Becoming A Local

Making the transition from a long commute for work to embracing the local community I’ve been living in but not a part of

I have never been a local—never the native. I’ve always been the transplant, the visitor, the outsider, the interloper. I have met people who have never left the town they were born in, and everyone they’ve ever known resides within 50 miles of their home, but I have never been that guy. I have always been from somewhere else.

When I was growing up, my family moved around quite a bit, so I never felt terribly grounded or tied to a single geographic piece of Earth. There was never any generational pull to a single bit of land or established community. Wherever I found myself was simply where I was, and that could change on the sudden whim of my parents. Before I entered the third grade, I had lived in eight homes in five states and attended no less than six schools. It wasn’t so much a question of where I had come from but where I had most recently been.

We traveled from South to North, East to West, ranging from Pennsylvania to California, Illinois to Oklahoma, with a random layover in Nashville, Tennessee. This existential transience was formative on my character. Who I was had little to do with where I was from, because I wasn’t from anywhere in particular. They were all just places I had once called home. I was who I was outside of where I had been or where I was going.

In 1976, when I was eight, we moved to Hatfield, Pennsylvania, where I lived for the next ten years before moving to Philadelphia to attend Temple University. Despite all the early nomadic wandering, my mother and father remained in that house for nearly fifty years, grounded and stationary. Unfortunately, my father died in 2022, and never quite made it to the the 50 year milestone, but my mother lives there still.

I am closing in on 60 now, and have lived in my current house for nearly thirty years, making it the longest I’ve ever lived in a single place, by a fair sum. You could make an argument that I’m from New Jersey at this point, but I don’t ever think of it that way. I’ve just lived here for an extended period of time. In fact, this is the only home I’ve ever owned, and I live with the only woman I’ve ever been married to. Despite my transient past, I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever live anywhere else. I don’t see myself moving any time soon, but I suppose you never know. Life is strange and unpredictable.

My lack of restlessness is not due to a lack of imagination, but because I can’t fathom what it would take, both mentally and physically, to pack up and move. It could be across town or the other side of the world, and I would find it equally impossible to wrap my silly head around. If it were just me, I could easily pack light and move nearly anywhere. I could simply leave most of my possessions behind. But it’s not just me. My wife has only ever lived here, in this little part of coastal New Jersey. This is where the kids and grandkids are, plus nearly everyone she knows in the world. Why would she ever leave?

The comedian Todd Barry was talking once about how long he’d lived in his apartment in NYC. The fact that he’d never moved was largely due to it being easier not to. Jerry Seinfeld added that it just goes to show what it takes to get someone to leave a good apartment in NYC. No one ever leaves. He offered up as his best example that of Yoko Ono. Her husband is murdered in front of their building, but it’s a great apartment with a view of the park. She’s still there.

Sadly, this is often the reasoning behind our apathy for change. It’s easier to keep doing what you’re already doing, even if it’s bad, wrong, painful, or annoying. The devil you know is always more comforting than the terror of the unknown.

In January of 2025, I was rather unceremoniously ousted from the branding agency I had helped build. The agency had been struggling to grow as my partners refused to make the changes required to keep us relevant. I had pretty much given up and was absentmindedly treading water, so I was shocked and yet not surprised in the least when it ended. It was entirely on brand with their lack of vision. Presumably, they thought they could keep doing whatever they were doing long enough to age out and retire before the bottom fell out. I was an expensive thorn in their minds. I saw it a bit differently, as from my perspective, they were throwing out the engine to save weight as the ocean tossed the craft about. They were lighter, for sure, but adrift and rudderless now.

Personally, it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me, from a career perspective. It was touch-and-go for a bit there, especially at the start, and a stressful transition, as you might imagine. A lot of instability and anxiety, but things did work out in the end. That’s always a strange play, as people kept telling me, “You’re so talented. It will all work out.” While that’s certainly nice to hear, things don’t always work out. We’re hardwired to be optimists, but that’s completely delusional. There’s a reason the word tragedy exists. Bad things happen to good people, all day, every day. It’s just the way it goes. Ask nearly anyone who has ever been homeless, even briefly. They did not have that little excursion on their bingo card either, so don’t think you’re so special. It could happen to you, too.

This is the basis for whatever humility I possess. It’s not that I’m naturally humble or self-deprecating. I’m actually quite fond of myself and confident to the point of recklessness in my own abilities. But I am not so delusional as to believe that everything will work out in my favor. That seems ruefully naive and ridiculously absurd; the very height of gullibility mixed with hubris. Why the fuck would you ever think it would work out?

One of the oddest aspects of human behavior, to me anyway, is our inclination towards optimism. We might be one of the most physically vulnerable creatures on the planet, and yet we live unusually long lives within the animal kingdom. We breed like rabbits and can survive in even the most inhospitable environments, which is the only reason we didn’t meet an early end before we really got going, because we are otherwise easily killed. We have absolutely no reason to be optimistic, given that we are the only creatures consciously aware of our own mortality, but with the knowledge of all that can easily kill us. Why would a rational animal ever get in an automobile? I mean, seriously. They wouldn’t.

Occasionally, things do seem to work out. You might even say that they often do, especially if you’re willing to put in the work. It’s been said that those who work hard and are diligent about their craft tend to make their own luck, or to put it another way, the harder you work, the luckier you are. I tend to believe this. If you are willing to spend time on developing your craft and you have a strong work ethic, you will eventually find success. If just depends on how persistent you are willing to be. Things work out for people who don’t quit.

That I ended up being incredibly lucky, there is no doubt. I found the right people at the right organizations, at precisely the right time. The classic win-win situation where a potential client is pitching you on working for them before you can make the same pitch. My first break came from referrals I wasn’t even sure I was interested in. I still had a full-time job, so I tended to keep my freelance obligations fairly limited. When I suddenly found myself without gainful employment, I had already been talking to two different companies about doing work for them. They went from nice-to, to need-to, pretty damn quickly. Where I hadn’t cared one way or another before, these were now critical pieces of new business. I had deduced rather quickly that working for someone else was not a likely scenario for me, and that my best options were spinning up my own agency and finding my own clients.

I never liked the term consultant. There are just too many bad examples of past-their-prime executives eking out an existence. There is a lot of wisdom in experience, so there are plenty of examples of good consultants, but I feel the profession has a bad reputation. It’s like getting sent out to pasture right before they send you to the glue factory.

I have zero interest in building a creative agency, finding, hiring, and managing staff, and building a functional business, let alone dealing with insurance, payroll, bookkeeping, and collections. I’m only interested in selling what I can do myself, so there’s a limit, but the limit is only confined to what I can sell. 

I’m fond of the old trope of the expert who gets brought in to fix the unfixable problem and, after surveying the problem, clips one wire, thereby solving the issue. When the client gets the bill for $100,000, they balk, feeling that it is too high a price for the seemingly simple work involved. They demand an explanation and a breakdown of the costs. The expert explains that it only cost $1,000 for him to show up and cut the wire, but that it cost $99,900 to know which wire to cut. 

Experience counts.

A little over 30 years ago, I met a woman while on vacation at the beach, married her and her three children, and then spent a good portion of the following years commuting about 90 minutes each way to work. It was a hell of a run, then Covid came, and I was released from bondage, albeit temporarily. I began working from home, and it was like I had been liberated from prison. I got used to it pretty quickly.

Since I’ve been permanently furloughed, I’ve maintained at least one client based in Philadelphia, but I mostly work remotely. My other clients are local but also operate largely remotely. I have one client, a local hospitality client, that I routinely show up to on location and in person, but they are the exception. They are a multi-location operation, and the closest outlet is less than two miles from my home. This has been my most visited location. It’s a different world from the days when it would take three days to fly to Western Canada for a two-hour presentation and a client dinner. I could walk to this location.

Even though I’ve always had an entrepreneurial spirit and have been self-employed before, it’d been a long time, and I’d gotten used to other people worrying about a lot of practical things, not the least of which was a steady paycheck. So, there has definitely been a period of adjustment as I try to find my sea legs, once again. Just last summer, I began to understand that I had to live my life alongside my work, choosing when to work and when to play, and to find a balance between the two. 

I don’t do too much for pleasure anymore. Not a lot of hobbies to speak of. Most of my extracurricular activities have typically revolved around other aspects of my vocation. Photography. Filmmaking. Writing. They were all just variations on what I did for work, which has been both positive and negative. The only thing I do on the side that is just for me is writing, and that suffers when I’m sufficiently engaged with work. I suddenly had a lot more time on my hands, and not all of it needed to be spent on work.

Part of becoming a local when you live near the beach is learning to embrace the outdoors. Ironically, this is practiced differently than one might imagine. For many locals, working outside is an obligation, not a perk. This is not a choice, for the most part, and can lead to some brutal working conditions. Everything isn’t an unseasonably warm Spring day where the sun is shining, and the wind offers a light touch. It can get a little sticky, as they say.

What I find most interesting is how many locals don’t spend time outside when they are at home. They do not frolic in their yards or spend their days off on the beach. If you work most days out in the elements, the last thing you want to do in your free time is to battle Mother Nature. You retreat to the indoors, where the climate is controlled and predictable, and where there is a television. This does not mean they don’t spend vast portions of their lives outside, because they do, but do not confuse them with people on vacation. They are working.

Undoubtedly, I am an indoor cat. I may have outside privileges, but I spend the majority of my time inside. When I go out, it’s largely because I want to, not because I have to, and this is an important distinction to me.

When you travel to an office for work, especially if you have a dress code, you don’t tend to spend any quality time outside. If you are anything like most Americans, you spend nearly all of your workday tied to your desk or going from meeting to meeting. If you’re lucky enough to get out of the office, you spend most of it in your car on your way to meet with clients in their offices, or in airports and hotel conference rooms. You are an indoor cat, and don’t allow yourself to be fooled into thinking otherwise.

In the summertime, I spend an inordinate amount of time wearing shorts and flip flops. I will dress up for certain types of meetings, where pants might be more appropriate, but it is still extremely casual. My version of getting dressed up is wearing a pair of Red Wing boots with my Levis, and then adding a waistcoat and maybe a sports coat. I like dressing up a bit now, because it’s a treat, but I don’t own a suit or ties. I was recently gifted a tuxedo that was my father’s, and it seems to fit. I would like to find places to wear it, somewhere completely inappropriate for black tie, like a fishing tournament. Or maybe I could announce a fight somewhere. “Let’s get ready to rumble………..!”

I had an epiphany at some point in that first year. It was this idea that I could arrange my schedule differently than a traditional workday, where I was expected to be at my desk from 9 am to 5 pm, Monday through Friday. This is a hard habit to break, it turns out. If I chose to spend a few hours at the beach with my wife on a weekday, rather than sitting around waiting for the phone to ring, I would feel slightly guilty, as if I weren’t being a conscientious business owner. It wasn’t like all my bills were paid and my ducks in a row. I needed to be hustling at all times, didn’t I? But wait, what if I didn’t?

I’m an old dog now, who, while still curious, is rarely interested in learning new tricks. I’ve seen too many bullshit tricks, and so many things touted as fresh and new are just reheated leftovers from yesteryear. But I really make an effort to try things out and see what they’re all about. Still, I find that there is still very little to do that doesn’t involve spending money or socializing awkwardly. It’s true that I rarely leave the house, but I honestly don’t have anywhere to go. What is it I’m supposed to be doing?

I don’t go to the gym, because I walk on the street and I lift dumbbells in my office. I make my own coffee and read ebooks, so I have little need for coffee shops or bookstores. I listen to music constantly in my home, car, and office, so I don’t need to go see bands. I’m even teaching myself how to play the guitar. I’m never bored. There is a world of chaos happening at all times right inside my head. I do not need to go looking for trouble. 

One day, I really made an effort and had high hopes for my plan. I showered and dressed, then drove to the library, where I found some books and then forced myself to try and enjoy the antiseptic ambiance of the library common area. I found it lacking. Then I went to a local taco shop and had lunch. The tacos were good, but it was just eating out by myself, which I found silly and awkward if there wasn’t a beer involved. I could have stayed home. I still like a library and love a bookstore, but I can replicate all that at home. 

I don’t need to go somewhere else to write. I can write wherever I am. I’m writing this right now on an iPad on the arm of a chair in my upstairs home office. I could easily be at my desk, sitting on my back deck, or at the beach. I have written on airplanes and in parked cars, on park benches, and while waiting for Jury duty. It doesn’t matter to me. If you’re doing it right, the outside world largely falls away anyway, so what difference does it make where you are?

The biggest change in my life was the day I stopped commuting 90 minutes each way, five days a week, a task I had performed for thirty years. It was March 20, the first day of lockdown. It was terrifying, of course, but also exhilarating. Every introvert in the world cried out in relief and joy at the prospect. Finally, a world that made sense to us.

I have a local client now, who I see in person at least once a week. It’s a marina resort business, and so typically casual and often outside. I have other clients that I only see on video chat, but they’re just in another office somewhere, so no great loss. The marina people are often outside and deal with guests who like to be outside. I wrote a little mantra for the brand that goes, “Any day on the water is a good day.” We have it on everything from t-shirts and flags to business cards and bumper stickers.

It’s really not a bad way to spend your day.