Steph Cajucom and I worked together on IBM at Ogilvy starting in 2014 and lasting until 2017.
She was young and I was already old. And also gruff. Steph probably had to report to me on some things and was probably initially intimidated as hell.
But she did it. And when I worked with her and her ideas and copy, I noticed something. A willingness to work, to listen, to think, to improve, to learn and to push. To push herself and to push back when she needed to.
Steph rose through the ranks at Ogilvy--quickly becoming the MVYP (most valuable young person.) When people would ask me about her, I was ready with a simple, one-sentence epigram that summed up Steph's talent, drive, intelligence and humor.
"Steph is the next generation," I would say. In short order, people would quickly understand.
As she's traveled hither and yon through the ad industry, Steph and I have stayed friends. A couple of weeks ago, we had a Zoom. A friendship/mentor/protegé kind of thing. I said to Steph, why don't you write a post for my blog.
Unlike most people who are [er] dilatory when I make the offer, Steph leaped at it. (She's a leaper after opportunity.) It's below. And it's great and wise.
If you're a muckety-muck and you need great people, you need Steph. If you're a young person trying to make her way in an industry, you need Steph. If you're a client and you're tired of agency-complacency, you need Steph.
Here, first, are two pictures from Steph's garden. Followed by her "Clip and Save" post.
What happens when I water my flowers is that they grow. No, they flourish. Because when I water my flowers and care for them, they thrive.
What happens when I pay attention to my flowers? When I notice their leaves are wilting on a scorching hot day. Or that they’re turning yellow because I watered them too much. What happens is they feel cared for. They feel healthy. So their limp leaves fill up with life. Their stems stand tall. They take up space. From their roots to their petals. They reach for the sun and stretch as far as they can go.
What happens when I make sure my flowers get sunshine? When I move them from the darkness into the warmth of the light — they get richer. Their colors get deeper. They bud and make basil. Or thyme. Or tomatoes. They feel happy and fulfilled so they produce happy. Because happy is contagious. And they have enough happy to share, to give, to grow elsewhere while still having some for themselves.
So why in the fuck are we talking about flowers on George Tannenbaum’s advertising blog? And who the hell is this?
Well, thanks for asking. I’m Steph Cajucom. A writer, group creative director, and creative person who’s had the pleasure of working for George and the endless honor of having him as a mentor/ad-dad. But back to your first question. We’re talking about flowers because as a creative, I very much feel like one. I feel like we all are. We’re living, breathing things that need sunshine, water, food, attention, and care to grow. And as a creative leader, I want to give that to my teams, mentees, colleagues and clients, so we can all grow together. So we can be our best, happiest selves and make the best work we can.
And for 14 years. 14 FUCKING YEARS. I forgot to water my own damn flowers (the figurative kind). I hit the ground running to build my career. I started as a receptionist at mcgarrybowen and split time working the desk with working as a creative until 2 years in I officially became a copywriter. And from there, I continued my sprint. Giving the water for myself to hours of decks, presentations, shoots, rewrites, headlines, and bonus ideas. I gave all my attention to every idea, every agency, every colleague, every work-related thing. I rid myself of sunshine, except for cigarette breaks and dog walks, because the work needed the sunshine more than I did. It needed it more than that vacation to Montreal or my best friends’ birthday parties or, at its worst, a funeral. Because dedication meant sacrifice. Commitment meant masochism.
And yes, I am extremely thankful for the opportunities, the work made, the lessons learned in that sprint. But after 14 years, it took a toll. I found myself barely standing as a limp, lifeless flower. Petals on the ground. Leaves sweeping the dirt. Producing what I did not even have to give.
So what did I do?
I stopped. Took a pause. And started to learn how to water my own flowers.
It started with talking to mentors, colleagues, my therapist, and maybe a psychic (but we’ll save that story for another time). Their words of wisdom, support, and care felt like oxygen. Like water. Like the thing I needed to bring life back to my leaves. Like a thing I continuously need to feed my growth.
I started making more time for things I love. My family. My friends. Walking. Reading books. Going to museums. Exploring. Watching absolute-trash-reality-TV. All the things I need to both ground myself and grow my inspiration.
I’m focusing on my health, for once. Taking up yoga. Taking breaks for walks. Real walks, not just cigarette or dog walks. EATING MEALS instead of strapping myself to a seat and a laptop for 12 hours straight. I’m finding more ways to stop treating myself like a machine and start treating myself like a living, breathing thing. Like a flower that needs humanity to grow.
And I’ve started my own thing. I’m not sure what this thing is yet. A creative consultancy perhaps. An LLC for freelance. A platform to connect up-and-coming talent to mentors, recruiters, and more. Maybe it’s all of it. Maybe it’s none of it. But what it is, for sure, is a way to work that doesn’t kill you because it puts people first. Because when you put people first you get the best work. You get true growth. In every aspect. Instead of a bunch of wilted flowers trudging along, you get flowers that are reaching for the sun, stretching as far as they can go.
So all of this is to say — as you move forward in your career, please don’t forget to water your flowers.
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