Are You Delusional Enough to Win a Purple Ribbon?

A Rosh Hashanah reflection on cows, work ethic, and not thinking too hard

Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, begins at sundown tonight. So I have been doing some introspection, mapping out next steps, etc., etc.

But instead of suggesting you do the same, I am going to gently suggest the literal opposite. Don’t think too hard. Just work really, really hard.

First, let me take you back to Iowa in the ’90s.

I did 4-H, a program where kids learn about farming. I grew up in a part of Iowa known for beef cattle, hogs, soybeans and corn. But I wanted to raise a cow for 4-H.

My mom explained to me that if I raised a beef calf, it would eventually turn into, well, beef. So I decided to raise a dairy cow—specifically, a Holstein (the black-and-white ones).

My parents dutifully found a dairy farm, we bought a brand-new calf, and I fed her with a bottle until she was on solids. Then I trained her to lead. That means you spend countless hours with annoying, stubborn cow on a halter, trying to teach them to walk, somewhat like you’d walk a dog. But this “dog” is hundreds of pounds.

Now, mind you, my family had a farm that was—and is—teeny by comparison. A great many of the 4-H families raised beef cattle on huge farms, and for them, showing cattle was part of a serious business. They knew this front to back, chapter and verse. There were $30,000 livestock trailers. There were logos for their cattle breed and farm. There was a system.

I had…an extremely annoying Holstein calf and enough patience and discipline to wake up before sunrise and feed her, and then train her to lead once or twice per day.

I read everything I could about what the perfect Holstein was supposed to look like.

Then the county fair rolled around.

I donned boot-cut Levi’s and my mom’s cowboy boots with green suede (we still have them at the house). I walked into the sawdust-covered arena and showed my cow. The judges asked me specific questions about her food, growth, and breed. They even pop-quizzed me about her back and legs.

Much to my shock, I got a purple ribbon—the highest award possible.

And no, I didn’t just win a purple ribbon because there were, like, three dairy cows total. The way judging works, I could have gotten yellow. But I earned the purple.

I literally jumped for joy. I did it! I got the highest award you can get!

A few people went up to my parents afterward and basically said, “Whoa. She really did it. She trained that cow perfectly.”

And while I didn’t think about it until recently, I think that was my first foray into just doing things. I wasn’t fazed by the competition or by the fact that I stood out like a sore thumb showing dairy when everyone else showed beef.

I just did it.

And I took a lot of that into my business.

When I first started, I was intimidated by former White House press people, Senate staffers and people with big communications firms. People told me about their $15,000-a-month retainers. They said you “can’t do comms for less than $20K a month.” They make clients “go viral.” They “place stories.”

I thought that they knew what they were doing, and I didn’t.

When I started my business, I was basically a goofball with a laptop and too much delusion.

But I also had a work ethic, just like the 10-year-old who got up at 6:30 a.m. before school to feed her bottle-bucket calf.

So I applied for fellowships and got accepted to most of them. I wrote and wrote. I did a bunch of business development. I woke up really early to write my own work before I started client work. I took business trips in Europe and the U.S. After, all if I could scoop literal cow poo out of a barn during the summer then sure, why not get that press statement out ASAP and have the op-ed ready by this afternoon?

The first year or so was rocky, as is the case for most businesses. Nobody tells you that. But eventually, I secured enough income that I made more than I had at a 9-to-5 W-2 job.

At the same time, as an entrepreneur, I am well aware that all of this could go away tomorrow or next week.

But that’s all the more reason to keep going.

I don’t share this story to tell you how great I am. I have a great many flaws. You can read about them on this blog.

I share it to say: You can get your purple ribbon.

Don’t worry so much about what everyone else is doing. Don’t listen too hard to “experts” or people with seemingly enviable job titles. Do your reading. Do the work. Find your talents. Find your niche in the market.

Happy New Year to my Jewish friends.

And to everyone else, happy college football season. It’s time to make Frito dip.