20 Year Race to the Starting Line

I’ve spent twenty years building a business whose odds of succeeding were one in a billion.

The idea came to me in college while reading in the Main Library at the University of Georgia. I noodled around with it after graduating, having no clue where to start, but committing to piecing it together – like a scavenger hunt without any clues.

But if we go back further, the idea really came to my brother and me in elementary school. We used our father’s collection of high-end pens to draw our vision on sheets of construction paper.

The dream was simple back then – we’d move to Montana, open a fishing lodge, and bring our friends. We’d have a log cabin for a lodge, a fireplace built of river rocks, and acres to roam.

What started the dream was looking at land for sale in the back of Field & Stream magazines. Back in the 80s you could get an acre for a hundred bucks, which, even to young boys, didn’t seem like a lot of money; mind you, we had a buck or two combined in our piggy banks.

The dream never left me. When life threw a curveball – like losing my brother – I’d close my eyes and escape into it. I could hear logs crackling around a campfire, feel a cutthroat fighting on a fly rod, and see the same constellations that guided explorers for centuries.

Mind you, I’m 45 years old, so this was long before the internet. Instead of scrolling through photos on a screen, I built it in my imagination. And what I learned over the years was the power of the mind. Let a man think about something he wants for several decades, and he’ll not only acquire it, but he’ll create a masterpiece.

That said, I don’t believe in manifesting things with thought. It’s too easy, and the universe isn’t in the business of handing out anything without hard work and sacrifice.

I believe in this simple process:

1st – A man must dream. Everything starts with a dream. I love this quote by Roald Daul, “Well, maybe it started that way. As a dream, but doesn’t everything? Those buildings. These lights. This whole city. Somebody had to dream about it first. And maybe that is what I did. I dreamed about coming here, but then I did it.”

2nd – A man must start. It’s that simple. A man must do something, and it doesn’t have to be earth shattering, it just has to be something that takes the dream out of the mind. As Steven Pressfield said, "Put your ass where your heart is.” Want to own a fly-fishing business? Get a weekend job at a fly shop, work in a National Park, join your local fly-fishing club, get to know guides. I did all four, and it helped. The universe rewards doers.

3rd – A man must not quit. If you want to understand how cruel the universe is, embark on your dream. I guarantee you’ll be given dozens of reasons to quit, and no one will blame you if you do. The world is oddly empathetic to the man who quits in the face of adversity.

After college, a piece of the business would start to make sense every few years. I wouldn’t say it was crystal clear, but I had enough to work with. The scavenger hunt was progressing like a blind man in a corn maze. But here is where a curiously odd thing happened: the dream metastasized.

What started as a simple lodge in Montana turned into something a thousand times bigger – and a million times more fun. Of course it came with an equal number of challenges, but that’s where the not quitting element is everything.

I believe the universe whispers and shouts – and we usually ignore both. The shouts are easier to hear, but the good stuff comes in whispers. They’re barely audible – you gotta be in tune with it. I’m of the opinion that you only get a few of these in life, and this is where the adventure begins.

It’s been my experience that God gives you pieces of your dreams. It’s akin to a gas tank, in that when it’s about to run dry, you get a refill, but never a full tank, just enough to get you to the next filling station. Like Steve Jobs famously said, “You have to trust the dots will connect in the future.” What he didn’t say is it takes an INSANE amount of trust because NOTHING – and I mean absolutely NOTHING – connects most of the time.

Chasing a dream is like a never-ending road in an unforgiving desert. And your job is to keep the dream alive, which simply means not quitting. Even when your car is puttering along, you keep your foot mashed against the pedal.

I’ve found that you’ll always get to the next filling station – usually on fumes and frustrated as hell, but you will get there. And when you do, you’ll get just enough fuel to get to the next one, which means you’re about to embark on another insane adventure.

Of course, as Royal Tenenbaum said, “That’s just one man’s opinion.” I’m sure there are more qualified entrepreneurs out there – guys who can weather storms with grace and confidence: I’m not one of them. I find the whole business of self-employment to be lonely and oppressive, but it’s better than having a boss.

When you first start to work for yourself, it’s akin to a honeymoon. You’re acutely aware that you no longer have to wake up to an alarm clock that someone else set. Nor do you have to attend meetings that someone else scheduled. And you don’t have to deal with middle management dunces – which is, without a doubt, THE best part.

But after a while, just about everything loses its luster (except for the middle management thing – not having those idiots in your life never gets old).

The trick is to not only not give up but transform into someone who embraces, day I say, enjoys the struggle. This is a weird one to explain, but I’ll try. I got to the point where calamity felt invigorating, but only temporarily. Like anyone else, I’d eventually crash, but when hell was breaking loose, at the apex of chaos, my brain produced dopamine, and it felt awesome. My physiology was adapting to havoc.

Looking back, I had a change in perspective: whereas I once saw disorder, I now saw improvisational art.

You see, there’s an element of art in building a dream. To be able to see the future…to see what could be…to anticipate a demand…to throw paint on the canvas…to write without thinking…to dance like no one is watching…that is the soul of creation. And building a business is an act of creation.

I started to blur the line between art and commerce, which, if I’m being transparent, was born out of necessity. If I had to endure one more day…even one more minute of gasping for oxygen, begging for freedom, of playing by someone else’s rules … I would’ve died. And I don’t mean figuratively.

I needed a change in perspective. Instead of living in a constant state of chaos, I’d be Charlie Parker. Instead of barely surviving in a world of betrayal, I’d be Clyfford Still. Instead of playing by everyone else’s rules, I’d be Kerouac with a 120-foot scroll of paper.

I had to look in the mirror and accept what I saw: an artist trying to be a capitalist. I had to peel off layers of accounting courses that I suffered through in college. I had to systemically remove the façade I had built over twenty years – a façade of corporate graffiti – of masks made of paper mâché – of pinstripes instead of colorful plaids – of over the ear haircuts instead of a burly mustache – of time spent in country clubs instead of museums.

I had to accept how God made me. I had to accept that I am a writer and not a banker. I had to accept how my brain works … to not hate myself for being an INTJ (the least common personality on the planet) … to accept I’m an introvert, a loner, a man who has to be alone most of the time … to accept I won’t fit in nearly anywhere, but I’ll be the only one who knows it … to accept I’m going to fail a hundred times more than everyone else … to accept me.

When I first heard “I’m Not Like Everybody Else” by The Kinks, I broke down.

I won't take all that they hand me down
Make out a smile, though I wear a frown
And I'm not gonna take it all lying down
'Cause once I get started, I go to town

'Cause I'm not like everybody else, no no
I'm not like everybody else
I'm not like everybody else
I'm not like everybody else

And I don't want to live my life like everybody else
And I don't want to be destroyed like everybody else
And I don’t want to get a job like everybody else
'Cause I'm not like everybody else

From that moment on I accepted I wouldn’t be living an orthodox life – and not because I’m an anarchist, but because it’s who I am, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I accepted me for who I am.

But it didn’t happen overnight. It took years. And during those years I screwed up most parts of my life. As my grandfather used to say, I was wilder than a peach orchard boar. But I always had one thing that kept me tethered to shore – my dream. Looking back, I wish the rope wasn’t so long. Thrashing about at sea for years on end is no way to live.

But that was the art. My story didn’t end up looking like a Rembrandt; more like a Jackson Pollock. Instead of horsehair brushes with delicate, intentional strokes, mine was created with industrial paintbrushes, violently splattering the canvas with synthetic resins. Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to the Abstract Expressionists.

Anyway, as Sinatra said, “I did it my way.” And in a bizarre twist of fate, it worked, at least so far. I’m not “there” yet. I’m still building this thing. To quote Steve Jobs again, “The journey is the reward.” I get that now. For all the ups and many downs, the adventure is in getting there, however unorthodox it may be.

Twenty years…it’s hard to believe. Two decades of my life. God willing I’ll make it across the finish line. But in truth, it took twenty years to get to the starting line.