How To Handle Success

In 2011, one of the most amazing things happened to me: a Big 5 publisher published my memoir.

I was 35 years old at the time. 35 is pretty young. I had been through a lot by that point, the Lehman bankruptcy included. I was in a fragile state. And suddenly I’m on a book tour and making media appearances and signing books for fans.

I actually was a guest on the Dylan Ratigan show on MSNBC. I was scared shitless. Ratigan was known for being an unrepentant asshole, and ripping into his guests mercilessly. Also, he hated the big banks. I had no rational reason to believe that would happen to me, but I was freaked out nonetheless. My heart was pounding. I sat down on the set, he asked me a question—and I froze up—on national television. He took pity on me, and bailed me out. Needless to say, I was not ready for primetime.

But the experience of writing a book is like nothing in the world—especially when people start reading it. I was in my office in Myrtle Beach the day of the release and I was getting IMs, emails, and texts from everyone I knew. My computer was lighting up like a Christmas tree. It’s fun to be popular. But the thing is—you know it’s transitory.

So after the book tour and the sales died down, my life went back to normal. And I became very, very depressed. But it was a different sort of depression. It wasn’t a chemical depression, the type of depression that most people suffer from, caused by imbalances in the brain—it was an existential depression. Because I was convinced that I would never achieve anything of that scale for the rest of my life. That was it, that was the top, it’s all downhill from here.

So on a whim, I bought a motorcycle. Not a motorcycle, exactly—I bought one of those Can-Am three wheeler things. I knew the statistics. I knew that you’re ten times more likely to die on a motorcycle than a car. And I really didn’t care. I wasn’t suicidal. I just didn’t give a shit if I got greased by a Ford F-350 on Highway 501. I had done all there was to do. There was nothing after this. Kind of like professional athletes that spend the rest of their lives in the local bar telling stories about the glory days. There is nothing as pitiful as the man who is past his peak.

As it turns out, there was a second act. There was another book. There was a deep and lasting partnership with Mauldin Economics. There were many more TV appearances. There was a nationally syndicated radio show. There was teaching at the university level. There was grad school. If my life had ended in 2011—or I had simply given up, none of these great things would have happened.

Let’s just say that I didn’t handle success very well. Sometime you should take a trip to the bookstore and look in the self-help section. Book after book after book on how to handle failure. How to bounce back. How to recover. How to rebuild your life. But there are no, none, zero books written about how to handle success. Which is interesting, because success happens to more people than you think, on multiple levels.

People blunder into success all the time. An Average Joe starts an HVAC company, owns it for 15 years, and sells it for $12 million. A teenager sings on YouTube and gets discovered. Some dipshit wins the Powerball. A 26-year-old raises a billion for a hedge fund and makes 40% the first year. Happens all the time. Or—a guy making $60,000 a year gets a $20,000 raise. That may not be a big deal for you, but that is a big deal for a lot of people. Success happens to everyone at some point in their lives.

So how do you handle success?  The first challenge is to stay humble. That part wasn’t a problem for me when the book came out—my self-esteem was in shambles and I still thought I was a piece of shit. But it’s a problem for some people, including the guy that got a $20,000 raise. He starts strutting around like a peacock and buying rounds for everyone at the bar. You might remember Joba Chamberlain, the redneck flamethrowing reliever from Nebraska on the Yankees a few years back.  He got promoted to the majors, made the league minimum, about $400,000 a year, and started leaving $500 tips at bars. Don’t be that guy.

But also don’t be the guy that becomes too busy to take calls from friends and family. Remember where you came from. No matter how successful I get, I will always be the kid from Norwich, Connecticut who used to get clothes out of yard sales. I am a pretty busy guy these days, writing my ass off, doing media appearances, and studying for school. I am working like a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. Occasionally I get texts or emails from people that are unwelcome, because they consume my time, and time is my most precious resource. But I always respond. I am not too good to respond. All that notwithstanding, the 3,000-word emails or the “This 1 hour, 17 minute video will change your life!” I usually just respond, “Thanks for sending!”  And leave it at that.

And if you become financially successful, then your social obligations change. You must become a generous tipper. You must give to charity. A lot of people talk about this concept of “giving back”—I’m not sure I agree with that, because nobody really gave me anything. I was never on welfare or any sort of public assistance or was the recipient of any charity. But I do think it’s your responsibility as a quote unquote “rich” person to ease the suffering of people you come in contact with. I know some rich people who don’t do this, and it’s gross. Would it fucking kill you to tip an extra 5 bucks?  Five bucks is the difference between you being a hero and you being an asshole, and you’ve got $20 million in the bank. Don’t get me started.

Have you ever met a celebrity?  What is the one thing you hear from ordinary people when they meet celebrities?  “Oh, he was so down to earth!”  That is the best thing you can say about a celebrity—that they are down to earth. Then you hear about the famous people that are aloof at best, and downright nasty at worst. Nobody forgets a bad experience with a celebrity. When you’re successful, you pretty much have to be on all the time. You have to be friendly and engaging and empathetic to everyone you meet. And it’s exhausting, but you have to do it. You have to be generous with your time, even when you don’t have time to give. There was some bad juju going around about Steve Harvey a couple of years ago, mostly for not being patient with people who were placing demands on his time. Steve Harvey is super rich and has his hands in a ton of projects. He’s task-saturated. So I get it. But there’s a right way to handle it, and a wrong way to handle it.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to write a book about this, though it could be an interesting 10,000-word piece. I just think that handling success is a lot more complex and nuanced than handling failure. You can handle failure with brute force—just keep on trucking. It’s a problem that can be solved with will alone. It’s actually rather trivial. But when you become successful, you suddenly have a lot more things to think about. And it is easy to become unmoored, and—out of touch. And remember Rule 62: don’t take yourself too seriously. And never stop having fun.

Go fuck yourself,

Jared

Music Recommendation: Hey, fuckers, why not come out to my party on April 1st?  The pandemic is over, life is good, time to get out and make a fool of yourself. On April Fool’s Day.

So the party is at Doux Supper Club, which is a terrific space with an amazing sound system. Part starts at 7pm, goes to midnight. Tickets are $25. Bottle service is available—let me know if you want to get a table. The music is going to be excellent, but even if you’re not into the music, you’ll probably meet some interesting people, and you always want to be positively exposed to luck.

Here's the link for tickets. Hope to see you there, you filthy animals.

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/fools-rush-in-tickets-258942372607

P.S. We’re Gonna Get Those Bastards will always be free. Feel free to forward to as many people as you like.