About
I’ve always been unreasonably interested in why people care about anything.
Not in a “publish a paper about it” way—more in a “why did I cry at that insurance commercial?” way. The small stuff gets me. The quiet stuff. The way one kind sentence can change your whole day, or how silence somehow says, “I love you, but also please stop talking.”
I’m Stephen Boudreau, and yes, I’m aware this sounds like the origin story of a man who alphabetizes his feelings.
For a while, I thought this was just a personality quirk. Like color-coding my bookshelf or pretending I understand wine menus. But eventually I realized I was basically running an informal, lifelong experiment on human behavior. And because the universe has a sense of humor, that path eventually led me into marketing.
I didn’t get into marketing to sell things. I got into it because I wanted to understand why anything moves us at all. Also, “professional overthinker” was, apparently, not a real job title.
Somewhere along the way, I figured out that clarity, empathy, and story aren’t just tools for persuasion; they’re ways of being decent to each other. When marketing honors that, it’s a tiny act of kindness. When it doesn’t, it’s just noise with better fonts.
Maybe that’s why I write at all—to chase clarity, practice kindness, and laugh at all the awkward, human attempts we make to get both right.
I’m sarcastic (genetically), optimistic (begrudgingly), and fully aware that I’ve spent the more recent chapters of adulthood trying to be slightly less of a know-it-all. I don’t always succeed. Please forgive the relapses.
If you’re here, welcome. I’m still figuring it out, too.
Professional
I work in marketing—the honest kind, not the “12 easy payments to your best life” kind.
For most of my career, I’ve helped mission-driven organizations say what they actually mean and sound like themselves while doing it.
A big part of that journey has been my longtime friend and professional curmudgeon, Chris. We ran an agency together for twenty years—long enough to develop the kind of dynamic where we gently roast each other on instinct but still manage to make good things.
Along the way, we co-founded RaiseDonors, sold it to Virtuous, and spent four years there helping build the brand and product. Now we’re at Avid, still building, still giving each other grief, and still mysteriously better together than apart.
I like the messy tension between meaning and message, heart and headline. Every now and then, a line lands, everyone goes quiet, and even Chris stops grumbling. That’s the part that keeps me doing this.
Personal
At home, I’m surrounded by three people who keep me honest: my wife, Shelley, and our two sons. They’re smarter, funnier, and significantly less interested in my metaphors. Most days, I’m just trying to keep up.
Our life isn’t particularly glamorous—mostly dinner debates, misplaced homework, and the occasional breakthrough moment when everyone’s laughing at the same thing for once. But those moments feel like the whole point.
Somewhere along the way, I realized my philosophy of life could fit on a sticky note:
Love your family.
Love your friends.
Do what’s in front of you.
It took me a while to get here.
I don’t always get it right. But I’m trying. And if my writing sounds like I take myself too seriously, just know it’s usually written by a man in pajama pants, over-dramatizing something small, and calling it insight.
Clarity
For a long time, I thought clarity was about being right.
Now I think it’s about being kind.
The older I get, the more I realize that most confusion isn’t a failure of intelligence—it’s a failure of care. We rush, assume, skip the slow work of understanding. Clarity, in that light, isn’t just a communication skill; it’s an act of love.
That’s the idea at the heart of Schmarketing, too. It started as a joke about jargon, but underneath the humor is something much simpler: teams that speak clearly are teams that trust, forgive, and move forward together.
That’s what I try to do here. To make sense of things. To name what’s good, what’s hard, and what’s worth holding onto. Sometimes it’s through work. Sometimes through writing. Always through trying.
Likes
Friday nights, Telecasters, Shelley’s spaghetti, audiobooks, Everton, Alaska, sunglasses, sweaters, Dumbledore, old buildings, technology, magic, The Lasso Way, beets, Uno, lists.
Dislikes
Being late, regret, me monsters, half-assing, dogmatism, toe-shoes, pranks, ricotta, people eating on podcasts, typos, captcha forms, complaining, the texas longhorns.
Music
Music has always been a quiet kind of joy for me. When I was younger, I even imagined doing it for a living—proof, I guess, that optimism can get out of hand.
Life moved on, as it does, and music stayed. These days it’s more of a beloved side project than a profession. Still, there’s something sacred about it. Writing or playing with friends—creating something that didn’t exist five minutes ago—it feels a little like cheating reality.
It’s not perfect, and that’s what makes it perfect.
It’s real magic.
Christmas Songs
For a decade, my wife and I wrote and recorded original Christmas songs—one each year, like a holiday tradition that got slightly out of hand. They’re funny, a little sentimental, and still some of my favorite things we’ve ever made together.
We haven’t written one in a while, but the door’s not closed.
In the meantime, please enjoy these ten songs. They’re among the most joyful, ridiculous, and unexpectedly meaningful moments of my life.