“Becoming isn’t about arriving somewhere or achieving a certain aim. I see it instead as forward motion, a means of evolving, a way to reach continuously toward a better self. The journey doesn’t end.”
Michelle Obama
Our family loves Lego. But when my kids were little, our Lego obsession was on a whole different level—think less ‘hobby’ and more ‘lifestyle.’
Weekends turned into marathons of creativity, where the living room floor was a battlefield of colored bricks, each one a stepping stone to something grander. We started small—simple houses with doors that never quite stayed on their hinges, and cars that were less ‘Ferrari’ and more ‘Flintstones.’ But it wasn’t long before my kids’ ambitions outgrew their limited experience.
One Saturday, I wandered into the living room expecting to see the usual smattering of half-finished projects. Instead, I found something altogether different: the beginnings of a skyline.
My kids, with that boundless energy only youth can muster, had decided that building castles and spaceships just wasn’t cutting it anymore. They were aiming higher—literally.
Together, we started building these towering Lego skyscrapers, each one taller and more ambitious than the last. What began as a few scattered bricks quickly turned into a mini Manhattan, complete with skyscrapers that flirted dangerously close to the ceiling fan.
As we worked together, our living room transformed into a bustling cityscape. The coffee table became Central Park, though it was more a playground for scattered Lego bricks and the occasional forgotten sippy cup. The couch, in our minds, turned into the financial district, its cushions now serving as makeshift stock exchanges for an economy fueled by snack bartering.
It was the kind of architectural ambition that could make an urban planner break out in hives, but in our little world, guided by wild imaginations, it was nothing short of magic.
And just when I thought we’d peaked—when I was sure they’d finally realized that the ceiling does, in fact, exist—they turned to me with those wide, hopeful eyes that only children can muster and asked, “Dad, can we build another one?”
Now, most reasonable adults would assess the situation and politely suggest a walk outside, or perhaps a refreshing nap. But being the nerd I am, I was hit with a realization: scaling up is exhilarating, but it’s not without its complications. I was about to deliver a mini TED Talk on urban planning, only to realize that they weren’t seeking wisdom, just more Legos.
You see, scaling isn’t just about adding more—it’s about managing what you’ve already built. It’s one thing to stack bricks; it’s another to ensure that those stacks don’t come crashing down when someone sneezes or—god forbid—turns on the vacuum cleaner. Scaling up means embracing the chaos that comes with growth, and let me tell you, our living room was the embodiment of that chaos.
As marketers, we’re often caught up in the excitement of scaling. More campaigns, bigger budgets, expanded reach—it’s thrilling! Who doesn’t love seeing those KPIs climb? But just like our Lego city, scaling brings its own set of challenges. It’s easy to get swept up in the momentum and forget that with growth comes the need for structure, stability, and yes, occasionally having to navigate the metaphorical zoning laws of your living room.
We didn’t have city permits, but we did have an unspoken rule: if you build it, you’re responsible for it. So, my kids learned early on that if they wanted to add another skyscraper to their collection, they needed to make sure the foundation was strong enough to support it. Otherwise, they’d end up with a pile of colorful rubble and a lesson in the limits of ambition.
The same principle applies to our work. It’s not enough to just go bigger—we have to go smarter. We need to ask ourselves if our foundations are strong enough to support the weight of our aspirations. Are we prepared for the added complexity, the new variables that come into play? Because as thrilling as it is to build that next skyscraper—or launch that next campaign—we’ve got to ensure we’re not just adding height, but also stability.
Eventually, our Lego city reached a point where it was both impressive and terrifying. And that’s when I realized something: the journey of scaling isn’t just about reaching new heights. It’s about constantly evolving, improving, and ensuring that what we build today doesn’t collapse under the pressure of tomorrow.
So, whether you’re building a skyscraper in your living room or scaling a marketing strategy, remember that the journey doesn’t end with reaching the ceiling. The real challenge—and the real reward—is in making sure what you build lasts.
And if it doesn’t, well, at least you’ve got plenty of spare parts to start over.
The “Boudreau Science Center” still remains with us to this day. A colorful mosaic of chaos, creativity, and (most of all) love.
