A lot of ad people of my vintage talk a lot about starting advertising schools. Or at least teaching advertising classes.
I think the reason for this is at least two-fold. There's probably not an older person in the world when he's driving on the highway who doesn't curse, "no one knows how to drive anymore."
I think the same sort of sentiment applies to us oldsters when we stream something or watch television. To my eyes and ears, every commercial seems empty--a loud, promise-less assault on what remains of my senses.
The other reason is more basic. For as long as there have been elders, say for about 200,000 years, the primary role elders have played has been to teach youngers. That's in all of our genes and is practically undeniable. Unless you're an MBA who works for one of the big holding companies and who doesn't like paying large salaries except to his cronies, who don't come from the advertising world.
About three times or more a year, I have a chat with someone who says "let's teach advertising." Once, with a group of friends, we arrived at the name for a school, a group of instructors, a curriculum, course materials and a price per class. Even ads to attract students. But because we were all too busy working to go into teaching, we never got our school off the ground.
Just a couple days ago I saw the video above, a conversation between Howard Stern, who I don't like, and Jerry Seinfeld, who I do like.
My first advertising agency boss, the novelist Marshall Karp and I still talk on occasion. He's careful when he writes me notes. He usually says, "I know everything you run across, everything you hear, everything you see, and therefore everything I say is fodder for your blog. But I ask you to keep this confidential."
My good friend, Rob Schwartz and I often talk about a symbol I've often used in this space. We call it, "going through life with your head up like an old waiter." Head up, you see everything, hear everything and are ever on the lookout for new ideas and opportunities. You'd be surprised how often the metaphor comes up when we get together.
Stern's conversation with Seinfeld is all you really need to know about making it in advertising or any other career.
In the clip above, which is just over three-minutes long, Stern begins by asking Seinfeld, "How hard do you work..."
Seinfeld answers, "I do the exact same now as I did when I was 21. I sit, I play with ideas..."
Seinfeld continues, "I'm never not working on material. Never. Every second of my existence I'm thinking, could I do something with that...I'm looking for material all the time."
Stern: "But that's being at work twenty-four hours a day..."
Seinfeld: "Making jokes (ads) is not work. It's a gift...."
Stern: "That sounds like a tortured life..."
Seinfeld, "It is. But you know what? Your blessing in life is when you find the torture you're comfortable with...Making jokes (ads) is a torture I love."
That's how I feel about work.
Every second I'm working.
That's the absolute brainlessness behind timesheets.
Evidence of the complete lack of understanding of agency owners as to what agency workers actually do.
The good ones are always working. Always thinking. Storing. Taking in information.
I never stop.
Especially now that I'm on my own and the more I work, the more I earn.
There's a lot of bushwa in the world today about work/life balance. Often, my own children will disparage me for working so hard. For writing observations down as I see them. For writing this blog every working day for over sixteen years. They'll castigate me, even. "Dad," they'll judge, "give it a break."
I'd wager most people don't understand Seinfeld in the clip above. I'm not sure Stern does. But I do.
I know the people who run holding companies and ad agencies and the holding companies that own the holding companies and project managers who say you're running hot and you're going over scope and human resources who have no understanding of humans don't understand it.
99.99-percent of success in any career, from lifeguarding to copywriting to selling matches on a windy corner in a snowstorm, comes from finding a way to love what you do.
This morning I was talking to my wife.
Over the last few weeks, I have gotten literally ten new business calls and some of them seem to be on the verge of hiring me. My wife said to me, "Wow, you have a really diverse range of new clients."
I said, "No. I have one client. People who love what they do and believe in what they do and live and breathe what they do. My job is to believe as much as they--it doesn't matter what. And to make sure that spark is in the work we do. My job is to make that spark come alive in other people."
Of course, there are courses you can take in advertising, table tennis or making a souffle. I can teach you things about communication fundamentals. I can teach you how to dig for ideas and how to build a platform. My ex-partner Sid can teach you the craft of design and typesetting and how to acute-ize your eyes to see things others don't. My account manager Hilary can teach you how to find a mentor and how to get more work and how to so, "no" but with a smile.
There are all sorts of things you can learn from schools and classes.
My younger daughter is a marine scientist and a professional scuba diver. She has a master's degree in marine science and she works for the university where she earned her advanced degree. She's in the ocean--regardless of the weather--about four days a week, all year round.
I asked her the other day, "do you still gasp when you see a dolphin, or a shark, or a sea lion. After all these years, do you still get thrilled?"
I posed the same sort of question to my elder daughter. A PhD. clinical psychologist.
"Do you still get tears in your eyes when you get through to a client?"
Yes.
Both daughters, like me, probably like you if you've read this far, struggle to succeed. You're never done with the struggle.
It's torture sometimes. Lots of schooling. Long hours. Low pay. Unappreciative bosses. Torture.
Your blessing in life is when you find the torture you're comfortable with.
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