The King of Self-Promotion

My uncle meant it as a compliment, as he introduced me to a colleague.
“This is my nephew, Ryan. He’s the king of self-promotion . . . you should see his Christmas letter!”
The conversation continued, but I struggled to get past what I had just heard—that line echoing in my own voice.
For over a year, I’ve struggled with the continuation of my annual Christmas letter—whether I’m doing it for the right reasons, whether people judge me for the effort. But I didn’t wrestle with that (symptom-only) enigma in that moment, I just kept hearing that line over and over again, “He’s the king of self-promotion.”
As an ad agency owner-operator, I guess that should be a superlative accolade. This winter, I’m doing three state and national seminars on how to build personal brands, how to create the “expert aura.” I make my living promoting, even if promoting others’ events.
It’s my personal brand, though, that troubles me. For crying out loud, I come with my own logo. Don’t get me wrong: I like being known as an adventurer and entrepreneur, a passionate spirit. I love my car and my trips, my friends and my church, my family and my new home town. I simply dislike the vortex that I constantly spin—intentionally or indirectly—to draw others into my story.
Because it’s not my story.
My first word, I’m told, was “Mine.” Dad says I was the most selfish of his six kids. My name’s origin in every baby name book and web site drills down to “little king.” So, the narcism comes as no shock to anyone, even if blanketed with gregarious exhortation of others. The pursuit of an entertaining obituary and indelible legacy hide only inches from my epidermal shell.
I want to impact the world for Christ; I want my life to illustrate the passion and excitement of a Jesus-juiced existence. Too often, though, I try to catch the edge or the half of the stage lights. I try to play second sun instead of moon. I recognize the inertia, but it’s hard to stop—maybe one of the greatest struggles of my life.
I’ve always sucked at studying—even picked a college major where projects would take the place of tests. So, it’s not surprising that I wrestle to follow Paul’s advice to “Study to be quiet, and to do your own business.” Excited about my journey and adventures, I radiate in reminiscence (even to strangers on cruise ships). Even though daily I’m conscious of the tendency, I struggle to reign in the stories, the name-dropping, the trumping. I’m doing better, especially with candid friends who remind me when I’m falling off the humility wagon. But I’m sure you can tell that I’ve got a long way yet to go.
So, if you must know, that’s my 2010 resolution: to live a more understated life—not to have fewer adventures or vistas or accomplishments but to enjoy them much more for my soul than my ego. I want to chase the God who instantaneously spoke undiscoverable galaxies into being, shrugged his figurative shoulders, and documented it for an eternity of spectators with just, “He made the stars also.”
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