An Exceedingly Honest, Slightly Unprofessional Cover/Love Letter to Myself

Words are very much my thing.

I’ve been too weird for every job I’ve ever had.

I’ve been successful, yes, but too weird. I don’t fit and it gets tiring. I’m not hard to work with. I’ve won all sorts of awards and been named to all sorts of leadership teams and all that. I just see things differently, connect them in new ways, ask why until normal falls apart.

I often hear we aren’t ready and then we really should have, and get tired when things are too easy and predictable; when things don’t have enough weird.

But I’m also weird in ways that often help great things happen, whether it’s my idea or someone else’s. I’m obsessed with stories and how they shape us, with how we share ideas that really matter, how we speak and write above the noise, outside the algorithm; the history, present, and future of how we talk and listen. I think a lot. I write a lot. I read a lot. Words are very much my thing.

I’ve written memoir, strategies, kid-lit, op-eds, political speeches, and white papers. I’ve written geographic, industry, and policy-focused analysis for campaigns, companies, and activists. I’ve written eulogies and web copy and viral blogs; newsletters that get forwarded and jokes that make the news (for good reasons, not the other kind).

If I didn’t have to work, I wouldn’t. But then would die of boredom or shame from the selfishness, and anyway would start so many new projects and join the work of others that not working would be more work than working is.

I’ve shared words in books and into microphones, above signatures that carry national power and above thousands of co-signers to the power of a movement. My writing has been on the arm tattoos of rappers and the pages of our largest papers.

I’ve spoken to President Obama in the oval office and to a crowd of a few thousand teachers, to a kid too scared to go to class or home, to steering committees and work groups and C-suites, customers and clients and funders and founders.

While riding my bike once, I was hit by a deer that had just been hit by a car. That’s not really a work thing, but it’s a pretty good story.

I’m too weird, but my needs are simple. I need work that is challenging and creative. I need to know I’m doing something to make this hard life a little easier for someone else. I need a team to push and be pushed by, whose weird matches mine at least enough.

My job was eliminated about a week ago now, and though hopes are high for at least one or two hours a day (not bad!), I’m being told by others out there to get ready for long-haul.

Want to help?

• Share my writing! This or any other that you’ve enjoyed (pre-medium stuff is on my website, www.mrtomrad.com).
• Write reviews for any of my books online.
• Got work for words? Money is neat, but if the timing and goals are good, I’m happy to lend myself to what you’re doing.
• Tip me? Ugh. I hate this, but if you do wanna get me a coffee or something, my Venmo is @Tom-Rademacher