It was hard to peruse the web around the first of the year without stumbling on to another blogger’s meticulously crafted list of three words that summarized their intent for the coming year. Speaker, consultant and blogging extraordinaire, Chris Brogan, issued a repeat of his exercise from last year, and I was certainly not surprised by the outpouring that followed. Not one to sit idly on the sidelines, I started giving thought to what three words would encompass my 2012 and, though they’re a tad on the tardy side, I wanted to clue you guys into what I’ve been thinking for the year to come.

HONE

I’m a bit spazzy when it comes to interest and hobbies. It’s not a bad thing per say, but I find that burnout tends to be right around the corner of each new project I start, and unfortunately, many of them sit on the table incomplete. What does that say for my character, my brand and my business?

I’ve had my heart and my hand in far too many pots the past few months. I remember a couple of years ago when I took up video production (using the term rather loosely), and even though my eyesight declined sharply, my enthusiasm for the art never faded – even when it truly should have. I continued shooting videos, editing them with the aid of my screen reading software and posting them on YouTube. They probably weren’t awful, but the process of actually making the videos was grueling. It took much longer for me to work with the video – and that was time wasted that could have been spent with my wife or doing activities that were much less demanding.

The lesson here is this – I want to hone into which interests and hobbies realistically fit my skill set and circumstances. I adore blogging and copywriting, and given the opportunity, I’d do either exclusively full-time. But, I’m not a web designer or developer. I don’t know much about HTML. I have no clue how to really manipulate WordPress. Why then do I insist on investing my time, my resources and my heart into those areas?

INVEST

Oooooooh – and look at that segue. There’s a whole slew of “new” in my life right now. A beautiful little boy, a budding business, new musical opportunities and that “dream job” that still hangs right outside of my grasp, reclaiming some of the inefficiently used time and energy as addressed above opens up the doors for me to really invest in what matters.

I’ve started nine books in the last four months, and you want to know how many of them I’ve finished? One. That’s pretty lame, I admit. These books scale the gamut of social media marketing and business, to a Tom Clancy novel that grabbed my attention. I haven’t even mentioned how many informational podcasts I’ve subscribed to in the last year. I want to invest myself in what really matters, but more importantly, “invest” refers to investing in the future of my family, my personal brand and my professional endeavors.

Invest in being a better husband. Invest in being an awesome daddy. Invest in knowing what the heck I’m doing for clients. Invest in my abilities as a writer and public speaker. Invest in my friends. I’m sure you’re getting the picture.

I’ve had a terrible habit of not returning phone calls since, well forever, I suppose, and it’s only gotten worse over time. But it’s not just phone calls that go undelivered and unreturned. The reason my inbox rarely hits zero is because I table a reply for later – and later never comes. Meanwhile, Romack gets labeled as the guy who never returns the message.

I’ll even take it a step further to the line many of us have used in the past – we should go grab coffee sometime. Is that the polite way of ducking out of the present conversation? Do I really want to join them with java sometime soon – or am I being polite? I commit to coffee, lunches and hangouts as a way to tell folks I’m interested in them, but now just isn’t the time. How’s that for brutally honest? When I don’t call them to schedule said social session, I’m not only the guy that doesn’t return calls, but a liar, as well.

I can’t be the guy that over sells and under delivers. That’s reserved for midnight infomercials and pushy, used car salesmen. When I say I’ll do it – I must deliver on it. There’s a scene in “Hook” with Robin Williams where he tells his son, Jack, that he’ll absolutely be at his ball game, in spite of his frantic, corporate lifestyle. Williams, of course, misses the game and has to eat his words – “My word is my bond.” I can’t be that kind of husband and father. I can’t be that kind of friend. I can’t be that kind of businessman. I can’t sully my word with failed delivery.

My word is my bond. I’m pushing to deliver when I promise. Return a call when I say I will. Respond to an invitation honestly and truthfully. Deliver results the way I agreed with a client. Uphold the commitments, both big and small, I make with my family. After all – talk is cheap, but actions are worth everything.

And – those are my three words, folks. Each word summarizes a few major goals I’ve laid out for the year – both personally and professionally – and it’s my hope that by keeping a scaled down roadmap of these goals, I’ll be more likely to stay on track. How about you – did you make any resolutions this year? Did you give the three words exercise a go? I’d love to hear what you’re trying different this year – and if you’re still on the wagon. Give me a second or two of your time and leave a thought in the comments section.

Here’s to an exhilarating, refining and fruitful year to you and yours!

I figured I’d post a short list of some responsibilities found in the job description. I’m certain I wasn’t the most qualified candidate, but I think I’m filling my role quite nicely.

• Foster a healthy environment for one-on-one communication with team members.
• Construct an array of engaging resources for the development and growth of team members.
• Monitor work environment and ensure it is kept tidy and organized at all times.
• Adhere to schedule and time restraints with promptness and punctuality.
• Assess and diffuse hostile and chaotic situations at a moments notice.
• Deal with unfavorable and unsatisfactory team output swiftly, ensuring to file the proper paperwork.
• Frequently assess sentiment of team members and strive to keep morale high – deploying any means necessary, regardless of how off the wall a solution may seem.
• Encourage communication of team members with internal and external communities.
• Use expert discretion to provide additional resources when necessary – or when team members are particularly fussy that afternoon.

Who doesn’t have “fussy” “team members”? It’s been quite the learning experience being a stay-at-home daddy. I can’t tell you how many profound lessons this little guy teaches me every single day. Couple that with attempting to build my business in the flitters of silence found during nap times, it’s a recipe for a long, long day.

It’s been interesting to explain my daily workload to friends, particularly those without kids of their own. A list like this is hardly an exaggeration, and I often find myself completely drained at the end of the day. Is it worth it? You bet.

I go back and forth on creating a separate stream of tweets for all the amusing little stories that come out of our day together. But for now, just go ahead and follow my primary Twitter account for funny stories, silly observations and a daily spit up tabulation.

No stone will be left unturned, no road untravelled as we continue journeying through all the possibilities to keep my eyesight as functional as possible. The eyedrops that I mentioned last month proved unsuccessful on their own – and now we turn to steroid injections directly into the eye as a solution to getting the vision stabilized again. There’s a bit of inflammation in the tissue that was transplanted in September, so I’ll stay on the drops through this first dosage of steroid to see if the swelling decreases.

I must confess that the past 24 hours hasn’t been without complaining. Once the steroid is injected into the eye, very little usable vision is present. Basically, the steroid covers the entirety of my visual field, so not much of anything gets to the back of my eye, including light. It’s intimidating and a little scary – but I’m holding onto hope that there’s something brilliant on the other side of this dark and fuzzy mess.

Patience and hope are all I can cling to through this waiting period. Have I ever mentioned how truly impatient I am? I huff and puff when I wait on my cherry Pop-Tart to bound out of the toaster – you can only imagine what the wait is like for better eyesight. There are times I want to give up, times where I grapple fears and doubts, and others where I’m so consumed with impatience that I get angry, sometimes even livid. It’s hard to believe that I was weeks, maybe days, away from seeing our little boy’s face.

I’ve come to learn so much about myself through this journey. I have to struggle with surrendering my impatience for the sake of my family. I’ve had to embrace the notion that my doctors, though with skilled hands and tenured insights, are only instruments of an even greater Physician. It’s been a long road thus far – but I know that we’ve yet to see the last of the twists and turns. 

I can’t see a thing right now, with the exception of some light. My first followup is February 15th and we’ll evaluate the effectiveness of the steroid injection, whether another round is necessary or whether the treatment option will be ongoing. The dosage used can last about two months, so if this does indeed resolve some of the vision loss I’m experiencing, this could be the routine for us, as frustrating as it may be.

Thanks for sticking around as we turn the page. I can’t tell you how much the support means to us. I’ll update as I notice changes – for better or worse.

It became readily apparent as I played cargo Tetris for the umpteenth time – the Romacks teeny, tiny Honda Fit wasn’t really fitting much of anything. It’s amazing how roomy those things are – when it’s just Angela and me sucking up the oxygen inside the cabin of this subcompact. Add a dog, or two, and another human being, and you’ve got a recipe for cramped and cranky commuters.

Imagine my surprise when, coincidentally, the good folks at Rusty Wallace Honda in Dallas hit up our phone with an intriguing proposition. It’s the same old song and dance – they’re in need of used vehicles, ours is a couple years old, they want it and will offer us a brand new vehicle for no money down and the same monthly payment. As I unravel the offer a bit, we negotiate that, for a few extra bucks each month, our growing family will step into the SUV terrain with Honda’s snappy little CRV.

I don’t like buying cars. Sure – I love to inhale the sweet aroma of glorious new car scent for a few months, but I’m not keen on dealing with the middle man needed to have this said scent grace my nostrils. Don’t get me wrong, Rusty Wallace Honda is hands down where we’ll buy our cars time after time because they’ve done good business with us on every occasion. I just can’t help but get a little irritated by the false flattery and disingenuous buddy-buddy conversation that goes down with many of the car salesman I’ve  encountered through the years.

You know what, though? I have to catch myself from slipping into the slick salesman, hyper-personable businessman mode from time to time. It’s always a humbling experience when I buy cars because it pits me against these expertly trained and highly motivated fast talkers – and reminds me that I can’t base my business on smooth talking and ulterior motives.

As we take delivery of our sexy new set of wheels tomorrow afternoon, I will be sure to remember that I strive to establish my relationships on integrity. I foster transparency and openness with my friends, colleagues and clients. I say what I mean and mean what I say. I desire to cultivate a personal and professional brand that resonates these ideals – each and every time. Not just when a pitch hangs in the balance. Not because a deal is about to go down.

How are you striving for integrity in your marketplace? What ideals and principles do you desire to resonate with your network? Spare a few seconds and let me know in the comments.

I remember like it was yesterday – Larry and I connected so perfectly right from the start. His trainer made the introduction in February 2005, when she specifically mentioned that, “if you’re not a fan of attention, Larry probably isn’t the dog for you.” The massive blockhead was a dead ringer for oohs and aahs, but with each pair of eyeballs on us came the opportunity to outreach, advocate and educate. Larry did a lot of that throughout his lifetime.

Larry wasn’t a shy pup, that’s for sure, and he instantly nestled himself right into our family. Many of our happiest and memorable stories have some mention of him – including our wedding. I could ramble for days the funny situations we always seemed to find ourselves, and the hilarious things folks would say to and about us. Absolutely good times.

That’s why the decision to euthanize Larry was utterly agonizing – yet so swiftly decided. This pup single-handedly ushered me into confidence when I needed it the most. His keen sense of awareness, selflessness, dependability, eagerness to work, loyalty and sensitivity made him the best travel companion, copilot, guide and buddy a blind guy – or any guy – could ask for. My heart crumbled time after time as Larry’s health began to deteriorate last fall, which was honestly the only way we’d ever manage to get him out of harness. He was just that dedicated.

I never imagined cancer would overtake him. Not in a million years did I ever expect this. And – even more – the cancer was so aggressive. What started so seemingly innocent as a few missed meals quickly turned into a diagnosis of colon, prostate and liver cancer. It was miserable watching him snub his nose at even the tastiest of table scraps, only because it would be so painful to digest. Days, verging on a week, of no substantial food left our boy tired, weak, distant and lethargic, which isn’t how we wanted to remember him.

On Friday, December 2nd, Angela and I, along with the insight from our friends at Guide Dogs of Texas, made the decision to give Larry peace. I believe it was the ultimate means of honoring him – ending the pain and suffering he was experiencing. He didn’t deserve it. I can’t tell you how saddened we were to make the decision – but know it was undoubtedly the best one available.

Thank you all so much for loving this pup the way we did. Thanks for holding on to so many of those precious, amusing and inspiring Larry stories acquired through the years. He was truly a good dog – the best – and I can say with great certainty that he’s going to be a tough act to follow. We’ll certainly miss him. The house already feels empty without him.

It’s been incredible to see the outpouring of support from not only my family and friends – but even the good folks at the Texas A&M Small Animal Clinic, as well as Guide Dogs of Texas in San Antonio. Without the love and support shown us throughout the past few weeks, we most certainly would find ourselves in utter despair. Mandi, our slightly less aware and not so mobility oriented border collie mix, will wear Larry’s tags on her collar, in an attempt to keep her brother’s same cheery jingle fluttering through our house in his absence.

NOTE While I’ve had this post sitting as a “Draft”, I got word from GDTX about a match for the spring training session. On January 24th, we’ll meet Piper, and barring any unforeseen hurdles, evaluate training with her in late February. As always – I’ll keep you posted.

Exactly 20 months ago, Angela and I moved to the Bryan-College Station area. Even though I was working closely with Josh and his family, we had no clue how the neighbor relationship (and one with a shared wall at that) would work out. I can say with great confidence – it was fantastic.

Josh and Whitney: The Romacks wish you the absolute best with your move to Nacogdoches. Your family has made us smile, given us encouragement and support when we needed it, made us think, helped connect us to the community and set the bar super high for any other neighbors we have. You guys are fantastic friends – and two hours and 150 miles won’t change that. We’ll see you guys soon!

I mentioned taking a trip to Dallas for a checkup and reality check with my doctors. I’m, no doubt, seeing the most brilliant brains in the business, and certainly they can relate to a guy who desperately wants to gaze into his newborn son’s eyes for the first time. I mean, I was just reading text on an iPhone screen in October. What gives?

I didn’t walk away with a solution, but given the circumstances and timeline of my incredible vision a few weeks back, my doctors have concluded that my macula, the high-definition portion of my retina, is swollen, most likely due to the handful of retinal detachments through the years. When they transplanted the new cornea in September, the doctor put a high dose of steroids into the eye along with the tissue, mainly as an aide to recovery and inflammation related to the surgery. As an added bonus, these steroids acted as a relief for the inflammation in the macula. Funny how that worked.

I’m not great with analogies, but let me try to explain this a bit further. Assume my eye is a window, and before the surgery it was fogged up and dirty. When they transplanted the new cornea, they removed the fog. With a swollen macula, the dirt and grime still remain. Since the steroids minimized the swelling, I got a glimpse through a clear window – or at least as clear as my window will ever get at this point. Now – the window is dirty again. The fogginess isn’t present, but definitely tons of grime.

The first route my doctors want to take is eyedrops. A heavy dose of steroid drops were prescribed, and while I haven’t seen any progress yet, we’ll evaluate their effectiveness on January 11th. If the drops don’t solve the problem, the next step will be injecting steroids directly into the eye. There’s no guarantee that will work either – but it is a bit more direct than the eyedrops. It’s also more invasive, which we’re trying to keep in mind, too.

I want unhindered eyesight to see our boy’s face. I want to continue enjoying all the visual nuances that I’ve gone so long without – and got a glimpse of through the past few weeks. We’re holding out hope that the solution is still in sight, but it may be another month before we know for sure.

This has turned into more of a personal/family blog over the past couple of months – and I apologize to many of you. Thanks for being faithful and supportive as we continue on the chaotic ride that is our lives.

After two days of feeding every other hour – plus an additional supplement of formula four times daily – Tyson tipped the scale five ounces heavier during his weight check last Thursday. Angela and I let out the heaviest sigh of relief when the nurse read the result. It was such a beautiful moment.

Our little guy is doing great. He’s quite the party animal from 1:00 to 7:00 each morning – despite our less-than-enthusiastic response. Other than that, the happy little Romack family keeps ticking along.

Can’t believe he’s two weeks old. We go in for a two-week checkup on Thursday. Expecting he’s gained more weight – and a glowing report from his doctor. Thanks for the support, encouragement and prayers. It’s keeping us smiling.

Tyson is Here!

In a strange turn of events, Tyson was delivered via c-section last Wednesday, November 23rd, at 9:14AM. Our little guy weighed in at five pounds and four ounces, and measured 18.5 inches in length. I’ll most certainly delve into more of the labor and delivery stories – because there certainly are plenty – but long story short, Tyson was diagnosed with IUGR, or intrauterine growth restriction, and the nourishment needed to keep him growing and thriving was unattainable in the womb.

Taking him last Wednesday was an incredible call on the part of our OB – our long journey is just now beginning regarding Ty’s health. A 10% weight reduction is normal after birth, as most babies easily regain those pounds after a healthy feeding cycle begins during the first two weeks. But – Tyson’s low weight makes each ounce count even more, and he’s now down 12% since last Wednesday. Holding a tiny four pound and ten ounce baby is certainly adorable, but he’s absolutely going to have to pack on the poundage over the next couple days. Weight checks every 48 hours, nursing every two hours and a half ounce of supplemental formula four times daily are the first non-invasive steps to make that happen. Given his diagnosis, we don’t want him back in a hospital on IVs and feeding tubes, so we’re working around the clock to keep him fed, but also nice and toasty, as being cold and self-warming burns off so many calories.

More updates on all of this tomorrow.

Parking a Stroller in the Unemployment Line

I got the unexpected, and quite unfortunate, call last Monday that I was being laid off due to some lost work and budget issues. Many of you know that I’ve worked for my buddy and partner, Ross, for the past year, and we served local businesses with their digital and social media marketing needs. It’s been a blast. But – with the departure of a client comes a decline in that business, and sad as it may be, my full-time involvement just wasn’t possible anymore.

As I cozied up to the idea of a part-time job, the opportunity started looking a lot less likely as I fleshed it out with my partner. Money just wasn’t there, and in a very difficult and heart wrenching decision, I gave my formal decision yesterday to step away altogether. No hard feelings between Ross and I – just business.

I don’t know where that has us, to be honest, but I’m not terrified just yet. I believe in my abilities, but more importantly, I believe in the opportunity that exists around this local community. Now, more than ever, the ideas and concepts I’ve invested in so fully are most important to local businesses, and I’m going to move full force into what all I can offer them. I’m expecting great things – so hold on for more news on all of this soon, too.

Can I See My Son?

I’ve gotten this question quite a bit over the past couple of days. I realize my last post ranted and raved on the excellent progress being made through my recovery, but the fact is that I’ve experienced sharp declines in my eyesight, actually, and I’m seeing almost as poorly as I did before the surgery. We are completely unsure of why that is – but I do have appointments with a few of my doctors this afternoon.

I’ve seen Tyson’s nose, a few pictures (that I suspect I’m not fully seeing), and the occasional glimpse at his hands and feet, but I’ve yet to see the whole enchilada. I’m holding out hope that this journey with my eyesight isn’t over yet – and, while I want positive and constructive answers from my docs today, I just want *ANY* answers. I want to see straight into my son’s eyes – that’s what I really want.

All that being said, I came to the realization yesterday that, as difficult as this is to say, and even more difficult to fully believe, I don’t need to see Tyson’s face to know how much I love him and need him in my life. Seeing him, as awesome as it will be, doesn’t make me more or less of his father. I love this little guy with all I’ve got, and with each coo, whimper, whine, cry, and even dirty diaper, he melts our hearts just a little bit more.

I’ll keep you updated on what my doctors say this afternoon. I’m hopeful, but also completely willing to submit to disappointing news, as well.

Attribute it to a baby on the way or a hectic professional life – but the past month has gotten away from me. It’s been exactly one month since they pulled the patch from my eye that’s, for all intents and purposes, been through it all. Surgery after surgery to grasp even the slightest bit of useable eyesight. And – by the grace of God, I’m still seeing things.

It was a shock, both mentally and physically, when the patch was removed. My wounded little eye was overloaded with light which, for nearly three years, hadn’t reached the back of my eye – the retina. No light – no eyesight. For several days after the surgery, I was soaking up all I could visually. Things were incredible.

But then the complications became apparent. There was a pretty significant amount of blood floating around in the anterior chamber of my eye. A steroid injection, which was given to minimize scarring and aid the transplanted tissue, also clouded my visual field. Adding insult to injury, silicon gel was used in a previous surgery to hold the shape of my eye together, so neither the blood or steroid can be filtered out of the eye as they normally would. These two deterrents would dissipate from a normal eye in about two months – but my eye is anything but the norm. We’re operating on an indefinite timeline at this point.

I’d be an absolute liar if I told you I’ve been anything but disappointed. Some days are filled with frustration, despair and anger. Others filled with flickers of hope. While still others leave me utterly confused. Something big is around the corner, I just know it, but sometimes I feel like I’m chasing some insane promise that’s just simply out of reach.

Today changed everything, though. My outlook. My focus. My heart. My prayer. It all changed. Something so seemingly unimportant and insignificant has radically transformed my entire perspective on this recovery process. I’ll set this up for you – because it’s just so dang impressive.

I’m sitting at the table doing some work, and I start putting appointments into my phone’s calendar. I wrapped that up and locked my phone, but out of habit I pressed the lock button a second time, which announces the time. Just as I pressed the button and the phone announced the time – I noticed three digits flash across my visual field: 6:04. Wait – did my phone just say those same three numbers? I had the phone say it again – and still – I’m seeing 6:04 right in front of my face. But this just can’t be. I’ve never been able to read anything on my iPhone’s tiny screen – but, alas, I’m gasping in disbelief as I recite the same three numbers my phone is saying aloud.

I tried this same process over and over again. I think I watched my phone for about 10 minutes before I just couldn’t contain it anymore. Of course this was the day Angela had to work late – so no one to really recap the astonishment and wonder that had washed over my face. Josh and Whitney, our neighbors, were hosting a small group at their house – but I almost bulldozed through their front door to shout how excited I was.

This is huge, guys. Three numbers changed my entire mindset. Even now, illuminating the screen revealing 11:32 has me just as giddy and encouraged as it did five and a half hours ago. It’s a small step – no, stride – toward something life-changing. Something impressive. Something big.

I may not be able to watch television, read a print book or admire stars in the night’s sky, but miraculous works are underway in this troubled little eyeball. I’ve prayed one thing, and one thing only, and that’s to see our precious baby boy’s face. Three digits gave me hope. Three digits changed everything.

Improvement is subtle. Progress is slow-moving. Those of you who are praying – we’d be humbled by your continued support. I’ll do my best to report these victories as they happen. I see two out of three doctors this Friday, and we hope they’ll provide some answers to what can be expected in the next month. We’re also rounding up a few magnifiers and other gadgets to see if I can squeeze any extra functionality out of my recovering eye.

Until then…