On Thursday, April 7th, 2005, in a fit of frustration with my employer, I started doodling on my yellow legal pad instead of paying attention in a late afternoon meeting.
Specifically, I was coming up with a brand name and logo for my own software development business. I’d had enough of working for the small
mom-and-pop shop, and I felt I could make it out there on my own.
At the same time, my boss was starting to zero in on a
particular line of business, and starting to ignore the customers who had got him to
where he was. I knew all I'd have to do was scoop up some of the business he was turning
away. I hadn’t signed a non-compete agreement, and I was entirely transparent
about what I was doing. My boss even supported the effort, happy to have someone
to refer his long-time clients to.
The business started as a side-hustle; I’d work my day job then
come home to start my second shift. I was easily working over sixty hours a
week.
Eventually, I had enough steady work coming in from multiple
clients that I could take the leap and quit my day job.
Becoming an independent consultant meant I could work on client projects during the day, freeing up my evenings to work on products of my own design. To help stay focused on my own products, I committed to releasing minor updates of at least one free product each week as a way to slowly grow my intellectual property while also bringing in revenue to feed my family.
But it wasn’t all rosy. I quickly learned some hard facts about being your own boss. Not only was I in charge of producing the software, I also had to be sales rep, marketer, tech support, and accountant.
Another lesson I learned was that being in business for oneself means that you have to pay the
bills first, and yourself second. While I my gross income broke six figures for
the first time, I was bringing home the same meagre salary I had with my
previous employer. I had to fully fund all of my benefits, which were more costly
than I had anticipated. Taxes alone ate about 25% of my income.
I was humbled by the realities of managing a small business. I came to respect my previous employer
on a deeper level.
But there was something to be said for the excitement of it
all; I was flying by the seat of my pants and would enter into
lucrative contracts where I didn’t know if I could deliver in time.
I look back on this period of high-risk, high-reward a bit in awe that I was able to accomplish as much as I did. I feel proud that I was able to support my growing family while going my own way—although it was a bit like walking a tightrope without a safety net. I had some scares along the way, but I continually brought home the bacon.
At the same time, looking back now through the lens of my
diagnosis, I see something else: hypomania.
I was incredibly productive, but, honestly, the quality of
my work wasn’t the best. I was self-confident to the point of arrogance: starting
a small business requires incredible faith in oneself and the world. You almost
have to be somewhat delusional to go for it.
Hypomanic or not, I reflect on that version of myself and
almost envy the bravado.
Eventually, the business ended—a victim of the great
recession. One of my clients offered me a job and, having newborn Hunter at home, I
jumped at the opportunity.
I learned many lessons by being in business for myself; if
nothing else, it has made me a more appreciative employee.
Today, I work for a Fortune 50 organization with over fifty
thousand people on staff, the exact opposite of a sole proprietorship. There’s some
safety in numbers, and distributing the work across that many people means we
can deal with a volume of transactions that I couldn’t have imagined handling in the
past. My team and I address software development problems that are more
interesting exactly because of their scale. I’m happier now than I ever was working on
my own.