Failure to leap isn't failure
I got a great question this week from a friend. I love questions!
He wants to know if his reluctance to follow through on a business idea is due to a lack of courage.
Not at all, I’d say. To me, it sounds a lot more like an abundance of wisdom.
Pop culture loves stories of people who quit their jobs and took big risks, betting everything on one idea. Personally, I find these stories unsettling. Having spent most of my adult life broke and in debt, I know firsthand how long it can take to build something from the ground up and how easily things can go wrong. For every glamorous, successful entrepreneur who reached the top, there are dozens more still eating Top Ramen.
Having an idea for a business is the easy part. The hard part is the daily struggle to stick with something that you have no proof will ever pay off. I wouldn’t do it unless I either had nothing to lose, or I could afford to lose (both financially and emotionally).
If I had a well-paying job that I liked and was successful in, I would be just like my friend: I wouldn’t quit. Why would I want to give that up for something that doesn’t exist? Entrepreneurship is not a more noble or worthy path than employment.
The fact that I chose the path of entrepreneurship as opposed to employment is the result of a couple of factors, none having anything to do with courage. First, I never had a well-paying job, period. I was firmly in the category of “nothing to lose.” Second, I was an artist—a musician. I didn’t see how I was going to continue to play music and have a regular day job. Whenever I tried, I failed—my employer could see that I wasn’t really present and committed. Third, for most of my childhood, several key family members worked in their own small businesses. It was the culture I was most familiar with.
Therefore, the opportunities I spotted and gravitated toward tended to be freelance gigs, which I managed to build on over time. Twenty years later, there’s no turning back. I guess I just really love paying for my own health insurance.
When I look back and try to find a courageous move, I don’t know that there is one. The risks I took could just as easily be ascribed to ignorance and foolishness as courage. I certainly could have made safer, more straightforward choices, but I don’t think I was so brave in not doing so. Falling from a low height doesn’t hurt much.
Now, if there’s a dream that won’t let you go—a mark you want to make on the world, or a thing you want to do just to see if it can be done—I get why you would want to pursue it. I understand the impulse to move forward with an endeavor that doesn’t fit logically into your life. But there’s no shame in keeping your job even as you start to build the new thing. There’s nothing wrong with growing slow. It doesn’t mean you’re chicken. It means you’re a responsible adult.
The day might come when the leap becomes necessary. But it doesn’t have to be a leap into the abyss, or a leap from one moving train to another. It might be more like getting on a plane, or off of a plane. Maybe it’s a bit like jumping out of a plane—but with a parachute. Ideally, you’ve made the preparations to make the transition a smooth one. To do otherwise isn’t bold— it’s stupid.
Even a venture capitalist doesn’t invest more money than they have. Risk is relative. Your willingness to risk isn’t a test of how much you believe in your idea—it’s a practical consideration. It’s much easier to build a business if you can sleep at night. There’s no shame in being circumspect. A failure to leap isn’t a failure. To frame it this way would be to disregard the value of the work you’ve been doing all along.
New challenges stretch us. They help us grow and see what we’re capable of. If it’s time for you to try the adventure of launching a business, I’d be the first to cheer you on. But there are tons of interesting adventures to be had in life, and entrepreneurship is just one. There are lots of ways to be courageous. Sometimes, sticking with something and riding out the tough times is the courageous thing to do.