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Consider the chip on Jim VandeHei’s shoulder.

“Why, yes, that is a massive chip on my shoulder,” VandeHei writes in his new book, “Just the Good Stuff,” in which the Politico and Axios co-founder dispenses life advice from the mountaintop of middle age.

Say more about the chip?

“I don’t know how much of a chip it is,” he says.

I remind him about the massive chip, which appears in a chapter about “the power of insecurity.” His grades in high school were bad. He managed to get into college, where his grades were also bad. He arrived in Washington with a cheap plaid sport coat and an acute case of impostor syndrome.

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“I’ve spent every year since,” he writes, “consciously or subconsciously, trying to prove I am smart enough to not just belong — but thrive.”

The book’s advice boils down to this: Screw fancy degrees and where you came from and your SAT score and whatever other credential you think you need to succeed. All you need to do is “find your passions,” VandeHei writes. “ … Then outwork everyone in pursuit of shaping your destiny.”

Just look at VandeHei. This son of Oshkosh, Wis., sans fancy degree or pedigree, made it in Washington — all the way to The Washington Post, where he was a White House reporter. Then, he got bored, and maybe a little worried that he would never be as good as, say, his then-colleague Peter Baker. So he left to help start a new kind of publication, one that arguably changed the landscape of Washington media. Then he left Politico, in an acrimonious split with his co-founders, only to strike gold again with Axios, which VandeHei and his new partners sold in 2022 for $525 million. Both publications are still around and employ hundreds of reporters, which is more than you can say about a lot of journalism outlets these days. “As a media entrepreneur in the modern era, there actually isn’t a parallel to him, because he’s done it twice,” says Jonathan Swan, who worked with VandeHei at Axios and considers him a close friend.

VandeHei, in other words, has thrived. So much, in fact, that he’s now in the business of advising others on how to live well.

And yet, that massive chip …

“Is it a chip? It depends. I definitely still feel this thing,” VandeHei says, his vowels flattened into Midwestern submission. “I have a revulsion to people in positions of power who abuse it, people who get into leadership positions and haven’t earned it. I don’t like it when people think they are better than other people because of the school they went to.”

But why does it persist?

“These are deep questions,” he says. But we don’t get into them.

Instead, he brings up reporters — great reporters, in his mind — who land a big scoop, wake up the next morning and do it all again. “Some people have success and they’re so satisfied,” he says. “They do a slow victory lap and they aren’t as neurotic.”

That’s not him. “I wake up every day aiming to do things at a high level in different areas,” he says.

Something you should know about Jim VandeHei is that he starts his day around 4:30 a.m., when he works out, reads the news and commences his daily battle against time.

At Politico, reporters would awaken to inboxes stuffed with what became known as “VandeGrams,” sent between 4 and 6 a.m. These pre-dawn missives typically contained story ideas, some suggested more kindly than others. (“You should have thought of this,” was a common refrain.) “I’ve probably texted more with him in those two hours than I text with most people all day,” says Jake Sherman, an early Politico hire who would go on to co-found Punchbowl News, a competitor to both Politico and Axios.

“VandeGrams” was among the entries in the “VanDictionary,” a jokey guide, passed among new Politico hires. Another entry, “VanDelusional,” referred to “how much one can accomplish in a given day.” Emails to Fred Ryan, then Politico’s CEO (and later The Post’s publisher), asked for to-dos to be completed “soonest.” Working at Politico was “like tackle football,” VandeHei would say, and he was their towel-snapping quarterback, ragging reporters as he walked through the newsroom to ask, “Hey, break any news?” And if news broke: “We need 1,000 words on this in 20 minutes,” was a typical VanDemand, according to one early Politico alum, who spoke on the condition of anonymity because they were not authorized by their current employer to discuss the subject.

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Who has time for 1,000 words? At Axios, VandeHei has evangelized brevity: information that is efficient, digestible and useful. VandeHei is a convert to the divine power of getting to the point. Earlier in his career, before he saw the light, “he’d do these rhapsodic leads, and I’d be like, ‘No, you have to tell people what’s important,’” says David Rogers, whom VandeHei worked with at the Wall Street Journal. VandeHei’s first book, “Smart Brevity” — co-authored with Axios co-founders Mike Allen and Roy Schwartz — extolled the virtues of “saying more with less.” His second book practices what the first preaches: In “Just the Good Stuff,” his reflections are rendered in the signature “Smart Brevity” style of single-sentence paragraphs, bolded subheadings and “why it matters” distillations. (VandeHei wrote the whole book on his phone, where he also keeps his journal — which he also writes in Smart Brevitese.)

VandeHei’s relationship to time wasn’t always so tense. He bummed around in high school, sneaking smoke breaks and picking fights. He spent his first three years of college getting stoned and showing up late to class. It took him 5½ years to finish college. (He attended University of Wisconsin at Menasha, a two-year extension school, before transferring to the University of Wisconsin at Oshkosh.) This is not, by the way, an inspiring story of a young man who overcomes adversity. The only obstacle in VandeHei’s way, really, was himself. White, male and straight, VandeHei was well-loved by his parents and nurtured by a private Catholic high school, where, by his telling, they invented an award for the self-described “middling dip----” to make sure he got one at graduation.

How VandeHei evolved from “middling dip----” to media mogul is the foundational parable of “Just the Good Stuff,” which guides readers on how to succeed in life and business by really, really trying. It ruminates on the value of “discipline” and “grit” and “hard, meticulous work” — on how to do big things “without cutting corners, screwing over others, or being an insufferable jerk.” (“Watch and take notes on the jerks, so you don’t become one,” he warns.) There’s “Tough Stuff” (“Candor,” “Filter BS,” “Healthy Revenge”), “Good Stuff” (“Eat Better,” “Meditate, Man,” “Choose Joy”) and “Life Stuff” (in which VandeHei advises readers to “Be a Quitter” but “Don’t Be a Loser”). Most of the chapters cite stories from VandeHei’s own life, composting his screw-ups and shortcomings into morals and warnings. It’s part memoir, part business book, part self-help — think Brené Brown for boss bros.

VandeHei first preached many of these ideas in “Finish Line,” his column for Axios on “tips & tricks for thinking smarter about life.” To some of those familiar with his hard-charging reputation, this version of VandeHei read like parody: One group of former Politico employees got a kick out of his advice, aimed at managers, on “how to fire with dignity.” Others regarded the columns with cynicism, an attempt to sand down rough edges ahead of a long-rumored run for Wisconsin governor. (For which party? VandeHei doesn’t discuss his personal politics. For the time being, it’s moot: “In the past, I’ve thought about it. Not my gig now,” VandeHei says.)

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More often, former colleagues wondered what this all suggested about VandeHei himself. Had he changed, or had he been hiding this introspective side of himself beneath a boys’ club bravado for decades? What to make of this “new Zen incarnation” of VandeHei, as Politico Magazine columnist Michael Schaffer put it last year? Those who knew him “as an aggressive and combative political-media figure,” Schaffer wrote, “may be wondering whether some mischievous hippie has been sprinkling peyote onto his cheese curds.” (VandeHei hated that column, and later confronted Politico’s then-editor in chief at a party, told him the column was “a piece of s---,” and ended it by saying “you’re dead to me.” All in all, an effective rebuttal to the idea that he has mellowed.)

Maybe the latest incarnation of VandeHei, however you want to characterize it, has something to do with insecurity — not the kind that comes from being a recovering “middling dip----,” but the kind that comes from being a middle-aged man with a family, more keenly attuned to the fragility of things.

His wife, Autumn, has struggled with long covid symptoms since 2022. Brain fog and migraines gave way to “stroke-like episodes,” as VandeHei describes them. Later, her whole digestive system shut down, he says. She has spent terrifying stretches away from home — “emergency surgeries, months-long hospital stays, close calls, and ICU visits,” he writes.

Then there’s his own health. Fifteen years ago, VandeHei was diagnosed with ankylosing spondylitis, a rare spinal condition that could eventually cause his vertebrae to fuse into a single, rigid bone. Only the bones in his upper and lower back have welded themselves together so far; VandeHei, 6-foot-2 and lanky, hurtles through the world with just the slightest hunch. At 53, VandeHei has become obsessed with longevity — “or, at least, feeling better for longer,” he says. That pursuit of smart longevity has found VandeHei applying his zealous work habits to the nonwork parts of his life. He spends an “inordinate amount of time” researching health and wellness. He usually begins his day with six egg whites and rounds it out with salmon, avocados and artichokes. He exercises every day — either lifting weights at his home gym, running somewhere between six and 10 miles, or hot yoga at CorePower Yoga.

Speaking of CorePower: He loves CorePower. On Christmas Eve, VandeHei rented his family a whole CorePower studio for an 8 a.m. class. On the morning I visited with Autumn at the VandeHeis’ home, an immense six-bedroom Colonial in Alexandria, Va., VandeHei wasn’t there: He was at a yoga sculpt class, his mat at the front of the studio, the heaviest weights by his sides, mopping his sweat with the good towels Autumn wishes he wouldn’t bring. (VandeHei recently asked Autumn how she’d feel about him becoming a CorePower instructor. She rejected the idea. “I have to draw the line,” she says.)

By and large, though, the family is onboard with his fitness obsession. The VandeHeis do a family biathlon every summer. “We’re a little bit on the competitive side,” Autumn says — especially VandeHei and his son James, who try to out-lift one another and compare sleep scores from their Oura rings. Both James and their other son, Kelvin — a former soccer teammate of James’s whom the VandeHeis adopted in 2019 — play college soccer. Sophie, who graduated from UNC Chapel Hill this month, introduced VandeHei to CorePower; she’s training for a half-marathon.

“The kids have a screw loose for this stuff,” VandeHei explains.

Having “a screw loose” is a high VandeHonor, a compliment loosely referring to the intersection of tireless and maniacal. VandeHei has “a screw loose.” Some of VandeHei’s favorite Politico and Axios alumni — Punchbowl’s Sherman, the New York Times’s Maggie Haberman and Swan — all have “a screw loose.” The only one who doesn’t have a screw loose is Autumn — but that, to VandeHei, is part of her superpowers.

They met on Capitol Hill, when Autumn was an aide for Rep. Tom DeLay (R-Tex.). They spent their first night together talking for nearly eight hours. No brevity there — but time well spent. Autumn is “the reason for me,” VandeHei says. “No one has helped me evolve more than her.” They’ve been together for 25 years, a quarter-century education for VandeHei in how to talk about his feelings — to slow down and take a breath before he speaks.

Even so, Autumn doesn’t think her husband has changed.

“I would say he’s revealing more of who he is,” she says. “Jim is the kind of person who looks for utility in suffering. If he can share how to get through hard things, and it helps somebody else, then I think he wants to be able to do that.”

At Axios, VandeHei has become obsessed with workplace culture — specifically, not repeating Politico’s burnout. Not to say that he’s called a truce with time. Emails are still sent at 5 a.m., but only to consenting fellow early risers. Admonitions to get things done “soonest” have been replaced with, “Where are we on that?” — as in, “I’ll propose an idea, and six seconds later, I’m like, ‘Where are we on that?’” he says.

“I’m probably more maniacal and hard-charging than I was 20 years ago,” he adds. “I’m probably just better at finessing it.”

He spends most of his days in a tiny glass-paned conference room in Axios headquarters, where VandeHei and Axios co-founder Allen run the company from their iPhones. “I don’t think you can understand me without understanding Mikey,” VandeHei says of Allen. They have been inseparable since Politico, where Allen was hired to write the Beltway bible Playbook. They are each other’s best friends and professional dates, glad-handing together through pre-receptions at the White House correspondents’ dinner. The two of them talk “a stupid number of times a day,” VandeHei says. “I talk more to Autumn, but I talk more times to Mike for sure.”

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Allen accelerates VandeHei’s need for speed: With the advent of Playbook, Allen was as responsible as anyone for resetting Washington’s circadian clocks. In the book, VandeHei compares Allen to Mister Rogers, both of whom he finds “eerily similar in subtlety and selflessness.” These are traits he admires in Allen, perhaps because they don’t come as easily to him.

Politico was VandeHei’s first foray into entrepreneurship, and he writes about his time there like it’s a first pancake off the griddle — a little misshapen, a bit scorched. It launched VandeHei into a new orbit, making him not just a journalist but also a media pioneer, somebody who didn’t just record the newsworthy thoughts and ideas of others but whose own thoughts and ideas were considered newsworthy. A guy who, having flown high above his station as an ex-underachiever, could credibly write a book about how to be.

It is also, perhaps, his greatest source of personal anecdotes for how not to be.

He was a cocksure 30-something at the time, with a habit of taunting his rivals and beating his chest. In retrospect, he was afraid of failure. “I wanted to win, and I thought we could have lost — so, like, you will it into existence,” he says. “In my mind, we were fighting for survival and thought you could die any day.” He regrets the taunting. And in a chapter of his book, called “Taming Demons,” he cited his blowup over Schaffer’s Politico Magazine column as an instance of failing to take his own advice.

But “Just the Good Stuff” is hardly just a mea culpa for VandeHei’s own failings. At Politico, VandeHei writes, he wasted “months of my life bitching about the bad actions of the owners and some powerful leaders who came through our door.” He made “regrettable mistakes” in “waiting too long to get rid of bad people” he employed. He laments spending “70% of my time trying to fix or hide the bad or baffling behaviors of others.” VandeHei alleges mistreatment at the hands of former Politico owner Robert Allbritton, which VandeHei says led him to leave Politico and found Axios. (“It’s simply untrue that he was treated unfairly — personally, legally or financially,” Allbritton said in a statement.)

The VandeGripes caused a stir over at Politico as advance copies of “Just the Good Stuff” began to circulate. Reporting this article involved lengthy on- and off-the-record conversations about VandeHei’s tenure as the company’s chief executive. In a statement, Brad Dayspring, Politico’s executive vice president of global communications and brand, wrote, in part: “His book is a window into what went wrong: Everything good was to his credit. Everything bad was someone else’s fault.” We won’t be litigating the particulars here. Who has time for all those words?

Which leads us back to VandeHei’s chip. Remember the chip? Where are we on that?

“I honestly don’t give a s--- what people who don’t know me think about me,” VandeHei says.

And yet, he never seems to forget what those people think about him. VandeHei has an instant recall of times he’s been doubted or mocked, summoning decade-old slights like they happened yesterday. Politico? “People hate us, hated me. … They treated us like we were on f---ing drugs!” “Smart Brevity”? “People thought it was moronic!” His columns? “What’s up with this ‘Self-Help Jim’ thing?” VandeHei recalls colleagues saying.

In the chapter titled “The Power of Insecurity,” where we first meet VandeHei’s chip, he tells a story about Michael Jordan — specifically, how Jordan “famously looked for any slight by another player to manufacture motivation,” VandeHei writes.

The takeaway: “Weaponize the fury.” To prove you are smart enough — not just to belong, but to thrive. What else is there to say?

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