Thank you, Bob, for not protecting me.

Your aversion to truth-ducking and story-spinning was a gift to me. It would’ve only delayed the inevitable truth. The unforgiving truth. Even when a harmless lie could’ve been easier.

I first met Bob through a mutual friend when I was considering a move to New York City from Tampa, Florida. At the time, Bob ran an advertising agency called Loose Federation (a name I still love) and I was excited to show my portfolio of work to Bob when he agreed to meet with me.

I remember him patiently flipping through my book (yes, portfolios were once physical books!) and, without the slightest doubt or hesitation, telling me my portfolio was terrible. I had imagined how this meeting would go in thirty different ways — not one of those ways had Bob telling me my work sucked.

I wanted to bury myself.

But Bob didn’t usher me out the door. Instead, he showed me what good portfolios looked like with compassion for a young creative who was visibly crestfallen. Bob’s lesson: published work isn’t usually your best work. My portfolio was full of work that ran but wasn’t great.

Message received.

I called every Designer and Art Director I knew in Tampa began my portfolio demolition and overhaul. It took months of nights and weekends but once my new book was ready, I landed a job as a Copywriter at Ogilvy and Mather New York within 2 weeks. Mission accomplished.

Here was Bob’s favorite campaign from my rebuilt portfolio:

Bob could’ve easily said, “Nice stuff, Greg” and sent me on my way. But his unmanipulated truth inspired me, put me into action, and — ultimately — deepened my relationship with him.

His honesty was a gift.

I think about the people in my life that have made an indelible impact on me, and those are the people who live and act honestly.

The ones who told me what I needed to hear.

The ones who exposed my blind spots.

The ones who gave it to me straight.

From Bob’s perspective, I imagine there wasn’t any other way for him to be helpful than to tell me what he saw. He knew the news would be tough, but — for the sake of his own integrity — he gave me the straight story.

“Honesty is a gift we can give to others. It is also a source of power and an engine of simplicity. Knowing that we will attempt to tell the truth, whatever the circumstances, leaves us with little to prepare for. Knowing that we told the truth in the past leaves us with nothing to keep track of. We can simply be ourselves in every moment.” -Sam Harris, an excerpt from the book Lying

I like to consider myself a man of spotless integrity but I’m now seeing that even the smallest white lie can pollute a relationship. And a continuance of those lies can turn a relationship upside down.

I can catalog many moments in my life when I wasn’t totally honest with myself, and with the people around me because:

I want to look good.

I don’t want to hurt feelings.

I want to navigate around hard conversations.

Lying—no matter how white—is selfish.

If we tell someone what they want to hear, we are protecting them from the truth. The inevitable truth. And the truth eventually leaks through.

Count on it.

Thanks again, Bob.