Navigating change

“Nothing changes if nothing changes”

Change is hard. Change is personal. But change is necessary for progress.

In the second year of my career, I was frustrated with my job. I worked at a multicultural agency for one of the world’s largest advertisers, alongside some of the brightest minds in the city, but I felt stuck. I wanted to grow faster than the opportunities allowed, so I started looking elsewhere. I interviewed at another agency in Chicago and, in the process, got feedback that cut deep: “People working in multicultural advertising aren’t as capable as those in the general market.”

I.was.livid.

I went to the top advertising school in the country for media, worked with the biggest clients, had strong reviews, and still, I was being judged for the audience I served, not the work that I did. I disagreed vehemently with their feedback, but it scared me. Despite knowing they were wrong, this was the voice of one of the top agencies in the city. Would this perception stunt my entire career?

I vented to my boss about it, and she asked me a pivotal question: Do you want to prove the doubters wrong by staying and making an impact, or switch and leave the fight behind?

At the time, I wasn’t ready to fight the system, so I switched. I think about this decision often, and it has stayed with me since.

Years later, when I was in a position of influence, there was a crisis at an agency that meant a lot to me, that had people I cared about, and I had a chance to be part of systemic change, I ran toward the fight. This time, the fight was bigger, and I loved it. A fight to create a place free of the toxic realities I’d encountered earlier in my career. A place that valued its people and helped them grow to be fearless. A place that prioritized people over profits. A place that discouraged unhealthy competition. A place of good, kindhearted people.

And then we moved mountains. Boulder by boulder, we laid the foundation for a healthy culture that could last. The progress we made is the proudest achievement of my career.

But as we made real progress, something shifted. The desire for change started to fade. As if the initial change was enough. For me, there was still so much more to do, but without a consensus to keep changing, progress slowed drastically.

That’s when I learned something important: You can’t force change. People change themselves.

You can change an environment or situation, but you can’t change someone’s mind or heart. You can only share your perspective, offer your understanding, and hope they’re open to it. Real, sustainable change happens when someone chooses it for themselves. No one can choose your change, and you can’t choose someone else’s.

And learning that changed me. It took me so long to realize it wasn’t a fight at all. I could put down my sword. I could take off my armor. And I could be happy for them that the world they wanted to create is the one they achieved. There is so much beauty in that. And there was a clear realization that there was still a path for me to continue to walk, so I might as well continue the journey.

So yes, be the change you want to see. But once you get beyond yourself, seek out those who want to create that change, too. Because if there is no openness or desire for the change you want, that change is simply not possible.

If you realize that where you are isn’t ready for, or even wanting, the change you envision, that’s okay. Let them live their vision. The right place for your vision is out there. Keep moving toward it.

Interpreting feedback

"Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life."

Steve Jobs

When I was in third grade, I had a teacher, Ms. Hendershot, who was challenging. She motivated her students through the fear of public humiliation, spoke to me condescendingly, and had a clear idea of what an ideal student should be—one I didn’t fit into. At the time, I couldn’t diagnose all of this. I just knew she didn’t like me, and I didn’t like her either.

My mom loves to tell a story about a parent-teacher meeting she had with Ms. Hendershot. Ms. Hendershot told her that I didn’t pay enough attention in class, but admitted that every time she called on me, I knew the answer. After listing ways I could improve, my mom asked her a simple question: “Has he ever told you a joke?”

Puzzled, Ms. Hendershot said no.

“Well then,” my mom said, “You don’t know my son.”

That night, instead of telling me what Ms. Hendershot said, my mom asked me why I didn’t let her get to know me. I responded, “She doesn’t need to know me. She needs to teach me.”

I’ve always had a bit of rebellion in me. But the real takeaway from this story is that my mom was my advocate. And as my advocate, she knew bad feedback when she heard it.

That’s something I’ve learned to appreciate as I’ve grown older. Throughout my career, I’ve received so much feedback. And what I’ve come to realize is that good feedback comes from people who actually know you—who understand what makes you tick and what drives your success.

Sometimes, feedback resonates with the person giving it more than the person receiving it. It might be what worked for them, or what they wish they’d heard. Or it might be feedback that’s meant to push you into a mold you’ll never fit.

For me, one example was when I was told to become a more charismatic, commanding presenter. But that’s not me. It’s not what I’m good at, and even if I worked hard at it, I’d never excel. It wasn’t until a friend gave me feedback that really clicked: lean into your strengths—present like a storyteller, gathering people around the proverbial campfire.

So I did. And it worked.

Find your advocates and listen to them. Or listen to your best advocate—yourself. But don’t listen to your version of Ms. Hendershot.

As you go through life, people will give you feedback. I hope you listen to it all but only act on what truly resonates with who you are. Don’t try to be a lesser version of someone else. Be the best version of yourself. It will take you further than trying to become someone else’s idea of success.

The power of representation

“You can’t be what you can’t see.”

Marian Wright Edelman

Wednesday mattered.
 
In 17 years in media and advertising, I've worked for four agencies—holdco and independent, media-only and full-service—in Chicago, Austin, and Dallas. As a part of that, I've worked for so many truly outstanding managers. But there was one commonality: none of my managers looked like me. Not my manager's managers. Not my manager's manager's managers. Not a single one was a South Asian man.
 
However, I never considered it. I had excellent mentors to help me along my path.
 
Early in my career, my director told me Rishad Tobaccowala would help us with a client project. I never met or spoke with Rishad, but that's when I learned about him. I've "followed" his wisdom since then.
 
Rishad's book, Restoring the Soul of Business, has many great lessons, but one tale struck me. Rishad’s director told him, "“I am sorry to say that you are unlikely to be as successful as your skills and drive should ideally make you, because you are too different and people will not be comfortable with you.” The implication, of course, was that my dark skin and Indian ancestry would work against me as I attempted to move up the career ladder."
 
Reading this section of his book, I felt seen. I was seen by someone who had never met me. I was seen in a way that I feel no past manager of mine has ever seen me. It made me think back to all my past managers and realize I never had a manager who looked like me.
 
I feel incredibly lucky to be where I am in my career and often wonder how I even got here. I often remind myself that I am "just a guy," understanding that I am one person working with brilliant individuals to generate incredible solutions for our clients. I dread introducing myself by title. I tell people I learn a lot about someone by how they treat me without knowing my title or position. But what is unsaid is self-promotion is discouraged in my culture. The group means more than the individual. I battle with the fact that modesty and humility are ingrained in me, but in my field, self-promotion is required for advancement. Many cultures value humility, but it's nuanced, and I wish I had a mentor early in my career to help me navigate those nuances. When success required changing ingrained values, talking to someone like myself would have been good.
 
In the moments when I questioned if someone like me could make it in this industry, seeing Rishad’s success helped me push past the mental hurdles required to achieve my own. I recognize that Rishad’s strengths, struggles, and story are different than mine in so many ways – but the point is that each of us has pieces of ourselves that can inspire. When people are generous enough to spend their time and share their wisdom with a community they might never meet, it creates possibilities that might not otherwise be possible.
 
Never underestimate the extraordinary power of mentorship, representation, and generosity.
 
Wednesday was my first time seeing Rishad speak in person.