Nick
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The plan was to write a positive blog post — to be an altruistic beacon of knowledge, or some shit. Instead, I came up with some (completely speculative) theories.
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For most of the past two years, I’ve been letting them slip — those little joking-but-not-joking quips you mutter under your breath to your spouse about how work is going. You keep it vague enough that you’re pretty sure even if the kids hear it, they won’t catch on.
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I’d love to tell you that I didn’t write this entire blog post just to complain about this one incident, but I mean, just look at the title.
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I want to make meaningful connections with cool people, not mine the most likes from an audience who could give a shit. So I will continue to do my thing by writing from the soul, even if it means getting a little ugly.
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You know the saying, fake it until you make it? Why is that a thing?
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I’ve been thinking about comfort zones a bit lately.
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I have a confession: I haven’t had a meaningful work experience in the last five years.
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Yesterday would have been Barney Schultz’s 68th birthday. He died four years ago, without warning. Worst day of my life. On the fourth anniversary of his memorial, I’d like to share the speech I gave that night in an attempt to further reverberate his life into public record.
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I’m not in the NBA, I’ve suffered no injury, and absolutely no one is trying to @ me on Twitter. However, as Michael Jordan announced in his famous fax to the world 25 years ago announcing his return to basketball: I’m back.