Blog Archives
Understanding LinkedIn Connections: A Reflection on Bias
As a lifelong learner and someone who prides himself on asking tough questions—of others and especially of myself—I recently posed one I hadn’t considered before: What do my LinkedIn connections say about me?
At first glance, the question might seem simple—just a casual curiosity. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized it held a mirror to my worldview, my network, and even my decision-making process. After all, our professional circles say something about how we seek advice, what we value, and—whether we admit it or not—how we perceive credibility and leadership.
So, I did what I’ve done my whole life investigated.
What I Found: A Familiar Reflection
The results were humbling, if not entirely surprising. My network largely looks like me: white, male, and with a military or law enforcement background. Not wrong, not intentional—but also not reflective of the broader society I serve or want to understand better.
This is the core of unconscious bias—it isn’t malicious or even deliberate, but it quietly shapes how we see the world and, in turn, how we act in it.
What I’m Doing About It: Intentional Inclusion
I believe in action, not just awareness. That’s why I’ve made a change to my daily habits. Every day, until I hit LinkedIn’s weekly connection limit, I intentionally send connection requests only to women—diverse in background, career, and experience.
I don’t overthink it. I see the picture and I click “Connect.”
No agenda beyond expanding my view of the world. My hope is that by increasing the diversity of my network, I’ll increase the diversity of thought I’m exposed to—and in doing so, improve the quality of the decisions I make, the advice I take, and the work I do.
Why It Matters
LOUJSWZ INC is committed to helping people grow—businesses, veterans, individuals—through integrity, process improvement, and purpose-driven consulting. But growth has to start with self-awareness.
This isn’t a story about checking a box. It’s about building a network that challenges me, reflects the real world, and ultimately makes me better at what I do—because I see more of the people I serve.
I still have a long way to go. But that’s the point of growth—it’s never over.
#UnconsciousBias #InclusiveLeadership #GrowthMindset #LOUJSWZ #VeteranOwned #LeadershipEvolution
Embracing Change: Life Lessons from a Soldier’s Past
Earlier today, I was tagged in a photo on social media—a group shot taken in December 2002 during our 70D STX training, just months before the Iraq invasion. My first reaction was surprise, followed quickly by a flood of memories. No smartphones. MySpace was still the king of connection. I was in uniform, standing tall, trying to wear my best “war face.” I even had hair back then.
At that moment in time, my personal life was uncertain. I was recently divorced, unsure of where I’d live, and even more uncertain of what I’d be doing professionally. All I knew was that I wanted to stay close to my children, even as the Army had me moving in the opposite direction. Everything felt like it was shifting under my feet.
But looking back, I realize something: everything is always shifting. Like water, life never stays in the same place—it’s always in motion. Sometimes slow, sometimes raging, but always flowing. I used to crave control over every aspect of my personal and professional life. And I convinced myself that, at times, I had it. That illusion helped me sleep at night, helped me lead others, helped me believe I was making all the right moves.
Now, with 23 more years of living, learning, and letting go behind me, I’ve come to embrace a different truth: it’s okay not to control everything. In fact, that surrender has helped me grow. It’s made me more accepting of people, setbacks, and life’s curveballs. Some of the biggest disappointments in my life eventually rerouted me to something far better than I had planned.
Today, I’m working through some of the biggest challenges I’ve ever faced—accepting my wife’s ongoing battle with cancer and her limited mobility, navigating the rollercoaster of parenting a teenage daughter, and growing a business that’s rooted in purpose and resilience. I try to take it one day at a time. Like nurturing an oak sapling—you water it a little each day, give it sunlight, protect it during storms. And over time, without you even noticing, it becomes a mighty oak.
That photo reminded me who I was—and affirmed who I’m becoming. The young soldier I was then would be proud of the man I am now, not because everything turned out perfect, but because I kept showing up. I kept growing. I kept going.
I wonder if anyone in that picture can spot me. Look closely—I’m there, trying to be serious, probably thinking about the mission ahead. That version of me had no idea what was coming. But I’m grateful for him. And I’m even more grateful for who I’ve become.
Navigating Self-Employment: Lessons from an Entrepreneur’s Journey
Starting your own business is a bit like setting off in a dinghy down the Mississippi—exciting, unpredictable, and, at times, terrifying. My wife and I took that plunge when we decided to work as independent contractors. That meant companies would pay us, but we had to figure out everything else—health insurance, taxes, payroll, and all those benefits that working for an established company provides. It was a kick in the pants, a push away from the directions our parents had given us, into the unknown.
As with most things in life, I turned to my friends for advice. “What business structure should I choose?” I asked. The overwhelming response: an S-Corp. It was supposedly the best fit for two independent contractors making (hopefully) over $80,000 a year. Simple enough. So, I did what any modern entrepreneur would do—I searched for help on Thumbtack. I hired another veteran, Connie, to handle the formation of our S-Corp. Anyone willing to take a call on April 16th—tax day—has to be organized. For $180, she set up: our EIN, corporate documents, election of a small business, and state Department of Revenue filings. One phone call in, and I had already surrendered a bit of my independence. No more TurboTax; now, I had a recurring expense for professional tax filing.
I asked Connie, “Do you take the federal and state taxes out of the payments from the companies I work with?” Of course not—why make it that easy? Instead, she referred me to a payroll service. So, after setting up a business bank account with a credit union, I added payroll administration to my growing list of responsibilities. Another necessary ally in the battle of self-employment.
Next came insurance—because nothing says “I’m a business owner” like signing up for multiple policies. We got umbrella insurance, professional liability, general liability, and even medical and dental coverage for our one employee (me, for now). Each policy brought its own admin portal, its own customer service lines, and, of course, another recurring expense. But hey, they’re all tax deductions, right?
Since my wife was both the co-owner and sole employee, she couldn’t have a business-provided HSA. That was one thing she had to set up separately, which was a small relief—I had enough programs to manage. Instead, I found myself stepping into a different role: webmaster. It was a throwback to my younger years and a chance to write, something I’ve always enjoyed.
Fast forward two years. The business we started has completely transformed. The contracts ended, the payroll services were canceled, and all the insurance policies were dropped. My wife, battling health challenges, could no longer work, which led to some incredibly lean months. I had to reinvent myself. Instead of project and capture management, I focused on something more meaningful: helping veterans get federal small business credentials and assisting them with disability claims.
It was a tough pivot. To make ends meet, I worked part-time at three different large retailers while also working on commission-only deals. The financial anxiety was relentless, but so was my drive to provide for my family and uphold my responsibilities. Slowly, through persistence and the kindness of others, things started to turn around. Former clients and friends began reaching out, and I found my footing as a fractional professional service provider in sales and operations.
After more than a year of working for commission only, I’m finally seeing the fruits of that labor. The journey has been anything but easy, and I’ve had moments where I wondered if it was all worth it. But as they say, “A soldier ain’t happy if he ain’t bitchin’.” So, I guess that means I’m happy. I’m happy.
Learning from Mistakes: A DUI Reflection
For over 40 years, I have been behind the wheel, driving without incident—until now. I got a DUI. It still feels surreal to write those words. But the reality is, it happened, and I have no excuse. I have asked myself over and over, why did I not realize how dangerous and serious this was? And if I did, why did I not care?
Maybe it’s the weight of family burdens. Maybe it’s the inescapable reality of watching someone you love battle cancer—the most fatal form of it—a cruel, relentless adversary. Maybe it’s the anger and pain of an adolescent facing the potential loss of her mother. Maybe it’s depression, anxiety, or the gnawing exhaustion that comes with carrying so much.
The truth is, sometimes I feel like giving up on being the best version of myself. And I hate that feeling. But when it comes, it consumes me until something shakes me awake. This time, it was my DUI.
For years, I pushed the envelope. Since before I was 19, I thought I had control. How I managed to avoid hurting myself or someone else all these years is nothing short of a miracle. I could lie to myself and say, I never drove under the influence before—that I felt fine driving home that night. But that’s just not true.
I know chemistry. I understand biology. I know how alcohol affects the body, how it impairs judgment, and how much is too much. Yet, on that night, I just didn’t care. That’s the scariest part.
I passed the field sobriety test, but that didn’t matter. As I sat handcuffed in the back of the sheriff’s patrol car, all I could think was, It’s about time. I was taken to the DUI intake center and given a breathalyzer test—.10% BAC, 2% over the legal limit. From there, I was booked into the county jail and spent several hours waiting to post bail.
What came next was worse than my own shame. Scammers took advantage of the situation, calling my family including my children and friends, pretending to be a bail bonds company. My wife, out of concern, sent them $1,000 through Apple Pay. That loss, that embarrassment, was the worst part of the whole ordeal.
I am an Eagle Scout. An Army officer. I have built my life on helping others. And yet, I let this happen. It’s a humbling and haunting realization. But the response from my loved ones has been my saving grace. They did not ridicule me. They did not abandon me. Instead, they supported me, reminding me that one mistake—however significant—does not erase a lifetime of integrity and service.
This DUI is my wake-up call, my ghost of Christmas future, showing me what could be if I don’t change. It has forced me to confront my own choices, my vulnerabilities, and my need to truly take care of myself so I can continue taking care of others. I will take this harbinger seriously. I will strive to be better.
For those who may find themselves in a similar position, my message is simple: take responsibility, learn from it, and don’t ignore the signs. You don’t want to wait for your own wake-up call. Be better now.
The Last Penny: A Personal Reflection
The news that the penny is being removed from circulation made me pause and reflect on something far more valuable than its monetary worth. The penny was once a daily connection between my father and me, a lighthearted gauge of the world around us.
Every day on his walk, my father would keep an eye out for lost pennies. If he found one, it was a good day. If he found two, well, “The economy is looking up!” he’d say with a chuckle when he called me to report his findings. It was his personal economic indicator, a small but amusing tradition that made us both smile.
Over the years, I picked up the habit myself. If I spotted a penny on the ground, I’d snap a picture and send it to my closest friends and my sons. “Looks like things are turning around!” I’d joke, carrying on my father’s tradition with the same ridiculous insight. But we never left the penny behind. We picked it up, and added it to our collection—a tangible reminder of life’s little fortunes and the simple joys of paying attention.
Now, with the penny becoming a thing of history, finding one will feel even more special. No longer just a quirky sign of economic optimism, it will be a rare token of the past, a link to my father’s voice on the other end of the phone, laughing about his new found fortune.
So, when I spot a penny on the ground, I’ll pause. I’ll smile. I’ll pick it up. And I’ll think of him.
And you know what? The economy—and life—are still looking up.
Revenue: The Lifeblood of Every Business
As a small business owner and fractional executive for two other small businesses, one lesson stands out above all: nothing matters without revenue. You’re not even in business if you don’t generate revenue. It’s the foundation, the validation of your ideas, and the fuel that keeps everything running.
A few years ago, I left the stability of Corporate America to chart my own course. It wasn’t a straight path—it was a journey of trial and error, an exploration to find my next great “work thing.” Along the way, I worked in retail, call centers, consulting, and eventually landed in my current role as a fractional executive. Through this journey, I learned one critical truth: your business model must align with generating value and translating that value into revenue.
From Stability to Uncertainty
For most of my adult life, I enjoyed the comfort of a regular paycheck—monthly or bi-weekly deposits that arrived like clockwork. But when I stepped out on my own, I made a conscious decision to trade stability for the uncertainty of risk and reward. I shifted my approach from being a retained resource to someone who gets paid only when I generate value for the company.
As a self-proclaimed change management “expert,” embracing this shift became an objective in itself. The transition wasn’t easy. Even with the privilege of not living paycheck to paycheck, the mental adjustment was profound. The stakes were higher. The challenges, more personal. But I leaned into the discomfort, using my love for risk management and mitigation to navigate the uncertainties.
Revenue First, Always
In my role as COO for a talent acquisition company, the mantra is clear: if we don’t “fill roles with quality souls,” we don’t eat well. All the talk about CRMs, KPIs, and business plans is just that—talk—until revenue rolls in. My CEO reinforces this every day, and it’s a message I’ve fully embraced.
Recently, after more than a year of building our structure, processes, client relationships, marketing strategy, operations, and brand, we placed our first two candidates—our first two “quality souls.”
It was a milestone worth celebrating, not just because of the hard work it took to get there but because it validated the value we’ve worked so hard to create.
Revenue isn’t just about dollars in the bank; it’s about demonstrating value to your customers. It’s the ultimate proof that your business matters.
A Moment of Reflection
When the placements were confirmed, I celebrated in my own quiet way. My wife, who is bravely battling a severe illness, couldn’t join me for a glass of champagne or outing. So, I went outside, looked up at the full moon, and allowed myself a moment of gratitude and reflection.
I told myself: I can still do new things. I still have value. I will continue to grow.
I thought about the journey I’ve been on—from the stability of Corporate America to the ever-changing landscape of entrepreneurship. Revenue is the lifeblood of my businesses, but it’s also a symbol of something deeper: the ability to adapt, create value, and prove to yourself that you’re still growing, still evolving, and still capable of new achievements.
Lessons Learned
For anyone considering a similar leap, here’s what I’ve learned:
- Revenue validates your business. Until you make money, you’re just planning.
- Risk and reward go hand in hand. Stepping away from a steady paycheck is hard, but it forces you to focus on creating value.
- Celebrate every win. Even the small victories matter—they’re milestones in your journey.
- You’re never done growing. Every challenge, every risk, and every success adds a new layer to your personal and professional growth.
If you’re considering stepping out on your own or are in the trenches of entrepreneurship, remember: it’s all about the value you create and the revenue that value generates. Everything else is just details. Keep pushing, keep learning, and keep growing. The full moon will be waiting to remind you of your progress.
A Veteran’s Journey: Overcoming Fears and Finding Support
Helping veterans get the VA benefits they deserve can be challenging, especially when they feel uncertain or worried about the process. Recently, a close friend of mine, a Purple Heart awardee, experienced a life-changing outcome by appealing his VA disability rating.
After retiring more than a decade ago, my friend was stuck at an 80% disability rating. For years, he expressed the same concerns I hear from so many veterans:
- “I don’t want to game the system.”
- “I only served a few years; I don’t deserve more.”
- “There’s nothing seriously wrong with me.”
- “I hate dealing with anything related to the government.”
But after speaking with him many many times and seeing the success of other veterans I’ve helped (5), he finally decided to take the next step. Here’s what he did:
Key Steps That Made the Difference:
- Getting the Right Help:
I suggested he visit his State VHA Representative. It was a crucial step that made sure his appeal was handled correctly and with all the necessary documentation. - Using What Was Already There:
Since he already had a disability rating, most of the needed information was already on file. He only needed to add a few things that were missed earlier, which made his appeal smoother and quicker. - Knowing Where and How to File:
The outcome of an appeal can often depend on where and how you submit it. Making sure all the paperwork was accurate and complete helped speed up the process. - Pushing Past the Emotional Hurdles:
Many veterans feel anxious about appealing, thinking it’s somehow dishonorable or that they’re asking for too much. But these benefits are not a handout—they’re earned through service and sacrifice.
The Result:
In just under six weeks, his disability rating went from 80% to 100%. This change means more financial security for his family and gives his wife the chance to consider retirement. They both chose careers focused on helping others rather than financial rewards, so this increase makes a big difference in their lives.
If you’re a veteran, don’t let fears or misconceptions hold you back. Get the support you need, and remember—you’ve earned these benefits through your service. Your well-being matters, and there are people ready to help you every step of the way.
“Being challenged in life is inevitable, being defeated is optional.” – Roger Crawford
Doing the Right Thing
I was sweating, feeling sick to my stomach. I told the examiner and my wife that I couldn’t do this interview.
I left the secure sterile Veterans Benefits Administration office and went to the waiting room and began to pace. Thinking how I hated being here. How I was such a failure for even entertaining this stupid suggestion of reopening my disability claim with the VA after I listed to Jarmon.
I was trying to sell a BBQ Grill to Jarmon at a large chain home improvement store in early November 2023. I worked in the Inside lawn and garden department as the money from my corporate severance package had run out. My wife was only able to work part time as well as myself. My job search for over a year was fruitless. We cut everything we could from cable, yard service, no more going out to dinner, we reduced our health, life and car insurance but it was not enough. I had to bring in something even though I had military retirement and my VA disability to cover my bills and help my family. It was a hard landing for us as our great retirement plan went array.
Jarmon was solemn. He didn’t want to listen to my shtick I did in one form or another to sell BBQs to people. “Are you guys Bar-Be-Queuing this weekend? I wore a vest which represented military service to show to customers the corporation liked Vets. I pretty much knew he was Military because of our interaction and demeanor. Like a soldier knows an officer in or out of uniform. He said: “Thank you for your service but I’m not interested”. I said: “Thank you for your service”. He said: How did you know? I said, “I was in for 23 years so I know”. He laughed, and said; “What’s your my VA rating?” I told him, and he said; “you should be at 100”. I said: “I’ve heard that so many times but that’s just not a thing I want to do. He said, hey stupid this is not a gift or charity, and it’s not you scamming the government. This benefit is for your family and a grateful Nation, so get over yourself and help them. I laughed and said; “how are you so sure?” He said; “I work for the VA and this is what I do”. I advise veterans about this”. He said; “come to my office and I’ll help you”. I said: “Let me think about it”.
Regaining my composure I finally came back to the office. Jarmon, the Veteran Benefits Officer had tears in his eyes. I was scared something terrible had happened and I immediately internalized that it was something I did, or my wife told him I was a bad person as my mind went straight to the dark side.
My wife looked at me which meant to sit down. I did. Jarmon said he was upset and sad because the story my wife recounted about me was his story. He did not want to file. He did not want to appeal. He did not want to get help along the way. He was in a downward spiral. After several years someone out of the blue told him;” Hey stupid this is not a gift or charity, and it’s not you scamming the government. This benefit is for your family and a grateful Nation, so get over yourself and help them. In the long run you will get better for doing this.
I heard this before several times over the years, but that day and in that way it resonated. Hearing a CSM speak to me like when I was a dumb PVT back in 1988 again made it stick. “Tough love” is a good thing!
I appealed my claim 11 years after my first decision. Six months later and three one hour appointments I received my decision.
Now, my daughter will have the ability to go to a school of higher learning or vocation for a minimal sum. We will not have to pay property taxes allowing my wife not to work. The stress of getting care for my wife who suffers from liver cancer has been lifted. I can spend more time helping others in different ways while helping myself too.
I hope this true story helps any Veterans out there that need a good talking to.
Find the strength to do the right thing.
Embracing Change: Finding Inspiration in a Banyan Tree’s Resilience
It’s been ten months since I left my stable, high-paying, high-level, yet unfulfilling job. Since then, my journey has been a rollercoaster ride filled with unexpected twists and turns. I’ve worked part-time as a call center agent, started my own business, worked as an independent contractor through my business, been let go once, and quit another job. And now, I find myself working part-time at a giant home improvement store in the inside lawn and garden section while continuing to explore the possibilities of my Company. If you had asked me last year if I would be doing any of these things, I would have emphatically said, “NO WAY.” But here I am, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I chose the photo above because it reminds me of my youth. It’s an image of a majestic Banyan tree with Seagrapes growing below it. Back in Miami, during my childhood, I used to play under a giant Banyan tree in the park across from my elementary school. It was there that I learned how Bahamians make wine and enjoy the berries from the Seagrape tree. But beyond the personal recollection, there’s a deeper connection that this image brings to my life and my business journey.
The Banyan tree, with its sprawling branches and roots, is an incredible symbol of resilience and adaptability. It expands and increases its likelihood of survival by sending down roots from its branches, serving as both anchors and sources of sustenance. This remarkable ability to adapt and thrive in challenging conditions is something we can all learn from, and it’s a central theme in my entrepreneurial journey.
Of course, just like the Banyan tree, life isn’t without its vulnerabilities. The same Miami where I played beneath that giant Banyan tree was hit by Hurricane Andrew in 1993. One of the casualties of that devastating storm was the Banyan tree across the street from the first home I lived in. This tree was a behemoth, as tall as a three-story house, and when it fell, it was just as imposing on its side. It took two years to remove its hulking body, and the spot where it once stood was left barren.
The lesson here is clear: even the mightiest can face adversity. The Banyan tree, with all its strength and resilience, succumbed to the forces of nature. But what’s remarkable is that the spirit of that tree lives on as a symbol of adaptability and the ability to bounce back from even the most significant setbacks.
In my own journey, I’ve encountered moments of vulnerability and uncertainty. The transition from a stable corporate job to part-time work, entrepreneurship, and various employment changes hasn’t been easy. But like the Banyan tree, I’ve learned to adapt and seek sustenance from unexpected sources. I’ve drawn strength from the belief that embracing change and taking calculated risks can lead to personal and professional growth.
So, if you’re at a crossroads in your life or career, consider the resilience of the Banyan tree and its ability to flourish in diverse conditions. Embrace change, take risks, and remember that in vulnerability, there is room for growth. Just like that Banyan tree in the park across from my childhood school, you too can weather the storms of life and continue to thrive.
