The Best Thing You Can Give Someone Might Be Your Time (August 12, 2026)

Stop Reinventing Yourself. Start Reintroducing Yourself. (August 11, 2026)

Today is the first day of classes at Spartanburg Methodist College.

You would think after more than 26 years working in college athletics, I would have the whole "first day" routine figured out.

Apparently not.

My morning got off to a slower start than planned because I couldn't find my black dress shoes.

I looked where I thought they were.

Nothing.

Looked somewhere else.

Still nothing.

Eventually, I had to stop looking because the clock wasn't going to wait for me.

That's when I remembered a new pair of Nike shoes our athletic director had given me. They were still sitting in the box.

So instead of the black dress shoes I had planned to wear, I opened the box, pulled out the Nikes and headed to campus.

Not exactly how I planned to start the first day of classes.

But while driving to work, I started thinking about how appropriate those shoes actually were for something else I've been thinking about lately.

Maybe there are times when we spend too much energy looking for the old shoes because they're what we've always worn.

We know them.

We're comfortable in them.

They're what people expect to see us wearing.

Meanwhile, there's a new pair sitting in the box.

And maybe it's time to put them on.

I'm not really talking about shoes anymore.

I'm talking about our careers.

Maybe We Don't Need to Reinvent Ourselves

There is a piece of career advice we hear all the time:

Reinvent yourself.

When you feel stuck, reinvent yourself.

When you want something different, reinvent yourself.

When you've been doing the same work for years, reinvent yourself.

When you reach a certain point in your career, reinvent yourself.

I've been thinking about that advice lately, and I'm not sure I completely agree with it.

Sometimes you don't need to reinvent yourself.

Sometimes you need to reintroduce yourself.

There is a difference.

Reinvention suggests that something needs to be replaced. That the person you've been professionally isn't enough for where you want to go next.

Reintroduction says something very different.

It says you've grown.

You've learned.

You've accumulated experiences that aren't captured by the title underneath your name.

And maybe people simply don't know that part of you yet.

When Your Job Title Stops Telling the Whole Story

For most of my professional career, explaining what I do has been pretty easy.

I work in college athletics communications.

I've spent more than 26 years in this profession. I've worked at different institutions and different levels of college athletics. I've written thousands of stories and releases, kept statistics, worked countless games, handled media requests, managed websites and social media, and done many of the things that come with working in athletic communications.

That is part of who I am professionally.

I'm proud of it.

But I've started realizing something.

It isn't the complete answer anymore.

Over those same years, I've hired people.

I've supervised interns and young professionals.

I've reviewed resumes.

I've conducted interviews.

I've made introductions.

I've helped people prepare for interviews.

I've talked with people who weren't sure whether they should take a job.

I've encouraged people after they didn't get one.

I've watched young professionals make mistakes.

I've made plenty myself.

I've watched relationships open doors that an application couldn't.

I've watched talented people struggle because nobody taught them how to communicate what they could bring to an organization.

And somewhere along the way, helping people figure out their careers became one of the most meaningful parts of mine.

That wasn't a reinvention.

It was an evolution that had been happening quietly for years.

I just hadn't necessarily introduced people to that part of me.

People Know the Version of You That You Show Them

This is where I think many of us make a mistake.

We get frustrated because people only see us for our current job.

But what have we shown them?

If everything you post is about your current position, people will associate you with your current position.

If every professional conversation is about what you currently do, people will associate you with what you currently do.

If your LinkedIn profile reads like a list of responsibilities from your job description, people will probably put you into a pretty small professional box.

And then we wonder:

Why isn't anyone asking me to speak?

Why doesn't anyone think of me for leadership opportunities?

Why don't people know I'm interested in teaching?

Why aren't people asking me about consulting?

Why don't people see me as someone who could do something different?

Here's the uncomfortable answer:

You can't blame people for putting you in a box if you've never shown them anything outside the box.

People aren't mind readers.

They know the version of you that you've given them.

If you want them to understand more about what you can contribute, you have to show them.

Not by suddenly declaring yourself an expert.

By consistently demonstrating what you know.

Don't Manufacture a New Identity

This is also where reintroduction can go wrong.

I've seen people decide they want to move into a different area and suddenly their entire online identity changes overnight.

Yesterday, they barely mentioned leadership.

Today, they're a leadership expert.

Last month, they weren't talking about career development.

Now they're a career coach.

That's not what I'm suggesting.

Your reintroduction needs receipts.

Ask yourself:

What have I actually done?

That's where credibility comes from.

If I want to talk about career development, I should be able to point to years of hiring, supervising, mentoring, networking and helping people navigate the profession.

If I want to talk about relationship building, there should be evidence that I've spent years building and maintaining relationships.

If I want to teach, I should be able to demonstrate that I've helped other people learn.

Your next professional identity shouldn't be something you manufacture.

It should be something your experiences have earned.

The Reintroduction Audit

If you've reached a point where you feel like your professional identity no longer represents everything you can contribute, try this exercise.

I call it the Reintroduction Audit.

It starts with four questions.

1. What Are You Known For?

Don't answer with what you hope people think.

Ask what they actually think.

If I called five people you've worked with and asked:

"What is this person really good at?"

What would they say?

Maybe it's communication.

Maybe it's organization.

Maybe it's solving problems.

Maybe it's developing people.

Maybe it's building relationships.

Maybe it's creating content.

Maybe it's leadership.

Whatever the answers are, write them down.

That's your current professional reputation.

2. What Else Are You Good At?

Now look beyond your job description.

What have you learned because you've spent years doing the work?

A veteran athletic communicator, for example, isn't simply someone who knows how to write a game recap.

They may also understand crisis communication, project management, event operations, leadership, personnel management, storytelling, media relations, technology, mentoring and dozens of other skills.

Your job title may tell people what department you work in.

It doesn't necessarily tell them what you know.

Make that list too.

You may be surprised by how much you've accumulated.

3. What Do You Want People Calling You About?

This may be the most important question.

What opportunities do you want?

Speaking?

Teaching?

Mentoring?

Consulting?

Leadership?

A different role?

Committee work?

Something completely outside your current industry?

Be specific.

Because saying, "I'm open to opportunities," isn't much of a strategy.

If you don't know what you want people to think of you for, they certainly won't know either.

4. Where Is the Evidence?

Now comes the test.

Look at your last 10 LinkedIn posts.

Look at your bio.

Look at your website.

Look at your resume.

Think about the conversations you've had recently.

Do those things support what you said in Question 3?

If you want people to see you as a mentor but never talk about developing people, there's a disconnect.

If you want speaking opportunities but never share ideas publicly, there's a disconnect.

If you want people to see you as a leader but your professional presence only talks about tasks you've completed, there's a disconnect.

The solution isn't to announce a new brand.

Start showing the work.

Your Experience Has More Than One Use

I think this is particularly important for people who have been in their careers for a long time.

At some point, experience has to become more than something we list chronologically on a resume.

It should become something we can give away.

The mistakes become lessons.

The relationships become connections we can make for someone else.

The failures become warnings.

The successes become examples.

The experiences become stories.

And the knowledge becomes something we can teach.

That's one reason I've become increasingly interested in career readiness and professional development.

It's also part of the thinking behind GetSET2Connect.

I'm not trying to walk away from athletic communications.

Quite the opposite.

I'm asking:

What can more than 26 years in this profession teach someone who is just getting started?

How can those experiences help somebody write a better resume?

Prepare for an interview?

Build genuine relationships?

Ask better questions?

Handle rejection?

Figure out whether an opportunity is actually right for them?

Stay connected with people after meeting them?

Understand that networking isn't collecting contacts but building relationships?

Those lessons came from athletic communications.

Now they can serve another purpose too.

You Don't Have to Leave Something Behind to Grow

This might be the biggest lesson I've learned from thinking about all of this.

Growth doesn't always require leaving something behind.

Sometimes it means adding another layer.

You can be an athletic communicator and a mentor.

A coach and an educator.

A marketer and a teacher.

An administrator and a speaker.

A journalist and a consultant.

Your professional identity doesn't have to fit neatly inside one box.

But people won't automatically understand all those layers.

You have to help them see them.

That happens through what you write about.

What you talk about.

What you volunteer for.

Who you help.

What problems you solve.

What questions you ask.

And what you consistently contribute.

Over time, the introduction starts changing.

Not because you've suddenly become someone else.

Because people finally have a clearer picture of who you've become.

Maybe It's Time to Open the Box

Which brings me back to those shoes.

This morning, I was looking everywhere for the pair I expected to wear.

The familiar pair.

The pair that fit the picture I had in my head for how I was supposed to show up on the first day of classes.

I couldn't find them.

So I opened a box and put on something new.

I'm still the same person.

I'm still walking onto the same campus.

I'm still doing work that matters to me.

I'm just wearing a different pair of shoes.

Maybe there's a career lesson in that.

Sometimes we're so busy searching for the version of ourselves that we've always known that we overlook the version that's already sitting there waiting for us.

You don't have to throw away the old shoes.

And you certainly shouldn't pretend you've suddenly become someone completely different.

But maybe it's okay to put on the new pair and let people see another side of you.

So here's the question I've been asking myself, and I'll leave it with you:

If I asked 10 people in your professional network what you're good at, would their answers match what you want the next chapter of your career to look like?

If the answer is yes, keep building.

If the answer is no, don't panic.

 Stop reinventing yourself. Start reintroducing yourself.

We’re Preparing Students for Athletic Communications Jobs That Don’t Exist Anymore (August 10, 2026)

When I started working as a sports information intern at Navy  in 1999, nobody asked me how well I could shoot vertical video.

Nobody asked whether I understood social media analytics.

NIL wasn't part of our vocabulary. Artificial intelligence wasn't sitting on our desktops. TikTok didn't exist. Neither did Instagram, X or YouTube.

The job was different.

And that's exactly the point.

More than 26 years later, I worry that we're sometimes preparing students and young professionals for the athletic communications jobs many of us entered instead of the jobs they're actually going to inherit.

That's not a criticism of students.

It's a challenge to those of us responsible for preparing them.

The Job Changed

Writing still matters.

Statistics still matter.

Accuracy absolutely matters.

Media relations, storytelling, historical records and institutional knowledge still matter.

But they're no longer enough.

Look at what can land on the desk of an athletic communications professional today.

Social media. Photography. Video. Graphic design. Website management. Live statistics. Streaming. Analytics. Branding. Crisis communication. NIL. Content strategy. Media relations. Artificial intelligence.

And sometimes all of that happens before lunch.

Yet we can still fall into the trap of giving students experiences built around an older version of the profession.

Keep stats.

Write the recap.

Update the website.

Post the score graphic.

Repeat.

Those are useful skills. But if that's the majority of someone's internship or student-worker experience, are we really preparing that person for what comes next?

I don't think we are.

Experience Isn't Automatically Development

This is where I think those of us already working in college athletics need to challenge ourselves.

We frequently tell young people they need experience.

I agree.

But simply being inside an athletic department doesn't guarantee meaningful professional development.

There's a difference between giving someone work and teaching someone how to work.

Did we explain why we made a communications decision?

Did we let them sit in on the meeting?

Did we teach them how to handle a coach who isn't happy?

Did they learn how to build a content plan instead of simply receiving one?

Did we let them make decisions?

Did we allow them to make mistakes?

Did we teach them how to fix those mistakes?

Did they learn how to communicate professionally when something goes wrong?

Those lessons are harder to put on a checklist.

They're also some of the most important lessons we can teach.

We Can't Complain About Readiness Without Helping Create It

I've heard versions of the same concern throughout college athletics:

"Young professionals aren't ready."

Sometimes that's true.

But I think we need to ask a harder question.

Ready for what?

If we're expecting a 22-year-old to arrive knowing how to write, shoot video, create graphics, manage social media, understand analytics, operate statistical software, communicate with coaches, handle pressure and understand emerging technology, where exactly were they supposed to learn all of that?

A classroom can teach part of it.

An internship can teach part of it.

Professional organizations can teach part of it.

Mentors can teach part of it.

But employers have a responsibility, too.

We cannot complain about the preparation of the next generation while providing opportunities that amount to little more than inexpensive labor.

If we want better young professionals, we need to create better places for them to become professionals.

Teach Them How to Think

Technology will keep changing.

The software we're using today won't necessarily be the software they're using five years from now.

That's why I don't think our biggest responsibility is teaching young professionals every tool.

We need to teach them how to think.

Why are we telling this story?

Who is the audience?

What does success look like?

What could go wrong?

What information are we missing?

Who needs to know?

What's the best way to communicate it?

What happens next?

Those questions don't become obsolete when a new platform appears.

Neither do curiosity, judgment, reliability, communication and relationships.

Those are career skills.

AI Makes This Even More Important

Artificial intelligence makes this conversation even more urgent.

Some of the tasks that once consumed significant portions of our workday can now be completed much faster.

That's a good thing.

But saving time only matters if we do something valuable with the time we save.

Young professionals need to learn how to work with AI while understanding where human judgment still has to take over.

AI can help organize information.

It can help brainstorm.

It can help identify patterns.

It can help turn a blank page into a starting point.

But it doesn't know your coach.

It doesn't know your student-athlete.

It doesn't understand the history behind a difficult conversation.

It doesn't own the consequences when information is wrong.

Those responsibilities still belong to us.

And teaching young professionals that distinction may become one of the most important things we do.

Give Them Something They Can Own

One of the simplest changes we can make is giving students and young professionals ownership.

Not just assignments.

Ownership.

Give someone a sport and let them help develop its communications plan.

Let them pitch a storytelling idea.

Have them look at the analytics afterward and explain what worked.

Ask them what they would change.

Let them participate in conversations instead of always waiting outside the room.

Give them a project where the answer isn't already predetermined.

Then coach them through it.

There will be mistakes.

Good.

That's part of development.

I'd rather have someone make a correctable mistake while they have an experienced professional beside them than encounter that situation for the first time when they're alone in their first full-time job.

Day 365

Here's the question I think every supervisor with an intern, graduate assistant or student worker should ask:

If this person spends one year working with me, what will they be able to do on Day 365 that they couldn't do on Day 1?

Not how many games they worked.

Not how many releases they wrote.

Not how many graphics they posted.

What can they do?

What decisions can they make?

What problems can they solve?

How much more confident are they?

How much better do they communicate?

What do they understand about the profession that they didn't understand before?

And perhaps most importantly:

Are they more prepared for their next opportunity because they spent this year with us?

If we can't answer that question, we shouldn't immediately blame the student.

Maybe we need to examine the experience we're providing.

The athletic communications profession isn't going backward.

Neither should the way we prepare people for it.

Love Leaves More Than Memories (August 3, 2026)

Today would have been my parents' anniversary - they were married on August 3, 1968.

For many people, an anniversary is marked with flowers, dinner reservations, and the opportunity to celebrate another year together. For our family, it looks a little different. My father passed away on October 1, 2009, so there isn't a card to sign or a dinner to share.

Instead, there is reflection.

As the years have passed, I've realized something I never fully understood when I was younger.

Love leaves more than memories.

It leaves values.

It leaves traditions.

It leaves examples.

It leaves a way of treating people that quietly becomes part of who we are.

As a child, I didn't recognize the countless sacrifices my parents made. I didn't notice the small acts of kindness, the compromises, or the daily commitment that held our family together. Like most kids, I simply assumed those things would always be there.

It wasn't until I became an adult that I began to appreciate what I had been witnessing all along.

And it wasn't until I became a husband that I truly understood it.

Marriage has a way of changing your perspective.

You begin to realize that lasting relationships aren't built on grand gestures. They're built on ordinary days. They're built on conversations after long workdays, choosing patience over pride, extending grace when it's needed most, and deciding—day after day—that your commitment matters more than convenience.

Those are lessons my parents taught me without ever sitting me down to explain them.

They simply lived them.

Dad has now been gone for more than a decade and a half, yet I still find myself wishing I could tell him about the life that's unfolded since he left. I'd love to tell him about my career, the people I've been fortunate to mentor, and the opportunities I've been blessed to experience.

Most of all, I'd want to tell him about Charlene.

I'd want him to know the incredible woman I married. I'd tell him about her heart, her strength, and the way she makes every day better simply by being herself. I think he would have loved watching us build a life together, and I know I would have cherished seeing the two of them get to know each other.

While that opportunity never came, something else did.

The example he and my mom gave me continues to shape the marriage Charlene and I are building today.

Every time we choose to communicate instead of assume, support instead of criticize, or encourage instead of discourage, I can see pieces of what my parents modeled years ago.

That may be the greatest gift they ever gave me.

Not possessions.

Not accomplishments.

An example.

Legacy isn't measured by what we leave behind on a shelf.

It's measured by what lives on in the people we love.

The patience we show.

The integrity we practice.

The compassion we extend.

The faithfulness we demonstrate when no one else is watching.

Those things don't disappear when we're gone. They become part of someone else's story.

Today, I'm grateful for my parents' marriage.

I'm grateful for my mom, whose strength has carried our family through seasons neither of us would have chosen.

I'm grateful for my dad, whose influence continues to guide me, even though our conversations now take place only in my memories.

And I'm grateful that Charlene and I have the opportunity to continue building a legacy of our own—one day, one choice, and one act of love at a time.

Love leaves more than memories.

If we're fortunate, it leaves people who know how to love a little better because of the example we set.

As I reflect on my parents' anniversary today, that's the question I find myself asking:

What kind of legacy will our love leave behind?

The Ugly Phase Is Part of the Process (July 31, 2026)

 There comes a point in almost every career when you wonder if you're making any progress.

You apply for jobs and hear nothing back.

You start a new role and suddenly feel like you know less than everyone else.

You launch a business, publish content, or begin networking, only to question whether any of it is working.

If that sounds familiar, you're not alone.

I recently read an insightful article from Korn Ferry titled "The Ugly Phase: Can You Survive It?" It describes the uncomfortable period between being a beginner and becoming proficient. It's that season when you've left the comfort of what you know, but you haven't yet reached confidence in what's next.

The article reminded me of something I've seen throughout my 27 years in college athletics communications.

Every successful professional I've met has gone through an ugly phase.

The graduate assistant learning to manage media relations for the first time.

The first-year athletic communications director trying to juggle multiple sports.

The coach taking over a struggling program.

The student preparing for their first job interview.

The entrepreneur launching a new idea before anyone knows their name.

No one skips this stage.

The difference isn't talent.

It's persistence.

Don't Mistake Discomfort for Failure

When things feel awkward, many people assume they're doing something wrong.

In reality, you're probably doing something new.

Growth almost always feels uncomfortable before it feels rewarding.

That's why the people who succeed continue asking questions, seeking mentors, building relationships, and improving one day at a time.

Confidence isn't something you wait to feel.

It's something you earn through repetition.

My Challenge to You

If you're in your own ugly phase today, don't quit because the path feels difficult.

Instead, ask yourself:

• What am I learning?
• Who can help me improve?
• What can I do better tomorrow than I did today?

Small improvements create remarkable careers.

Continue Reading

The Korn Ferry article provides additional research and insights into why this stage is so important for long-term success.

👉 Read it here:
https://www.kornferry.com/insights/briefings-magazine/issue-74/the-ugly-phase-can-you-survive-it

You may be in the ugly phase today.

That doesn't mean you're failing.

It may simply mean you're becoming the professional you're meant to be.

Day Two (July 28, 2026)

Day One at Spartanburg Methodist College

Day One (July 27, 2026)

 I love the parallel between these two events. One marks the beginning of a new athletic year. The other celebrates someone who has been part of your own journey. Both are reminders that the most meaningful things in life don't happen overnight—they're built one day at a time.

Today is Day One.

Across the country, campuses are coming to life as student-athletes move into residence halls, reconnect with teammates, and begin preparing for another season. Here at Spartanburg Methodist College, today marks the arrival of our fall sports student-athletes.

For many, it's the beginning of a college career.

For others, it's another opportunity to build on what they've already started.

Every one of them arrives carrying something different.

Excitement.

Hope.

Nervousness.

Expectations.

Dreams.

None of them know exactly what the next several months will bring.

And that's part of what makes today so special.

Today is also special for another reason.

It's my wife Charlene's birthday.

As I thought about welcoming a new group of student-athletes while celebrating another year of life with Char, I realized these two moments have something in common.

Both remind us that the best things in life are built one day at a time.

Every Journey Has a Day One

No championship begins with a trophy.

No graduate begins with a diploma.

No successful marriage begins with decades of memories.

Every meaningful accomplishment begins with a single day.

Day One.

Student-athletes don't become leaders because they put on a uniform.

They become leaders through the choices they make every practice, every class, every workout, and every conversation.

Relationships don't become strong because two people say, "I do."

They become strong through thousands of ordinary moments—encouraging each other, overcoming challenges, celebrating victories, and choosing each other again tomorrow.

The same is true of careers.

Your first day won't define your career.

But it will begin shaping it.

Start Before You're Ready

Many people spend their lives waiting for the perfect moment.

The perfect opportunity.

The perfect job.

The perfect circumstances.

Life rarely works that way.

Growth begins the moment you decide to start.

That's true for a freshman walking onto campus today.

It's true for a first-year coach.

It's true for a young professional applying for their first internship.

And it's true for every one of us, no matter where we are in life.

My Perspective

One of the greatest gifts college athletics has given me is perspective.

Every August feels like a fresh start.

New faces.

New stories.

New opportunities.

Every year reminds me why I fell in love with this profession.

At the same time, celebrating another birthday with Char reminds me that some of life's greatest accomplishments don't show up on a résumé.

They're found in the relationships we invest in.

The people who believe in us.

The people who challenge us.

The people who celebrate with us when no one else is watching.

If I've learned anything over the years, it's this:

Success is important.

Relationships make success meaningful.

Put It Into Practice

Today, think about your own Day One.

Maybe it's your first internship.

Maybe it's your first class.

Maybe it's your first job.

Or maybe it's simply deciding today to become more intentional than you were yesterday.

Whatever your Day One is...

Treat it like it matters.

Because one day you'll look back and realize it was the beginning of something much bigger than you imagined.

Reflection

Twenty years from now, what will you remember about today?

The tasks you completed?

Or the people whose lives you impacted?

The seasons eventually end.

The relationships often don't.

Welcome back to another year of college athletics.

Happy Birthday, Char.

And to everyone beginning something new today...

Make your Day One count.

You never get another one.

Stay Connected.