The life and death of this thing
Ask yourself about the end
in the beginning.
I am inspired to write today because I met someone who specifically mentioned that she enjoyed reading my words. (Thank you for that.)
When you start a business, you must always ask, “how will this end?” It is not morbid or glass-half-empty question in any way, but a necessary step in the creation of the dream. It often can lead to your “why,” too. Which, in my experience, is the fuel for the fire.
When I was in corporate gigs, I didn’t ask myself how it would end. I was doing it for the paycheck. In my loftiest thoughts on the matter, my “why” had to extend beyond the money so I created the following why: I am doing this job because I am part of something that when running properly, helps people feed their families, pay their bills, live a happy life.
I just couldn’t be happy in anything if I didn’t have a why.
If you’ve read prior blogs of mine, you know that painting was at the top of my bucket list after some major life changes came my way. I knew I needed to give it a sporting chance. A shot. To be “all-in” was essentially the WHY (at the beginning). But the most important question I asked next was the all-important “how will this end?”
For example, a driven, inspired person who wants to begin a sock company might have an internal, frank conversation along these lines:
Why do you want to create the Acme Sock Company?
Because I love socks. And because I can make a living doing it.
Yes, but is that the BIG “why”?
Well, I want to employ a lot of people. And we want to give money to charity in the process.
So, what’s the exit strategy? How will it end?
I’d like for us to get bought out so I can retire.
These are fantastic answers. The common exit strategies are things like getting bought out. Working it until retirement and passing it down to a child. Things like that. As long is one is clear on the death of it, the life of it will be more fulfilling.
Movies. I LOVE them. I worked in Hollywood for a time at Warner Bros as an intern. I brought Chris Rock many an ice cream and even (accidentally) touched George Clooney’s butt while he was playing basketball with Michael Rappaport and Anthony Edwards. I am totally getting off-topic…
Movies. Two have led me to my current occupation. These movies triggered in me a passion and desire to fulfill this painting dream. The first gave me the why. The second gave me the exit strategy.
BASQUIAT. I saw it in college (thank you, Holly Lowe Jones). The whole thing is just insanely awesome (the cast alone… Wright, Oldman, DelToro, Forlani, Posey, Hopper, Love, Walken, BOWIE…) but the moment that changed my life forever was Jeffrey Wright as Basquiat painting in a basement. Cement. Jazz. Paint cans on the floor. Large canvases laid out. (Hold the cigarettes.) This was the moment I thought, “that’s what I want. That’s all I want.” (Aka, the why.)
MAUDIE. I saw it more recently in 2017. It’s a heart-wrenching, heart-warming movie about Maude Lewis, a Canadian painter with crippling rheumatoid arthritis. (And shiny brass ones the likes of Bruce Lee.) It was in this movie that I found my exit strategy. (But I need to answer a few questions for you before I say it.)
See these two movies. You may not find the pot of gold that I did, but I would love to hear if other movies or books gave you the same gifts.
Now, I will answer the same questions asked of our imaginary CEO of Acme Sock Company:
Why do you want to paint?
Because I have yet to experience anything that brings me so close to me.
Yes, but is that the BIG “why”?
I learned from my husband that a human’s purpose is to “know thyself.” (This is the number one tenet in Vedanta and in most eastern philosophies.) So, if I can do a job that helps me know myself, be a better person, a better mother, put food on the table, help others if I can, and bring a little beauty to our world, then I’m in.
So, what’s the exit strategy? How will it end?
The big exit: Death. I’ll stop when I’m done breathing.
I may go blind, deaf, have crippling arthritis, lose a leg, but I will never lose the desire to paint. I may lose the ability, but please, if you know me then—a place I hope that is farrrrr in the future—just put a paintbrush in my hand and remind me to be like Maudie.
Another teacher of mine taught me that the purpose of life is to learn to love. Yourself. The rest of the things we do are tools we use to share that love.
So if it’s painting, teaching, number-crunching, or sock-company-running, don’t forget to find the love. The love comes first. Of yourself.
Sorry to cheese out. Just seems to me to be the whole point, yes?
Thanks for listening,
e