I heard Bill Murray say in a recent interview "I’m not who I was… maybe even 20 minutes ago.”, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. Maybe it’s because Bill has a way of saying things that sound simple at first but sneak up on you with unexpected weight. Maybe it’s because it finally gave language to how I’ve felt (almost constantly) while running this agency.
The truth is, I change a lot. I feel things deeply and I process them in real time. Some days I show up with vision and momentum; other days, I’m burned out and staring at a blinking cursor, wondering why I can’t “just be consistent.”
Here’s another truth: I’m tired of pretending that inconsistency is a flaw.
When Business Becomes a Personality Trap
Running a business, especially one that’s weird, creative, and high-stakes like FMK, can start to feel like a role you’re required to play. People expect you to be the steady one, the visionary, the problem-solver. And when you’re not that version of yourself, it feels like failure, even if what’s showing up is more honest, more human.
I’ve found myself in business relationships where I’m needed, but not respected. Where I bring the value, carry the weight, build the thing, and still end up being treated like a liability.
And it leaves me wondering: What does “respect” even mean in business today? Is it about deference? Quiet compliance? Or is it about telling the truth, even when it’s hard to hear? Even when it might cost something?
My friend and business partner Ron Olsen has a phrase:
“If you can’t change the people, change the people.”
It’s sharp. And it’s true. But what makes it even more uncomfortable is that I’m not exempt from it. I’m not protected from it just because my name’s on the ownership docs. I don’t get immunity from accountability or growth. Sometimes, I need to change too—or go.
Memo Mode: On
Recently, I posted this in our team Slack. No approvals, no edits, no sanitized version:
“I’m tired. And FMK has broken me a few times, if you couldn't tell. But I’m also genuinely, genuinely, excited. I believe in what we’re creating here. I see what it can be, and I want everyone to see that too. I want us to fight for each other, not with each other.”
Some of our newer team members, who barely know me, responded first. Not with confusion or concern, but with gratitude. “Thanks for saying it,” one of them wrote.
Paranoia vs. Paralysis
Here’s something I haven’t fully admitted: I often feel like I’m being punished for not thinking like everyone else. It’s not always explicit. Sometimes it’s a delayed response. Sometimes it's a string of passive-aggressive comments. Sometimes it’s silence, which is worse.
I start wondering: Am I imagining this? Is it paranoia? Or is it self-protection? The line between the two is paper-thin. And that space, between the suspicion and the silence, is where paralysis creeps in.
It’s hard to make clear-headed decisions when you feel like every version of your voice might be weaponized or misunderstood. It’s hard to “stay above the drama” when your instincts are telling you that you’ve become the drama by simply thinking differently.
And yet, the work still matters.
The Work Worth Fighting For
I’m not writing this for sympathy or applause. I’m writing it because maybe, just maybe, someone else needs to hear it.
Maybe you’re also leading something that sometimes breaks you. Maybe you’re trying to stay in the room even when you don’t feel welcome in it. Maybe you’re trying to lead honestly and get real feedback, not just polite echoes.
I still believe in FMK. I believe in what we’re trying to make. I believe in our ability to shape-shift, to rebuild, to show up even when it’s hard. But I’m not going to lie about how much it costs some days.
I’m not going to pretend I’m the same version of myself in every meeting, every week, every conversation. I’ve earned the right to evolve. So have you.
And if that evolution means outgrowing old definitions of “respect,” “partnership,” or “normal”—then so be it.
Let’s build something strange. Let’s start something uncomfortable. Let’s stop trying to be the same person we were 20 minutes ago and start becoming who we’re actually meant to be.
Together.