Essays on creative leadership,
culture, and the human side of work.
Published weekly, with an original illustration. Two series: Becoming and Advisory Notes.
“We reach down deep when forced to, and become what we need to be.” – Old Overture parable Writing on the wall The meeting was short. Tom had known for weeks that things weren’t right. Now he pushed back his chair, stood and headed for the door, unemployed. He was a little off balance as…
Revulsion, then anger. She felt the redness. Her face burned. And then that churn from deep in her gut. He was speaking at the Esteemed Conference of Professional Spokespersons. Or something like that. It hit her hard. She couldn’t look at the fucking announcement again. Couldn’t avoid his topic slipping into her consciousness. He’d been…
Our personal stories are our source of power as creative professionals. I’ve drawn and told stories for as long as I can remember. When I was little I knew that I’d have to make my way in the world with my talent. But how? I had no idea. Reflect on it for a minute: How…
Marcus, standing, still wet from the storm… “The Amazon is burning. The Amazon is gone. The oligarchs are taking over. The oligarchs own us all. “Tommy, Tommy! Didn’t you see this coming? Why didn’t you do more? You Boomers let them burn the world. “You burned high-octane. Laid the rubber and the girls. Felt no…
“You’re late.” It hits me like a like a boxer’s blow. I’m shaken now, and he hits me again: “I can’t believe it. You’re fifteen minutes late!” I manage to stammer out, “I’m sorry, I thought our meeting was at 11:15. Was it at 11?” I’m desperate for this job… Ignoring me, and now with…
“You promised us we’d win Unilever.” “That’s a child’s response. Grow the fuck up.” That’s how Brie’s Thursday started at Overture. “I shouldn’t have been so cocky,” Brie thought. “I should have been more measured.” Rough patch Sitting in her office, hands wrapped around her second cup of the day, Brie remembered the feelings: First…
The smoke was thicker now. The fantasy continues… They were running down the stairs. Hitting the landings hard. Pivoting, attacking the next flight. “Brie, Brie, how many more flights?” “We’re close now, I think.” Finally, the doors. The smoke was coming up from below. Fire in the garage? Who knew. Allison hit the panic bar.…