Why I'm Investing in Structured Data (And Why You Should Care About Schema Markup)
This week, I took a hard look at the structured data on my website. Not because I'm chasing some technical SEO checklist, but because I realized something important: if I don't tell search engines who I am, they'll figure it out on their own. And when there are two other people with my exact name competing for the same search results, I can't afford to leave that interpretation up to chance.
Structured data, specifically schema markup, is how you give search engines the context they need to understand your identity. It's not about gaming the system. It's about clarity. When someone searches for Kenny Kane, I want Google to know exactly which one I am. The CEO and author in Austin, not the comedian in Los Angeles or the rapper in Memphis.
The Problem with Ambiguity
Search engines are good at making educated guesses, but they're not perfect. When you share a name with other public figures, those guesses can go sideways fast. Without structured data, Google has to infer who you are based on scattered signals across the web. Sometimes it gets it right. Sometimes it mixes you up with someone else. And sometimes it just shrugs and shows a little bit of everyone.
That's what was happening to me. My site had basic schema markup, which is better than nothing, but it wasn't doing enough to differentiate me. It listed my roles and my books, but it didn't emphasize the things that make me distinct. My location. My career timeline. My specific affiliations with organizations that have their own authority and recognition.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that structured data isn't just a technical nicety. It's a strategic asset. It's how you control the narrative before someone even clicks on your site.
What Structured Data Actually Does
Schema markup is a language that search engines understand natively. It's a way of saying, "Here's who I am, here's what I do, here's where I'm based, and here's how I'm connected to these other entities you already recognize." When you implement it properly, you're not just optimizing for search. You're building a knowledge graph that connects you to the rest of the web in a structured, verifiable way.
For me, that means connecting my name to Firmspace, the Testicular Cancer Foundation, and Gryt Health. It means linking my author profile to my books on Amazon and Goodreads. It means specifying that I'm based in Austin, Texas, which immediately sets me apart from the other Kenny Kanes. And eventually, when I have a Wikipedia page, it means linking that page directly into my schema so Google knows it's the authoritative source.
This isn't about vanity. It's about precision. When someone searches for me, I want the results to reflect the work I've actually done, not a blended average of three different people.
Why Location Matters More Than You Think
One of the simplest but most powerful additions I'm making to my schema is geographic information. Adding Austin, Texas as my home location seems almost too obvious, but it's one of the strongest differentiators I have. The comedian is in Los Angeles. The musician is in Memphis. I'm in Austin. That single data point cuts through a lot of confusion.
Location isn't just a detail. It's context. It tells search engines where I operate, what markets I'm connected to, and what communities I'm part of. It also helps with local search, which matters more than people realize. When someone searches for "Kenny Kane Austin" or "Austin CEO," I want to show up. And I want to show up as the definitive result, not as one of several possibilities.
Geographic data also supports other parts of my digital strategy. If I'm speaking at an event in Austin, writing about the Austin tech scene, or getting covered by local media, that location context reinforces the connection. It's one more signal that tells search engines, "This is the Kenny Kane who's based here, who works in these industries, and who's connected to these organizations."
The Role of Disambiguation
There's a specific schema property called "disambiguating description" that I'm adding to my markup. It's exactly what it sounds like: a short statement that clarifies who you are when your name might be confused with someone else's. For me, that description is simple. "American business executive, CEO of Firmspace and Testicular Cancer Foundation, author of The Accidental Nonprofiteer."
That one sentence does a lot of work. It immediately distinguishes me from the comedian and the musician. It highlights my primary roles and my most recognizable credential. And it gives search engines a clear, structured way to categorize me when they're building knowledge panels or answering queries.
Disambiguation isn't just for people with common names. It's for anyone whose identity might overlap with someone else's in search results. If you're in a crowded field, or if your work spans multiple industries, disambiguation helps search engines understand which version of you to show in which context.
Connecting to Authority
One of the most valuable things structured data does is connect you to entities that already have authority in Google's knowledge graph. For me, that means linking to Firmspace, which has its own Wikipedia page. It means linking to the Testicular Cancer Foundation and Gryt Health, both of which have established digital footprints. And it means linking to my books on Amazon, my articles on Forbes, and my profiles on LinkedIn and Crunchbase.
Each of those connections is a signal. It tells search engines that I'm not just claiming to be a CEO or an author. I'm verifiably connected to organizations and platforms that validate those claims. The more of those connections you can establish in your schema, the stronger your knowledge graph becomes.
This is also why pursuing a Wikipedia page is so important. Wikipedia is one of the most authoritative sources in Google's ecosystem. When you have a Wikipedia page, and when that page is linked into your schema, it becomes the anchor for your entire digital identity. It's the single source of truth that everything else connects back to.
Why This Matters for AI Search
There's another reason I'm prioritizing structured data right now, and it has to do with the future of search. AI-powered search engines like ChatGPT, Claude, and Perplexity are becoming more prominent, and they rely heavily on structured data to generate answers. When someone asks an AI, "Who is Kenny Kane?" I want the response to be clear and accurate. Not a guess. Not a blend of multiple people. Just me.
Structured data is how you ensure that AI systems have the right information to work with. It's how you make sure that when these tools pull information about you, they're pulling from authoritative, verified sources rather than making inferences based on incomplete data.
The Long Game
Implementing structured data isn't a one-time project. It's an ongoing process. As my career evolves, as I take on new roles or publish new work, my schema needs to be updated to reflect that. It's part of maintaining your digital presence, just like updating your LinkedIn profile or refreshing your website copy.
But the payoff is worth it. Structured data is one of the few things in SEO that you can control directly. You can't control how other sites link to you, and you can't control how search engines rank your content. But you can control the information you provide about yourself. You can make sure that when search engines are trying to figure out who you are, they have all the context they need to get it right.
For me, that means being deliberate about the details. Adding my location. Clarifying my roles. Connecting my work to the organizations I lead. Linking to authoritative sources that validate my credentials. And eventually, once I have a Wikipedia page, making sure that page is woven into my schema so it becomes the definitive reference point.
If you're in a similar situation, whether it's name confusion or just a lack of clarity in how you show up in search results, structured data is one of the most effective tools you have. It's not flashy, and it's not something most people will ever see directly. But it's foundational. It's how you take control of your digital identity and make sure that when people search for you, they find the right version of your story.
And in a world where your online presence is often the first impression you make, that clarity matters more than ever.
Why I’m Glad I Never Learned Flash—and How That Shapes What I Choose to Learn About AI
Back in the early 2000s, everyone told me I should learn Flash. It was the thing—the language of slick websites, cool animations, and interactive experiences. I thought about it, but something held me back. Eventually, Flash disappeared, swept away by HTML5, mobile devices, and changing tech standards. And I’ve never regretted not sinking hours (or years) into mastering it.
That lesson has stuck with me: not every technology is worth learning. The tricky part is figuring out which ones are.
Fast-forward to today, and the same question hovers over artificial intelligence. AI feels massive, like the internet did in the ‘90s—too big to ignore. But it’s also moving so fast that it’s easy to wonder: am I learning something that will still matter in two years? Or am I about to sink time into the next Flash?
How I Decide What to Learn in AI
Here’s the framework I’ve been using:
Focus on Foundations, Not Tools
Tools come and go. Flash went. So did Vine. Even ChatGPT will evolve into something else. But the foundation of AI—how models are trained, how prompts shape outputs, how to evaluate trust and bias—those skills translate across platforms. I’d rather learn the concepts than the “hot” app of the moment.Solve Problems I Already Have
I don’t chase AI for AI’s sake. I ask: what’s something I’m already doing that feels repetitive, time-consuming, or expensive? That’s where I test AI first. If it helps, it sticks. If it doesn’t, I move on.Look for Skills That Compound
Some learning creates leverage across everything else I do. For me, that means prompt design, data literacy, and understanding how to evaluate outputs. These compound like learning Excel once did—you can apply them everywhere.Keep the Experimental Mindset
I don’t need to “bet everything” on a single tool. Instead, I run experiments: small, low-stakes tests that show me what’s useful. I treat AI learning less like a college degree and more like a running lab notebook.
The Big Difference from Flash
The difference between Flash and AI is scale. Flash was niche—powerful, but limited. AI isn’t going away. The question isn’t if you should learn it, but how you’ll decide what to learn first.
For me, the lesson is clear: don’t obsess over the shiny tools that might vanish. Invest in understanding the principles, and use them to solve real problems today. That way, even if a tool disappears tomorrow, the time I spent learning won’t.
When You Feel Like You Don’t Belong at the Table You Built
When I co-founded a nonprofit, I thought the hardest part would be fundraising, or managing volunteers, or learning how to read a budget without breaking into hives. I didn’t expect one of the biggest challenges to be… me.
More specifically, the voice in my head that kept whispering:
“You’re not qualified to be here.”
“They’re going to figure out you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Any day now, someone will ask you to hand in your keys.”
That voice had a name: imposter syndrome.
And it hit me in moments I didn’t expect—sitting in a meeting with hospital executives, walking into a conference where everyone seemed to have degrees I didn’t, even accepting awards for the work I’d done.
Where it comes from
For accidental founders, imposter syndrome often comes from the gap between how you started and where you are now. I didn’t go to school for nonprofit management. I learned systems by breaking them, fundraising by asking awkwardly, and leadership by getting it wrong before I got it right.
When you build something from scratch, you spend so much time figuring it out on the fly that it can feel like everyone else must have a secret playbook you missed.
What I’ve learned
Credentials aren’t the only currency. Your lived experience, resilience, and ability to rally people around a cause are just as valuable as formal training.
Most people are winging it, too. The folks you’re intimidated by? They’re probably Googling answers under the table.
Your mission matters more than your resume. If you’re showing up for the people you serve, you already belong in the room.
Preparation quiets the voice. The more you document your work, track your impact, and understand your numbers, the less room there is for self-doubt to creep in.
Find your truth-tellers. Surround yourself with people who will remind you of your wins when you can’t see them.
A quiet shift
The turning point for me was realizing that the “real” nonprofit leaders I was comparing myself to… were often comparing themselves to someone else. Everyone feels underqualified when they’re stretching into something bigger.
Now, when I hear that voice, I remind myself: I don’t have to be the most credentialed person in the room. I just have to be the one who cares enough to keep showing up.
If you’ve ever felt like an imposter in your own work, know this: your mission wouldn’t be where it is without you. And if you built the table, you have every right to sit at it.
If this resonates with you, I go deeper into overcoming imposter syndrome—and other challenges accidental founders face—in my book, The Accidental Nonprofiteer. It’s part field guide, part survival manual, and all hard-earned lessons from my years co-founding and growing a national nonprofit.
What Working as a Pharmacy Technician at 15 Taught Me About Life
Most teenagers spend their after-school hours playing video games or hanging out with friends. I spent mine counting pills, managing prescriptions, and learning hard truths about responsibility that would shape who I am today. At 15, I was among the youngest pharmacy technicians, and the experience taught me lessons about accountability, personal brand, and responsibility that no classroom ever could.
The Weight of Real Responsibility
When you're handling medications that people depend on to live, there's no room for teenage carelessness. Every prescription I filled, every pill I counted, every label I printed carried real consequences. A mistake wasn't just a bad grade—it could mean someone didn't get their heart medication on time, or worse.
This wasn't the artificial responsibility of school projects or chores. This was the real deal. Patients trusted me with their health, their insurance information, and their most personal medical details. At an age when most of my peers were learning to be responsible for their homework, I was learning what it meant when other people's wellbeing depended on my accuracy and attention to detail.
The owner of the pharmacy didn't care that I was 15. The medications needed to be right, the insurance claims had to be processed correctly, and the patients deserved the same level of service whether I was having a good day or a terrible one. That taught me that true responsibility isn't about how you feel—it's about showing up and performing regardless of your circumstances.
Building a Personal Brand Before I Knew What One Was
I didn't realize it at the time, but working in a customer-facing role at such a young age was essentially a masterclass in personal branding. Every interaction I had with patients, every phone call with insurance companies, and every conversation with the pharmacist was building my reputation.
Patients would specifically ask for "the young one" when they called in refills, not because of my age, but because I had developed a reputation for being thorough and patient with their questions. I learned that your personal brand isn't what you say about yourself—it's what others consistently experience when they interact with you.
I saw how quickly word spread when someone was unreliable or dismissive. In a small community, your reputation follows you everywhere. This taught me that competence without character is worthless, and that how you make people feel is often more important than what you know.
I quickly learned that the real goal wasn't to be impressive for my age—it was to be genuinely valuable, period. That shift in mindset changed everything about how I approached not just work, but all my commitments.
Accountability in High-Stakes Situations
Nothing teaches accountability faster than making a mistake that affects someone else's health. Early in my time at the pharmacy, I mislabeled a prescription—caught by the pharmacist before it went out, but a stark reminder of what was at stake.
Instead of making excuses about being new or young, I had to own the error completely. I had to understand not just what went wrong, but why it went wrong, and what systems I needed to put in place to prevent it from happening again. The pharmacist didn't coddle me or lower the standards because of my age. The expectation was simple: figure out how to be better.
This experience taught me the difference between taking the blame and taking responsibility. Taking the blame is passive—it's about absorbing consequences. Taking responsibility is active—it's about understanding your role, learning from it, and making changes to prevent future problems.
I learned to speak up immediately when I made mistakes, to ask questions when I wasn't sure about something, and to double-check everything because "I thought I did it right" wasn't an acceptable explanation when someone's medication was involved. This accountability mindset became second nature and served me well in every job and relationship since.
Lessons That Last a Lifetime
Working as a pharmacy technician at 15 gave me a career foundation that extended far beyond healthcare. The precision required taught me attention to detail. The patient interactions taught me empathy and communication. The insurance battles taught me persistence and problem-solving.
But more than the technical skills, it taught me what it means to be someone others can count on. In a world where many people struggle with follow-through and reliability, having learned these lessons early became one of my greatest professional assets.
The experience also taught me the value of competence over credentials. While my peers were focused on getting good grades to get into good colleges to get good jobs, I was already proving my worth in the workplace. I learned that capability speaks louder than potential, and that earning trust through consistent performance opens doors that degrees alone cannot.
The Unexpected Gift of Early Professional Experience
Looking back, starting my career so young wasn't just about earning money or looking impressive on college applications. It was about learning who I could become under pressure, how I responded to real responsibility, and what kind of professional I wanted to be.
Those early lessons about responsibility, personal brand, and accountability became the foundation for everything that followed. They taught me that age is often just a number—what matters is your willingness to learn, your commitment to excellence, and your ability to put others' needs ahead of your own ego.
For any young person considering entering the workforce early, my advice is simple: find a role where the work matters, where mistakes have consequences, and where you'll be held to adult standards. The lessons you learn there will serve you for the rest of your life.
The pharmacy may have been where I learned to count pills, but it's really where I learned to count on myself.
Who Has Your Back?
It's a simple question. But in leadership, life, and the low points in between, it's one of the most important ones you can ask.
We spend a lot of time talking about strategy. Growth plans. Market opportunities. Metrics and margins. But none of that matters if you don’t have people around you who can pick you up when you’re exhausted, call you out when you’re off course, or stand by you when things get messy.
I’ve had the privilege of building teams, leading organizations, and navigating both the nonprofit and for-profit worlds. And here’s something I’ve learned the hard way: It’s not about how many people report to you, or how many people follow you. It’s about who shows up—especially when they don’t have to.
The colleague who jumps in unasked because they see you drowning in details.
The mentor who reminds you of your worth when you’ve just failed hard.
The friend who doesn't need the full backstory to tell you, “You’ve got this.”
I can trace every major inflection point in my life to someone who had my back. A professor who saw something in me before I saw it in myself. A founder who took a chance on me when I was still figuring it out. A board member who reminded me that impact is rarely convenient—and worth it every time.
We all want to believe we’re self-made. But the truth is, nobody does this alone. The higher you climb, the more crucial it is to have people who’ll give you the honest feedback, the hard truths, and the steady encouragement. Not just the ones who applaud your wins—but the ones who sit with you in the losses.
So ask yourself:
Who has your back?
And just as importantly—whose back do you have?
Because in the end, it's not just about what you build.
It's about who you build it with.
“Everyone is a gangster until it’s time to do gangster shit.”