids and a wife and a job and a mortgage. Because I had the money to get it started, and maybe I’ll find the money to keep it going. Because I hated life in a cubicle. Because I’m too naive to know that failure is all but certain for a startup like this. Because I made it this far, and yeah, Red, maybe I can go a little farther. Because I think the phrase “You can be whatever you want to be” needs another case study. Because I want to do the work. Because I like doing the work. Because I like being busy, and not TPS Report busy or Conference Call With the Head of Whatchamacallit busy. Because this is the time I have, and this is what I have to work with, and because I’ve got people behind me who seem to think I can pull this off, and because so do I, and mostly:

Because I can.

There are not a lot of things I believe in completely — I’m not Crash Davis, alright? — but I believe this: In this life, you find things you love and people you love, and make room for both.

Right now, with Stry, I’ve got something I love. I wake up in the morning excited to get up. I know that sounds like some “Jerry Maguire” BS, but it’s true. I love coming to work. This company sinks or swims based on what I do. It’s on me. This thing goes as far as I can take it.

That’s terrifying and empowering and thrilling, and it’s my day-to-day existence. I love that.

And, yeah, the fortune cookie quotes start leaking out sometimes. But I don’t mind that. I had a yoga teacher in San Antonio who told me once, “Trying is doing.”

So why am I doing what I’m doing?

Maybe it’s because I just had to try.

09/10/201110/02/2011

Why I Look Happily Towards The Future of Missouri Football, and What Exactly I Mean By That.

There is a very strange realization I came to tonight:

Fans of my alma mater believe that who we were define who we are.

And I do not.

I was with this girl tonight. She is Missouri-born and a Tiger fan through and through. She loves this team. She actually understands football.

And tonight, when the Mizzou-Arizona State game went to overtime, she immediately said: “We’re going to choke.”

I asked her why, and she said, “Because Mizzou always does.”

And that’s thinking I used to be able to get behind. But lately, something’s changed.

See, when I showed up at this school, Mizzou wasn’t very good at sports. We lost. Always. And usually in rip-your-heart-out fashion.

But since I’ve been here: We’ve won far more than we’ve lost. We’ve beaten the #1 team in the country. Been ranked #1. Been to two Big 12 title games. Won a New Year’s Day bowl.

Longtime Mizzou fans forget this, though. Because in their minds, we’ve always been bad, and we always will be. Even when we’re winning. Even when we’re beating the #1 team in the country.

For them, past is present.

I don’t think like that anymore. I’ve rooted for a lot of bad teams. I’ve seen a Maryland football team get dominated by Ohio. Not Ohio State. OHIO University. I’ve seen teams like American and William & Mary beat my beloved Terps basketball team. I’ve seen the Redskins falter and falter. I’ve seen my Caps fall again and again.

My hometown of Washington, D.C., is closing in on Cleveland as America’s worst sports town. This is not a good thing.

But what I am certain of is this: It is the hard times that make the big wins that much sweeter. As a fan, we need losses like tonight’s. We need to be demolished sometimes.

Because one of these days, a win will come along that reminds us of why we watch in the first place. And it will be all the sweeter because of it.

I believe in the future of Missouri football. I believe there will be heartbreak, and I believe there will be greatness.

And I am damn sure that I will be out at a bar rooting hard for those Tigers every Saturday. I’ll be watching because I believe: Good things come this way.

I hope next Saturday brings better things for my Tigers. I really do.

08/29/201111/01/2012

re: The Catskills. (Or: What I Mean When I Talk About Undercovered Issues in Undercovered Areas.)

The catchphrase at Stry last year was simple: Stry covers undercovered issues in undercovered areas. And any time I mentioned that line, I brought up another.

It’s from a conversation I had with a local when I was down in Biloxi last year, covering the aftermath of Katrina. We were talking about local issues, and she said:

“It’s five years after Katrina, Dan. We’ve still got problems. Why isn’t anyone talking to us about what we’re going through?”

Then came the pause, of course. There is always a pause.

“Is it because we’re from the South?”

And I told her: No. This is the kind of story that gets ignored everywhere. If it happened in Maine or Montana, it’d get forgotten, too, just like Katrina.

I bring that up because just now, I went walking through the lobby here at the Missouri School of Journalism. CNN was on one of the TVs. The governor of the state of Vermont was speaking. And the caption at the bottom of the screen read: “Vermont sees worst flooding since 1927.”

Now, I’d read about the flooding the day before. A lone paper up in the Catskills was trying to cover it. The big papers were completely silent. CNN, to their great credit, did get a reporter up on the scene.

But now it’s 24+ hours since the flooding began — and we’re talking about massive, historic flooding happening just hours from the biggest media market in the galaxy — and the coverage is just beginning to come in.

When I’m talking about undercovered issues in undercovered areas, the Catskills don’t always come to mind. But they’re exactly the kind of place I’m thinking of.

They’re exactly the kind of place I want Stry to cover.

photo at top of flooding in Proctorsville, Vt., via Flickr

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