I started a new job this week and I'm sure I'm at least 10 years older than EVERYONE. Which is waaaay cool. And very inspiring. My outward appearance has been beaten down by cancer, too many 50-70 hour work weeks and Mother Nature taking it's course. But it's not what's on the outside that counts. Inside, I feel reborn. Re-energized. Ready.
I was the youngest at a small advertising agency in Los Angeles in 1981––Chiat/Day––working in the mailroom with no idea of what I wanted to do "when I grew up." It was at Chiat/Day that I met my Wife, Teresa, and began a journey that has given me so much. At the time I was 22 years old. And I had thought that any years I lived after 21 were bonus years. Why? I lived in a tough area of LA. Was only 6 years old when one of my friends died. Had friends shot and killed. Played sports with cops circling the baseball field and steel bars on the windows of the basketball gym. Played one-on-one with gang bangers so I could get home safe from the playground.
Chris, from my former job, told me that the people at my new job would adore me. Respect me for the knowledge I had that I take for granted. Admire me for my accomplishments. Accept me because of the person I am. (Thanks, Chris. You're the best). Who's the old dude? I am.
And blessed to be there.