Author: Ben Treharne-Foose

GET OVER YOURSELF…. IT WORKS!

  In a poorly lit, derelict church in Louisville, Kentucky I stood – arms crossed holding the sweating hands of the kid next to me – while dozens of fellow 16 years olds spilled their hearts out over what they had seen that day and how it affected them. I’ve always been close to my emotions and I like a good sharing session. But like most teenage boys, I tried for the most part to look as tough as I could. Not easy for a scrawny pimpled face kid who let his mom cut his hair. But that night...

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OMG – I’M OBSESSED!!!

Every day we are led to believe that life should be effortless. It seems as though showing that you care about something is no longer in style. “Oh, this old outfit? I just threw it on” “No, I don’t work out…I just watch what I eat” “Eh, maybe it works out…maybe not…” (shrug) Translation: “I’m not going to try hard because it’s cooler to not care. And if things don’t go my way…whatever.” I think it’s GOOD to be obsessive about certain things – the things you care about. No, I’m not obsessive about my shoelaces. I don’t care. But I am obsessive about the food I eat and the work I do. Being obsessive isn’t the easiest path to choose, but it is what makes us individuals. The most interesting people around us are the ones that are obsessive about particular things. An old university friend of mine is obsessed with collecting and learning to play any and all stringed instruments. He has dozens of guitars, mandolins, and sitars from around the world. A drinking session with him is an incredible evening as he slips further under the foggy haze of alcohol and begins his serenade. He is obsessed, and as a consequence is one of the most talented musicians I have ever known. Or how about my grandfather who meticulously wrote in his diary every day and...

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FACEBOOK IS A BEAST WORTH TAMING

Making Facebook advertising work for small businesses takes a little extra finesse and a lot more patience… Coughing and spluttering as the crowd roared with laughter, I wiped sweat from my eyes while the beast stared down at me. It was my 21st birthday – my friends took me bull riding for the first time. Luckily for me it was a mechanical bull in a spit and sawdust country bar in Nowhere, Iowa – but I still had a hell of a ride. I often think back on that night and the countless times I was thrown to the...

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