I was a small business for 16 years. I am now, since a merger last September, the head of the government and nonprofit practice at a large firm. In many ways, I have integrated very well. It is clear that larger, more exciting business opportunities are now available to me. It is clear that I have access to, and am utilizing, talent and capacity I never had previously.

But it was painfully and honestly pointed out to me that, when it comes to talking about who I am and what we do, I still talk as if I am a small business.

The truth be told I am now part of a firm with an international footprint, involved in some of the most fascinating work in all of PR. I need to start talking bigger.

One thing is almost guaranteed: if I have a really good week, Monday will be a crash. Whenever I end a week on a high note, the following Monday is such a letdown that my own productivity lags. Literally, the better the previous week, the more I’ve become convinced that I should just take Monday off.

Last Friday was a very good day, with two potential business development projects taking important steps forward. I have resolved not to let today, Monday, be a complete bummer. I purposefully worked a lot on Sunday (with intermittent breaks to watch sports tossed in) to put me in the proper mood. I came in very early, before 7 am, to get going.

I refuse to crash today.

I’ll let you know tomorrow how it goes.
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Many of you have heard about, some experienced, the gridlock experienced in Washington, DC, last Wednesday due to a rush-hour snowstorm. It took me 7 hours to get home that evening.

When it comes to talking to my 16-year-old daughter about sex, I must admit that I usually leave that to her mother. The other day, I brought up the topic with my daughter. Indeed, one of us did freak out. It wasn’t me.
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My daughter, as I have shared with Blogenberg readers in the past, is movie star beautiful. Some times I think it’s a bit unfair. No matter what she accomplishes — academically, in sports, at her job — it’s often met with a bit of “ho hum.” As if the message is, “you’re gorgeous, so of course you succeed, whether you try or not.” It’s not fair, but I think it’s reality. Of course, all of us would prefer to be blessed with amazing good looks than not.
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Today is Saturday. This morning I took my 16-year-old twins to SAT prep. Then I picked them up. Then I dropped them places. Then I came home to find that my dog had gotten into a bottle of medicine. Then I took her to the vet so they could induce vomiting. Then I came home. Then I went and picked up my 16-year-old son. Then I dropped my 16-year-old son and his friends off at another friend’s house. Then I came home and worked until 11:30 at night. Then I reflected on what a wild life I have at 51-years-old.
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Still sorry about the coding error above. Word Press doesn’t seem to be in any rush to fix it.

My wife and I have decided that the holiday season, Christmas to New Year’s day, has become much too complicated, much too stressful. We have made a decision to simplify everything we do — less shopping, less presents, less driving, less cooking. Now we have a year to effectively communicate to our clearly identified, carefully segmented target audiences.

We have determined a clear and simple message: “The holiday season is, for us, a time to enjoy each other and our family, and reflect on an important religious event.”

We are committed to message discipline.

We are committed to delivering this message in a consistent fashion throughout the year.

We are committed to engaging third-party ambassadors who can reinforce and echo our message — relatives and close friends of similar mindset.

And we are committed to enacting our program, no matter who may suggest I am Scrooge.

Happy 2011 messaging.

All three of my children are at home. My dog is happy and healthy. Nearly all my Christmas shopping is done. My wife is cooking Christmas dinner. Business feels in a good place. God is clearly with us.

Everything, except for the coding error you see above this post, feels good.

Happy Holidays to the millions of Blogenberg visitors worldwide!

Thank you!

My 16-year-old daughter is driving my pick-up truck. I am in the passenger’s seat, her twin brother in back. We pull up to a traffic light. A worn looking man is standing on the median. “Homeless. Hungry. Please help,” read his cardboard sign.

I give to these guys (and women), when I can. I don’t know who they are, or what they do with the money. I figure that’s between them and God.

At the traffic light today, I go to my back pocket for my wallet, and ask my daughter to roll down her window. “I’ve got it,” she says, reaching in the back seat for her purse. She has a job and works hard for her money. She gave the guy five bucks.

I got tears in my eyes.

I have irrefutable proof that me and my family are not snobs: we are legitimately excited that a brand spanking new 7-11 has opened up around the corner from our home.

The National Football League has some beautiful new commercials for it’s Play 60 campaign to motivate children to get out and play, to be active for at least 60 minutes a day.

But every time I see this spot on television, it saddens me. Our culture has slipped to the point where we need a high-priced public education campaign to try to get children to go out and play.

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My 16-year-old son has just accepted a scholarship to play college lacrosse. InsideLacrosse.com did a very cool report about it. But one kid posted a comment: “He’s really not good at all.” My son could care less. But it ticked me off. It’s weird to see your son so viciously attacked online (just kidding about the vicious part) — but it is weird, and it bothered me. Fortunately, other kids posted comments like, “He is very good,” and “He tears it up.”

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I yelled at my two teens this morning for being slow getting ready for school, holding me up from getting to a meeting. My dog got very upset. First, she walked over and stood behind my wife, her tail drooping, rubbing up against my wife’s legs for “safety.” Then, she walked over to me and got up on her hindquarters, her paws up in the air, until I leaned down and hugged her. My dog gets very stressed when one of her peeps is upset.

Ever since moving my own little PR shop into a much larger firm, I’ve been living in an odd emotional dichotomy.

Regular Blogenberg readers know that I am quite capable of reveling in my own anxiety. And that’s how I’ve felt much of my just three-month tenure at my new professional home — anxious about succeeding.

At the same time, I’m very happy. I like who I work for and with. I enjoy coming to work every day. And I’m very happy with family life these days.

So I’m anxiously happy. Or happily anxious.

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One of the things that told me it was time to do something different professionally was that I was letting myself become too comfortable. I was satisfied coming to work each day, attending to the work we had. But I wasn’t feeling pushed to build the business. Or, put another way, I was starting to feel comfortable not working continuously to build the business.

While there were many reasons I decided to merge my shop into a larger shop, one reason was this discomfort with feeling comfortable.

Now, if I don’t feel like I’m continuously working to develop business, I don’t feel comfortable because I’m now part of something larger than myself. And that’s a comfortable discomfort.