One email won't change your career.
But one email can start the relationship that changes your career.
The key is writing an email that feels human.
Not transactional.
Not self-centered.
Not copied from a template.
An introduction email doesn't need to be long.
It needs to be genuine.
Start with who you are.
Explain why you're reaching out.
Mention something specific that caught your attention.
Ask one thoughtful question.
That's it.
Every day, thousands of people refresh job boards hoping to find the next opportunity.
There's nothing wrong with that.
But many of the best opportunities in college athletics never begin with a job posting.
They begin with a conversation.
A simple email.
A LinkedIn message.
A coffee meeting.
An introduction made at a convention.
Before there was an opening, there was a relationship.
One lesson I've learned throughout my career is this:
Don't wait until you need something to introduce yourself.
Too often, we only reach out when we're looking for a job, asking for a recommendation, or hoping someone can open a door.
Imagine if we reversed that thinking.
What if we introduced ourselves simply because we admired someone's work?
What if we wanted to learn instead of immediately asking for something?
That approach changes everything.
People remember those who are genuinely curious.
They remember those who celebrate others.
They remember those who consistently add value to conversations.
"I will ask a thousand questions. I don't mind looking like I don't know. Please educate me. Being open to admitting what you don't know—some people are very uncomfortable with that and it could be a challenge." — Julie Fussner
Early in my career, I thought the quickest way to earn respect was to have the answers.
If I knew enough, worked hard enough, and avoided mistakes, people would see my value.
What I've learned over the past 26 years is almost the opposite.
The people who continue to grow are rarely the ones pretending to know everything. They are the ones who remain curious. They ask thoughtful questions. They seek advice. They invite correction. Most importantly, they understand that learning never stops.
That mindset is becoming increasingly rare.
Many young professionals enter interviews believing they need to impress everyone with what they know. New graduate assistants feel pressure to prove they belong. Entry-level communicators worry that asking a question will make them appear inexperienced.
In reality, refusing to ask questions often reveals more than asking them ever could.
There is a difference between ignorance and curiosity.
Ignorance says, "I don't know, and I don't care."
Curiosity says, "I don't know yet. Teach me."
That single word—yet—changes everything.
Throughout my career, I've been fortunate to learn from professionals who invested their time in me.
None of them expected me to know everything.
They expected me to listen.
They expected me to work.
They expected me to ask questions.
Every meaningful mentor I've had appreciated curiosity far more than confidence.
Why?
Because questions demonstrate humility.
Questions demonstrate engagement.
Questions demonstrate that you're willing to improve.
One of the biggest reasons I started to blog is because too many students and young professionals believe they have to figure everything out on their own.
They don't.
This blog isn't built around having all the answers.
It's built around creating conversations where questions are welcomed.
Whether someone is preparing for their first internship, applying for a graduate assistantship, interviewing for an entry-level athletic communications position, or simply trying to understand the profession better, I want them to know this:
Ask.
Reach out.
Schedule the informational interview.
Send the email.
Follow up.
The people who are willing to help usually remember what it was like when they were starting, too.
Connection begins with a question.
Communication begins with a question.
Collaboration begins with a question.
Those three principles form the foundation of why I blog.
Some people avoid asking questions because they fear looking uninformed.
Ironically, that fear often keeps them from becoming informed.
Growth has always required humility.
Every expert was once a beginner.
Every respected athletic communicator once asked where to stand during a postgame interview, how to write a game recap, or how to prepare for media day.
Nobody starts as an expert.
The difference is that some people stop asking questions too soon.
Don't be one of them.
The smartest person in the room isn't necessarily the one speaking the most.
Often, it's the one asking the best questions.
Because every great career begins with a willingness to learn.
You have to know who you are to grow to your potential." — John C. Maxwell
One of the biggest mistakes professionals make isn't a lack of talent.
It isn't a lack of experience.
It isn't even a lack of opportunity.
It's a lack of clarity.
John C. Maxwell's quote stopped me in my tracks because it reinforces something I've written about throughout this blog and something that sits at my heart.
You cannot intentionally build a career if you don't intentionally understand yourself first.
Many people approach networking with one question:
"Who should I meet?"
I believe there's a better question.
"Who am I becoming?"
If you don't know your strengths, your values, what energizes you, or the problems you're uniquely equipped to solve, every networking conversation becomes transactional instead of transformational.
People remember clarity.
They struggle to remember confusion.
That's why the most effective professionals don't simply collect contacts. They build relationships around a clear understanding of who they are and where they're headed.
I've written often that experience alone doesn't create opportunity.
Impact does.
The same is true with identity.
Your résumé tells people where you've been.
Your identity tells people where you're capable of going.
Those are not always the same thing.
I've met professionals with twenty years of experience who still couldn't clearly answer:
Those answers matter more than another line on a résumé.
I write this blog because it isn't just about helping someone land a job.
It's about helping them discover direction.
Career growth begins long before an interview.
It begins with understanding your story.
Knowing your values.
Recognizing your strengths.
Building genuine relationships.
Creating a reputation that speaks before you enter the room.
Networking without clarity is simply collecting business cards.
Networking with clarity builds a career.
Whether you're a college student, graduate assistant, intern, first-time sports communicator, or someone wondering what's next after years in the profession, the starting point remains the same.
Know yourself.
Then connect with purpose.
Every season of your career asks a different question.
Early on, it asks, "What can you do?"
Later it asks, "Who can you lead?"
Eventually it asks something even more important.
"Do you know who you are?"
Because your greatest potential will never be determined solely by your skills.
It will be determined by how well you understand the person using those skills.
That is why Maxwell's quote is so powerful.
You have to know who you are to grow to your potential.
Everything else—your network, your opportunities, your influence, and your career—grows from there.
Before asking, "What's my next opportunity?" ask yourself these three questions:
Those questions may be the beginning of your next chapter.
And they're exactly where meaningful connection begins.
If I asked you how many people are in your professional network, you could probably give me a number.
Maybe it's your LinkedIn connections.
Maybe it's the business cards you've collected over the years.
Maybe it's the people you've met at conventions, workshops, and conferences.
But here's a tougher question:
How many of those people would take your call tomorrow?
For many professionals in college athletics, the answer is far smaller than they would like to admit.
That's because a network and a contacts list are not the same thing.
A contacts list is a collection of names.
A network is a collection of relationships.
And relationships are what create career momentum.
Many professionals treat networking as an event.
They attend a conference.
Exchange business cards.
Connect on LinkedIn.
Maybe send one follow-up message.
Then they move on.
Months later, when they need career advice, a recommendation, or help identifying an opportunity, they suddenly attempt to reconnect.
The challenge is that relationships require investment before they produce value.
The strongest professional relationships are built long before they are needed.
Job descriptions matter.
Experience matters.
Skills matter.
But trust matters, too.
In college athletics, opportunities are often created through conversations.
People recommend professionals they know.
People advocate for professionals they trust.
People open doors for professionals who have consistently shown up, provided value, and invested in the relationship.
That doesn't happen overnight.
It happens through intentional communication and genuine connection.
One of the biggest misconceptions in professional development is that mentorship begins when someone officially becomes your mentor.
The reality is that mentorship often begins with curiosity.
A question.
A conversation.
A willingness to learn.
Some of the most impactful mentors in a career never carry the title of mentor at all.
They simply invest in others through conversations, encouragement, perspective, and honest feedback.
The professionals who advance most effectively are often the ones who consistently seek those conversations.
Many professionals believe they need a new job.
Sometimes they do.
But often what they really need is clarity.
Clarity about their strengths.
Clarity about their goals.
Clarity about what comes next.
Meaningful conversations can provide that clarity faster than hours of scrolling job boards.
The right conversation can reveal opportunities you didn't know existed.
The right mentor can help you see strengths you've overlooked.
The right connection can change the trajectory of your career.
One of my core beliefs is simple:
No college athletics professional should have to navigate their career journey alone.
The goal is not simply to help people find jobs.
The goal is to help people build sustainable careers.
That happens through intentional relationships.
It happens through mentorship.
It happens through professional development.
It happens through creating a community where people are willing to learn from one another and invest in one another's success.
At some point in your career, someone opened a door for you.
Someone answered a question.
Someone gave you advice.
Someone made an introduction.
Someone believed in you before you fully believed in yourself.
The best way to honor that investment is to do the same for someone else.
Your network isn't your contacts list.
It's the people who know you, trust you, support you, challenge you, and help you grow.
Those relationships may become the most valuable asset your career will ever have.
"The aim of life is appreciation; there is no sense in not appreciating things; and there is no sense in having more of them if you have less appreciation of them." — G.K. Chesterton
As professionals, we are often conditioned to focus on what comes next.
The next game.
The next hire.
The next promotion.
The next conference.
The next opportunity.
The next challenge.
In athletic communications, the calendar never truly stops. As soon as one season ends, another begins. There is always another story to tell, another graphic to create, another deadline to meet, and another goal to pursue.
Ambition is not a bad thing. Growth is important. Advancement matters.
But Chesterton's quote serves as a reminder that achievement without appreciation can leave us feeling perpetually empty.
Many professionals spend years chasing the next rung on the ladder without ever pausing to appreciate how far they have already climbed.
When we think about leadership, we often think about vision, strategy, communication, and decision-making.
Yet appreciation may be one of the most overlooked leadership skills.
Appreciation changes how we see our teams.
It reminds us to notice the student worker who consistently shows up early.
It reminds us to thank the coach who always returns a call.
It reminds us to celebrate the colleague who quietly solves problems behind the scenes.
It reminds us to recognize mentors who invested in us long before anyone else saw our potential.
People who feel appreciated often become more engaged, more committed, and more willing to invest in others.
One of the challenges of career development is that comparison often steals contentment.
We compare our title to someone else's.
We compare our salary to someone else's.
We compare our institution to someone else's.
We compare our career timeline to someone else's.
In doing so, we lose sight of our own journey.
The truth is that many of the things we once prayed for, hoped for, or worked tirelessly to achieve have become so familiar that we barely notice them anymore.
Think about your first full-time position.
Think about your first press credential.
Think about your first conference presentation.
Think about the first time someone asked for your advice.
Those moments were milestones.
Today they may simply feel routine.
Appreciation helps us rediscover the significance of experiences that familiarity has diminished.
Our culture often teaches that happiness comes from accumulation.
More followers.
More responsibilities.
More recognition.
More resources.
More opportunities.
But Chesterton points out a powerful truth: having more means very little if our ability to appreciate decreases along the way.
A larger office does not guarantee fulfillment.
A bigger budget does not guarantee satisfaction.
A more impressive title does not guarantee purpose.
Sometimes the issue is not that we need more.
Sometimes the issue is that we need to appreciate more.
Appreciation is not a feeling we wait for.
It is a discipline we choose.
It looks like sending a thank-you note.
It looks like acknowledging a mentor.
It looks like celebrating a student's growth.
It looks like pausing after a successful event and recognizing the people who made it happen.
It looks like ending the day by identifying what went right instead of focusing solely on what went wrong.
The professionals who sustain long careers are often not the ones who achieve the most. They are the ones who learn to appreciate the journey while they are living it.
As I reflect on my own career, I realize that some of the greatest blessings were not the championships, awards, titles, or milestones.
They were the people.
The mentors who opened doors.
The colleagues who became friends.
The students who taught me as much as I taught them.
The opportunities that stretched me.
The lessons that shaped me.
The memories that remain long after the deadlines have passed.
Growth is valuable.
Achievement is worthwhile.
But appreciation gives both of them meaning.
Before you focus on what's next, take a moment to appreciate what is already here.
You may discover that some of life's greatest gifts have been in front of you all along.
Don't let the pursuit of more cause you to overlook the value of what you already have.
Appreciation doesn't slow progress.
It gives purpose to the journey.
Mary Southern's article, "You Spent 20 Years Building a Career. They Rejected You for It," highlights a reality many experienced professionals face: years of experience alone are not always enough if employers cannot quickly connect that experience to the specific problems they need solved.
The article challenges the assumption that more years automatically create more opportunities. Instead, it emphasizes the importance of positioning, clarity, and effectively communicating value.
That message aligns closely with many of the themes I strive to address through this blog.
One of the recurring themes throughout this blog is that experience alone does not create opportunity—impact does.
Whether the topic is career advancement, convention networking, resume development, leadership, or personal growth, the underlying message remains the same:
Don't just tell people what you did. Show them the difference you made.
In athletic communications, it is easy to build a resume that lists responsibilities:
Managed social media
Wrote game recaps
Oversaw statistics
Coordinated media relations
But hiring managers are increasingly looking for outcomes:
Increased social media engagement by 45%
Generated record livestream viewership
Created sponsorship opportunities that produced new revenue
Expanded student worker programs that improved content production
That distinction is something I have explored repeatedly through articles such as Turning Experience into Resume Impact, More Than Content Creator, and my convention-focused career development series.
Many veteran athletic communicators encounter a challenge similar to the one Southern describes.
After 15 or 20 years in the profession, they have:
Covered thousands of events
Managed countless social media campaigns
Built meaningful relationships across campus
Led staffs, interns, and student workers
Yet many struggle to articulate how those experiences created value for their institutions.
The danger is that experience begins to look like tenure rather than impact.
For athletic communications professionals, the question is no longer:
"How long have you done this?"
The question is:
"What changed because you were there?"
That is a question I regularly encourage readers to answer.
The audience for SIDAssistant includes job seekers, emerging professionals, and experienced leaders—many of whom work in sports communications and collegiate athletics.
They are navigating a profession where:
Artificial intelligence is changing workflows.
Content expectations continue to increase.
Revenue generation is becoming part of external relations responsibilities.
Hiring managers expect measurable outcomes.
Southern's article serves as a valuable reminder that careers are not simply collections of responsibilities. They are collections of results.
The lesson for athletic communicators is not to downplay experience.
The lesson is to translate experience into evidence.
Twenty years of experience should not be the headline.
The headline should be:
"Here is the impact those twenty years created."
That idea fits naturally alongside my mission: helping professionals become better equipped for their personal and professional endeavors.
Experience may open the door, but clarity, positioning, and demonstrated impact help keep it open.
For athletic communicators pursuing their next opportunity, the question is not how many years appear on the résumé.
The question is whether the résumé clearly communicates why those years mattered.
As always, I welcome your feedback. If this article resonates with you—or if you've experienced a similar challenge in your own career journey—I would enjoy hearing your perspective. The conversations that emerge from these reflections often provide as much value as the articles themselves.
