Quick: Name someone you know who has a perfect life.

Go ahead – start ticking off everything about them and their life that’s perfect. They have the perfect house (3 beds, 2 ½ baths in urban suburbia), the perfect job (work they enjoy + $$$$), the perfect family (2 kids – boy and girl), the perfect car (hybrid SUV, right?), the perfect vacation spots year after year (Hawaii, France, Iceland). They picnic in the park every Sunday, send their kids to private school, volunteer for a worthy cause, donate to the arts, bring their own reusable grocery bags to Whole Foods, and own a rescue dog that never sheds.

Oh wait, sorry – that’s not the person who has the perfect life. The person with the perfect life is single, has no kids, their own business, a flexible schedule, gobs of money, a great home to call their own, and jetsets all over the globe – often solo, mostly at the drop of a hat. Oh – and they’re fit and attractive and ever-stylish.

Oh wait, THAT’S not the person with the perfect life either.

See, this is what’s wrong with The Perfect Game. It’s that perfect is a) indefinable and b) therefore doesn’t exist, except in your own mind, a figment of your own imagination, meaning it’s completely possible – and necessary – to change your mind about the concept of perfect before you drive yourself mad.

Perfect is the result of one of two things – sometimes both: 1) comparing yourself to others because you’re blind to their humanity and believe that if you could just be like them, everything would be right in the world, or 2) imagining an existence with no struggles, no worries, no fights, no arguments, no money troubles, no sick children or sick parents or lost jobs. It’s actually believing that if you get something, get somewhere, have something or someone, you’ll arrive. You’ll have it all, and everything from that point on will be a cake walk or gravy or the icing on the cake, some food euphemism for having everything you need – and then some.

You’re probably familiar with this awesome quote from Theodore Roosevelt: “Comparison is the thief of joy.” Some may interpret this as a recipe for misery because it means turning a blind eye to your own blessings. They’d say we need to want what we have, rather than have what we want – or love who we’re with, not who we think we WANT to be with. But the real danger in comparing yourself to someone else – and then striving to mimic their every move in attempt to ensure the same outcome for yourself – is that you don’t know the whole story. People do an incredibly good job of putting up fronts (we can thank social media for that). And unless we’ve known someone for a very long time on a very deep level, we only know our perception of the story – which is often not the reality.

We also fall privy to the belief that because someone has what we want, they’re as happy as we imagine them to be. Or that we imagine WE would be, were we in their oh-so-fortunate shoes. And THIS is where we really get into trouble, especially if we decide we’ll associate with that person – make them our friend, colleague, partner – because somehow we’ll absorb their endless life satisfaction via osmosis. This is how people get put on pedestals and how relationships become lopsided, because one person is operating from a place of envy and admiration, as opposed to really SEEING someone, in all of their gristle and glory.

I’ve been in a friendship like this. I was spending time with a woman I felt could really be a true friend. We seemed to have much in common and were bonding and connecting over long, in-depth conversations – my utmost favorite thing in the world. But over time, I started feeling like more of a life coach than a friend. When I analyzed our time together, it became clear that much of our conversation was about me – me telling my life stories, me giving her advice, me standing on that damned pedestal and screaming from my megaphone. Me feeding her perception that if she could just be like me, her life would be perfect too. Don’t get me wrong – this type of relationship feels really, really good for a while because it’s an enormous ego boost. But at some point, you want a friend – someone who sees that, although you may have some stuff going for you, there are still things that aren’t right. Sometimes in big, glaring, four-color, glossy ways. You want someone with whom you feel safe when you’re in doubt, when your self-esteem is shaky, when you need to just fucking fall apart in a massive, heaving meltdown. When I had a self-confidence crisis of epic proportions in front of this new friend, she looked at me like I’d told her I’d just eaten a small child for lunch. I not only fell off the pedestal, I crumbled – exposing my doubt, my fear, my humanity – and shattering her perception of perfection. See? If she became like me…this kind of shit would still happen.

Then there was a conversation with another friend about an acquaintance who’s a successful singer/songwriter. My friend went into immediate Compare & Despair mode, lamenting about how he’d carved this great career for himself as an independent recording artist, doing exactly what he loved, making the music he likes, playing for audiences all over the world. I initially started to go down the rabbit hole with her, then pulled us both back to ground by reminding her that – in his eyes – he probably doesn’t have it all. Perhaps he’s not making the exact music he’d like to make. In any creative field, there are always sacrifices – from the studio, the publisher, whoever’s going to give the green light for production and distribution. I also know that his personal life suffers greatly, because it’s hard to hold a relationship together when you’re on the road 150 days a year. Having figured out that this is now something he wants, he’s trying to figure out how to continue doing what he loves in a way that allows a relationship to blossom. Not an easy task. No place for envy here.

And if not envy, then this perception of a perfect life is often pure imagination. I’m not one to shit all over setting intentions and creating a vision of how you’d like your life to unfold. I’m actually a huge proponent of both, having done them and garnered results. It’s the concept of “arriving” that makes me nuts. Instead, try thinking of life as a very long, winding road littered with mile markers that read differently for everyone, depending on where you want to go. But when people say, “It’s all about the journey,” it’s really not ABOUT the journey – it IS the journey. Because when the journey ends, you’re dead. That’s why it’s dangerous to think that once you arrive at a particular mile marker, you’ve indeed ARRIVED. Even if you think you have it all, you don’t. Something will either be given to you – or taken away – that will make you have to shift course, probably when you least expect it. So you actually didn’t arrive at your final destination. You arrived at the mile marker pointing to a fork in the road or an enormous flashing “Detour” sign. You may have a choice and you may not, but if you’re not dead, the journey ain’t over.

The problem with assuming that once we get this, have that, meet this person, do this thing, life will be perfect – is that you’ll probably get, have, meet, and do all this stuff and still not feel satisfied. Because, like I said up top, perfect is indefinable and non-existent. And also because when we assume perfect is even attainable, we forget about all that shit life throws our way that clouds our blessings, but also helps us evolve.

That’s why it’s not such a bad thing to be grateful for what you have and where you’re at. To stop setting goals for a while and love life for what it is, not what it could be. To embrace the Japanese concept known as “wabi-sabi” and find beauty in the imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete. It’s simple. It’s easier. It’s calming. And it’s as close to perfect as you can get.

 

When I realized my second entrepreneurial venture – coaching creative solopreneurs on the logistics of starting and running a business – was a mistake, I developed a major case of What Will People Think. I’d sunk thousands of dollars into a business vision, a beautiful brand, a perfectly executed website. Would the brilliant creative firm behind the brand and the talented web designer be disappointed in my failure, ripping me from their portfolios while clucking their tongues? I’d paid a pretty penny for a Photoshop course so I could create branded blog images. Would my classmates – who had put their skills to good use building their online presence – think I was a quitter? And what would my friends and followers think after I’d teased the business on social media, then launched the business on social media, then gone dark on social media because I hated the work?

I shared my fears with a good friend, who just cocked her head and said, “What about you? What do YOU think? That’s all that really matters.”

Sage advice (what good friends are for). Though the truth is there are three responses to all of those questions: 1) my worries were super high school because NO ONE will care, 2) what I think really is all that matters because *I* have to run the business, and 3) never launch a business doing work you hate (even if you’re good at it).

That last one is the first lesson of entrepreneurship and despite the fact that I’m a fairly seasoned entrepreneur, I totally spaced on it. Running a business may be exhilarating and rewarding, but it’s also exhausting, scary, and uncertain – if you don’t like making what you’re selling, you’re in deep shit.

That’s not to say I love every ounce of my nearly-decade-old communications firm. In a nutshell, I write employee and marketing communications for Fortune 500 companies. While I’ve been writing since childhood and always knew I’d write for a living, this work isn’t exactly my passion. But I enjoy it, I’m good at it, I believe in what I do, and my clients are happy (and I like them). That’s incredibly rewarding. The business also affords me the freedom and flexibility to work alone anytime, anywhere; these are core business values for me as they allow me to do my best work – and all of that makes the challenges of solopreneurship worthwhile.

So why did I go sideways with my sophomore start-up?

1. I got caught up in a good idea. In trying to determine what I was an expert at doing, a friend pointed out that I was an expert at being a creative professional who was also a master at running a business. Not every creative can swing the administrative piece of the solopreneurial pie, but I can. So, glory be, let’s start a business teaching creatives how to do it! The problem was that I forgot to ask myself if I actually ENJOY the business side of things. And once I started teaching it, I realized I despise it. The trick is to figure out what you’re an expert at that you also WANT to do. Case in point: I’m the Russell Wilson of stovetop scrubbing after the preparation of a messy meal. I can make that shit shine like it’s never been used. But do I want to start a business teaching people to clean their stovetops? No f-ing way. The solopreneur coaching thing is a fantastic business idea, but I’m not the right person to execute it.
2. I forgot about my core business values. Back up a few paragraphs and you’ll find them: freedom, flexibility, and work alone anytime/anywhere. Coaching requires one-on-one interaction. Coaching requires scheduled meeting times. Coaching also requires believing you have sound advice and methods to share. And while I liked the idea of helping people nail the relatively concrete tasks and processes associated with running a business, the truth is I don’t believe there’s one way to do ANYTHING. I’m not convinced that just because something worked for me, it’ll work for someone else. So while I’m happy to share my success stories and lessons learned, if something didn’t work for a paying client, I’d feel like deep-fried crap. The business just wasn’t aligned with who I am and how I work.
3. I ignored the fact that my passion doesn’t have to be my profession. Here’s the thing: passion or no passion, my communications business works for me on many levels (see above). So why not take that for what it is and seek passion in life outside work? What about a side project? This is how I’ve come back to my core: writing stories. Because that’s what I’ve been doing for as long as I’ve been able to scribble a sentence: entertaining people with words – making them laugh, cry, and think. That’s what I’m an expert at AND what I love. It would be awesome if it put grub on the table, but it doesn’t have to. I just need to do it because I love it.

As for the sophomore slump, I’m over my case of What Will People Think. As a fellow solopreneur advised, “If you’re going to fail, fail fast.” So I did. I shuttered the doors after less than a year of operation. The beautiful business cards have been tucked away. The website is being retooled (yes, this one right here). My LinkedIn profile has been updated so it looks like this never happened. While most entrepreneurs will say their biggest mistakes were made during their salad days, mine occurred after I’d already seen success. Some people might think that’s a head-scratcher. Some might think my first business was a complete fluke, a stroke of luck. Some may think I’m flaky and self-unaware. I think I’m a solid businesswoman who simply got away from myself – my values, my expertise, my passion.

Yes, that’s what I think.

And that’s all that really matters.