Top-Line Guy
If there’s an adage for studying business at the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign, or at any acclaimed school, it’s buried within Michael Lewis’ Money Culture.
“Major in the bottom-line and minor in golf.”
So, around 2002, that’s what I set out to do.
As a former caddy, I grew privy to a life on the links. And, in all country club glory, I grew captivated by the crux — MONEY and STATUS.
I worked my 7 jeans off for a Finance degree while festooning in Champaign fancy only to follow suit with a high paying job in Freight Brokerage.
Cohorts of (Champaign) celebrities too were too teeing off on their careers, breeze in what’s left of their hair, dew on their Ferragamo shoes.
Except, I had no clue that this wasn’t really me too.
I love golf and am well-heeled enough, though luckily my steep swing began to spray several shots wayward which had me start writing.
The problem is what the heck to pen — scripts, features, fluff, people’s emails?
Confusion as ammunition for continuing education, like thousands of dollars in things unsettling and their resulting Master of Arts degrees, I surrendered to Zoom calls and weeks on campus.
All this with AI on my heels, deem it a DQ. Then try to ignore the stigma of trading in a $250k plus (per year) purse for a $250 one (to edit high school term papers).
FORE!
In one’s late thirties, with two children in tow, this was no green in regulation, more an approach shot from the women’s tee.
Though my wife has us swimming in a stable Shark Tank, we want stature, even if it’s just a showy LinkedIn profile.
Then it hit.
As I stood poolside at my daughter’s recent swim meet, there was an encounter with an old classmate. Now a fancy Big 4 executive, he did more than just major in the bottom-line, he mastered it, whilst taking the game of golf along as his Green Jacket.
It’d been a decade or more since we spoke last, so trying to count my frills and condense my career-to-date, I struggled to explain my lack of one.
“You’re a pool-daddy,” he said.
“Well, I’m writing, producing, nothing, so, yeah.” I yielded.
Our convo weaved in and out of the water splashed by our children and their teammates.
We both had towels to hand off, Yetis to find, and soon, hot dogs to forage.
We were going home to fight both bedtime and our wives’ weekend plans.
We are playing the same lie, just from different fairways.
I’m a top-line guy.
And, I’m writing this.
