Too Late/Too Soon: The Wandering.

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.

02/14/201302/08/2013

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.

02/04/201306/09/2017

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.

01/28/201301/25/2013

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.

01/24/201301/22/2013

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.

01/17/201301/13/2013

What Is Long, and What Is Not.

“The NFL isn’t a career — it’s an experience. Most careers last 40-50 years, and people grow old in them.” — Alfred Morris

Two things got me thinking:

The first is that quote, at top. It’s from Alfred Morris, the rookie running back for the Washington Redskins. (That’s a photo of him sleeping on the couch. He still sleeps on the couch when he visits his parents.)

NFL players don’t usually have that kind of awareness, but Morris really seems to understand what’s happening in his life. The NFL is something most players have worked for since they hit puberty. It’s all they’ve worked for. The idea that it wouldn’t be forever is…. well, impossible.

Understanding what the NFL is — a job, an experience — and what it is not — a career, a lifestyle — is going to change everything for Morris. It’s going to let him make the most of this incredible opportunity.

But most of us can’t tell the difference between what is big, and what is not. We see a half an inch of water and we tell ourselves we’re going to drown. We hit a bump and think it’s a mountain.

We lack perspective, and that’s one thing we need most to understand the road we’re on and the places we’re headed.

There’s a second thing. I had a Latin teacher in high school, Miss Cherry. One of her quotes comes to mind now: Ars longa, vita brevis.

Art is long, but life is short.

And in high school, I remember thinking: What the hell is that? Art is long?

LONG?!

But that’s exactly what Morris is talking about, too. It’s this idea that some things are forever, and some things fade away.

The memories are long, but the job is short.

The ambitions are long, but the opportunities are short.

We work to build things that are long — but ultimately, the one thing we know is that the chances to make them are short.

Make things now, with the time you have now. To wait is to discover that now is very, very short.

Photo at top of Morris comes via the Washington Post.

01/14/201301/13/2013

Go On.

“There is a direct relationship between your ability to handle uncertainty and your happiness.” — Joshua Fields Millburn

We’re all going to make mistakes in our work. We’re going to go directions we didn’t expect. We’re going to make choices we don’t like.

It happens.

But here’s what happens next: It’s normal for us to ask forgiveness of others. We make a wrong choice that hurts someone else, and we tell that person, I’m sorry.

That’s normal.

What doesn’t happen, I’ve found, is that we forgive ourselves for the mistakes we make in our own work. I know I’m guilty of this myself: Something goes wrong in my work, and I won’t let it go for months.

I have to learn how to forgive myself for making the mistakes that I know I’m going to make along the way. Screw ups happen. It’s okay.

And it’s not like the screw ups were in vain. I really have learned from many of my mistakes. They’ve taken me a step further in my work.

Sometimes, I’ll look back on these mistakes with amazement.

You did THAT?

You chose THAT?

You said WHAT?

Yes, mistakes happen. And I know now: Time makes things better. Time lets you move on.

But you have to find ways to move on long before then. Otherwise, your work gets held up along the way.

Life goes on, no matter what the hell you do. It really does.

Give yourself permission to go on, and then get on with it.

01/10/201301/07/2013

I Need A Race.

“If you’re the smartest person in the room, you need to find a better room.” — Chris Conrey

I’ve been going to the gym for a few weeks now without a goal.

At the gym, especially, goals are huge. Last year, I had the Belly Challenge. And then I had the sprint tri.

Both gave me something to work for. Something to strive for.

Without a goal, I now find myself aimless at the gym, spending 30 minutes on the bike, or 20 minutes on the elliptical, and calling it a workout.

Sometimes, I won’t even break a sweat.

Seriously, Dan?

I need a new race. I need a new challenge.

All of us do, I think.

Without new goals to shoot for, we get stagnant. Our work gets lazy.

If you’re not setting and re-setting the bar, what the hell are you doing? Are you getting better?

I know that right now, I’m not.

So I’m picking a 5k for the spring. I’m giving myself something to shoot for.

I suggest you do the same. We all need a race to run.

Photo at top via.

01/07/201301/05/2013

Waiting Sucks.

“Find what moves you, and move. Find what keeps you up all night, and stay up all night.” — Nicole Antoinette

There is so much I want to do this year. So much to take on.

There really is no time to waste.

But more importantly than that: This is no time to wait.

Waiting sucks. Sitting around, waiting for other people/things/events to come around before you can do your work — that’s no good at all.

Or more likely: Waiting for the moment when you give yourself permission to start doing the work — that’s even worse.

So start now. Start with what you have. Start with as little as you need.

Waiting sucks. Find a way to get yourself moving.

12/31/201207/04/2020

What I Really Mean When I Say ‘Fail.’

There is a phrase I use a lot. I overuse it. A lot of my friends do, too.

The word is “fail.”

Fail can mean a lot of things. It can mean:

-Go try hard things, and see what works!
-Don’t be afraid to mess up!
-If it doesn’t succeed, that’s okay — it doesn’t mean you’re a failure!

But sometimes, when we just wrap all that in into that one word — fail — we lose a sense of what we’re really trying to say. Sometimes, I’ll find myself telling people that they should be willing to fail, and they think, “Dan doesn’t think I can do it.”

And that’s not it at all! If you’ve got the skill and hustle and the team, you can absolutely pull it off.

So if I’ve told you, “It’s okay to fail” or “Go fail fast,” I’m sorry. I can say it better.

This year, be willing to do difficult things. Be willing to go on adventures where you don’t know the outcome. Be willing to persevere.

Most of all: Be willing to do great work.

Yes, some of the work won’t live up to your standards. Yes, yes, some of the work will take you directions you didn’t intend.

What matters is you and your work, and that you keep going.

The only true failure comes when you decide that the work isn’t worth it anymore.

Everything else is just a stop along the way.