You’ve probably noticed something about my posts.

I’m constantly name-dropping. Not celebrities. Not influencers. Cousins. Colleagues. Random friends. That guy Steve Hoechester who said one thing at lunch that hijacked my brain for a week.

Here’s why: I genuinely believe that credit is a form of currency, and I like to be rich in the stuff that actually matters.

Yes, I can come up with ideas on my own. Hell, I’m good at it. (Like, "could monetize it in my sleep" good.) But the truth is, something special happens when you let other people into the process. A conversation. A book. A line in a podcast. It’s not just inspiration, it’s ignition. These interactions don’t just give me ideas. They accelerate them. Sharpen them. Sometimes they slap me in the face and say, "Hey dummy, go this way."

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 was talking with my cousin. She’s cool. She’s fun. She’s wildly successful in that effortless “Oh, I didn’t realize you were on that board” kind of way. We were bouncing around ideas about travel and food and all the things that make life feel like more than just a to-do list.

Then she said this.

“Do you know why they call things better? Because better is better. That’s why they call it better.”

I swear to you, time froze for a second.

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.

Let’s get this out of the way first, the Bugonia stunt could’ve been legendary. The kind of PR moment that earns front-page headlines, floods TikTok feeds, and gets whispered about in marketing Slack channels for years.

But instead of legendary, it became lukewarm.

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?"

Your brand doesn’t need safe. Safe is boring. Safe is invisible. Safe is the default path to irrelevance.

When your instinct is to issue a press release, apologize, retreat, “clarify the intent,” and tone everything down, that’s the moment your brand is getting eaten alive. What you really need is conviction, nerve, and a willingness to absorb backlash that isn’t aimed at your customers.

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.

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.

Let me start by being brutally honest (seems to be my new thing): I don’t think anything I’ve done has ever gone crazy viral. You know, like Justine Sacco “#hashtagging her career into oblivion” viral. But what I have done is create stuff, both in writing and with stunts, that people still remember 10 years later. And that’s exactly the kind of content I’d take over viral any day.

Let’s talk about something most people avoid like a landmine in a job interview: getting fired.

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.

People ask me all the time why I share so much.

Why I talk publicly about my creative process. Why I walk people through strategies that others would lock in a vault. Why do I give away what many would consider “proprietary” or “the secret sauce”

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.

I have been doing 1:1 personal branding coaching with people, and one of the exercises I ask them to do is write their obituary. Pretend it is 25 years in the future and write about what they accomplished. It is part aspiration (looking forward) and part self-reflection (looking backward) so people can list accomplishments that are earned and desired.