Life Lesson

The shortest distance between your business and a new customer might not be a straight line. In fact, it’s probably a winding, potholed alley paved with farmer’s markets, PTA meetings, and impromptu pickleball tournaments.

See, the thing about community is—it doesn’t care about your target demographic spreadsheet. It doesn’t ask if someone is a “qualified lead.” It just exists, humming like a hive, buzzing with cross-pollination. And if you dare to step out of your branded storefront and into that swirl, weird and wonderful things happen.

You show up to a sustainability fair—not because you sell eco-anything—but because you care. And there, a retired beekeeper introduces you to their niece’s cousin’s husband who happens to be the regional buyer for a chain of stores that would care. That’s not coincidence. That’s karma’s business card.

Getting involved in places you “shouldn’t be” is like planting seeds in soil you didn’t know was fertile. You help paint a mural downtown and someone watching from their stoop Googles your logo later. You volunteer at a high school career day and a teacher gives your name to their spouse who’s been looking for exactly what you offer.

Business isn’t just transactions—it’s reverberations. And community? That’s the amplifier.

Stay Positive & Sense Can Be Made Anywhere

There’s a secret society of the early. They don’t wear pins or cloaks (though they should). They are the temple builders of momentum. The early show-uppers, early-senders, early-askers. Not because they’re eager beavers or insufferable go-getters, but because they’ve cracked the code: early is freedom in disguise.

Showing up early isn’t about punctuality. It’s about owning the room before the noise arrives. You don’t get interrupted when you’re early—you get to shape the vibe, stake your flag in the soft soil of opportunity, and pour your coffee before the pot’s been scoured by ten other spoons.

Sending things early isn’t about looking good. It’s about buying time—the rarest currency in the known universe. When you send it early, you’re not rushing. You’re breathing. You’re inviting collaboration instead of triggering triage.

Getting feedback early is an act of bravery wrapped in curiosity. It’s saying, “Help me before I calcify.” Early feedback is like tasting the soup before serving it to the Queen. You might avoid the cilantro debacle altogether.

Trading in your lease early? That’s not impatience. That’s strategic reinvention. You’re not waiting for the expiration stamp to tell you you’re allowed to evolve. You’re driving change while the tires still grip the road.

Reaching out early is the clearest signal of care. It says “You matter before I need you.” It turns transactions into relationships. It makes room for trust to grow roots instead of being poured from a last-minute can.

Stay Positive & Be The One To Set The Stage (Not The One Stumbling In On It)

There once was a man selling unicorn tears in a mason jar. $49.99 for a whisper of magic. Was it actually unicorn tears? Hell no. It was cucumber water and a prayer. But the man—oh, the man—he told the story so well, customers wept as they bought their eighth jar. Not because the product was great, but because the process was.

See, we’ve been hypnotized into thinking that the best idea wins. That the best product floats to the top like cream in raw milk. But the world doesn’t work like a county fair pie contest. The world buys stories. It buys the feeling you get when someone sees you, understands your problem, and offers a hand—warm, open, human.

Your product might be a miracle wrapped in code or an artisanal marvel kissed by monks, but if the path to purchasing it feels like DMV jazzercise, you’re toast. No one sticks around to unwrap greatness if the wrapping paper smells like indifference.

A great sales process doesn’t convince someone to buy—it invites them to believe. It’s not a funnel; it’s a campfire. The product comes second to the experience of getting there. Why? Because trust is the currency, not features. And trust is earned with empathy, clarity, and the audacity to make the customer the hero, not the hostage.

Stay Positive & What You Sell Matters Less Than How You Show Up To Sell It

You walk into a brewery. Not just any brewery—one with barrel-aged ghosts and bartenders who know your soul by the way you hold your glass. You look around, scanning for a spark, a wink of connection. And then you ask, “Sooo… what’s good here?”

Yawn.

Not you, of course. But the version of you that didn’t prepare. The version that let spontaneity do all the heavy lifting.

Let’s be clear: spontaneity is jazz. But jazz still knows the key it’s in.

Every room you walk into—whether it’s a networking breakfast, a house party, a dentist’s waiting room, or a funeral for a fish (true story)—is filled with stories wrapped in people wrapped in hesitation. And the way you unwrap them? Questions. The good kind. The specific kind. The kind that feel like you meant to be there.

And guess what? You don’t need to invent them all on your own.

You have a co-pilot named AI.

Tell it where you’re going. Who’ll be there. What they might care about. Then ask it for five questions that would unlock more than just weather and weekend plans.

Going to a dinner party hosted by an indie filmmaker? Ask:

“What’s the last scene you shot that made you question everything?”

Headed to your kid’s school function next to a wall of other sleepy-eyed parents? Try:

“If there were a Parent Olympics, what event would you win gold in?”

Attending a trade show with warehouse managers? Toss out:

“If your forklifts had personalities, which one would be the diva?”

The magic isn’t just in asking—it’s in choosing what to ask. Because good questions aren’t conversation starters. They’re trust accelerants. Curiosity compasses. Quiet acts of generosity.

Most people don’t bring questions with them. They bring phones. Default scripts. Half-listened replies.

But you? You’re a question-carrier. A curiosity sherpa. A person who preps for humanity like a chef preps mise en place. You don’t wing it. You bring it.

And connection, like any good meal, starts with what you bring to the table.

Stay Positive & Let’s Get Cookin’

Marketing used to be a game of stereotypes in sensible shoes.

“Ah yes, a woman, aged 34, drives a Subaru, shops at Trader Joe’s—she’ll love this quinoa-scented email.”

Segments were our safety blanket, our algorithmic zodiac signs. But the universe doesn’t hum in neat demographic clusters anymore.

Enter Signal-Based Marketing—SBM if you’re the acronym-loving sort (and as a marketer, of course you are).

SBM listens instead of labels. It watches for twitches in the matrix: the frantic cursor hover, the abandoned cart whispering almost, the late-night binge of product comparison pages. (Ask me about drunk-user testing a pizza joint’s website.) These aren’t just clicks—they’re confessions. They tell us what a human wants before the human even does.

With SBM, we stop shouting into the void hoping a segment hears us. Instead, we lean in and whisper directly to the behavior. Real-time intent. Contextual nuance. Empathy with an IP address.

Forget male, 25-35. Focus on “clicked 3 times on the sustainability tag and hasn’t opened email in 14 days but just checked your pricing page twice before lunch.” That’s a signal. That’s a moment. That’s marketing’s new love language.

Segments are the dusty trail maps. Signals are the footprints still warm on the forest floor.

Stay Positive & Make Your Marketing Not Just Target, But Understand

We’ve been held hostage by the mundane.

Trapped in digital janitor mode, sweeping up loose files, fumbling for that one doc, sitting through meetings where people say things everyone already knows.

Enter AI.

Not the shiny, sci-fi overlord kind. The kind with dirt under its nails—the kind that shows up to clean up the mess behind the magic.

Its job? To murder the status update meeting.

Because let’s be honest: if your calendar is a graveyard of 30-minute standups that go nowhere, you’re not collaborating—you’re narrating.

AI gives us back what we traded for productivity: thoughtful chaos, creative collisions, and the rare joy of asking, “What do you think of this idea?” instead of “Did you get my email?”

It’s not about saving time. It’s about spending it better.

When machines do the filing, humans get to do the feeling. The building. The sparring. The real work.

AI doesn’t just tidy your inbox. It sets the table for conversations that matter.

Stay Positive & Leave The Scavenger Hunts To The Bots

Somewhere out there, a cucumber is calling itself a “gherkhin” and making a killing in artisan pickling circles. Meanwhile, you’re stuck wondering if your idea’s name is clever enough, cool enough, or god forbid, available as a .com.

But here’s a truth so profound it ought to be painted on a billboard in glitter: Nobody cares about the name until they care about what the name stands for.

That’s what the graph shows. A little curvy thing that starts low and slow—the belly of obscurity. That’s the value curve, where you’re pouring your soul into substance: building the story, refining the flavor, delighting the first five weirdos who say yes.

Meanwhile, pitching the name during this phase? Like whispering poetry to a cat. Doesn’t land. Doesn’t stick. Doesn’t matter.
You’re not pitching a name. You’re pitching nothing. Because the name means nothing—yet.

Then, magic. Somewhere around the fifth or sixth mile of sweat and sparkle, the name starts to matter. Not because it’s better than before. Not because you hired a better font. But because now, it means something.

That’s the inflection point. Where brand value hits critical mass. Where the weird little name graduates from orphan to icon.

So the next time you’re stuck at the whiteboard, circling a name like it holds the keys to your destiny, remember: First build the substance. Then sell the name.

Stay Positive & Meaning….Then Marketing