I was in 9th grade typing class at yet another new school in a race to be the fastest typer in my class.
Except no one else knew it was a race.
Clocking in at over 90 wpm, I was FLYING. Now that I had figured out the minutiae of quick moving fingers on a typewriter, I was ready to take a crack at junior high journalism. No one needed to teach me how to use the beige Macintosh—I’d figured it out myself during the first week of class and was showing my classmates how to create their first document. Somehow, the extra stories went to me.
Fast forward to teaching high school journalism circa 2006. My daughter had just been born at 29 weeks in end stage kidney failure, but I was there that first day of school, welcoming a mass of hormonally enraged high schoolers to a classroom filled with 27 Macs. Mac server? No sweat—I had it figured out in the first week or so.
The world was moving online, and I was there waiting for them. I taught my students how to live tweet the Friday night lights and how to identify bias with their eyes closed from a distance of 3 city blocks. We even made our own WordPress website in a district that didn’t think kids were deserving of First Amendment rights.
Somehow, I burned out. I retired after 10 years of teaching to become the marketing director of a local camera store—all because of this insane desire to early adapt.
And learn.
I moved on to start my own little marketing business. I taught small businesses how to live stream, podcast, create engaging social media—even create their own website. I quickly learned that working alone was the epitome of everything I hated growing up: being an only child who moved around a lot, constantly being unsure of who would make fun of me at the new school, and not having enough money to dress the part—whatever that elusive “part” was. So I began partnering with other businesses to grow, learning who the bullies were and who was to be trusted with my life.
Enter the pandemic. And like the suddenness and seeming finality of the shutdown, I began partnering with 316 Strategy Group in website development. What refreshed my soul was that I was respected for where I came from, what I knew, and where I was hoping to go.
Everyone knows it’s a race here, but it’s the 100-mile, 25-thousand-feet of climb kind of race. It’s a race that requires strategy for the short and long hauls, adaptability for what the planet throws at you, and coffee for the late night crewing of a website whose employee accidentally deleted it. Accidentally. 😉
I’m stoked to be part of the “we” in We grow businesses. If it isn’t clear that I like to tell a good story, then I’ll pack up my MacBook and head home. Because we believe your story is your existence—and we’re inspired to help you write and share it.
