A Man's Got To Know His Limitations

or, a great second is better than an ok first

Playing second fiddle isn’t so bad. If it’s John Wayne, you get to be Dean Martin.

If it’s Kevin Bacon, you get to be Fred Ward.

If it’s Captain Kirk, you know what you get to be.

Yes, you get to be Shirtless Spock.

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I’ve always been better at being #2.

Being a supporting actor. Being Chief Operating Officer to a CEO. The title is irrelevant, the role is not. There’s the visionary, the vanguard, the pioneer. And then there are the folks who make sure that that vision gets implemented.

When I was a CEO, I realized I didn’t have the right psychological makeup to suffer the loneliness, the uncertainty, and the dark nights of the soul.

I don’t like the seeming gamble of raising money. I don’t like the possibility that payroll might not be in the bank. I don’t like the giant gaping maw that is the unknown, and knowing you may have to throw your entire company, including even the employees you like, into it.

Everyone has to make hard decisions, don’t get me wrong.

I do like a blank sheet of paper, a list yet to be made, a project that’s just an idea. I’m full of ideas, and as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to weed the shoots for the notions that have the best chance of flowering.

I started as a creative, as a writer and editor.

Looking back, I was better at building teams of amazing creatives, and letting them come up with the brilliant ideas. Writers like the sadly passed Mike McGuirk, whose little blurbs about music were so great they were anthologized twice.

I like building systems and putting processes in place, creating order out of chaos.

I never thought I’d be this person, who stands secondary to the creatives, but who ensures that the wheel doesn’t always catch fire.

You don’t always know who you’re going to be out of the gate.

I didn’t, anyway.

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There’s this company called How To Be Second. They have built an entire business model around embracing your “secondness.”

Their word, not mine.

They have incredibly expensive packages to learn to be a better second, or to find a great #2, if you’re a #1.

If you think I’m going to make a poop joke, you’re wrong.

Their services run over $10,000. For finding a second fiddle.

They published a book, the subtitle of which is “Being second is a destination, not a stepping stone.”

You know how you think you’re unique? You think you are one of a kind.

Especially when you’re young and you discover the Smiths or the Cure or, I don’t know, My Chemical Romance or whatever, and hardly anyone at your school knows who they are, and you feel like you’ve found that singular, special thing that makes you, you.

And then you go to college, or a show, and on every street corner there’s another you. And they’re all better at being you than you are.

You’re suddenly a commodity.

You’re not even #2. You’re, like, #one million.

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Being a solid #2 has its benefits. Yeah, you shovel some shit once in a while, but you also get to take the notes, set up the systems, build the schedules, hire the experts, make sure everything runs smoothly. That is Zen to me.

(Lord please take my hand and let me get through this without once again referencing “a solid #2.”)

There’s less panic, less of the aforementioned dark nights of the soul.

I used to think I was the creative. I thought I was the one with the best ideas. I used to think I was better at leading a team.

When I was at CNET, I was sent to Digital Hollywood, a conference that pretty much explains itself in the name, and I was on a panel about piracy. I had my talking points. I had not done enough research. I thought I could just wing it.

I wasn’t a #1-anything, but this is illustrative. Small beans illustrative, but still.

The moderator asked about, I think it was LimeWire, but it could have been BitTorrent or any other number of applications of dubious legal usage. I answered quickly about how we didn’t embrace illegal activity, some quick, smug answer.

She asked, “Then why do you offer it for download on your site?”

The room went silent. I choked. I didn’t know we did!

I was an idiot, blushing in front of my peers. I hadn’t done my homework. Not only hadn’t done my homework, I didn’t really know our product. I wasn’t quick on my feet. I shouldn’t have been up there!

My vanity got in the way of my common sense.

The moderator even apologized to me! For being shitty!

It took me years to learn, don’t be on stage unless you’re stage-trained. Have your talking points nailed. Rehearse the potential questions. Know when to bob and weave. Nobody’s listening anyway, unless you fuck up like I did.

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I finally learned years ago the correct answer to “Would You Rather Be Right Or Happy?” Or, in my case, “Would You Rather Be Right Or Employed?” Clearly, the job wins, if you want to eat and pay your bills.

Being #2 means swallow your feelings. Swallow your opinions. Unless they’re asked for.

I’m from Minnesota. Serve me that with some Lefse. I’ll eat that up like Lutefisk.

And besides, at this point, what does it matter?

I’m not dying on any hill anymore. I can barely make it up a hill. I threw my back out bowling. Wii Bowling.

I went to the doctor because I thought I was having a heart attack. I had numbness in my left arm. Pain in my elbow on my left side. I thought I was going to die.

She said “Do you play video games? Do you sit like this? Don’t do that.”

I’m the world’s oldest living teenager.

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Understanding where you fit best in the world is one of the great things about growing older. You stop caring so much where you are going, and more about where you are.

Chief of Staff. Managing Director. COO.

These are enviable roles. The CEO feeds you the talking points and you make the decks. You work on the budget. You plan the future. You manage the team.

When I was doing Batter Blaster Sean and I did a 3 week bout of sales travel where we went to grocery distributors up and down the East Coast. Being with Sean meant he drove, he played the modern country radio, he picked the meals.

Steamed cheeseburgers at Ted’s in Meriden, CT. Razor clams at a biker bar in Maine. seafood platters in Massachusetts. And copious amounts of beer and red wine. At night, famished from all the seafood, I’d order Dominos to my room at the hotel because I’m a Grade A Idiot.

I got so sick I had to abandon the tour, as Sean likes to tell me. I walked out of Shoprite Headquarters in Newark, took a long cab to the airport, and flew home.

I just wasn’t built for that.

It was the end of the tour, more or less, I wasn’t exactly leaving him in the lurch. I was in some ways legitimately sick, and some would argue we both overstuffed the lobster thermidor.

But I was better at the office, keeping the factory in line, ensuring orders got filled, preparing investor updates.

I’m ok with that. (Sean might not be, but he’s not here, is he?)

I think this being second and liking it is a condition of age. Accepting your place and your value in the universe or in the microcosm frees you up to enjoy the moment. There’s less plate spinning. Less grasping for position. Less self-punishment when you don’t hit the highs.

I’m actually probably ready for panels again, even. I’m moderate in my ambition, but secure in my knowledge of what I do know.

I know what I’m good at, and I know where I suck.

Being #2, or #5, or #20, is pretty good.

A great second is not a commodity. It’s a role worth striving for. And a very valuable one.

Maybe it takes the years to really understand this.

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Thanks for reading Are You Experienced, a Substack about finding career and purpose after 50. As usual, I’m Nick Tangborn, and I was once described on satellite radio as having a “Five Head.” I make a great second fiddle, and hell yeah, I’m available for consulting.

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You can find me at nicholas (at) areyouexperienced.co - yes, dot CO, dot COM is for winners.