ELEVATED INSIGHT

Football season is back.

And while NFL teams are only beginning their seasons, the rest of us are entering the fourth quarter of ours.

I’ve always loved sports, and one of the athletes I’ve respected most is Tom Brady.

His story almost doesn’t make sense.

Brady wasn’t a can’t-miss prospect. The New England Patriots selected him with the 199th pick in the sixth round of the 2000 NFL Draft. Six quarterbacks were selected before him.

Then, in 2001, Drew Bledsoe got hurt.

Brady got his opportunity.

We all know what happened afterward.

But I’ve always been fascinated by what happened before.

Plenty of starting quarterbacks have gotten hurt. Plenty of backups have been told to grab their helmet and get into the game.

They didn’t become Tom Brady.

The opportunity didn’t make Brady.

The preparation allowed him to take advantage of the opportunity.

That’s what I think about when people talk about performing under pressure.

I don’t believe pressure suddenly makes someone great.

It reveals how prepared they were before the moment arrived.

Think about taking a test you absolutely need to pass.

If you studied and you turn the page to find a question you know, there’s almost a sense of relief.

I know this.

Then another.

I know this too.

Your preparation starts building confidence.

Now imagine you didn’t study.

You turn the page and don’t know the first answer.

Suddenly the pressure changes.

You know there are only so many questions left to get your grade back.

Same test.

Same stakes.

Different preparation.

That’s how I’m looking at the fourth quarter of 2026.

This Isn’t Where I Thought I’d Be

If I’m being truthful, I thought 2026 was going to be better than this.

I entered January believing this would be the year that moved me significantly closer to some of my long-term goals.

We’ve made progress.

We’ve improved.

We’ve built.

But the major breakthrough I expected hasn’t happened.

Earlier this year, I wrote about one of the best weeks of my professional life.

I had conversations with companies I admired. Opportunities seemed to be developing. For the first time, I felt like the business development machine I had spent so much time building was beginning to produce what I believed it could.

I remember walking outside afterward, putting my AirPods in, listening to Harry Styles, and allowing myself to enjoy it.

For about fifteen minutes.

Nine months into the year, some of those conversations haven’t materialized the way I thought they would.

I don’t regret celebrating them.

Because I understand now that I was celebrating something else.

I was finally in the room.

That matters.

Getting into the room isn’t the win.

But you can’t win from a table you were never invited to sit at.

I’m having conversations today that I spent years trying to have.

I’m asking better questions.

I’m understanding potential clients differently.

I’m getting better at recognizing alignment.

I’m sharpening the process.

The revenue hasn’t completely caught up with the progress yet.

That’s frustrating.

But it doesn’t make the progress imaginary.

Another Quarter in the Machine

In my early 30s, I used to spend time on the boardwalk in Wildwood.

There was a Wizard of Oz quarter-pusher game that we played constantly.

If you’ve never played one, the concept is pretty simple.

You drop a quarter into the machine. It lands on a platform covered with other quarters. The platform moves back and forth, slowly pushing everything toward the edge.

You’re waiting for the pile to fall.

This particular game also had collectible cards, and between the quarters and the cards, it was one of the best ways to accumulate tickets for prizes.

We spent an absurd amount of money playing it.

But we also won enough that I still have signed memorabilia from those trips.

What made the game so addictive was what happened when you put in a quarter and seemingly got nothing back.

The quarter wasn’t necessarily wasted.

It landed behind another quarter.

That moved another one.

That pushed the pile slightly closer to the edge.

You could see everything sitting there.

So you put another quarter in.

Nothing.

Another.

Still nothing.

Then eventually:

Everything moves.

That’s a pretty good description of how 2026 has felt.

Another conversation.

Another relationship.

Another follow-up.

Another proposal.

Another process improvement.

Another automation.

Another lesson.

Another no.

Another quarter.

I can see the pile.

I just haven’t watched it fall yet.

Win or Learn

I don’t spend much time being disappointed by business.

If I did, I’d probably be disappointed constantly.

I believe strongly in a simple philosophy:

Win or learn.

Because the truth is, no single result could ever justify the amount of effort I put into achieving it.

I’ve poured blood, sweat, and tears into what we’re building.

Weekends.

Nights.

Early mornings.

An entire calendar year without a vacation.

And if I measured all of that effort against individual wins and losses, the equation probably wouldn’t make sense.

So I don’t.

A conversation that doesn’t become a client can still make me better at the next conversation.

A process that doesn’t immediately produce revenue can still become infrastructure for future growth.

A person who says no can teach me something about the person who will eventually say yes.

You keep putting quarters in.

Not blindly.

You study what happened.

You adjust.

Then you put the next one in a better place.

What We’ve Actually Built

If I only measured Kennedy Services by where I wanted us to be at this point in the year, I could convince myself that we haven’t done enough.

That’s not accurate.

We’re a better company than we were in January.

Our processes are better.

Our technology is better.

We’ve made adjustments to roles and responsibilities.

We’ve invested heavily in automation.

And what we’ve begun doing with artificial intelligence over the last several months has genuinely changed my perception of what’s possible.

Some days I feel like Tony Stark.

We’re beginning to automate pieces of sales administration that previously consumed human attention. We’re creating systems that can continue working while our attention needs to be somewhere else.

Our team has been tested too.

We had two employees leave Kennedy for opportunities outside of recruiting, and I watched the people who remained step forward.

They absorbed responsibility.

They shared information.

They became better at what they do.

They became more knowledgeable about this industry.

We’re still not where I want us to be.

We need to lean on our SOPs more.

We need to execute more consistently.

We need to continue building the team capable of taking this company where we’re trying to go.

I’ve always believed in who, then what.

Finding the people willing to take the journey with you can be harder than figuring out where you want to go.

But we’re building.

And that’s an important change in language for me.

Stop Rebuilding

At the beginning of this year, I talked a lot about rebuilding.

It made sense.

That’s how I felt.

But I’ve realized something as I’ve looked back over the first three quarters:

I’m not rebuilding anymore.

Rebuilding keeps your eyes on what was damaged.

Building keeps your eyes on what can exist next.

There’s a difference.

I’ve spent too much time measuring 2026 against what came before it.

Maybe it’s time to stop doing that.

The company we’re operating today isn’t the company we were operating in January.

I’m not the person I was in January either.

So I’m done rebuilding.

Now we build.

The First Three Quarters

I’ve written a blog every month this year.

I didn’t intentionally create a roadmap when I started.

Looking back, maybe I did anyway.

January was about beginning again.

February was discipline.

March was process.

April was movement.

May was friction.

June was endurance.

July was inventory.

August was the invisible work.

September was about margin, priorities, and learning that not everything important is efficient.

I’ve had to live every one of those lessons.

Some more than once.

Especially movement.

I get knocked down.

I get back up again.

That’s not particularly sophisticated.

But it’s catchy, and it simply works.

If I had to reduce the year so far to three words, I think I could.

Q1: Begin.

Q2: Move.

Q3: Endure.

And now:

Q4: Progress.

Playing From Behind

If 2026 were a football game, I wouldn’t tell you we’re protecting a lead.

We’re playing from behind.

There is too much left that I want to accomplish.

Kennedy Services isn’t yet the nationally recognized brand I believe it can become.

The legacy staffing model I envision isn’t fully built.

There are significant clients I’ve spent months pursuing that aren’t clients yet.

There are processes that need refinement.

There are people we still need to find.

There is an enormous amount of work left.

Good.

Because there’s still time on the clock.

The fourth quarter doesn’t erase what happened during the first three.

It reveals whether you learned from them.

You don’t suddenly develop discipline in the fourth quarter.

You don’t suddenly create a process.

You don’t suddenly become consistent.

You don’t suddenly learn how to endure.

The fourth quarter reveals the preparation.

That’s why I don’t feel pressure.

I feel prepared.

Strike First. Strike Hard. Strike Often.

There’s another philosophy I love, although this one comes from a slightly less conventional business source:

Cobra Kai.

Strike First. Strike Hard. Strike Often.

I’ve always interpreted it differently than simply being aggressive.

Strike first: Take initiative.

Don’t wait for the opportunity to introduce itself.

Strike hard: When the opportunity arrives, give it everything you have.

Strike often: Be consistent.

Do it again.

And again.

And again.

That’s preparation.

It’s also how I’ve tried to approach this year.

There are several substantial opportunities sitting close to the edge right now, both public and private.

Maybe they close.

Maybe they don’t.

I’m going to do everything within my control to make sure we’re prepared if the opportunity comes.

Because that’s all preparation can promise you.

It can’t guarantee the outcome.

It can make sure you’re ready for the moment.

I Ain’t Never Scared

I’m not scared of the fourth quarter.

I ain’t never scared.

That’s not because I believe nothing bad can happen.

Plenty has.

It’s because nothing has convinced me yet that I won’t eventually figure it out.

Something doesn’t work?

I’ll find another way.

There’s friction?

Build around it.

Lose?

Learn.

Get knocked down?

Move.

I know how much weight I can carry.

I know I can operate in uncomfortable places.

I know I can survive.

But I’m starting to think survival isn’t something I need to keep proving.

I’ve spent a lot of my life carrying ghosts.

The feeling that I didn’t live up to my potential soon enough.

Promises I made to my grandmother.

The memory of a friend who left this world far too soon.

People whose belief in me mattered enormously.

For a long time, some part of me has been trying to prove something to them.

Maybe I don’t need to anymore.

I’ll never forget them.

I’ll never forget the promises.

But the people who believed in me wouldn’t want me spending my life trying to prove that their belief was justified.

Maybe honoring them means something different.

Maybe it means finally living it.

Three Months

So what do I want from the fourth quarter?

There are two major clients I’ve been working on for months that I want to bring across the finish line.

I want to continue refining the sales infrastructure we’ve built.

I want our technology and automation to give our people more capacity to do the things humans do best.

I want to stop spreading myself so thin.

I want more confidence in the decisions I make outside of work.

And I refuse to enter 2027 without a clearer roadmap than the one I had entering 2026.

Some of the opportunities we’re pursuing right now may not change 2026.

They could change the beginning of 2027.

That’s okay.

Because despite all the football metaphors I’ve used here, life doesn’t actually end when the fourth-quarter clock reaches zero.

December 31 matters to me because it’s one of the few days when I genuinely stop.

I look backward.

I process the wins I didn’t allow myself to process when they happened.

I think about what worked.

What didn’t.

Who I became.

Then January 1 resets the clock.

Why I Survived

Maybe that’s what I’ve misunderstood about this year.

I thought 2026 was supposed to be the payoff.

Maybe it was preparation.

I thought the breakthrough would validate the work.

Maybe the work has been preparing me for the breakthrough.

I thought I was rebuilding.

I was building.

And maybe all of those quarters I’ve been dropping into the machine haven’t disappeared.

They’re sitting there.

Relationships.

Technology.

Processes.

Knowledge.

Conversations.

Repetitions.

Failures.

Lessons.

All pushing against one another.

All moving something closer to the edge.

I don’t know which quarter makes the pile fall.

Nobody does.

So I’ll keep preparing.

I’ll keep refining.

I’ll keep moving.

I’ll keep putting another quarter in.

Because January was about proving I could survive.

The fourth quarter is about showing why I did.

Not to the people I’ve lost.

Not to the people who doubted me.

Not even to myself.

The proof isn’t the point anymore.

The life is.