Finding My People

i’m not sure where this story is going to wander to.
To be honest, i don’t even know if it neatly translates into a newsletter.

But i wanted to capture it anyway.

Lately, i’ve been thinking a lot about the kind of brand, company, and culture i’ve built over the last 12+ years at 33 Sticks. And the more i sat with that question, the more i realized it didn’t start with business at all. It didn’t even start with my career. It started much earlier.

i never set out to build a brand that looked like anyone else’s.

i never wanted to be part of the club.

Not the mid-sized agencies that seemed to rotate through industry press like clockwork. Not the big agencies that became darlings of Google or Adobe or Tealium’s partnership programs. Not even the small, trendy boutiques with the wild parties, flashy stunts, or race cars shuttling clients around town.

None of that ever felt like me.

What i wanted, what i’ve always wanted, was to be an indie.

Independent.
Unattached.
Beating to the rhythm of my own drum.

That word indie has followed me my whole life. I’ve always seen myself that way. A little off-beat. A little outside the lines. Not in opposition to anything specific, just… not interested in conforming for the sake of belonging.

And strangely enough, that became a kind of magnet.

By doing things my own way, by not trying to fit into a predefined mold, i started attracting people from all over the place. Different backgrounds. Different interests. Different worlds. They found their way into my circle not because i curated them, but because authenticity has a way of pulling people together who don’t otherwise “match.”

For a long time, i thought this started professionally.

But it didn’t.

It started back in junior high and high school.

i was never part of a group. i never really fit in. And especially around eighth grade, ninth grade, and into my sophomore year of high school, i was bullied. A lot.

There were plenty of reasons, depending on who you asked.

i was small. Short. Skinny.
i didn’t weigh much.
My extracurriculars were theater and singing.
My sport of choice was tennis, definitely not seen as macho or manly.

That made me an easy target.

But instead of scrambling to find a group that would take me in, i made a decision quietly, internally that shaped everything that came after.

i decided i was going to be comfortable being who i was.

If that meant i wasn’t part of the “cool kids,” so be it.
If that meant getting picked on, so be it.

And then something unexpected happened.

People started finding me.

Not one group. All of them.

i had friends who were athletes.
Friends who were artists.
Friends who were shop geeks, rebuilding engines and carburetors all day.
Friends who cooked for a living - fast food, restaurants, kitchens.
Painters. Potters.
Stoners. Hippies.

If you looked at my friend group when we were all together, it didn’t make much sense.

How does a stoner, a hippie, a star athlete, and an auto mechanic end up in the same circle?

But to me, it made perfect sense.

What held us together wasn’t an identity or an image. It wasn’t trying to be cool. It wasn’t fronting or faking it. It was authenticity. Real friendship. Real bonding. Real meaning.

That mattered to me more than i realized at the time.

There’s one moment from high school that still lives with me, even now.

Sophomore year. i’m at my locker. A member of the wrestling team decides, again, that i’m his target for the day. He zeroes in on tennis. Starts throwing slurs. Calling it a sissy sport. Going out of his way to verbally tear me down for not playing football or basketball or wrestling.

Same hallway. Same routine.

But this time, something different happens.

Out of the corner of my eye, i see someone coming down the hall.

A friend.

Starting linebacker for the football team. Big guy.

He’d caught wind of what was happening. i saw it in his eyes the moment he locked onto the situation. He didn’t hesitate. He beelined straight for the wrestler, picked him up, what felt like two feet off the ground, and slammed him into the lockers.

Hard.

The sound echoed down the hallway. Metal rattling. A loud, unmistakable thump.

He had a few choice words for him. Told him never to mess with his friend again.

And you know what?

He didn’t.

Neither did the rest of the wrestling team.

Years later, i still think about that moment. Not because of the violence, but because of what it represented.

That linebacker wasn’t defending a brand.
He wasn’t protecting an image.
He was standing up for a friend.

And when i look at the people i’m surrounded by today, i see that same energy. No, they’re not slamming anyone into lockers but if someone showed up trying to bully, belittle, or harm someone in my circle, they’d shut it down without hesitation.

That’s what authenticity builds.

When you truly care about people, when you sometimes sacrifice your own comfort or safety for theirs, those people will show up for you. They’ll support you. They’ll have your back when the wrestler comes down the hallway again.

That’s how i’ve moved through life.
That’s how i’ve shown up online.
That’s how i’ve approached my work.

It may not work for everyone.

But it works for me.

And i think that’s a beautiful thing.

✌️💛,

-jason