Gratitude in a Cardboard Box.

Yesterday, I wrote a tough article. I unpacked my thoughts on LinkedIn to try and make sense of what I see swirling around me.

Without naming names, I unpacked my box.

Then, no sooner than I had warned the world about "nexperts", I thought long and hard about the people I've come to admire for their inherent wisdom.

The Real Fuckin' Deals of the world.

Those who more often than not, have battle scars, psychic dings, and high mileage on 'em. Those who've been driven hard yet kicked to the curb in spite of creating epic shit for their clients and agencies or carrying 800 lb. gorillas on their backs.

Led from buildings with the leftovers from their "welcome kit" crammed into a cardboard box.

I truly admire those who've suffered "the full occupational experience".

I think about Hahn, George T, and the poetic justice they're experiencing after being rug-pulled by their employers when masks dropped from the sky.

The Schencks, Eakers, and Richmonds who've actually overcome shit and continue to put it into words that move me beyond professional jealousy.

Toby Barlow, who is earning mad respect for D-town with work that is crafted, and inspiring, much like Detroit's legendary auto designs from half a lifetime ago.

I think about Rob Schwartz, who has climbed to the top of the mountain but never acts like he has first dibs on the oxygen. Can I get a hit of that, Rob?

I think about Nelken, Sullivan, Kemeny, and Boulton. Frothingham & Zucker. O'Leary, Vonk, & Baldwin. Neither agencies nor law firms, but just imagine if they were.

I think about people like Scott O'Leary, Simone Nobili, and that Jason Bagley dude who left Wieden to start an ad school. And Dan Balser, who is now in cahoots with Goodby and Silverstein to level the ad game's playing field for students of the craft. And I use that word for good reason, aka GS&P.

Badasses, one and all.

I think about hard-working people whose posts are filled with savvy tips. John Long bringin' it strong. I know I'm leaving someone out. Forgive the oversight. And I think about Mark St. Amant, a more effective headhunter than many who do it for a living. Your gig alert posts are seen and noted, sir and your advice to me before I was published will always be remembered.

I think about teachers, like Terry Balagia, Bob Rickert, and Ellen Shakespeare, who are building tomorrow's greats, students who may not know how good they're going to be yet or how lucky they are to have folks like you gently nudging them along.

I think about Mike Hughes, and Lee Clow, and the legacies they created. About Dan Wieden and his tolerance for failure in the pursuit of true glory. And I think about Bill Bernbach, who had this to say about metrics and best practices seven decades ago.

"I warn you against believing that advertising is a science."

Hal fucking Riney, who made people better by beating the shit out of them with the clacking of his typewriter's keys.

I think about human beings who made people better and I thank my lucky stars that they were there to make me better. And I think about my dad, who chose his words much more wisely than his eldest son. RIP, dad.

I would never forgive myself if any of these people thought I was talking about them as I warned the world about nexperts.

But before I go, would somebody out there give my vastly talented pal, Rich Siegel, some freelance? Turns out, he'd rather be a master of his own domain than join the full-time ranks again.

I received your note, Rich. Roger that last transmission.

A man can only have so many cardboard boxes.

Cameron Day is an Austin-based knucklehead, author, and cardboard-box-carrying member of the school of hard advertising knocks. I'd be happy to elaborate. Buy a book.

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www.iamcameronday.com