Marvin&Company: Stories About Death And Entrepreneurship

Things I Write About Stuff

Category: Entrepreneurship

How to be brave

Once at a conference my friend and colleague, who had recently switched jobs, told me I was brave. The consulting firm he’d worked with for a decade had closed when its owner retired. After briefly considering starting his own business he took a job at an engineering firm. He told me he chose lack of autonomy for job security because he’s not as brave as me.

It was a brief exchange that stuck with me for years. I used to revisit those words often, especially at times in the not so distant past when I covered my payroll by not paying myself if cash flow was sporadic. I have relationships with many larger, more established companies. If I walked away from my own small business adventure I’d probably find a cubicle with my name on it. So why do I choose this? Am I really brave?

I’ve spent years building a team of like-minded people, for whom this work is a gift. The greatest reward for our efforts is one more day not in a cubicle. We are people who can’t sit still, who need an endless series of new challenges to stay engaged. Mindless work is soul crushing. The risk involved in entrepreneurship makes us feel alive. Every successful business owner I’ve ever met, regardless of what their business does, have one thing in common. We are (almost) unafraid to fail.

Failure is part of the trajectory, and we wouldn’t trade this wild ride for anything, including job security and a 401K. We fail. We learn. We try again. Entrepreneurship is having the confidence to believe, in the depths of your soul, that whatever challenge comes your way you will learn your way through it. We practice until adapting to failure is muscle memory. There’s no way to anticipate what’s next but no matter what happens we know how to play this game. It’s more than loving our jobs or wanting to make money. The thrill of a constantly shifting landscape is just as much a part of us as our blood and bones.

There’s a downside to my apparent fearlessness that belies most successful small businesses. If I’m too distracted by what’s next, I quickly lose sight of what’s happening now. While planning is an imperative part of leadership, too much focus on looking forward can undermine current success. It’s difficult for me to remain present; I thrive on planning and problem solving. Because of this, I sometimes need redirecting to the less exciting aspects of business ownership that require my attention.

Knowing this about myself, I’ve learned to delegate a lot of the day to day tasks to people who excel with to-do lists and task completion. We all have strengths and weaknesses. Acknowledging mine, and filling gaps in my own abilities with the strengths of others, has made me, and my company, stronger.

One of the best choices I’ve made so far is hiring someone with a totally different approach to planning than mine. I have a strong tendency toward implementing multiple (clearly brilliant) ideas all at once. My Vice President keeps me focused by gently reminding me to finish one project before starting another. He also likes to remind me that my name is on the sign, that he never would have started his own company. Yet he mitigates my rainbow chasing, eases me out of hyper-focus when necessary, and makes sure our staff have what they need now while I’m looking for our next horizon. We’ve been exponentially more successful ever since.

I still don’t feel very brave, but I’ve noticed it’s easier to seem fearless when I don’t have to do it alone.

Advisory Board

The time has come for my corporation to have an advisory board, a group of trusted professional peers I can count on to disagree with me without disrespect or hurt feelings. People who can help me maintain our trajectory of doing good things that matter with the ethics and integrity.

I work with a lot of people who thrive in leadership roles. It’s sometimes hard to believe that I might also be a strong leader, an accomplished person. Someone I would have looked up to when I was younger. The fact is that my many of my professional peers are people I sometimes can’t believe choose me as their friend or view me as their equal. It’s difficult to imagine that I am one of them.

We attract what we believe we deserve. I’ve spent too many years believing I deserved to be surrounded by people who don’t respect me or my company. I am done with that now.

I’ve been surrounded by strong women my entire life. I wish I could invite all my aunts and cousins to my board – they are the strong, accomplished, incredible women I hoped I’d grow up to be. Not to exclude men – I am blessed with many wonderful humans in my life and career. However, I am struck by the number of my professional peers who have navigated construction sites and board rooms filled with powerful men from a generation that, by and large, views our gender as a disability.

Male privilege doesn’t always announce itself with a “hey sweetie” and a slap on the ass. Sometimes it’s the perfect gentleman who addresses all his questions to my male assistant, despite my 22 years in environmental compliance and my name on the letterhead. I’ve learned to overlook it as long as the client’s checks don’t bounce, and often bring a male colleague with me for this reason. For now my solution is often to let my bruised ego take a backseat in the interest of signing new clients. Perhaps my board of strong leaders, both male and female, will find a better solution.

I believe it’s an act of incredible courage to let ourselves be vulnerable. Allowing other people to help me make decisions about my company is far outside my comfort zone, yet necessary for healthy growth. It’s time to start believing I deserve to stand beside other strong, accomplished leaders.

Chasing Rainbows

I once employed a subcontractor who had lots of opinions about how I ran my business. He was quick to point out how he’d do something better or different, and what, in his opinion, I was doing wrong. Of course this grew tiresome, but this man was good at his job and put in lots of billable hours for my company. So I would smile and thank him for his input.

It’s not that his ideas were bad. In fact, many made sense in the short term. Most of his ideas were good, just not fully formed. Do this thing, it will make money. Market yourself this way, you’ll get more clients. In his mind I was obstinate for failing to chase my company’s full potential and limiting its growth.

He had once owned a brewery which ultimately failed because, among other issues, it expanded quickly without a stable foundation upon which to rebuild should new growth become untenable. One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned as a small business owner is that just because something can make money, doesn’t necessarily make it a good investment.

Sustainable success is achieved with balance between big ideas and carefully calculated risks. Some of the best ideas can easily turn out to be rainbow chasing.

What my well-meaning colleague didn’t recognize is that going in a million different directions at once erodes the foundation upon which a company is built. A good idea only has true merit if it can be reasonably implemented without siphoning too many existing resources. If doing something new will make money, but doing the new thing means doing less of something that already makes money and already has a strong client base, that growth is not sustainable.

Even the best ideas will have setbacks in the implementation phase. This is the place where so many new businesses stumble. Ideas are great – we need a constant flow of new ideas for our businesses to remain relevant – and not all great ideas are a good idea. These two truths are not mutually exclusive. That part is really important.

Great Expectations

Growing up, my mother had high expectations. If I didn’t live up to the ever-moving target of her standards, it wouldn’t occur to her to soften the blow of her disapproval. Everything was pass-fail, no in between, no participation trophy for an honest effort. It sounds like I’m spinning a sad tale, but my mother is one of the reasons why I’m a small business owner.

From her I learned single minded focus. How to read a room and give everyone in it whatever they needed to feel at ease. Because of her, I learned to be ruthless with myself.

I have had the pleasure of working with many smart, driven, successful people throughout my career. One of them once told me I am a double edged sword. “We always know where we stand with you,” she said, “and most of the time that’s good. The thing is, you have no poker face. We all know when you’re disappointed.”

I don’t know if it was meant as a compliment, but I took it as one. My perpetually dissatisfied mother taught me to never stop moving, because nothing will ever be good enough. I don’t slow down for those who can’t keep up. Even if I want to, I don’t think I have the emotional capacity or patience. As a result, I am surrounded by high-achieving workaholics. If your feelings are easily hurt and you want bankers hours, I’m not the boss you’re looking for.

When I started my company, my business plan was simple: I know how to do some things, a few of them really well. It may be my Magnum Opus, or it could all end tomorrow. Either way, I don’t have any regrets.

Without my mother I wouldn’t have crippling anxiety or a pathological need for constant reassurance that my friends actually do like me. I also wouldn’t have been fearless enough for this entrepreneurship adventure. She taught me how to be (mostly) impervious to failure. All in all it was a fair trade.

When failure is the only air you breathe for seventeen years, it loses all its sharp edges. My success is built on a mountain of failure. How lucky I was to have learned to fail with tenacity, faith, and a little grace. I appreciate my mother for giving me that.

The Beginning of Everything

We’ve been friends for less than a year, and you’ve just quit your job. Well, sort of; you’ve told the executive director to perform an unlikely sexual act upon himself and stormed out.

I follow you, of course, like I will for the next fourteen years.

I know you’ll be at our project. It has walls now, and a floor, and we’re both wearing shoes this time, so things are already looking up. I find you pacing around the skeletal interior walls. You need to rant for awhile so I listen. For what it’s worth, the disagreement spinning out of control wasn’t your fault. We work for a temperamental man whose grandiose ideas aren’t always rational or legal. You pointed out the flaws in his latest shenanigans and it was not well received. He is an asshat. If you want to keep your job, though, you’ll need to apologize.

You pause the tirade to ask me what I think, so I say “are you ready to go?”. For a moment you think I mean are you done complaining, can we leave the building now, and the hurt look on your face shocks me. Your entire body deflates at the realization that I may not be on your side this time. Up to this point I still suspected you were just letting me follow you around because I typed fast and you felt sorry for me. I understand, finally, that this friendship was never about pity.

So I continue, explaining how you should not give our boss the satisfaction of quitting unless you are ready to leave on your own terms, sure of a brilliant and successful future. We aren’t quite there yet, so perhaps an insincere apology will buy you the time to plan what’s next. You smile, thank me for listening, and we leave.

Later, after an apology so sarcastic I still cannot believe it worked, we are downstairs in our little closet office. Sitting beside me you quietly say, “I can’t do this alone” and hand me a coffee stained business plan created on a typewriter in 1979. The cover says, simply, Marvin & Company.

This is the beginning of everything.