Every day starts and ends in this office.
I sit at my desk, type social media posts for C-Suiters all day, occasionally breaking to read Monocle or The Atlantic, and when I’m done, I go outside to water our plants and listen to a few minutes of an audiobook (Right now it’s Careless People by Sarah Wynn-Williams. It will definitely give you another perspective on what it’s like to work at Facebook).
This is life of an executive ghostwriter: bursts of creativity and client check-ins, followed by moments of reflection and remembering that the tasks of the following day are already stacking up on Slack. I take a lot of notes in my mini legal pad. I’m extremely efficient.
Yesterday, I heard a knock at my door. It was our six year old, Miles.
He regularly visits me, mainly to check if I have a Altoids for him and his little brother Lewis.
Miles has apraxia of speech. It’s a neurological motor speech disorder that impairs the brain's ability to plan and sequence the precise muscle movements needed to produce clear speech.
A person with apraxia typically knows exactly what they want to say, but a disruption in the nerve pathways prevents the brain from sending the correct instructions to the lips, jaw, and tongue.
It has been years of consistent speech therapy and struggling at times to piece together what he’s trying to say.
During this particular visit, Miles didn’t mince words. He came up to me, and clear as day said, “Dad, is it hard being a dad?”
His sincerity hit me like an arrow in my chest. “Some things are hard, but a lot of things are really, really fun.”
Miles seemed satisfied with my response. “Like when you play Zelda with us on the Switch 2?”
Yes. Exactly like that.
Later on in the front yard, Miles and Lewis have a Little Tikes station set up where they’re filling up their water guns and laughing at the dogs next door. They also have the hose running, creating a giant puddle in the lawn.
Lewis is in a sling. He broke his collar bone recently. Try telling him not to run around the yard and spray his brother. Julie and I’s reminders are ineffective. “You’re hurt, Lewis. You can’t jump and be crazy!”
“I’m not hurt,” is his usual answer. We shrug. So much for his healing clavicle.
In my own version of Rear Window, or this case, Front Window, I watch the two little boys who are commonly mistaken for twins scream and yell, pumping each other with sprays of water and asking to pause when there’s a face shot.
As a dad, this is one of those really, really fun moments.
I have a front row seat to their joy.
Miles’s question was so timely and poignant because as an executive ghostwriter, sometimes it is hard to meaure the full effect of your work.
Among all the marketing priorities that a brand or CEO have, you’re left going back and forth, wondering if you’re really making a difference.
In one situation, the client will be so busy they didn’t have time to review content so the profile goes quiet for a week. You fret that it will affect how they view you when they look at their monthly metrics.
In another situation, the client is speaking on CNN (racking up that earned media value…). You hope they remember how you were there with them for 8 months managing their content.
I can’t control all the outcomes, but I can control the effort.
I can remember why I’m in this corner office, putting words on a screen for executives across the world.
I’m doing this so my boys can have water fights.
I’m doing this so my girls can get solos when they dance ballet and jazz.
I’m doing this so my wife can buy homeschool curriculum, adding to the book infestation inside our home.
I’m doing this so I can be present during the important moments and make memories with my family.
Driving home last night from yet another dance audition, Over This by Ace Enders popped up on the playlist and my girls told me to turn it up. (so proud…)
Here are the lyrics during the bridge:
See we need to think that our hearts beat louder than shotguns singing /
We need to feel that our minds work harder than factory wheels /
And we need to know that we're worth much more than a credit score /
Yeah we need to know, yeah we need to know
My hope for you and for me is that we don’t lose our humanity and the things that are really important to us as we run our businesses, or feel this insane pressure to move faster because of AI, or put unrealistic expectations on our work that prevent us from enjoying this wild and crazy ride.
..
My friends: Keep pushing, keep on keepin’ on, and I’ll see you next time.
