The first week I decided to make StandOut Design my full-time focus, I thought I was ready. I woke up, made a pot of coffee, and headed downstairs to my makeshift office. Armed with a notepad of ideas and a few emails to respond to, I felt like I was doing it—living the dream of running my own business. By 9 a.m., I realized I’d already run out of things to do.
And then it hit me: Shit, I can’t just sit here waiting for the phone to ring. No one’s coming to save me. That was my first big lesson as an entrepreneur. Success doesn’t knock on your door—you have to go out and find it.
It was freezing that day, the kind of winter where the wind cuts through your coat and the snow piles up faster than you can shovel it. But I didn’t care. I grabbed my keys, a stack of business cards, and hit the pavement with nothing but determination and a belief in what I was building.
For some reason, I felt drawn to Massillon and Lincolnway. Store to store, business to business, I went. Each time I walked in, I introduced myself with a handshake and a pitch, trying to convince complete strangers why they needed my design services. Most times, I didn’t get past the front desk. I was pushed out, ignored, or told the decision-makers weren’t available. By the end of the day, my hands were frozen, my business cards were almost gone, and my inbox was as empty as when I started.
When I got home, I told my wife about my day. “I didn’t get a single lead,” I admitted. She gave me a sympathetic look and said, “I’m so sorry,” as if it were a failed mission. But to me, it wasn’t. Sure, I didn’t land a client that day, but I had planted seeds—50+ seeds, to be exact. Every introduction, every business card left behind was a chance for someone to remember my name when they needed help.
Looking back now, I don’t think I got a single client from that day. Not one. But the lessons I learned in those freezing hours were worth more than any immediate win. That day taught me resilience. It taught me how to handle rejection without losing faith in myself. It taught me that the grind doesn’t owe you anything—you have to earn it.
Gary Vee once said, “If you’re not willing to eat shit for a while, you’ll never taste caviar.” That day on Lincolnway, I got my first real taste of the grind. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t fun. But it was necessary. I learned to embrace the process, knowing that every “no” was getting me closer to a “yes.”
The hustle didn’t stop there. Over the years, I’ve made cold calls, walked into businesses uninvited, and sat face-to-face with potential clients to pitch my services. I’ve learned to love those moments because they’re real. They remind me why I started this journey in the first place—to build something meaningful, not just for me, but for my family and the clients who put their trust in me.
Jesse Itzler says, “You’ve got to have the guts to fail. If you don’t fail, you’re not pushing hard enough.” That day on Lincolnway, I failed in the traditional sense. No leads, no sales, no tangible progress. But I kept going because I understood that failure wasn’t the end—it was the beginning of learning.
Alex Hormozi talks about “doing the things that suck, because that’s where the growth is.” Walking into those businesses, getting rejected over and over again—it sucked. But it made me better. It taught me to handle pressure, to think on my feet, and to keep showing up, even when the odds felt stacked against me.
Now, 10 years later, I look back on those early days with pride and gratitude. Those freezing walks in the snow, those awkward introductions, those business cards left behind—they were the foundation of everything I’ve built. They taught me that success isn’t about landing the big fish on your first try; it’s about planting seeds, showing up every day, and refusing to quit.
Luke Belmar says, “Small daily improvements are the key to staggering long-term results.” That day in Massillon was just one small step, but it was part of a bigger picture. It was about building a mindset—a refusal to let rejection or failure define me.
Even now, I still love the art of the cold call. There’s something raw and honest about sitting across from someone, looking them in the eye, and shaking their hand at the end of a meeting. It reminds me of those early days, of the grit and determination it took to get here.
So here’s to 10 years of StandOut Design. To the freezing days, the rejections, the lessons, and the wins. To every step on Lincolnway and every handshake since. This journey has been everything but easy, and I wouldn’t change a single moment of it. Because at the end of the day, it’s not about where you start—it’s about how hard you’re willing to work to StandOut.
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