Revenue Diaries Entry 39

I owe you an apology. 

If you’ve been keeping track, you might’ve noticed I missed publishing last week. That broke a 39-week streak of typing and publishing. 

Before you pull out the pitchforks, let me explain. Because a 5-second hug made the miss, and my oversight, completely worth it. And for those of you new to my weekly rants (and this newsletter), I write about my personal life as much as my professional life. 

So, AI prompts and marketing strategy aside (we will have a content marketing, core narratives, and AI prompts next week), it’s time for a story. 

I was in Northern Idaho this past week with family. It’s a place I’ve visited almost every year for the past 35 years. It’s the place where our extended family gathers to laugh, reminisce, and catch up on the past year. 

It’s the Magic Cabin. 

That’s what we’ve called it for almost twenty years. It’s not just a weird-ass nickname, it’s a feeling… an emotion. And if you’ve ever had a place like this in your life, you know exactly what I’m talking about. 

My Aunt Wendy and Uncle Duane built the property from scratch, a stone's throw from Priest River and Sandpoint. They poured time, money, and a ridiculous amount of energy into making it into a place that felt like magic, and it worked. 

They created a place where the entire family felt safe to experience life together.

Wendy passed away in 2021 after an 18-year battle with leukemia (Learn more about Wendy here). And even now, with the fires still blazing and the river still beautiful, the place feels different without her. She was special. She was the glue. But we still devote the time, energy, and money to be there. 

So, when I say I missed writing last week, it wasn’t because I forgot. Or because I didn’t want to. It was because I chose to be here. Fully. 

And my youngest son reminded me why. 

Saturday morning, I was outside early. Coffee in one hand, typing out my Q2 Review for our board deck with the other. Trying to get a few things done before the day fully kicked off. 

So, maybe not FULLY present. ;)

My youngest walked out, gave me a hug, and walked back inside. No reason, just a hug. And I’m lucky enough to have a wife who is a photo wizard and she captured the moment.

GOOD LORD. Is there a better example of the combination of work/life than this picture? Come on. I dare you to find one. 

The work matters, people. But WHY we work matters even more. 

All this career shit used to be about me. Honestly, it still kind of is. But more and more, it’s about them. It’s about giving my kids the kind of memories I had growing up. It’s about the river, the fire pit, the laughter, the SMORES, the cold water, and the people who make it all worth it. 

Wendy and Duane didn’t build this place because they had perfect balance. They built it despite the imbalance. They hustled over long days and even longer years to make the Magic Cabin, truly magical. 

So yah, I missed the newsletter. But I didn’t miss the moment, and I’m okay with that. Because there’s never perfect balance. But there are the real moments. And if you’re lucky enough to recognize them while they’re happening, hold on tight. 

This was one of mine. 

♥️ kyle

On 367 Days Without Alcohol

It’s been a year since I stopped drinking alcohol. And I’ve been thinking about whether I should write something about it.

Part of me thinks, “nah. It doesn’t feel dramatic enough. There was no rock bottom (even though eventually I would have hit it). I just stopped.

And it really hasn’t been that hard.

What’s been harder is dealing with the social anxiety I used to quiet with the bubbly. It feel pretty raw to walk into a room without a buffer, without the Two Hearted buzz. 

But the rest? It’s been nothing short of amazing. 

Let’s rewind a bit. 

A year ago (July 25th, 2024), I had just returned from Jellyfish’s mid-year Revenue Kickoff and immediately got sick. Like, full shutdown, sick. I was in bed for multiple days, my body was officially tapped out. 

I didn’t drink while I was sick (obviously). There are few people who can enjoy a bottle of beer while coughing up a lung. After a few days of hacking, I realized it was the longest I’d gone without alcohol in years. And that was my wake-up call. 

I had a problem. I was functioning and managing, but deep down, I knew I was drinking too much. I’d have that second or third drink when I didn’t need it. I’d wonder if I should be drinking around the kids. I’d crack open that delicious drink at 4:30/5:00 pm, and then have another. 

But that’s not normal. 

After days turned into a week, and then a couple of weeks, I felt lifted out of a fog. Like I had been living the last decade in slow motion. 

My sleep was better. Like coma sleep. My energy came back because my body wasn’t spending all night processing poison. My weight dropped. I didn’t change much else, but I dropped 15 pounds. Word to the wise, Two-Hearted Ales pack a “calorie-dense-gut-punch.” 

But the biggest shift for me was mental clarity. I started writing again. I had the focus and the presence to devote more time to thought. 

Most of this newsletter wouldn’t exist if I had kept drinking. I just didn’t have the energy or clarity to write consistently, but now I do. 

So, yah, it’s been 367 days. Woo-hoo.

I don’t know if this is forever. I don’t need it to be. All I know is that today, I feel better and that’s enough for me.

Maybe that’s worth writing about.

On You’re Not Broken. You’re Just Carrying Stuff.

I’ve known Mark Huber for a while. We meet weekly. We swap marketing war stories. But when I sat down with him for Revenue Diaries, I wanted to talk about something else: life.

Because that’s what this show is about. It’s not what you do, it’s what shaped you.

And in Mark’s case, there’s a lot under the surface.

ADHD: The Superpower and the Struggle

Mark didn’t get diagnosed with ADHD until college, but once he did, it was like a thousand puzzle pieces fell into place.

“Once I learned that people with ADHD thrive on routine, it made so much more sense. I try to do the same morning routine every single day just to feel focused.”

He talked about how, for years, he kept his diagnosis quiet, especially at work.

“I never heard anyone else be open about it. I didn’t know how people would receive it—if they’d see it as a positive or a negative. I was more worried about what they might think.”

It wasn’t until he did a “How to Work with Me” exercise with a manager that he finally opened up. Since then, he’s shared it openly with his team, with new hires, with anyone he works closely with. And it’s made all the difference.

Therapy Isn’t for the Broken. It’s for the Human.

In April of 2021, Mark hit a wall.

Toxic work. Personal trauma. The weight of a close friend’s suicide still sitting heavy after years of being left unprocessed. So he made the call. He went to therapy.

“I just felt like I was shouldering all of this myself. Therapy gave me the space to unpack it, to figure out why I do things the way I do because of what I’ve gone through.”

He went every week for over two years. And when I asked him what he’d tell someone on the fence about therapy, he didn’t hesitate:

“Don’t stop trying until you find someone you sync with. You’ll usually know in the first session. It took me four or five tries to find the right fit, and I’m so glad I didn’t give up.”

He said something else that stuck with me:

“Just because you go to therapy doesn’t mean something’s wrong with you. You’re just trying to find tools to work through life.”

Same.

Grit, Ice, and Garbage Cans

Of course, we couldn’t have Mark on the show without talking hockey.

He still plays. 6:30 a.m. skates every Thursday. And it’s not just a hobby. It’s a pillar.

“If I miss it, I feel off. It’s my win for the day. My foundation.”

Hockey taught him grit. Time management. How to work with a team. It also gave him what he calls a “weird spidey sense” for spotting other hockey players—even in job interviews.

And yes, hockey parents are a special breed.

“I can’t tell you how many times the police were called to ice rinks. One time, a dad threw a garbage can onto the ice. Hockey parents are way up here.”

Remembering Phil

Toward the end of the conversation, Mark opened up about one of the most formative losses in his life, his friend Phil, who died by suicide just before their freshman year of college.

Phil was the kind of person who could blend into any group. Mark described him as “Ferris Bueller-like” funny, kind, magnetic. The kind of guy who made everyone feel like they mattered.

“I saw him the night before he passed. He left a t-shirt from his college at my house by accident. I’ve carried that shirt with me for 17 years. It hangs in every closet I’ve lived in.”

He still thinks about Phil often, especially in tough moments.

“I find myself asking, ‘What would Phil do?’ He had this way of making people feel seen. I try to carry that with me.”

Why This Episode Matters

We started the episode with ADHD. We ended with grief. In between, we talked about therapy, routine, hockey, walking six miles around downtown Chicago to clear your head, and the stigma that keeps too many people silent about what they’re actually carrying.

And that’s the point of this show.

Revenue Diaries isn’t about how you built pipeline. It’s about what built you.

Want to talk about ADHD? Therapy? Hockey parents? Or just need a nudge to find your own pace again?

Go listen to the episode. Mark brings the honesty we all need more of.