After graduating college, I joined full-time. But there was a catch—I had to reverse commute from NYC to Columbia, Maryland, where our headquarters was based. My days started early, really early. I’d wake up around 4 AM, jump in the car, and drive two to three hours to the office. During the week, I stayed in a corporate apartment with Andy, fully immersed in the startup grind. Then, every Friday, I’d drive back to the city, catch up with friends, and do it all over again the next week.
I kept up this routine until we eventually opened a New York office.
Looking back, those long drives to Maryland weren’t just part of the job—they were the foundation of an incredible journey. What I remember most isn’t the commute itself but the people I worked with. I was surrounded by some of the smartest minds in technology, and those early days shaped the way I think, work, and lead today.
Sometimes, the road to success is quite literally a long drive, wrapped up in a lot of patience —but if you’re surrounded by the right people, it’s always worth it.
Congrats Andy, Jeremy, and the rest of the Lotame team. Incredibly well-deserved!
I was standing in the corner of my parents’ living room, fiddling with the audio settings for the outdoor speakers. Something wasn’t working right — the input and output were all mixed up, and I was reconfiguring the auxiliary settings. It’s a weird, random detail to remember so vividly, but I do.
Because that’s when I got the text.
“Dan, when are you coming to Chicago?”
“Not sure, probably in a few months. I’ll keep you posted.”
“I really need you.”
I sent back something like, “We’ll hang soon… you got this.”
Looking back now, I can’t stop thinking about how cold that response must have felt. How dismissive. How much he might have needed something more in that moment.
A week later, Jason was gone.
I never got the full story about why or how. But deep down, I knew.
I knew then.
He was reaching out. Asking for help. Saying it in the clearest way he could without actually saying the words. And I didn’t do a damn thing except send a hollow, meaningless response.
It haunts me to this day.
What if I’d been more compassionate?
What if I’d just called him?
What if I’d jumped on a plane?
What if I’d done anything more than sending a short text?
Would he still be here?
Maybe if we’d recreated the kind of support system we had in college — that rare feeling of closeness, understanding, and looking out for each other — maybe he would have been okay.
People try to comfort others in those moments. They say things like, “It’s not your fault. You did your best. There was nothing you could have done.”
And part of me wants to believe that.
But part of me knows that’s bullshit.
The truth is — I could have done more. I didn’t.
And maybe even the smallest gesture, the simplest act of care, could have made the difference.
I’ve been posting a lot lately about hard work, strength, pushing through. But the reality is, sometimes we don’t need toughness. Sometimes we just need compassion.
Understanding.
Presence.
No answers. No solutions. Just showing up and being there.
So why am I sharing this now?
Honestly, I’m not even sure. Maybe I’m just rewiring my brain, trying to be a little kinder to myself and to others.
Because I’ve learned — and keep learning — that everyone is going through something we can’t always see or understand.
Be there.
Be compassionate.
Peel back the layers.
It could literally change someone’s life. Maybe even save it.
One of my favorite wins in business started with a trademark troll trying to extort me for $552. Here’s the story.
My co-founder, Dr. Raj, had just published an article in Health Magazine. As the medical editor for the magazine, her work was featured regularly. This particular article included a generic, stock photo of a woman—nothing fancy or AI-generated, just a plain image.
The photo looked like a non-AI version of this…
At the time, we were building content for our website, tulforlife.com, to boost credibility, SEO, and web traffic. (Side note: We eventually acquired tula.com, but that’s another story.) When Dr. Raj’s article went live on Health Magazine’s site, I reposted it to our blog, crediting her as the author and linking to the original article. Standard stuff, right?
Life went on. We kept building our business, sharing content, and selling products. Then, out of nowhere, I got a letter in the mail.
It was a trademark violation notice. The claim? We had used the stock photo without proper rights. The demand? Pay $552 or face a lawsuit.
Enter the Trademark Troll
After some digging, I discovered that this company’s business model was essentially a scam. They scraped the internet for photos being used out of compliance, then sent demand letters to unsuspecting businesses. Their game? Intimidation for profit.
Now, $552 might not sound like much, but in the early days of TULA, every dollar counted. Paying even $100 for a random blog photo felt like a gut punch. But the alternative—getting sued—wasn’t any better.
I was furious. A classic trademark troll was shaking me down, and I felt so incredibly frustrated that I had to deal with this bullshit.
Seeking Advice
I called a lawyer friend, who advised me to pay the fee and move on. “It’s not worth the hassle,” he said.
“Fuck that!” I snapped.
Next, I called my brother, who’s also a lawyer. His advice was slightly different: reach out to the troll, explain that the author of the article is our co-founder, and chalk it up to a misunderstanding. Maybe, just maybe, they’d let it slide.
Spoiler alert: they didn’t.
My brother got on a call with the troll’s representative, but it quickly turned hostile. “She basically told me to pay up or get sued,” he reported.
My brother was as angry as me. Maybe more.
Back to square one.
The Lightbulb Moment
Frustrated, I decided to dig deeper. Where did this photo even come from?
I ran a reverse image search on Google. Among the results, two stood out: one linked to the trademark troll’s website, and the other to a personal blog. On the blog, I found the same photo, along with others like it.
That’s when it hit me: what if I bought the photo outright? If I owned it, they couldn’t sue me for using my own property.
Taking Action
I called my brother with the idea. “Let’s buy the photo directly from the photographer,” I said. “We’ll ensure the rights cover digital and all-time usage—past, present, and future.”
“I love it!” he replied.
I reached out to the photographer, negotiated the deal (because of course, I had to), and secured the rights to the photo. The contract explicitly freed us from all liability and granted perpetual ownership.
Here’s the email exchange…
And, here’s the agreement…
Now armed with full ownership, we prepared our counterattack.
Turning the Tables
My brother called the troll to inform them that we now owned the photo outright. Their response? They went ballistic. “You can’t do that!” they yelled. “You still have to pay us, or else…”
So, we played their game.
We took their original legal letter demanding $552, copied it word for word, and switched the defendant’s name from mine to theirs. Then, we sent it back to them, demanding they pay us $552—or else.
I was so happy…
“FUCK OFF TROLLS!”
Guess what?
We never heard from them again.
Victory Over the Troll
And that’s how we outsmarted a bottom-feeding, low-life trademark troll, turned the tables, and declared absolute and glorious victory.
Sometimes, the best wins come from refusing to roll over—and finding creative ways to fight back.
At first glance, these statements seem small and insignificant. But every one of them changed my life in ways I could never have imagined.
Life has a way of turning the tiniest moments into the most consequential outcomes. I was reminded of this over the weekend while skiing on the hill. I watched my fellow ski patrollers respond to a code on the side of the mountain, helping someone who had made just one wrong turn. A single degree off course was all it took to change their day—or even their life—forever.
The same holds true in our everyday interactions. The impact of those small moments may not reveal itself immediately—it could take days, weeks, or even years—but they carry the potential to alter the trajectory of our lives in profound ways.
One degree.
A friend of mine, Wiley, reminded me of this recently. It only takes one degree—a single small decision, action, or moment—to change someone’s life or even your own.
Think about the ripple effect of a simple “hello” to a stranger who may have lost hope.
Or the unexpected phone call to a friend you haven’t spoken to in years.
Or the question someone poses to you—or you pose to yourself—that unlocks a new path forward.
As we step into the new year, many of us will make resolutions and promises to ourselves and others. If you’re one of those people, remember this:
It doesn’t take a monumental shift to make a difference. Sometimes, the smallest adjustments can have the biggest impact.
You might not see the effects right away, but believe me, one degree can set you on a course toward a future you never dreamed possible.
Last year, I had the opportunity to travel to Israel with a group to help rebuild one of the kibbutzim that had been destroyed during the horrific attacks of October 7th. It was a powerful and heavy experience.
During our stay, we spent some time in Tel Aviv for meetings, and it was in one of these meetings that took me by surprise…
As we stepped off the elevator at one of Israel’s largest banks, I saw a striking piece of art hanging on the wall. It was a photograph of the kibbutz we had been helping to rebuild. But this wasn’t just any photograph—it was layered with an iron sculpture, representing the family that had been tragically murdered in the attack.
It stuck with me…
Fast forward…
I found myself at the United Nations in New York, attending an exhibition hosted by Orna, the Israeli artist whose work I had seen before. Orna’s exhibition was dedicated to commemorating the events and the lives lost on that fateful day of October 7th. My friend Pete and I were invited to attend, and so off we went.
Standing there at the UN, I was once again struck by the emotional depth of Orna’s pieces. Each work of art seemed to echo the anguish, resilience, and collective memory of the people who had suffered, and yet, each piece was also a testament to their enduring spirit.
Here is some of her work from that exhibition..
It was at that moment that Orna and I began to talk. As we were chatting, I discovered something deeply personal: like me, her family had roots in Poland and had survived the Holocaust. We had a shared history that spanned generations and continents. The conversation shifted to her family’s story, and she began to show me more of her work—a collection of pieces that she had created to honor their memory.
And then, I saw it. A photograph in her book of men wearing hats…
Hats that reminded me of my grandfather.
The kind of hats he used to wear.
For all I knew, one of those men could have been a relative of mine.
Rewind….
My family and I established The Reich Family Holocaust Education Program at the University of Wisconsin’s Hillel. Our goal was simple: to ensure that future generations understand their past in order to build a better future. As we discussed the endowment, the idea emerged to include a piece of thought-provoking art in the building—something that would inspire students to reflect on their own heritage, their own stories, and the stories of those who came before them.
And here I was, standing at the United Nations, looking at Orna’s powerful work, thinking about that idea. I turned to her and asked..
“Orna, what do you think about hanging one of your pieces at the University of Wisconsin?”
Last week…
We hung one of Orna’s pieces—a striking sculpture of iron hats—in the main lobby of the UW-Hillel building. The hats are a symbol, not just of the past, but of resilience, memory, and the future. They are a reminder that, even in the face of destruction, we build. We teach. We carry the light forward and ensure our resolve is as strong as iron.
Last week marked a significant milestone with the announcement of our new company, Personal Day.
Having had the privilege of working on successful brands like TULA and Dibs Beauty, I’ve learned important lessons about what truly makes a health and beauty brand resonate. One key takeaway? Authenticity matters. In an industry flooded with celebrity names stamped on generic products, real success comes from a brand with a genuine story, purpose, and mission.
When I first met Lili Reinhart, I had no idea who she was (no offense, Lili!)—nor was I familiar with her role in Riverdale. But as I got to know her, something clicked. It became clear that Lili wasn’t just another face. She embodied what most great entrepreneurs do: a deep understanding of the problem at hand, with a desire to roll up their sleeves and do the work.
Lili’s personal battle with acne and mental health isn’t just a backstory; it’s her driving force. She brings real passion and lived experience to the table—qualities that are essential for building a meaningful brand. Her entrepreneurial spirit shines through in every conversation. Of course, she’s also an incredible actress with a dedicated community, but it’s her authenticity and dedication to this mission that truly set her apart and is part of the reason we got excited to build this brand.
So, that’s the scoop on Personal Day—and a bit of love for Lili and fun to revisit the health and beauty category, in a similar, but different way to what we did at TULA. We’re excited about the journey ahead and invite you to follow along.
I had a chance to join Jason Kirby on his Podcast to talk all things startups, fundraising, M&A, and bouncy balls. Jason also started and sold a few companies and is now running a company called Thunder VC where he’s helping founders navigate the wild world of fundraising and M&A.
His show notes and full video are below. It’s a good one.
→ Don’t Be Afraid to Pivot “Why My Mom Became My First Customer Service Rep” → Choose Partners Wisely “The Day I Realized My Business Partner Was on the FBI’s Radar” → Embrace the Unexpected “How Throwing College Parties Led to a Marketing Company” → Turn No’s into Yes’s “The VCs Said No. So We Did Everything They Said We Couldn’t.” → Follow the Wave “When Facebook Was Rising, We Rode the Social Media Wave” → Stay True to Your Vision “Why I Left a Cushy Corporate Job to Build My Dream… Again” → Build Relationships, Not Just Companies “How Saying No to an Investor Led to Multiple Deals Down the Road” → Think Beyond the Fundraise “The Goal Isn’t Raising Money. It’s Building a Profitable Company.” → Give Back “Why I Angel Invest: It’s Not About the Money”
