Tag: marketing

Into the Abyss

Fortune favors the bold.

I believe these four words because I have lived them, time and again. But nothing was quite as bold — or as trying — as my move away from the news industry and into a future of unknowns.

Some have asked what led me to abruptly walk away from a career I’d devoted so much to, but quick explanations can only go so far.

This article delves deeper.

November 15, 2012

It was a normal Thursday in the newsroom at KMID Big 2 News, the ABC affiliate in Midland, Texas. Eight days had already passed since President Barack Obama had won re-election, and the shine of pulling off flawless election coverage had finally worn off. Thanksgiving was a week away and a busy ratings period was winding down.

As I got to work putting together the 5 PM newscast, I felt as if the finish line was in sight. As KMID’s Executive Producer, I had devoted a lot of time and effort into making sure election coverage went to plan — an important initiative, as previous years’ election newscasts had been doomed by technical glitches and other blunders. I’d also followed that triumph with a trip to Oklahoma for a college football game, so I had little left in the tank on this particular Thursday. However, I happened to be working a half-shift, so some long-needed R & R was finally in sight.

Or so I thought.

It was about 4:40 PM — 20 minutes from the start of the 5 PM newscast. I was doing my final check of news scripts when the police scanner went off.

All units be advised. Accident with train. Garfield and Front.

There was no time to think. I instinctually went into breaking news mode.

I sent a cameraman to the scene and called Midland Police to get more information. I quickly learned that a Union Pacific train had collided with a parade float carrying military veterans and their spouses.

It was a truly horrific incident, but this was no time to reflect. There was much more to be done, and precious little time to do it all.

I immediately broke the story on the station’s website and Facebook page, rearranged my newscast and wrote new scripts to account for the new lead story. Then I let everyone — production staff, reporters and news anchors — know what was changed, and what I needed them to do. I did all of this in less than twenty minutes, and the ensuing newscast went off without a hitch.

When I got back to the newsroom, my office phone was ringing. It was ABC News in New York — producers with the national program were calling to ask me for information.

That when it hit me: I’d hit what some producers might call “The Jackpot.” I’d nailed a breaking news event that went national.

It was the greatest achievement of my career.

But I don’t recall a feeling of exuberance during this defining moment. Instead, I recall a feeling of pain.

These painful memories remain vivid.  I remember a reporter calling me from the accident scene and crying uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the pressure and gravity of the situation. I recall the ruthless race by our crews to get more information and interviews, even though the victims understandably wanted no part of a TV camera in their face. And most of all, I remember the pit I felt — and still feel — in my stomach, knowing veterans who had been wounded in duty in Iraq and Afghanistan lost their lives in a parade held in their honor.

These images and sentiments stuck with me when I finally drove home around midnight, at the end of what turned out to be a full 9-hour shift. As I lay in bed, I remember asking myself for the first time if the career I’d chosen was the right one.

At my career apex, I’d never felt more low.

November 16, 2012

A breaking news story is like an earthquake. After the initial devastation is over, there are waves of aftershocks.

In the case of the 2012 Midland train wreck, those aftershocks came courtesy of the National Transportation Safety Board.

Now, anyone who’s seen the movie Sully knows that the NTSB arrives quickly after a disaster but investigates slowly and deliberately. As investigators set up camp in Midland and began a series of daily briefings, our station worked diligently to keep up with the latest developments. Suddenly, I found myself working 7 of the ensuing 8 days. There was no weekend for me, no Thanksgiving. My job beckoned, early and often.

By the time Black Friday was over, most of these new developments had mercifully dried up — but so had my energy. As I went into my first extended period of free time in two weeks, I was so tired that I couldn’t do much more than curl up in the fetal position and sleep.

The next day, I did something I would have considered inconceivable just weeks earlier — I started applying to jobs outside of TV news.

December 14, 2012

It was a Friday morning that started the same as any other. I woke up and checked my phone for what I missed overnight. Such is the life of a producer.

As I scrolled through my Facebook feed, something caught my eye. It was a friend’s status that read: “What the hell is wrong with people?”

Knowing something was up, I powered up my laptop and checked the ABC News website. That’s when I learned that a gunman had shot up an elementary school in Sandy Hook, Connecticut — killing several first graders and their teachers.

The pit in my stomach returned. Then I went numb.

After staring into space for who knows how long, it hit me.

I’m going to be cover this horrifying story at work later.

My heart sank.

That day turned out to be the most difficult one of my working life. Even though the incident happened 2,000 miles away from West Texas, spending a full day keeping up with developments in a real-life nightmare was pure torture. There was no silver lining; by reporting on the sickening events of Sandy Hook, we left our viewers as upset as we all were. Yet it was our duty as media members to report the story, even if no one really stood to benefit from it.

It was the ultimate no win scenario, one that seemed to play out in slow motion.

When the day mercifully came to an end, I went home, collapsed on the couch and cried.

At that moment, I knew there was no future for me in news.

March 6, 2013

It was a Tuesday that was anything but ordinary.

When I arrived at the station, I walked into my boss’ office, closed the door and handed him a signed letter — the only letter of resignation I’ve ever drafted.

I told my boss when my last day of work would be and we shook hands.

As I walked through the newsroom, the evening anchor turned to me, a look of sadness on her face.

“Dylan, did you just…?”

I nodded and continued on to my desk. I didn’t want to be a distraction.

Truth be told, I’d known this day was coming for a few months. I just didn’t know when.

After taking some time to enjoy the holidays, I had begun my job search in earnest in the first moments of 2013. I zoned in corporate communications and Public Relations jobs in Dallas — knowing there were plenty of opportunities there — and I applied to as many job openings as I could find each morning before heading to work.

I had it all planned out. I’d get a job offer, put in my two weeks, move to Dallas and get started in my new profession. It was all so simple.

There was only one problem. I didn’t get a single job offer.

With 20-20 hindsight, this makes sense; no hiring manager worth their salt was going to give an unproven commodity living 300 miles away the keys to the castle. But in early 2013, it felt as if the walls were closing in with each failed job application.

Soon enough, the hourglass did run out of sand. As my KMID contract and apartment lease neared expiration, I knew I wasn’t about to renew either. So on the first Tuesday in March, I formally announced my intentions.

Job or no job, I was heading east.

March 30, 2013

There’s no day quite like moving day.

As the morning dew glistened off my car windshield, my father and I loaded my personal possessions into a U-Haul van. I dropped off my apartment keys at the leasing office and we headed for the highway — my father in the moving van, me in my car.

About 5 hours later, we unloaded the contents of the truck at their new home — a storage unit outside of Fort Worth. I then checked into an extended stay hotel, and my father flew back to his home in the Northeast.

I was on my own, facing an uncertain future.

“This too will pass,” I told myself. “A couple of weeks from now, I’ll have a 9 to 5 job and my own apartment.”

Not so much.

July 1, 2013

I turned the key in the lock, opened the door and set foot in my apartment for the first time.

After months of struggles, I’d finally made it.

You see, the two weeks I’d figured I’d need to land a job had turned into three months, as company after company turned me down. But after applying to more than 600 jobs, depleting my savings account and nearly maxing out my credit card to cover basic living expenses, I finally got a job offer. And now I had a place to call home.

I set up a chair in the living room, sat down and thought of the journey I’d been on, along with the new adventures that lay ahead.

It was sobering and exhilarating at the same time.

November 16, 2016

As I look back at all of these moments, one thing is clear.

I made the right decision leaving the TV news industry.

Sure, the road I took was highly unconventional and full of struggles that could test anyone’s will. But it was a road that needed to be taken.

You see, TV news was my passion early in my adult life. It was my career, my future, my dream. But the stress and angst I felt on the job in those fateful last months of 2012 served as a powerful warning. Maybe news wasn’t right for me, or I wasn’t right for it.

The decision to switch careers saved my life, or at least prolonged it. I now have a greater sense of purpose in my life, along with a renewed sense of balance. And I’m forever free of the monumental stress associated with producing TV newscasts — stress that I estimate would have shortened my lifespan by three years if I hadn’t left the newsroom behind when I did.

Much has changed in the past few years since I made this decision. I’ve matured. I’ve become more self-accountable. I’ve made massive inroads in a new career. And, most of all, I’ve gained a world of perspective.

But even with all of these changes, I think back constantly to the decisions I made to get me to where I am now. I understand that they’re a key ingredient of my story, and always will be.

It’s been a wild journey, and it will continue to be one. But I wouldn’t trade one second of it.

The Moments That Matter

The glass stood on the kitchen counter, filled with Ovaltine chocolate milk. I watched with wide eyes as my father stood next to it, dressed to in his suit and tie.

I looked up at him, with a hopeful expression on my face.

“Could I have some too, daddy?”

Moments later, we were downing our glasses of Ovaltine together, the master and his three-year old apprentice.

***

The milk ritual was special to me. Maybe even sacred. It was the only time I could spend each day with the man I idolized so much, before he headed off to his advertising job in the big city. So I busted tail to the kitchen every morning, hoping to catch him before the glass was empty and my hopes were shattered.

But this day was different. Our time together would not be limited to a glass of milk, because I was going my father to that mystical job, the one that kept him from me so much.

I felt like a kid at Disney World. We got to take the train into the big city, then we walked down a street full of tall buildings until we got to one that looked like it touched the sky. We rode an elevator to the 32nd floor, and my father opened a glass door in a glass wall, entering an office suite that overlooked much of the city.

My father got me M&Ms and a Diet Coke from the vending machine, opened up Microsoft Word on his computer and left for a meeting. I stared mesmerizingly at the blank page before me on the computer screen, then hit hit the “g” key repeatedly, until the entire page was filled with it. When my father returned, I proudly showed him the “work” I’d done, and he laughed. Then, we went down the street to McDonalds for lunch.

***

By the time we got home that evening, I was convinced that my father had the coolest job ever — an occupation that made up for all the time we had to spend apart. But even though he tried to hide it, I had a feeling that he didn’t feel the way about his job that I did.

Truth is, my father was miserable — so miserable, in fact, that my mother felt compelled to utter the seven-word ultimatum that would come to define our family’s future: “Change your life or change your wife.”

My father made the wise decision, and soon that job in the fancy high-rise office was no more. He went to grad school and our lives changed. Even at a young age, this wasn’t lost on me; I remarked, “Now we can finally eat out again,” on the day he graduated.

Soon enough, my father was back on his feet as a teacher — a career he continues today, more than 20 years later. It was all strange to me, as I was in the early years of school myself at the time. But it was certainly nice to see him more each day, and to have summers off together.

***

Draw what you don’t want to be.

It’s an odd request, particularly when you’re 12 years old and those words are coming from a psychologist. But it didn’t take me more than a second to put pen to paper.

A few artistically-challenged moments later, I showed off my completed “masterpiece.” It was a photo of a sad-looking man, wearing a suit and holding a briefcase, waiting on a train platform.

The moment was jarring; I’d drawn my father from my early years.

It was clear that the normal 9 to 5 was a trap to me at that time. I’d felt the prison bars up close, and I was determined to avoid them. In the decade that followed, I charted a course far away from the traditional business field, ending up as a TV news producer in West Texas after I graduated college.

At the age of 25, I pivoted.

I moved back to a big city — Dallas in this case — and transitioned into a 9 to 5 career in the same marketing and advertising sector my father had left so many years before.

It had all come full circle.

***

In the early days of my second career, I spoke often about finishing what my father started. It didn’t matter that I was cutting my teeth in Internet marketing — a beast that didn’t exist 20 years earlier, when he was in the industry; to me, the symbiotic nature of our career journeys was too compelling to ignore, and it was a powerful motivator.

But then, I remembered the picture I’d drawn years before. I wasn’t becoming the man on the train platform, was I?

Thankfully, the answer was a resounding no.

I realized in that moment that despite the shared career field, my father and I were worlds apart. While my father started in the industry fresh out of college, I had already experienced burnout in another career by the time I joined the marketing world — and I had taken the lessons from both my father’s prior experience and my own to heart while building a necessary sense of perspective.

Forget legacy or overarching purpose. At the end of the day, my job was simply an occupation, and it needed to stay that way.

***

I’ve since grown more comfortable with the routines of the business world — even dressing somewhat formally despite my employer’s lack of a strict dress code — but I still refuse to let my job take over my life. While I continue to work at becoming a better marketer, if I ever feel that my career is trapping me in a cycle of misery — as my father did — I will follow his lead (and my precedent) and start anew.

For there’s one lesson my father taught me that rings truer than the rest.

Building a career is a worthy investment. But the moments that matter the most are the ones shared while downing that glass of Ovaltine.