Tuesday, April 20, 2010

By the time you read this post tomorrow, I will likely be in the thick of a business meeting-slash-dinner, yet another entry in what feels like a recent deluge of such events. I don’t mean to sound despondent about this. Certainly I understand the appeal of being wined and dined, and there have been a few instances where I’ve seen tangible value borne from these shindigs. They have a place, in other words, and what I am trying to divine is whether I have a place in this picture.

I’m at a crossroads in my career. I’ve made peace with the question of what I want to be. In another universe, I might’ve been a rising chef, or a published author, or a brilliant artist on the verge of unstarving himself–all creative capacities that would require a measure of raw talent I simply lack in this reality. I’ve staked my claim in advertising, for better or for worse, and it’s too late to be a fireman. Or a magician. Or a thief (i.e. Assets Relocation Specialist). Or a jetpack pilot (i.e. Portable Experimental Propulsion Director).

Within the world of advertising, I see two broad paths before me: I can focus on interacting with people or turning inward to a desolate landscape of numbers and spreadsheets. Did Sophie ever consider killing both her children, I wonder, thereby availing herself a third choice? Naturally these two paths can overlap, but there’s the spread for you. Numbers would be safer, albeit far more tedious. People would be draining, and yet this path seems to hold the greatest monetary potential.

Let’s say I chose the path of human interaction. Feels like it’s an important skill to cultivate anyhow, you know? These meetings and dinners draw from a fundamental need to mingle, to cluster. They also ride on this hope–a correlation that still puzzles me on occasion–that chatting and supping together will ultimately lead to an exchange of money. Meanwhile, on the other end of the advertising spectrum, business is being democratized and shifting to an auction-based model, where the value of a transaction rides not on ounces of steak or bottles of wine, but rather on what the market can bear. That’s a decidedly people-free way of doing business.

And therein lies my current struggle. As much as it would seem like I’d lobby for this marketplace model, I appreciate the idea of being wined and dined. It’s this notion of exclusivity. Being special. Yes, the bill for that steak dinner really is four digits wide and climbing. Yes, my business warrants a trip to the Masters. But I realize I can’t have my cake and eat it too. Either I must pass on it, or I must eat it with others, at an honest dinner table, where the proverbial cake is preceded by a glass of port, which will be declined gracefully.