About

“On 3,” my coworker whispered, tightening the grip on his own pick axe.

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The previous night, an individual had been seen breaking into businesses along the road where my job was set. His actions were erratic, and he was armed with knives and a hatchet. Around 2 AM security cameras caught him breaking into our property, and all signs pointed to him hiding in the abandoned RV my coworker and I were standing outside of, shoulders down, legs tensed, while readying ourselves to kick the door off its hinges. 

 

At that moment, I asked myself, “How did I get here?”

 

It wasn’t that long ago that I was holding an Academy Award while celebrating our team's historic victory for our work on the second PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN film. Now, a year into a job of manual labor, my agenda consisted of well armed intruder eviction, sprinkled with heavy equipment operation.  

 

Until this point I had what many would consider a very successful career in creative. I had worked on films, in feature animation, and on video games. I wrote articles for books and magazines. I lead numerous creative teams. I won awards. I even mentored entrepreneurs at Stanford University. But job landscapes change, and companies downsize, and with a wife and two children to support none of that mattered. I did what I had to, and that was this; trading a life of film screenings for a life of work on a dirt farm. I felt like a failure, and a fraud.

 

“If I was really any good at the things I had been doing before, I wouldn’t be here now” was the anthem I played myself day in and out. 

 

I kept mentoring at Stanford because, while I felt like an imposter, I always had a love of mentoring and teaching, and this scratched an itch in an otherwise very itchy phase of life.  I had arrived early along with another mentor and we got to chatting. He had the typical enviable Stanford mentor story - multiple company exists, became a VC and angel investor, etc…. Someone who won at life, and someone who had done things I never dreamed I would be capable of. 

 

But that wasn’t the interesting part. 

 

This man, This “master of industry,” was fascinated by my career. “Your background is really impressive. I have never met anyone who has your level of experiences. Stanford is really lucky to have you.” 

 

It’s amazing how a few words from a stranger can make you see clearly what your own mind has fogged for so long. As more mentors arrived and the classroom opened, this man and I exchanged the traditional “nice speaking with you”s, and I walked to one side, and he to the other. On that walk into the classroom I realized that any one of these mentors could help these kids with how to approach a VC, or how to structure their exit, but I was the only one there helping them craft their story. I was the only one getting them to look at their product ideas through different lenses, or finding creative ways to solve their problems. I realized that I had built myself a tool belt of experiences. Unique experiences. Creative experiences that only I had. It wasn’t long after that Stanford offered me an exclusive mentorship position with their StartX accelerator, where I got to use that same tool belt to guide some of the best and brightest founding teams in the country. 

 

There are times in life when assumptions cloud your reality.  Just like that day with the axe. Yes, we kicked the door down. No, we found nobody - just traces of someone who slipped in and out under the cover of night. And while there thankfully wasn’t a hatchet waving madman, there was a moment of reflection. “How did I get here” became “If I got here, I can get back.” If I could find the courage to handle a situation like this, I could certainly find the courage to believe in myself and my abilities again.

 

I was able to rediscover my creative side, and more importantly, myself again. I got back out there, and got to do some amazing things. Dream projects. I also got to meet and help some amazing people and companies. If you are reading this, maybe too might just need a few words from a stranger to help you find your way through the fog.