When I starred my business two years ago, I felt that I needed some guidance on the business side of things. I would have gone to my boss, whom I make ceramic tiles for, for guidance and advice, but she was in the middle of heavy chemotherapy and I really didn’t want to bother her. Her bout with Cancer was one of the reasons I even started my own business because I was afraid she might die.
I’ve written quite a bit about my progress as an artist and a fishmaker, but I never really tell anything. I don’t want anyone to know.
I act like I have everything under control and that I’m just riding the wave of life, but in reality, I’m terrified. I’m very scared. I’m scared of; death, of failure, of losing the things I hold dear to me. I pretend I’m not, but I am.
I’m not afraid all the time, in fact, it’s a fraction of the time I spend completing tasks and maintaining slow thought. I haven’t mentioned slow thought before. I will now. It’s when you slow your thoughts down to a standstill with alcohol so you can go to sleep. Lucid sure, but exercise might be better.
I was about three months into my own business when I finally started to worry. I’d cashed in my stock options that were gifted to me when the corporation I had previously worked for offered their IPO. Apparently, my two years of working for them resulted in a stock option of 42 shares. I cashed it out and ate sushi for a week. My undergraduate degree is in Sociology with a minor in Political Science but I went to a business school and I bet a good percent of my fellow alumni have their CPA or at least some experience in accounting. So I called my college.
“Do you offer free small business advice for alumni?” I asked.
Two days later I was sitting in the new addition of a school office building here in Minneapolis. I won’t tell you the name of the person a I met with but let’s just call him “R”.
Well, R. Is a pretty short guy and I’m not even five and a half feet tall. He wears gray sport coats and has a moustache. He told me a bunch of information I didn’t retain and I went on my way. Two things I remember he told me were, “Most the people I meet with, I never see again.” And, “What will make this worthwhile to you?”.
I told him, “It’s already worthwhile.” and yesterday I met with him again.
R. Wasn’t surprised when he saw me, rather he was business as usual. He let me talk and tell him that I had done NO taxes or accounting since I had met with him almost two years ago. He went right to work with a pencil on his giant scratch pad that was the size of the desk. He asked me how much money I make. Then, how much time I use making it.
He jotted a bunch of numbers on the pad in response to my answers and asked me how much I think I make an hour. I told him and he laughed.
R. Looked me dead in the eye and told me how much I make an hour.
Fifty cents.
”Fifty cents an hour?” I asked.
”Probably less.” He replied.
Then we talked accounting for a while and R. gave me
the down low. He never judged me or said anything. He was even amused that I was worried about my unpaid taxes.
“The
IRS isn’t worried about you paying taxes, they are more concerned if they need to mark you as dead.” R. Said.
”I’m not dead, but I want to get things straight and go forward with some practical accounting.” I said.
Then I started to think about the fish and I regressed into this film of remembrance that took me over like a storm. My gut got gloppy and churned. Here we were thinking and talking about money. How much I make, How much I owe. My future. I had to shake the fish off. My deep devotion to them and the art I never expected.
Talking about real life isn’t easy.
R. Finally told me the grits of maintaining a business again and told me that my “worry equity” was probably worth about three dollars an hour. It put things in perspective.
Now I have to go slow down my thoughts and get going.