Pretty Stories Aren't What We Need
Being an entrepreneur is hard guys. Like, real hard. Actually, just having big dreams in general is hard. It's lonely, and trying, and at some point, will test everything you have in you and then require more.
Right now, I'm sitting alone at the kitchen table developing marketing strategies for two new clients while my friends are outside grilling and having a bonfire. Do I want to be out there right now with them? Yes. Am I experiencing a little FOMO? Yes. But I know that if I want to live like no one else in the future, I need to do what no one else is willing to do today. That means sacrifice and dedication. But many times, along with sacrifice and dedication come loneliness and struggle.
It was my life's goal to become National Champion at an Arabian National horse show. As a child, I rode my horse every single day. So much so that the barn owner would suggest maybe I give my horse a day off here and there (haha). I skipped football games on Friday nights and lake days with my friends because I "had to ride." It's hard as a high schooler, where friends and image seem like everything, to say "no" to those social activities and instead go ride your horse by yourself. It was lonely. It definitely led to some anxiety and depression. But I knew no other way to achieve my dreams. I remember the adults at the time talking to each other about how they'd seen nothing like it. I threw a saddle on my horse even when it weighed more than me; I never "outgrew" horses like the other kids at the barn did. But I didn't think of myself as special...far from it. This is just what I had to do, it was as simple as that.
By the age of 19, I was qualifying and showing at the national-level against professional trainers that were 40 years my senior on a horse that had been trained by a little girl who had no idea what she was actually doing (me if you didn't catch that). As intimidating as it was, I learned to put on a brave face and step into the arena no matter what.
At 20, I was Reserve National Champion, but that wasn't Grand National Champion. Close only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades after all.
The next year, at 21 years old, my horse and I were named Grand National Champions. As we stepped into the ring for that last time before our fate was determined, the intimidation set in. I looked down at the bracelet my mom had just given me. It read "and though she be but little, she is fierce." And that was it. We stepped into the arena and were named National Champions. It was, and remains to this day, the biggest honor of my life. But it was also the hardest. I can't even begin to explain or even comprehend all the sacrifices, not only that I made, but that those around me made too.
When you accomplish something big, the hard parts, the valleys, kind of get smoothed over don't they? The happy ending is what everyone wants to focus on because that doesn't require vulnerability; it doesn't require being uncomfortable. Let's not talk about the scars and the tears, let's instead sweep that under the rug and talk about the trophies, the ribbons, and the titles. This tendency makes for an unrealistic picture of the journey to said accomplishment. It makes the others trying to do the same thing feel alone...like it wasn't this hard for the ones that came before them. So I'm giving you a call to action. Speak about the ugly. Talk about your scars. Show the raw stuff. Because it'll do a whole lot more good for the world than a pretty story about how you seemingly effortlessly won this or achieved that. As Brene Brown says, "the middle is messy, but that's also where you find the magic."
