Every once in a while, someone drops a sentence so simple, so unpolished, so delightfully obvious that it hits you straight in the soul like a folding chair in a WWE match.

For me, it happened last week.

I’m uninspired.

Not creatively blocked. Not out of ideas. Not “searching for my muse.” I’m just worn down. Pneumonia has been riding me like a rented mule, and on top of that, someone I love, a family member, is reaching the end of his life. It’s a double-header you don’t train for. And yes, I know I’m the guy known for having energy that borders on cartoon physics… but even Wile E. Coyote hits the canyon floor sometimes.

And when life starts to wobble like this, my mind does what it always does. It goes straight to my dad.

Strap in kids, cause I’m going to lay it out plain and loud: community is the only growth strategy worth your brand’s sweat and sleepless nights. And I should know, after speaking at over 300 conferences in the past 20 years, crafting a new 70‑minute keynote every single year (yes, even while sleeping half‑dead in airports), and starting with a slightly eyebrow‑raising talk titled Making Love To Your Customers (yes, that’s what it was called), I’ve come to this truth: all the flashy “growth hacks” will fade, but a fiercely loyal tribe will endure.

When I founded The Idea Integration Co., it was just me, a lot of cream soda, and a healthy appetite for McDonald's. I started this thing with nothing but the confidence that I could eat like a raccoon out of garbage bins if I had to, and I’ve done it more than once. Because when you’re building something from scratch, survival is part of the budget.

And yeah, I took massive risks. The kind of risks that make people either whisper "that guy’s unhinged" or ask for my card. Like when I bought a billboard that said, "Need a Traci Lords Idea?"

Let’s get this out of the way: the phrase "executive branding" feels gross. It sounds like something your niece does on TikTok. Something with ring lights and hashtags. But here’s the truth, and it took me two decades online to realize it: Posting a lot and kinda sharing a lot of stuff isn’t about ego. It’s about access.

Here’s the thing: anti-woke marketing works… until it doesn’t.

It’s the marketing equivalent of eating nothing but candy, sure, it gives you a quick sugar rush, maybe a stock bump, maybe even a bunch of free media coverage — but it leaves you queasy and doesn’t build a healthy brand. We’ve seen this play out with Bud Light, Target, and most recently Cracker Barrel. The data is undeniable: when anti-woke consumers get angry, they vote with their wallets, and it moves markets.

A while back I wrote about why I’m not exactly in the Savannah Bananas fan club. Don’t get me wrong, I see the genius. They’ve turned baseball into a TikTok-friendly circus, they’ve made millions, and they’ve brought people who wouldn’t know a double play from a double espresso into stadiums. But as a long-suffering baseball fan, I don’t want baseball to become a never-ending talent show. I want baseball to be baseball.

I am a pioneer of the internet. Literally one of the early ones who discovered new land and how to make a career because of it. I was there with Mitch Joel, Chris Brogan, and others and while I admire these people and hang on their every observation to this day, now I am not sure they will tell you what I am about to say. A long time ago, on what feels like a planet far far away, “social media” was about connection, and it was beautiful. In high school, I met other They Might Be Giants fans online and realized I wasn’t the only person in the world obsessing over accordion-driven nerd rock, and it made me feel less alone. Later, I met people who were doing the kind of work I wanted to do, and they gave me tips and encouragement. It was human, messy, and, yeah, sometimes even weird in a way that felt authentic.

In the last month, I’ve written two full-blown marketing plans for clients and I’m diving into a third one this weekend for a very hands on project. Both were very different projects. Opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to target customers, budgets, and expectations. But here’s the funny part: both plans, unique as they were, netted out at exactly 45 pages each.

That wasn’t by design. I didn’t have a template I was plugging things into. It happened because that’s how much it takes to capture the real meat of a marketing plan when you’re not padding it with fluff.

There’s something I need to say, and I hope it reaches the right people.

It’s OK to come back. Really. No guilt. No shame. No awkward silences required.

Earlier this year, my company lost three projects to “AI.” That’s not code for another agency, it’s literal. The clients decided they could do what we do in-house using AI tools instead of a team of human creatives.

I’m real close to taking on a new project, a brand that’s been around for 20 years, and I’m speaking about it like it’s already in the bag because, frankly, it’s just a matter of time. (I’m a big believer in speaking things into existence.)

Modernizing a brand that’s been operating for two decades is no small task.

I run an agency. Not a pretend one. A real one. With full-time staff. Payroll. Clients on three continents. Alumni from Mad Magazine and The Simpsons on the creative team. We do big, loud, sometimes legally-questionable-but-always-effective marketing work.

But here’s the part most people don’t realize:

Even with a team, I’m still a solopreneur.

Real talk: Coca-Cola gave the marketing world a gift with their 70-20-10 content model… and almost nobody’s using it.

I’ve been in marketing a long time. Long enough to remember when “viral” was just a thing you caught from making out with the wrong person in a burger king bathroom (don’t judge). So when I tell you this framework is one of the smartest tools for balancing brand consistency with actual innovation, I mean it.

We’ve officially entered the era of Marketing Musical Chairs, except the music stops every 12 to 16 months, and it’s always the CMO left standing.

Why? Because the CMO role has become a lame duck gig. Disposable. Decorated. But damned. The title still sounds powerful, but it now often means: “You’re the first to go when growth stalls, vibes are off, or someone in the boardroom starts reading too much Martech Today.”nestly, who has that kind of time?

The world is chaos right now.

Tesla dealerships are getting vandalized. Memes and podcasts are shaping political outcomes more than billion-dollar campaigns. The platforms that brands used to rely on, Facebook ads, Google search, even traditional PR is tried and true but you need something great for them to get excited about. People are choosing their own sources of truth, and in most cases, those sources aren’t mainstream media or conventional advertising.

I have a confession: I hate selling and I don't even know if I'm particularly good at it.

But here’s the paradox if I can get a meeting, our close rate is incredibly high. The challenge is getting the meeting in the first place. Our cold emails? They’re strange and direct because I want people to know exactly what to expect from us from the jump. No fluff, no pleasantries just straight talk about what we do and how we can help.

I’m writing this from a hospital room while my dad is dying. It sucks. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years—after spending 50+ days in this situation when I lost my mom five years ago and after being on a breathing machine for 17 days three years ago when I got Covid, and now several weeks with my dad in and out of hospitals for months—it’s that life doesn’t pause, and neither does business.

Some people use work as a distraction from life. Sometimes, life is the distraction from work. And sometimes, like right now, the two overlap in a very weird, emotional, and deeply exhausting Venn diagram.

I’ve been watching The West Wing a lot lately. I watched it when it first aired, but aside from the occasional YouTube clip, this is my first full rewatch. And let me tell you, I'm appreciating it in a whole new way.

Back then, I enjoyed it, sure, but I didn’t fully grasp the brilliance of Aaron Sorkin’s writing like I do now. The dialogue, the pacing, the depth, it’s next-level. The way Sorkin crafts conversations that are both razor-sharp and deeply human is something I completely overlooked the first time around. Maybe I just wasn’t in the right headspace back then, or maybe I’ve evolved, who knows.

Let’s talk about the fun stuff. The bold, creative ideas. The ones that make people laugh, cry, share, and talk. The ideas that go viral, break the mold, or make brands unforgettable. It’s the work we live for at The Idea Integration Co. It’s also, unsurprisingly, the work everyone wants to do.

But here’s the catch: not everyone can.

Bringing in a consultant or agency is a big decision. I get it, it’s a serious investment. It’s not just the money, which can easily creep into six figures, but the time and energy spent getting someone up to speed on your business. Typically, it takes weeks (or months) before they’re even ready to deliver something meaningful. And honestly, who has that kind of time?

Tomorrow is my birthday (so be nice to me and share this post), and November 1st is the 15th anniversary of starting The Idea Integration Co. Inc. In those 15 years, we have grown, reinvented ourselves a few times, and had the absolute honor of working on cool projects with brands we love.