Needle, Meet Haystack

A while back, I lamented on the only real gap between generations existing insofar as each group understands and utilizes technology.  But that’s really only half the story; you can’t have nature without nurture.

Over the past few months, I’ve noticed an increasing disconnect between myself and the rest of my generation.  I feel like an old man who just doesn’t understand these whippersnappers.  Sometimes it comes from a post on Brazen Careerist or 20-Something Bloggers.  Other times, it comes from reading MLIA or Lamebook.  And occasionally, it comes from social networks.  But the main place that I think it comes from is my parents.

My dad was born during the Depression, and my mom arrived with the first wave of Baby Boomers.  So this means that a lot of the values and beliefs that I was raised on might be more in line with those of a Millennial’s own parents.  But this might not be a bad thing.  In fact, it might give me a leg up on the competition.

I understand my bosses and clients better than most people in my generation.

You can read articles and books about different generations and how to manage them until the cows come home.  You can pay people to talk to you about managing the new crop of workers until they’re blue in the face.  But unless you have someone who really understands the disconnect and differences between groups, you won’t have much useful information.  And I bridge that gap.

Essentially, one of my workplace USPs is that I’m the link between the older and younger people in the office.  Through the lessons of my parents, I know how to communicate better with clients, and through time spent with my peers, I can relate to my co-workers.  This is especially handy when it comes to explaining some new developments in a presentation or decoding memos.

The real disconnect that I mentioned earlier, however, comes from reading online content provided by other Generation-Y people.  I kind of miss the days when we all hid behind an anonymous screen name and didn’t put embarrassing pictures over everything.  Although my generation values transparency and openness, it seems that we’re a bit too open.

I recently ran an experiment where I searched on Twitter for tweets mentioning phrases like “my boss sucks” or “I hate my boss” or “my boss is a douche” – keep in mind that these searches show all results, even those on accounts that have blocked public reading without an approved follow – and came across over 300 results…from the past week.  And most of these accounts showed the actual names of the Twitter users.  So do these people really think that their bosses will never look them up online?

This is to say nothing of most of my generation’s inability to delay answering phone calls and texts – voicemail exists for a reason.  The need for instantaneous communication at all times baffles me.  I mean, I sort of understand how the new social contract works, but this technological dependency is ridiculous.

I suppose that no matter my age and generational affiliation, I’ll always feel a bit like an old man, the product of an earlier generation.  Now get off my lawn.

I suck at this whole “responsible adult” thing.

Sure, I can be (convincingly) courteous and (relatively) charming when the situation demands it, but it’s difficult for me to really adapt to being a fully-formed, contributing member of society.  I know the code of conduct and how I should act, but it’s not completely in my character to do so.

When I’m driving in my car with the windows up, I’ll have my music on loud and sing into my closed cell phone as if it were a microphone.  I sing to the other drivers at stop lights.  I make my passengers sing backup vocals.  I do this all the time.

Last week, my dog woke me up by farting in my face.  I got my revenge two days later when I woke her up by farting in her face.  I see this as acceptable behavior.

During a debate with a friend over the merits of the potential health care bill, things got particularly heated.  I called him a  poopy-head.  I accept this as a valid point in an argument.

I’m at an age where my friends are getting married and starting families, and I still watch SpongeBob SquarePants.  I can carry myself well enough in meetings and office environments, but one of the highlights of this past week was when I ran out the door to my house and bought a bomb pop from the ice cream man.

There’s the old adage, “you’re only as old as you feel.”  In that case, I’m somewhere around the age of 10.  So is this a detriment to my personal and professional development?  It doesn’t seem that likely.

The success of places like Hot Topic, vintage clothing retailers, used video game shops and vinyl record stores is predicated on a love of nostalgia, a desire to enjoy things “ironically,” and the urge to regress to childhood.  Everyone looks back on it as a more innocent time in their lives, when they were free to be creative and enjoy life.  The most important thing in a child’s day might have been getting a new GI Joe.  And as adults, these people look to retro items to remind themselves of those feelings.

But why do you have to give all of that up in the first place?

Remember when you were a kid, and you couldn’t wait to grow up?  I’m gonna be able to do whatever I want! You’d think.  I can stay up late, have ice cream for breakfast, buy myself all the toys I want…it’ll be great! Did you ever follow through on those thoughts?

Lemme tell ya, if you’ve never experienced the pure joy that is dessert for breakfast, and I’m not talking pancakes with whipped cream or donuts or that awful “Cookie Crisp” garbage, you are missing out.  Forget the calories, fat, saturated fat, trans fat, monounsaturated fat, sodium, sugars and carbohydrates.  Just realize that you’re accomplishing something that you always wanted to do, and give your seven-year-old self a high-five through the space-time continuum.  And if you’re vehemently against cake, pie, ice cream or other amazingly delicious confectionery delights, buy a box of cereal with a cartoon character mascot on it.  And Corn Flakes, Frosted Flakes, Rice Krispies, Honey Nut Cheerios and Cookie Crisp don’t count.

A while back, I wrote a post on maintaining creativity.  The other part of that equation is that you need to be inspired by what’s around you.  Think back to when you were amazed by a refrigerator box.  Or some old clothes.  Or the grass in the park.  Kids can have more fun in one hour than adults can have in a week.

What are you waiting for?  You can suit up and be prim and proper at the office from 9 to 5, but there’s no reason to keep the chains of being a grown-up on all day every day.  Do what you always wanted to do when you were younger, but never did.  Think about what little You would say if they could see you now.

So if you’ll excuse me, I have to see about an ice cream.

A few weeks ago, one of the student newspapers at my alma mater interviewed me for a series on alumni entrepreneurs.  It’s more stuff that relates to my professional life, so read away if you want to find out some stuff that was left out of last week’s series.

And I swear to you, I had nothing to do with the title.

Finding the American Dream (via SixThirtyOne)

FOR THOSE JUST TUNING IN: I’m spending the next few days discussing my successes and failures and stereotypical misadventures as a member of Generation Y.  Catch up by reading part one, part two and part three first.  And make sure to catch tomorrow’s post for some exciting news!

As I boarded the plane, I kept thinking of that phrase, “If you can make it in New York City, you can make it anywhere.”  So now it was time to face facts: I couldn’t make it anywhere.

Things hadn’t exactly panned out for me in New York.  After sending out applications to 150 different advertising, public relations and marketing agencies, I found that I couldn’t get even one interview.  Sure, it was nice to walk around Manhattan sometimes and desperately cling to the hope that work would turn up, but nothing materialized.  So after the self-imposed deadline of two months had passed, I packed up again and flew off to Phoenix.

“We’re happy to see you,” my dad said in the car ride home from the airport.  ”Well, we’re not happy that you’re here.  But we’re happy to see you.  You understand what I mean.”

My mom echoed his statements.  ”I’m sorry that you couldn’t get work over there, but it’ll be nice to have you home for longer than a couple of weeks to visit.”

So I set up in my old bedroom and began the process of rebuilding my professional life.  But I didn’t have to look far.

About a week in to my newfound “Boomerang” status, I met up with an old friend from high school.  It turned out that he had started an internet marketing company, but needed help expanding it.  Specifically, he needed someone to write emails, develop site content and take care of customer issues.  And with that, I was once again employed.

Which leads us to now.  Unlike the last time I worked on a business with a friend, this time, I knew what I was getting myself into.  We had discussed (and corrected) many of the problems that had plagued our business lives in the past, and have been able to move forward much more successfully.

This might not have been the life I planned on, but it’s taught me a lot more about myself and my professional abilities than I could have imagined.

FOR THOSE JUST TUNING IN: I’m spending the next few days discussing my successes and failures and stereotypical misadventures as a member of Generation Y.  Catch up by reading part one and part two first.

We were two young, barely experienced, unemployed guys living in a $2400 a month apartment.  And we had a dream.

My roommate (let’s call him Stan) had spent the better part of the past three years building his reputation as a club DJ and producer, though his true hobby was business.  He had been running successful businesses since he was 14 – when we first met, he showed me his new Porsche 911 that he had bought with the spoils of his financial victories.  Stan was a motivated self-starter with the goal to create an entertainment company for our future ventures (publishing for me, music for him) that would set us up for financial security within one year and possible retirement within ten.

With Georgetown out of Stan’s way and the body language job out of mine, we began to build our empire.  Over the course of the next two months, we corralled over a dozen artists, signed distribution deals, recorded radio shows that were heard all over the world and managed to secure almost 70 hours of play time for our DJs at the biggest dance music convention in the country.  The label’s name was on a lot of people’s lips, and it seemed like we were destined for greatness.

Except for one tiny problem: we weren’t making any money.

Because the sales of the music we were selling (singles) were all done digitally, we had to wait for the distributors to compile total sales, which is only done quarterly.  It then takes another month or two for the accounting to be finalized and for checks to be sent out.  Additionally, several promoters had not followed through on payment agreements, so there was less money coming in from club performances than there should have been.

And lastly, Stan decided to keep all of his reserve funds locked up in investments rather than having some set aside in a checking account.  The combined market tumble and the new policy of the online brokerage to take three months to process cash-outs led to the total of our expenses (rent, utilities and food) being hoisted on my shoulders.

So I went broke.

Luckily, our lease was coming due, saving my credit score from taking a permanent nosedive that would kill any hopes of building a stable financial future.  But I knew that I couldn’t afford to stay in DC.

I called my parents to discuss the possibility of moving back to Phoenix to recover, rebuild my finances and find work again.  They agreed that staying in DC would be financial and career suicide, but suggested that I spend a little time with some family near New York City before returning home.

After all, Manhattan is the central hub of the advertising, marketing and PR world.  Maybe I would be able to score a job at one of the hundreds of firms there and get to use my marketing degree for the purpose it was intended.  I had hit rock bottom, but it looked like I had come across a way out.

FOR THOSE JUST TUNING IN: I’m spending the next few days discussing my successes and failures and stereotypical misadventures as a member of Generation Y.  Read part one here.

So there I was: a 21-year-old fresh out of college with no solid job prospects and just over $2,000 in the bank.  The dark cloud of student loans was still building up off in the distance, and without a second thought, I hopped on a plane and made my way to Washington, DC to seek my fortune.

My once and future roommate and soon-to-be business partner and I had scouted out apartments online, and we had decided on a charming $2,400 a month (minus utilities) two-bedroom place in the northwestern (read: safe) part of DC.  He was going to go to Georgetown and pursue an MBA in  finance by day while I would find work in advertising or marketing.  And at night, we would build our music empire.  Or at least that was the plan.

By the time I had lived in the District for two months, my bank account was exhausted and my credit card was nearly maxed out.  I’d sent out hundreds of applications, attended networking events, talked with industry professionals, begged and pleaded with employed friends and even considered working for the post office – but nothing was working.  My personal deadline for finding employment was about to expire, when, miraculously, I got an interview.  And even more astonishingly, I got the job!

So for the next few months, I helped secure media placement for advertisements for political candidates and causes all over the country.  The hours were long, but the amazing staff, challenging work and excellent pay definitely made up for it.  Unfortunately, there were two problems with the job.  The more pressing problem was that it was only a contract position that ended once the election had passed.  But personally, telling people what I did involved conversations about politics.  And as the party affiliation of most of the candidates was called into question, I often got looks from people that are usually reserved for those who steal candy from babies or punt kittens across a city block.

So as the election passed by and the new year approached, I once again found myself unemployed.  And yet within six weeks, gainful employment was again mine.  This was especially fortunate, as my roommate had decided to put his MBA plans on hold and start focusing more seriously on music.

I was hired to find bookings for a self-help and body language guru, but wound up writing newsletters and articles, helping her coach classes (most notably a dating class for busy professionals) and developing content for her book.  This job was not as enjoyable as the last one, and my pay was much lower – I had the misfortune to be one of the few people in DC who had to commute to Virginia for work, so public transportation ate up most of the paycheck.  Since I was scrambling to make rent with my meager earnings, I decided to seek opportunities elsewhere.

It was about this time that my roommate and I realized that we had yet to fulfill our original goal of starting the record label.  But once my schedule had opened up from leaving the body language job, that all changed.

I was talking with my cousin yesterday, and he mentioned how my generation is going to have a very different view of work and employment.  And while I’m not the strongest advocate of generation gaps, he does have a point.  After all, my experiences in the working world are a good example of that.  So now, I present to you the first of several installments detailing my successes and failures and stereotypical misadventures as a member of Generation Y.  Or as a Millennial.  Or whatever we’re supposed to be called this week.

I hadn’t bothered to apply for any jobs until about three weeks before I graduated from college.  The HR representatives and hiring managers at the career fairs I’d been attending for the better part of the past five months had instilled me with the belief that doing so any earlier would yield negative results.  After all, advertising is a capricious field in which hiring practices are based on obtaining and retaining clients.

So as I was putting the finishing touches on my financial aid closeout forms and pulling all-nighters for my remaining classes, I desperately clung to the belief that one of these magical applications would get me a job that I would start the week after graduation.

That didn’t happen.

So as I finished up school in Tulsa, Oklahoma, I packed up my belongings and moved back home to Phoenix to stay with my parents as I planned out my next move.

For two weeks, I sent out applications to advertising agencies on both coasts and everywhere in between, hoping that one of them would fall in love with my portfolio and resume and scoop me right up.  At best, I would receive a generic response that my application was received and I would be contacted if there was any interest.  My prospects were looking dim.

But then, an old college friend called me up with a proposal: move to Washington, DC and start a record label.  And as an unemployed new graduate with no job prospects, the offer seemed quite appealing…

According to Jeph Jaques, next week is an incredibly slow week for Internet traffic.  And since I’m operating under the somewhat informed assumption that the “week” will kick off tomorrow, on Christmas Eve, I wanted to share these stories with you now.

1. My religion doesn’t celebrate Christmas.  We have a different holiday, but it’s not really necessary to go into that.  Still, when I was younger, my parents acquiesced and had a tiny (fits-on-a-side-table tiny) Christmas tree around for me.  I went to the mall to see Santa.  And when I was 7, I told my dad that I heard (SPOILER ALERT!) Santa Claus wasn’t real.  He said to me one of the two greatest things I’ve ever heard In The History Of Parenting:

“If Santa Claus was real, he wouldn’t care what religion you are.  He’d only care if you’re a good person.”

2. Instead of making a New Year’s Resolution, I take a Christmas (or Winter Holiday) card and write it to myself to open the next year, with notes on what I hope to have accomplished by that time.  It’s a good way to judge progress, personal growth, and achievement of goals.  Last year, I asked myself to get a job (I did), exercise more (I did…for some of the year), learn some new technology stuff (I did), and do a few other things, which are in various stages of completion.  I also gave myself $5.  Past me rocks!

3. As I mentioned before, I’m not of a religion that celebrates Christmas.  During college as an RA, I was tasked with helping decorate the tree in the lobby.  One of the building’s residents, who I had previously talked to (and mentioned my religious affiliation to) asked me about the tree.  ”Do you need a hand with that?”  she asked.  ”It looks like you’ve never done this before.”

“I haven’t,” I replied.  ”My family never celebrated Christmas when I was growing up.  No tree, no lights, no presents…this is the first time that I’ve had to do this.”

“Oh my!  That’s terrible!”  she said.

I was able to string her along for 15 minutes before reminding her the reason I’d never decorated a Christmas tree.

The moral that follows all these stories is pretty much the same: just because you don’t celebrate something doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist.  Just relax.  Enjoy the spirit of the holiday, and have a little fun while you’re at it.

Happy holidays everyone!

Oh, come on, like you’re actually going to bother applying for jobs at the beginning of a four-day weekend.  That’s just silly.

Be thankful if you have a job.

Be thankful if you got out of a bad job.

Be thankful that unemployment has given you a chance to rediscover what’s really important to you.

Be thankful that you bought a turkey.

Whatever it is you’re thankful for, relax, enjoy the day, watch a parade, gorge yourself on autumn-related foodstuffs, or take a nap.

Thanks to all of you who’ve been reading.

And go ahead, have that extra piece of pie.  I won’t tell.

The question that a number of friends, family, former co-workers, Internet people and strangers in line with me at the grocery store have been asking is this:

What am I doing wrong that’s keeping me from getting a job?

And the answer to this question, once more details are given regarding their individual situations, is the same every time: You’re not applying enough common sense and simplicity to the job application process.

So, for the next week, I’ll be showing you how breaking things down and over thinking less can help you with any and everything to help put you on the right path to career success.

Common Sense Week begins tomorrow!