OUR STORY

WARNING: If you get to the end of this 5-minute story, we believe you ARE ready to molt.

Excerpt from his upcoming book, “Running Naked through the Valley of the Unemployed” by Molting Men Founder, auGi “SuperCharger” Garred.

At the age of 34, a few months after losing my agency job (the agency which I co-founded and was later acquired by a Fortune 1000 firm) and itching for a major shift, I told others, “I’m moving to LA to be a standup comedian.” How did they respond to this good news?

“Oh, that sounds nice.”

Sounds nice? Bite me!

People didn’t believe I could do it. I think, in part, because it sounded completely delusional. And maybe it was completely delusional. After all, I was a middle-aged guy with a steep mortgage and a very large forehead. 

“But auGi, your company was acquired. You know lots of people. Why don’t you leverage your network and get another job in the industry?”

For one, it was the dot-com bust of the year 2000. Everybody was getting sh*tcanned. Companies that were giants imploded overnight. The lucrative million-dollar website projects were history. I know I could have reached out to my contacts and landed work, but I learned something tremendously valuable following our agency’s acquisition: once you hand control of your baby over to somebody else, you’re at their mercy.

The thought of jumping to another ship with a different captain? It would be more of the same. I wanted to control my destiny, to make people laugh and say the things that burned in my brain—dirty, raunchy, nerdy shit—with absolute abandon. Which is why I wanted to try stand-up. I didn’t care about the money. I just wanted to be free. The same way as I had ten years earlier when I left my hometown to pursue my dream of rock stardom in the mecca of music, sycophants and celebrity:

Kansas City, Missouri.

“Um, auGi. Isn’t Kansas City where they milk cows?”

“FU! Cows love Rush!!”

I was 24. I didn’t know any better. All I knew was, I needed to get away from the Michigan countryside and take a chance at something big.

When I told my best friend I was moving to Kansas City way back in 1989, he said, “But you’ve got a good job. It pays seven dollars an hour!”

“Exactly…” I erupted. “It pays seven dollars an hour! To manage a deli.” 

I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life running a goddamn deli in Lansing, Michigan. I wanted to go out into the world and ROCK my fucking balls off. Travel to exotic places. Spend endless months trapped inside a studio on the edge of a lake in Quebec, with my two closest friends, recording the world’s most profound, inspiring albums. Who cared that I had super dorky glasses and my music sounded like a cross between Sting, Prince and Rush? I was going to make it, no matter what terrifying monsters got in my way. I was going to cross the threshold.

Looking back, I recognize why my friend reacted with such doubt:

1. He did want me to succeed, but…

2. He was afraid of losing a friend to the world and…

3. He hadn’t heeded his own call to adventure, therefore, I shouldn't heed mine

In other words, he’d written his own story of how my (our) life would turn out. In part because, yeah, he probably thought I was nuts. I’m sure you’ve encountered this same kind of resistance from friends and family. When you announced you were going to attempt what seemed impossible, it didn’t fit their program and, therefore, was automatically doomed to failure. What none of these people recognize—and that includes me, because I’m just as guilty of writing someone else’s story—is the fire that burns inside us; to go on the journey we see with such clarity in our mind’s eye and MUST enact. If we don’t go, even if we’re afraid we’ll fail, we know our lives will never be fully realized. 

Did I ever become a rock star? 

Well, if you count writing over 300 songs (and releasing 5 singles) from the comfort of a home studio, learning how to record and produce records, playing four different instruments and performing maybe seven times in front of a live audience as a “rock star,” then yes, I’m a rock star.

I let other things get in the way: work, relationships, complacency. Mostly, though—and again this will sound delusional because let’s face it, the odds of being a rock star are about a billion to one—I failed out of fear. In my case, my biggest fear was being criticized. I felt that, if I performed any of my songs before they were absolutely perfect, I would be rejected and never make it.

Understandable? Sure. True? Not in the least. Just listen to Caress of Steel by Rush. That album is a stinker and nearly got the band fired from their record label. And yet, the band still put it out. They were willing to take that risk, despite a tour that nearly killed the group’s career. A year later, Rush shot back with 2112. It was a huge success, cemented their fan base and gave the band complete autonomy from the record label execs. 

Sometimes, You Get What You Need

As disappointed as I am at the roadblocks I created for myself out of fear, what I learned is this: what you think you want and what you actually need are usually different. By crossing the midwest plains and moving to Kansas City (followed 18 months later moving to Portland), I found what I needed: 

• Business smarts and education, which I gained through a bustling 7-year career at AT&T and later co-founding three startups

• Networking skills—they matter just as much (if not more) as what you know

• Determination bred by mass rejection—during my early career at AT&T, I spoke with over 70,000 customers trying to both appease their problems and bridge to a sale, which was exhausting and endlessly frustrating with few conversions; as a creative director, for every one idea that was accepted, hundreds were shot down in flames

• Acceptance that ideas need not be perfect to throw them out into the world—iterating empowers you to experiment and improve a product/idea over time. I wish I’d known this when I was 20, because it would’ve completely changed my music game.

• That what drives me at my core foundation wasn’t to be a rock star—it was the sensibility of a rock star—rebellion, freedom of expression, control of my destiny, a middle finger to The Man, and lycra pants to show off my extreme bulge

• The realization that I do not have an extreme bulge

Every time I’ve chosen (or was forced) over the edge into the unknown, my dreams have met with doubt—from the time I announced plans to rock it out in Missouri, to the day I said I was leaving behind my shows and life as a comedian in LA to return to Portland. Almost everybody around me has said the equivalent of “Oh, that sounds nice.” 

Even now (ed note: this was written in 2012). When I told people in my inner circle that I was going to write a book about being unemployed—not immediately leap back into the job market—they did their best to sound supportive, while simultaneously putting up the typical roadblocks.

“That’s great, but how are you going to monetize that?”

“Don’t you need an agent?”

“Who wants to read a book about those losers? [Pauses to pull boot out of asshole] Oh, sorry.”

Their concerns were completely legit, yet none aligned with my motivations to write this book. The main thrust has never veered—why isn’t anybody talking about the emotional challenges, the stigma, the outright fear of being in The Valley of the Unemployed, let alone tackling these issues with a sense of humor?

I CAN’T STOP MOLTING, MAN.

As I literally write the story of my own story, people think I’m nuts. Let me qualify that. The doubt comes primarily from those who know me well. When I tell strangers, especially those who’ve crossed The Valley or are currently running through it as fast as they can, they usually say, “That’s great.” Because they’re not invested in me like my friends and family. Strangers have no preconceived notion of my life. As far as they’re concerned, this IS my story. 

If you’re on the precipice of this deserted place, moving through it with your eye towards the lush, snow-capped mountains in the distance…

Or you’re a seasoned professional who’s bored, burned out and tired of doing the corporate grind…

Or some young dude at work called you “Rumplestiltskin” because you have a few gray hairs… 

Or you’ve already passed through the valley and are living a more fulfilling life as a result of your former nakedness, I hope you’re writing your own story. If not, what’s holding you back? 

Note: June, 2024 (Yes, I’m Molting Again)

Reading back through this chapter still resonates with me as I build Molting Men into a community where older guys like us–intelligent, wise, talented, creative, and rogue–can take control of their destiny, create something tangible, steady, and sustainable as they move into their second act, and reclaim what I like to call the “MMoZone” (the place where your Super Human Gifts, Greatest Talents, what you love to do and Purpose collide).

Are you ready to shed whatever’s in the way of getting there? 

Maybe I can help.

auGi
Founder + Head Coach
Molting Men