Path to Prosek: An Email to My Younger Self

Now that I’m an old dude, I often wonder what my younger self would think of me now. I’m sure he’d be puzzled by what we’re doing and how we got here. I can just hear all the questions: “What’s a Creative Director? What’s a Prosek? Are you really from the future? What are those white things in your ears?” I’d love to go back and tell him to relax, it all turns out fine. But time travel’s such a schlep. So, I’ll just email him…

FROM: OldJosh@gmail

TO: YoungJosh@AOL

SUBJECT: An Email From The Future (NOT SPAM!)

Dear Young Josh,

Hello from the year 2025. Don’t unplug your dialup modem, it’s really me (you)! Yeah, I thought I’d be appearing to you as a hologram, too, but we still write emails. The future’s pretty blah, as it turns out. We have electric cars, but that’s about it. (No, they don’t fly).

ANYWAY. I’m about to alleviate two decades of career angst, so pause The Sopranos and listen. The good news is you’re not bald. The bad news is you’re not a screenwriter, either. You’re also not an author, a TV writer, or a magazine columnist. You’re not even a creative writing professor. There’s no easy way to say this, but…you work in advertising.

I can hear you howling “How did this happen!?!” into the void, but honestly, it’s not so bad. You’re technically a creative person (at least it says so in your title). And you still can’t tie a tie, so your #1 career goal is going strong. Best of all, you got here your own way. In fact, I’m not sure the path you took was even a path.

Unsurprisingly, your film degree does not set the job market on fire. But that silly book idea you had in college, the bird-watching guide to people, is going to be published by an imprint of Random House. You (yes, you) will write a book, then spend your 20s naively thinking you’ve made it. By 30, you’ll have three books published and you’re broke. Friends are getting married and buying homes while you sublet a squalid, windowless room in Brooklyn from a random girl who glares at you when you use the kitchen.

You temp a lot (your data entry skills are profound). You work at the Emmy Awards for a while (they buy you a tux). One bright spot: you write funny stuff for glossy women’s magazines and love it. Glamour even puts you on The Today Show, where you get your makeup done in the chair next to childhood hero Erik Estrada. He has fabulous hair.

At some point while you’re eating baby carrots and Kraft Singles for dinner again, it dawns on you that the city is full of gainfully employed copywriters. You don’t know a thing about advertising, but you splurge on a Sharpie and some graph paper and draw fake stick figure ads for random brands. Like a lunatic, you take your stick figure “portfolio” to meet with recruiters. Shockingly, you find work. Low level stuff: junk mail, catalogs. Pure day job stuff, but better than nothing.

In your mid-30s, you meet a girl at a party. Apparently, you aren’t giving off “husband and father material” vibes, because on your second date she tells you to get a real job. You like her, so you do (you also marry her and have kids, but that’s another email).

Years later, you’re still amused there’s a career that you can just show up and start doing at 35. Imagine walking into a hospital and announcing “I wanna be a Dr. now!” Thank God for advertising.

You’re hired by a famous agency (Mom is relieved). As usual, you have no idea what you’re doing. On your third day, your CD says, “I have fifty guys here who sound like copywriters. I hired you to not sound like that.” It’s the best career advice you’ll ever get. You write for huge global brands. You wear shorts. The day starts at 10 am. There’s a cocktail cart. Before you know it, advertising’s grown on you a bit.

You’ll write for financial brands, which seems weird ‘cause you know nothing about finance (and you have the bank account to prove it). Once again, your lack of knowledge is a positive. Translating complex topics into normal language for regular humans is a neat little niche. One day, you lose your job and it’s the best thing ever. You try freelancing and bouncing from gig to gig reminds you of the old creative days, except you can afford lunch. Life lesson alert: the thing you fear the most can liberate you from a lot of angst when it happens.

Eventually, the right real job comes along. You’re a Creative Director at Prophecy. It’s a small team with big plans. Of course, you’ll have some bumps settling into a new culture and adapting to new ways of working, but nothing to worry about from twenty years out. Everyone is nice, and they don’t seem to be faking it! You do your best to add value, sprinkling personality and creativity into B2B financial copy. When friends tell you about their jobs, they always sound way worse. Of course, some of them have beach houses, but still.

When you have kids (I know), you’ll want to give them good advice. Maybe the main thing is that there’s no “right” path. Some people went to college for this. Others started in their 30s because a cute girl told them to. Your honest takeaway is that it didn’t matter either way. Also, all the cliches are true. It’s too bad you won’t make it as an author. But it would be worse if you didn’t try.

At some point, you’ll stop torturing yourself with screenplays and try to live in the present. The relief is shocking. You almost write a self-help book called The Joy of Giving Up, but you stifle it. Instead, you write a few quirky headlines, then you call it a day.

And just when you feel better than you’ve ever felt, your daughter will ask, “Daddy, why don’t you do anything cool anymore?” So, you’ll try to write a novel. As usual, you’ll have no idea what you’re doing.

I hope this helps somehow,

Old Josh