Earlier this year, I began “professionally dating,” a good friend of mine in Shanghai to see if we’re business partnership material. We’ve been romantically envisioning our riches, loosely planning, and justifying long lunches with loads of “we can do this,” and “wouldn’t that be great.” The potential was fantastic, the true commitment distant, and it was that it was all about the business of books. She had a dream to open a publishing company; I had a habit of supporting entrepreneurs. Even though I was taking a backseat to her dream, I finally felt my two worlds – business and writing – were coming together, and in the center of it all was my closest friend. It was almost perfect.
Fast-forward to last week, and for reasons too numerous and irrelevant to list here, we took a step back, and I found myself reeling from the breakup. I felt a sincere sense of loss. In my entire career, I’ve never not had a partner, a business confident, a supporter, a mentor, a structure, a friend. I’ve also never had to set up my own business model. I’ve made a living supporting other people’s ventures, consulting to other people’s businesses. Suddenly I found myself with a slew of new ideas and the realization that there was no one but me to make them a reality.
I was afraid. I was confused, and lost. I began trying, yet again, to put together something that reflected something about myself. I felt somewhat productive but more than anything, I felt alone and too sad to make much progress.
Then Manika stopped sleeping again. I swear, that girl has an internal timer. Mommy stressed = Manika not sleeping. My husband says it’s just a byproduct of a close mother – daughter relationship. I think it’s just some karmic retribution. She started waking up in the middle of the night screaming (and I mean SCREAMING), claiming that we set her clock wrong, and that 3am was really the start of her morning.
I tried to follow logic she understood. We wrote rules on the bed. 1. No screaming. 2. No getting out of bed until bunny clock is awake. I tried punishment. I tried screaming myself. I tried doing nothing and letting her play until she fell asleep on her floor mat. I even tried letting her sleep in my bed, but that was a disaster.
Then one day she said, “I want a job like you,” and a light went off in my head.
“I have a job for you.”
“What do you have for me?”
“You sleep at night, I’ll give you one coin each day.”
“How ‘bout you just give me a coin.”
“Nope, you wanted a job, this is your job.”
“But I don’t like sleeping, except on Tuesday and Friday.”
“Well today is Tuesday.”
“I meant next Tuesday.”
“Follow the rules, and you get a coin.”
The first night, the concept was exciting but the execution bumpy. “But I don’t like sleeping,” Manika repeated. “Sleeping is no fun.”
“Most work is no fun. Welcome to real life.”
“I don’t want to sleep,” she said.
“Then I won’t pay you.”
“No mommy, I want my coin.”
“Then do your job.”
Eyes rolled. Sighs escaped. “Fine,” she said, clutching her bunny purse to her while she slept.
The second night, she disregarded the connection altogether. She screamed three times. She lost a coin.
The third night, she got the hang of it. I didn’t hear from her at all and in the morning, she proudly got up and counted her money in her bed.
Today she had enough for her own first muffin. I’ve never seen a kid stuff cake into her mouth with such relish.
The whole thing made me think about why I want to work so badly. Is it really the money? Well, yes and no. Money makes grownups feel more secure, and it helps all ages buy things. But what made Manika love her muffin so much was that she bought it herself. It was the sense of accomplishment, a sense of having a goal and achieving it, a sense of rewarding oneself for hard effort. There was a direct line between value added (me sleeping) and reward.
I want that. For too long, my line has gone around my clients’ wishes, over corporate structures, around the bend of other people’s company visions, beneath my husband and children. I have longed for that straight line, but it has either seemed too simple to be possible, or not the right time, or too hard to find.
But I see things are shifting. I turned thirty-four on Friday, and as I got dressed in the mirror, I saw I was no longer a twenty-four year old banking analyst just trying to get some skills, or a twenty-eight year old consultant trying to find balance between art and business, or even a thirty-two year old new mom trying to get the hang of my new role. I was entering that mythic age that my mother always told me about – the age in which my best ideas of myself and my ability to realize them in my life had finally arrived. I suddenly felt I now have just enough of self-knowledge, money, experience, and inner balance, to take a risk, to set out and do something for myself, that just reflects myself.
As if in cosmic confirmation, an artist friend of mine designed my business cards for me. I asked her to do something simple and clean, and what she came back with was so perfect, it brought me to tears. I’ve never actually felt my identity on paper, but now I know what it looks like. It’s light green. It’s understated but clear. The title on the card: Writer – Editor. Just my name, no one else’s, no tagline, no corporate stamp. It felt like a promise of the Joel Olsteen type. Great things are ahead. The slate is ready and wiped. My own bunny purse is empty too, but it’s ready to be filled again.
“Was it great?” I said to Manika after she finished her muffin.
“Yeah, and tomorrow I get a new coin and can buy a lollipop! That’ll be even better!”
“Yes, it will,” I agreed with her.
As she smiled, I realized I even have a business partner albeit a bit moody, one sided, tyrannical, and childish one. She brings fearlessness to my fear, uncompromising certainty to my habits of accommodation, and fresh inspiration to my tired cynicism. Most importantly, she gives me a reason not to be lazy, not to be scared, not to fail. I want her to know that the direct line she so freshly experienced is possible at all stages of life. In fact, I want her (and me) to think and live like we should settle for nothing less.
In the meantime, there’s no worry of breaking up. She gets all my earnings and runs the board, a CEO, COO, and chairman on training wheels. I get to grow. It’s the perfect unexpected arrangement.
I’m excited and terrified at the same time.
