“Hope we never get tired, and I never have to go to work…”
There’s something about the beautiful December sunshine we’ve been having the last couple of days, for no reason I start humming reggae tunes and craving sangria. Now reggae is my happy music, it is a scientifically proven fact that lover’s rock will improve your mood by a whopping 98%. I just made that up. But think about it, how many unhappy people have you ever seen at a reggae concert? I’m guessing less than 2%. You show me a person who doesn’t get mellow listening to roots and I’ll show you the stick wedged firmly up their butt, or in their ears. And this is why, despite the funk I’ve been in the last couple of weeks, the sunshine and Mr Hammond have come together to put a smile on my face today, and I thought what better time to exorcise these demons I’m fighting with...
One day, five years ago, almost to the day, I decided to go out on my own. ‘Screw the midget!’ I said to myself, in reference to my then boss who is, unfortunately, not vertically endowed, at all. Slight detour, I have a problem taking orders from someone I can sit on. I know, its discrimination, only one step away from the sexist crap I deal with almost daily, but that’s just the way it is. I have a problem with little men, and skinny men, and skinny little men… basically, if I can lift you then you can’t be my boss. I should point out that I’m neither little nor skinny so perhaps my bias comes from my own insecurities and other such like rubbish, who knows? So having said ‘screw it!’ and quitting my job in a moment of foolish pride, I went off down the road of entrepreneurship.
Nice word that isn’t it? Entrepreneurship! Sounds like something from Star Trek, very scientific and exciting, like a new galaxy, or an alien with three breasts that glows in the dark. Well folks, hate to break it to you, it isn’t. It’s a slog, a hard tiring slog that more often than not leads you not towards the light of success and riches, but further down the dark corridor of depression and alcohol abuse, and those are the good days when you can actually afford to physically abuse the alcohol, most days its verbal abuse at the empty bottle in the trash. But this isn’t about my perennially struggling business, it’s about the struggle, and I’m guessing anyone who’s ever set up any kind of business knows what I’m talking about.
See what they don’t tell you in all those crappy ‘how to start a business’ books is how to handle your life, your real life not the business. Its all well and good teaching me how to market my business or set up an accounting system or ‘wear your power colours for success’ (apparently I have cool undertones to my skin and should therefore only wear bright yellow and magenta, but never together. Eh?). How about some practical tips? When I started out, what I needed to hear was ‘how to keep asking your brother for money without getting shot’, or ‘how to cruise down the highway in free to save gas’, or ‘how to explain to your boyfriend that the weekends of drunken revelry are a thing of the past’, important stuff like that. Because that’s what makes starting a business hard, the changes you’re forced to make to your lifestyle, the new persona you have to adopt to cope with the new and varied challenges (no longer the errant employee, now the bitch employer), the fluff and distractions you have to cut out of your life. In the process of setting up you become a different person, some would say more mature, others say more of an asshole, depends on your perspective.
What did I become? Scared. Shitless. I was in no way prepared for what was coming my way, and in retrospect that was a good thing, because if I had known that I would go for months without a cent, or a new pair of shoes; be screwed over by even the unlikeliest of suspects (a church group for crying out loud!); be driving the same decrepit tuk tuk long past its expiry date; if I’d known all this, and more, I probably wouldn’t have done it, I didn’t have the balls back then (plus I had a decent job, was on my way to an even better one). And if I had stayed put, I’d definitely be a very different person, in a very different place, definitely not writing this on a Friday morning when I have a ton of work to get through and I haven’t even had a shower yet.
So why did I do it? Because I always said I’d run my own shop one day, and I figured better to do it before I got tied down with the hubby, kids, mortgage, dog, etc., ‘do it while you’re still young and reckless’ she told herself, cocky little idiot, and off I went like a rocket. In the process I’ve lost, dropped or been dismissed by: one boyfriend, four friends, twenty something ‘bar friends’, six clients, one family member, and the list is still growing. I’ve lost weight, put it back on again, put on more, lost that, lost more, put it all back on again. I’ve bought precisely 7 pairs of shoes, and not much else. I’ve read more work related books, magazines, promotional brochures, product specs, tender ads and classified listings than I had my entire life prior. I’ve been on no more than 10 dates in the last 5 years, and 7 of those were this year. When I call my brother, he no longer answers with ‘Howzit?’, now it’s ‘How much?’
The thing is I’ve survived, sometimes barely, always with a lot of help, sometimes from the unlikeliest of suspects (former boss, the midget…). That’s another thing they don’t tell you about going it alone, how to ask for help when you need it, more importantly, how to tell when you do. I was extremely stubborn and independent and proud, but these days when I’m in a fix or I simply don’t know something (disturbingly often…), I ask for help, from anyone and everyone, because you never know who knows, no? And I’m all the better for it. And I’m still standing.
Sometimes the grind gets you down doesn’t it? I’ve been slogging away waiting for my ship to come in. I’m still waiting, although I’m starting to think its been taken hostage by Somali pirates who then sent the ransom demand to the wrong person hence its disappearance (even if they sent me the demand I’m in no position to pay so perhaps its just as well). Every once in a while I stop and think, ‘This shit is not worth it, life’s too short!’ and this year has been a long ‘one of those moments’. I’m tired. Bloody tired. But despite the bad days, and there will always be some very bad days, there are also some very very good days, days when it all comes together, and it eventually does come together, but only when you finally figure out what it is you want.
What is it I want? I just want to do a hard days work, and get paid for it. Everything else is simply fluff. I’m off to have a cup of coffee in the sun.
“I think I’m gonna have to call in sick…”
