It started with sports.

The sound of Jordans squeaking on a freshly waxed basketball court was my lullaby as a child. My dad’s fantasy team was about as important as any NFL team; my ability to get completely invested in any given game based on which of “his” players were playing is something I might add to my resume. My uncle was the head coach of our school’s varsity basketball team – I was front row yelling like it was the NBA finals each game. My grandfather’s ashes are on the twelfth hole of Augusta National, and my family can somehow turn golf into a sport that requires shouting at the TV. 

Long story short, I was surrounded by sports growing up. I saw the beautiful power of sports: teaching teamwork and discipline, building community among strangers in the stands, providing an escape from the outside noise.

I was convinced sports have a power greater than any other industry to bring people of all backgrounds, beliefs, and ages together. You can high-five someone at a bar without knowing any of the things that make you different simply because you both like the touchdown that just happened on TV… That’s magic.

I wish there was a name for that little nugget of magic. That glimmering element of untouchable peace, a communion between strangers. 

Turns out, it exists outside of sports too. 

Senior year at Carolina, in a dark frat house, I ran into a kid who went to my high school. Naturally, we began talking about our passions and career goals as we sipped warm Miller Light. He asked about my ESPN internship and why I wanted to work in sports. I gave him my spiel about uniting people and flipped the question back at him: what did he want to do? 

His face lit up. This kid in dirty Nikes and a sorority formal t-shirt told me that he too felt that unifying power, the magic of community – but within cooking, not sports. He went on to explain the love and dedication that goes into crafting a homecooked meal for someone. He saw the devotion in his mother’s nightly family dinner. It’s vulnerable; cooking shares culture and eating a meal deepens understanding of one another. He used the same words that I use when describing my love for sports: “unity” “despite differences” “community”

During my time at Outsider, I interviewed Miles Miller, who at the time was Sturgill Simpson and Tyler Childers drummer (and is now releasing solo music). He spoke about music in the same way. “I mean what person, left, right, black or white, gay, straight, doesn’t like music? Music is the glue for every kind of person,” Miller said. “That’s the whole point of music. It’s to make you think about something or relate to someone.” 

I saw it first in sports but my rose-colored glasses work in a lot of industries. There are so many stories to tell. There are communities to serve and ones to help create. I am eager to foster the stories, content, and marketing endeavors that can bring that magic alive for everyone.