Returning To A (New) Chapter
The Field Review: TFR-021
In my life, I've rarely been bored.
I call myself a ‘Serial Hobbyist’ because I've always had wildly different interests. I played viola in my high school orchestra, I was a defenseman for Ohio State’s Club Lacrosse team, I went to Antarctica to complete a census on penguins, and I played guitar in a band before working part-time as a photographer for the Columbus Blue Jackets and learning how to hunt in my mid-20s.
For years, I’ve tried to keep the different parts of my life separate, telling different stories for different audiences depending on who was listening. Only my wife and my family have ever truly known the complete version of me.
But as I’ve been taking more time to write down my experiences, I’ve realized that the lines between personal and professional, between the field and the office, never really existed.
A Story From the Field
Earlier this week I was in Boulder, Colorado for work. I arrived early on Sunday to get some fishing in before heading into 2025 planning meetings on Monday morning. I’d been thinking about that Sunday for weeks. I tied a few of my own midges, made sure my gear was perfectly packed, and hit up not one but two fly shops in Boulder to grab my fishing license, a few extra flies, and some local advice.
I had everything planned down to the last detail.
I hiked down to the river with high hopes. Everything was set. But on my very first cast, my rod snapped in half. No clue why. No tree branches in the way, no line caught up—it just broke. I’d like to think the rod was already cracked, but I’ll never know for sure.
As I stood there, half in disbelief, half furious, I knew I had felt that same feeling before—the feeling of pouring yourself into something only to get a shit sandwich in return.
I’ve felt it every time I’ve had a job application rejected, or when a campaign I worked hard on to develop led to zero sales.
It’s that gut punch of feeling like all of the work your put in was for nothing.
It was actually on that forty minute uphill hike back to the truck to get my second rod that I realized that my life experiences all feed into each other no matter how much I try to separate them.
That work wasn’t wasted. And it never is.
The ups and downs, the wins and losses, the lessons learned build on each other even if they happen in different parts of my brain.
Multiple Worlds, One Story
When I first created the logo for The Field Review, it was meant to be a simple, visual representation of what I intended to write about… the intersection between personal development and the outdoors.
The logo is an abstract combination of tree rings and a fingerprint, two symbols of identity and growth.
For some reason, I felt like my audience at the time cared more about the outdoors than personal development so I separated the outdoor content into a new publication called The Outfitter Guide to make sure they were interested in what they were reading.
As I started to incorporate more marketing-related content (my day job), I tried to create a new logo for TOG that would reflect those topics. Maybe it could a bullseye—a fitting metaphor for the world of marketing and branding. And that’s when it hit me (again)… The Field Review logo also passes for a bullseye.
The truth is, these stories were never meant to be separated, and I made a mistake to break them apart. They feed into each other, and together, they tell a fuller, more authentic story.
I’m writing all of this to say that I’m merging The Field Review and The Outfitter Guide into a single publication. (Again).
What to Expect Moving Forward
Whether I’m telling a story about a marketing campaign, how to navigate a career move, or a lesson learned outdoors, the themes will remain the same—strategy, improvement, and growth.
I’m no longer splitting my life into neat categories and I’m not writing for different audiences. I’m writing for YOU, someone who’s navigating the ups and downs of life just like I am.
Everything is connected.
There’s value in the chaos, and there are lessons in all of it.
Moving forward, expect a blend of personal stories and professional insights, woven together in a way that reflects how life really works: a mix of the planned and the unplanned, where work and life are never separate—because they were never meant to be.
Venture Onward,
Jack