Dear Jack,

I wouldn't have chosen this, but I am so grateful for it.

Dear Jack,

How are you? Thanks so much for reaching out over the last couple weeks. It really has meant a lot to know you keep me and our family in your thoughts and prayers. I thought I would write last week, but didn’t. I needed a little more time. It wasn’t losing my job that threw me for the loop — I mean, it did, but only for a little while— but a few things happened over the last couple of weeks that inspired me to pause a bit.

Here’s the short version.

Three days before I lost my job I was meeting with a retired Navy SEAL. Great guy. Smart. Funny. Super outgoing and the kind of person who lights up rooms with positivity. You’d never be able to sit alone in the corner of a party with him there. He’s kind of the opposite of what you think of when you think about a SEAL. Not necessarily because he’s an outlier, but because I think we civilians have the wrong idea about what kind of people make it to that job.

Anyway, we were having a long discussion about attitude. Specifically, we were diving in deeper than the success poster kind of attitude you see hanging in the dentist or human resources office. Real attitude. He was telling me stories about people he’s known and worked with — both in the service and after — whose attitude has been the difference maker in their lives. We were deep into the conversation when he showed me a picture of five SEAL candidates sitting in a line in the sand at night. It was dark, they were soaked. They were in the throws of ‘Hell Week,’ which is the final weaning out of candidates before graduation. Let me tell you, it sounds brutal. I can hardly imagine what its like to go through it.

In the picture, these five young men look almost ghostly. They haven’t slept, barely ate and have been pushing their bodies and minds well past the breaking point. He asked me if I could tell which ones would make it through the final test and which ones couldn’t. I had no idea. They all looked fit. They all looked strong, but drained. I shrugged and he told me to look closer. That’s when I saw it. Three of the men in the photo looked like they were doing everything they could to endure and survive, but two of them — while appearing every bit as exhausted — we smiling. They weren’t pretty smiles. They weren’t selfie-worthy. In fact, they looked like they were strained, but there they were — smiles in the midst of agony.

“They’re not smiling because they’re happy,” my friend said. “They’re smiling because they know there’s purpose in the pain. They know it will end. They smile through the suck.” Those men were smiling not because they knew Hell Week was almost over, but because they knew smiling would get them to the next meal, through the next hour, the next minute, the next moment.

It was a really impactful conversation and I didn’t know it at that time, but an hour after losing my job, it was nearly all I could think about. Would I have chosen to lose my job as the sole earner for a family of six? Absolutely not, not then anyway. But now? I’m not so sure.

Instantly there was lots to do and consider. I haven’t applied for a job in nearly 16 years. I don’t have a resume. What do I do about money? Health insurance? How could I look my kinds in the eye and tell them that I had just failed to do the thing I am supposed to do? My first instinct was to scramble, but then I thought about those SEALs and their smiles. Scrambling is panic. Panic is reactionary. Smiles are intentional. Smiling when things are hard and scary, when it feels like the world is crashing down is control. We can’t control what happens to us even if we contributed to or caused it. We can only control how we respond to it. The Stoics said that. The SEAL said that. My parents said that.

A Super Bowl champion and college football coach said that a week later during the annual Men’s Super Bowl Breakfast at my church. My friend Steve invited me to my first one four or five years ago. Every year, the day before the big game, we gather in the former sanctuary to drink coffee, eat amazing breakfast burritos, listen to speakers and share in small groups of men. I became a table leader last year, which basically means I help make sure a half dozen men (16 and older) are given the space and time to share reflections and experienced based on presentations from three speakers — two from the parish and one outside speaker, usually someone involved in professional or college sports. It’s a great event and I’ve loved taking my oldest son to it a couple of times.

This year was e Dylan’s first time and I had been looking forward to it… until everything happened. I was reminded of my table leader duties by email a couple days before and my first thought was eye-rolling dread. How could I lead conversations about God and faith and what it means to be a man when I was middle aged and freshly unemployed? I thought about cancelling, but then, again, the smiles. Control your response. Choose to find the purpose in the hard things.

We all make a promise to not share what is shared during the breakfast outside of the event, so I get into what the parish speakers shared, nor will I reveal the name of the keynote speaker. He is a native of the area. Played college football and made it to the pros. His teams made it to multiple Super Bowls, though he admits he didn’t get on the field for those games. He’s gone on to coach big time college football, but his resume matters much less than what he said. The theme of the event was “Huddle Up” and he used the huddle to describe an idea I really needed to hear.

We think of the huddle as a meeting, where teams come together to talk about plays and strategies for the game. But this coach said the first purpose of the huddle is not about talking, it’s about listening. You have to listen to what you’re being asked to do. You can’t listen if you’re busy talking — to yourself, about yourself, about the situation you’re in. In order to listen, you must be still and attentive. Once you’ve heard what’s being asked, you then have to understand your assignment. No one plays — or works, or serves, or loves, or leads — alone. No one does it all. Everyone has value and great success comes from aligning those values to a common, interconnected plan.

So the function of a huddle is 1) to listen to what needs to be done and 2) to align your value to where it is needed. But even if you do these things perfectly, there’s still another team on the field. There are people on the other side who are determined to prevent you from executing your plan, no matter how well instructed or aligned you are — you can’t control them. Sometimes the play that’s called in the huddle leads to a touchdown. Sometimes you lose yards. But that’s thing about football, sports, careers and life itself — there’s going to be another play. “Your job is not to sit there and feel sorry for yourself that the play didn’t work,” the coach said. “Your job is to get up and jog back to the huddle to listen for the next play.”

It’s such a simple idea, but I really needed to hear it.

I reached out to a former colleague and friend to ask for advice on my next career move. He left our common employer years ago, started a company, sold it, went to work for a multi-national and now leads operations for companies owned by the same firm that bought his start up. I messaged him on LinkedIn to tell him I’d lost my job and would love to get some advice from him.

He wrote back immediately. “What. Brother I’m sorry to hear that. What do you WANT to do and I’ll start pounding my network.” That’s when I knew I needed to take a little time and not just react in panic. I realized I hadn’t asked myself what I WANT to do since I chose my major in college. For the last 25 years, I’d gone from job to job, usually motivated by money or practical considerations for my family. And I’ve learned and enjoyed aspects of all of them. But I was always trying to figure out how to fit in, to find enough purpose and value in the job to make it kinda, sorta what I wanted to do. The regular paychecks and benefits kept our family from ruin and I’ve had the opportunity to work with some incredible people, have incredible experiences and see some amazing places. But was I ever doing what I WANT to do?

Sometimes. In glimpses and flashes. I’ve given myself two weeks to reflect on those moments, to think about what I’m being asked to do and understand my value to the team. I’ve chosen to smile in the suck and, with every passing day, that smile has become more genuine. I’m still scared.

I still have a lot to do — tasks — and I need to be the provider my family relies on me being, but I know what I WANT to do: I want to write. I want to tell stories. I want to work with people to develop big ideas and I want to help people understand the power stories have to change not only lives, but businesses, relationships with customers and outcomes for teams. I want to combine everything I’ve learned as a journalist, editor, writer, author, ghostwriter, agency strategist, account lead, producer and Chief Creative Officer with the things being a son, husband, father, friend and seeker to create value for others. Whether its an entrepreneur who needs help figuring out how to tell their story or a brand looking to inject humanity into their marketing; an agency looking to think and speak differently or a friend needing advice and a shoulder to cry on.

I want to bring my whole self to work. I want my work to reflect the person I am and I want to face each challenge the same way — by listening, aligning, executing to the best of my ability and smiling on my way back to the huddle. That’s what I WANT to do. I’m lucky. Without changing my LinkedIn status or sending some mass announcement and having just barely squeaked out a resume, I have been overwhelmed with opportunities — friends and colleagues who I’ve touched base with are eager to not only help with advice or a friendly ear, but put me to work. Everything is still taking shape — there are very practical concerns and I’m still looking into full-time jobs — and who knows what life will look like a month from now, a year, a decade even. I used to dream about that a lot more — that some day feeling that always put a gap between me and what I was doing — but I’m coming to realize that today is way more important than some day. And I can only control how I approach today.

So if you know somebody who needs a ghostwriter, a person or team who wants to get better at telling stories or a group that needs a new, better one to tell, send them my way, please and thank you. I’d love to talk to them.

In the mean time, I hope you’re doing well. And if you’re not, I hope you’re smiling through it. There’s purpose in the hard stuff, but you’ve got to believe its there if you ever hope to find it. Listen for the plan. Know your value. Get your butt back up and define what you WANT to do. I certainly don’t know everything, but I can’t help but be convinced those three messages came to me for a reason at a time when I needed to hear them most.

Give my best to your lovely wife and the boys.

We’ll chat soon.

Craig