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In 2002, I landed my first full-time salaried job in television.
MuchMusic.
Canada’s MTV.
Back then it was live from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. VJs introducing music videos. Cameras rolling. Windows open onto Queen Street West. Tourists pressed against the glass watching us like we were zoo animals. Speaker’s Corner humming outside. The whole thing felt electric.
My job was VTR operator.
I sat in front of a literal wall of videotape recorders and hit play when the VJ said, “Here’s the latest from Avril Lavigne” or “Red Hot Chili Peppers” or the guys who sang Black Hole Sun.
I was 21. Living downtown. Taking the subway to work.
It was exactly what I said I would do in high school. It was my dream.
Every year the building hosted the MuchMusic Video Awards. Think Canadian VMAs. Streets shut down. Red carpets everywhere. Stages built outside. Chaos in the best way.
I didn’t get assigned to work the show.
So I volunteered.
I became what was called a Wrangler.
Your job as a Wrangler was simple. You were assigned a celebrity and you made sure they got from point A to point B on time during a four-hour live broadcast.
Because I was new, I didn’t get Beyoncé. I got someone D-list whose name I cannot remember. But I did not volunteer for the D-list celebrity.
I volunteered for the after party.
Specifically, to find Chad Kroeger from Nickelback.
Yes. I was that girl.
Small-town Ontario girl obsessed with a small-town Alberta rock band. Convinced I would one day marry the lead singer.
At the after party down at Exhibition Place, my friend Kim and I slipped past security into a back room.
And there he was.
Leather jacket. Rockstar hair.
And I did something deeply embarrassing.
I stood behind him for a solid hour, clutching the back of his jacket like I belonged there. Like I was his girlfriend. Like this was normal. 😅
Kim took a photo. We printed it at Kodak. I framed it. It sat in my bedroom for seven years.
Seven.
Years.
Here’s the part that matters.
I didn’t feel like I was sneaking in.
I felt like I was rehearsing.
I had already decided I belonged in rooms like that.
I didn’t know how. I didn’t know when. I didn’t know what version of my life would make it true.
But I was practicing proximity.
And this is where the business lesson comes in...
(more below the image of my BF and I)
So many entrepreneurs are waiting to “arrive” before they stand beside the people they admire.
Waiting for the perfect website.The perfect brand.The perfect level of success.
But identity rarely follows proof.
It follows proximity.
It follows behavior.
It follows the small, slightly delusional moments where you decide, I am allowed in this room.
Now - this is not about faking expertise.
It’s not about pretending to be something you’re not.
It’s about allowing yourself to be near the level you’re growing toward.
When I look back at that girl holding onto a leather jacket, I don’t see delusion.
I see someone who had already left her small town mentally.
Someone who already believed she would live in big rooms, work in media, be around celebrities, create things that reached people.
And she did.
Not because she clutched a jacket.
But because she normalized proximity.
In business and branding, this shows up as:
Saying yes to rooms slightly above your comfort level.Collaborating with people you admire instead of idolizing them.Charging in alignment with where you’re going, not where you started.Speaking as the person you’re becoming, not the one who is still waiting for permission.
You don’t have to fake it.
But you do have to let yourself stand there.
Sometimes the difference between amateur and professional isn’t talent.
It’s who believes they’re allowed in the room.
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