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In 1951, a comedian named Jack Roy walked away from the stage.
He was thirty. In debt. Tired of bombing in front of small crowds who didn’t care if he lived or died.
So he disappeared.
For the next twelve years he sold aluminum siding. Painted houses in New Jersey. Got married, had kids. Built a life that looked nothing like the one he’d imagined.
When he finally came back in his forties, he couldn’t even use his own name. Too much history in it. Too many empty rooms.
He’d step on stage, adjust his tie, tap the mic—
Is this thing on?
I think about him a lot. The guy nobody had heard of yet.
A few months ago I was listening to Morgan Housel read his blog into my ears. He does what I do, but successfully. Take a story, find the lesson inside, and write it up.
Of course he adds context from history, while I add mine from Wayne’s World, but to each his own.
I’ve learned a lot from him. I respect the hell out of him. And I also wonder, how is he 1,000,000 times as successful. Literally.
Is he 1,000,000 times as good?
Somewhere around the three-minute mark, Housel was introducing the piece. He said it was, “A big smattering of beliefs. Random unconnected thoughts whose common denominator is that, for me personally, these have been impactful ideas.”
No shit, Morgan. We all do that.
I looked down at my phone.
Housel in my ears. $1.80 in my pocket. An Amazon deposit…book sales are really booming! Readwise serving up Pressfield, Coyne, and Tom Wolfe. Advice from some of the best. And down at the bottom, Jetpack: 136 views on Win With Flynn.
I laughed. I laid my head back and looked at the heavens. What the hell am I doing?!?
Sometimes this writer’s life really feels like a kick in the nuts.
When I left the corporate life I thought I’d find a way to make $1,000 a month doing this. Not millions. Not fame. Just enough to cover some insurance or a vacation. A reasonable number, or so I thought.
I’m not even close.
I’m not a scoreboard watcher, but it’s hard to ignore. Especially when the kids are in attendance.
Part of this endeavor was showing them you can chase a dream or two in this life. But what are they actually learning?
My daughter was explaining virality to my son the other night. “Millions of views,” she said. That’s a viral video on YouTube.
I said, “I don’t know if you need millions. I think thousands would be pretty cool.”
“Oh that’s sad,” my son said.
I made a joke, as I always do, about “my dozens of listeners.” Deflecting.
But they’re curious about it. They watch. And I wonder what they’re actually seeing.
Someone persistent? Or someone who can’t take a hint?
I tell myself I’m good at this. I believe the work matters. But belief without evidence starts to look like something else. And my kids have front row seats.
That’s my threshold on a typical post. Is it valuable? Helpful? To me or anyone else?
In corporate life you have a title and a salary that does the validating for you. You don’t have to wonder if you’re worth something—the paycheck answers that every two weeks. You are worth $X.
Out here, I’m proving it every Monday. Sometimes, to 136 people, give or take.
I think the work is good. I think the skills are real.
Jack Roy eventually found his name. You know him as Rodney Dangerfield. Somewhere along the way, he stopped asking the room if the mic was working, and told them what was really going on.
Same signal. Different posture.
I’m not there yet. Some weeks, I’m still just a guy in his mid-forties tapping the mic.
Is this thing on?
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